The fic you have all been waiting for. I'm sorry it took such a long time. But on the bright side it's here and I'm already planning the second chapter and the whole thing. I hope you all enjoy it.
This is a slight Wonder Woman crossover. It mostly Voltron, I swear. It's just the start.
And so you know before hand: Leandro Prince is Lance Mcclain. Just so you don't get lost and such.
"So, this is an American diner?" Leandro said as the word 'diner' rolled off his tongue, testing the foreign word.
As Amazon's, this "diner" of sorts are unheard of. There were always small bars, filled with food they hunted that day and homemade liquor, not that they could get drunk. Not that he was allowed in those bars on those "special" nights in the first place. He didn't want too, nor did he want to see the looks and comments that have been sent his direction. He lives through it during the day, he doesn't want to live through it at night. Wriggling his nose where the pair of glasses sat. His mother demanded that he wear them, for identities sake. He continued to look around.
"Yes, they have quite the exquisite meals…and they're quite filling" his mother answered from the other side of the ratty, red booth. The compliment was filled with fondness, no doubt she had visited with her League friends before . Her hair was in a tight bun and she adorned her black glasses. Glasses were expected, though, the hair was not, it was always down… It looked nice. Like a dark spiral.
His ocean blue orbs, eyed the 'diner'. It was what the people here called old and/or classic. It had -what he assumed- was the kitchen at the back, behind the wall then the counter in front with seat lining the brown, wooden counter. It wasn't busy as he expected, just a few individuals here and there.
His mother brought him here to talk about "personal matters". He would scoff at the title for it. It's not very personal if the entire league knew about it. The relationship with his mother has been…rocky these days. So to speak. His mother had a shorter fuse than she had three years ago, and he wanted an out. An out that she will not give. Nor any information towards his roots - not her roots, his fathers. Whoever that may be. But, it may be the perfect timing, he had something to tell her. Something she will probably not be happy with. At least they were in a situation, if that if she were to become explosively angry, she would have to contain herself…
…The best she can.
His hands fiddled with each other on the table. The "something" ringing in his mind with no end. Sub-consciously, he gulped. Audibly.
Mother looked at him strangely, before adjusting her glasses and picking up the menu. It was silent. Awkwardly silent. Five years ago, they would both be chatting up a storm, Mother telling him stories -ancient and from the field-slash-league, and he would be talking about the new thing he learnt and about his self-doubt-created by the population of Thermyscira, aka his aunties and grandmother.
He was open, his mother was not. That was probably what lead them to this situation. Now everything personal he used to tell her gets bottled up in his chest and escapes through his tears at night.
It was nothing new. He had been doing it for three years. When he started thinking and asking the real questions. Only to get blown off. It was then, that their relationship started to deteriorate.
"No" Leandro jumped at the unexpecting sound from his mother on the other side of the table, his own menu bouncing with him.
"I didn't ask anything?" Mother placed her menu down on the plastic table, a slight thump on the impact. Revealing those sharper than usual eyes.
"But you were thinking it" Leandro looked at the table when tears pricked his eyes, not wanting her to see.
She doesn't even know him anymore.
Nowadays, she seemed more run down. Fatigued, angry, frustrated. She doesn't even smile in his direction anymore. Or scold her sisters at the rude comments sent his way. He would always smile at the shocked face and the slump of their shoulders when they walked away from their princess they were just schooled by.
Mother must have assumed that he is fifteen, he should be able to protect himself. No, he can't, Mother. He can't. They are stronger and more experienced than he is, and by his Grandmother- or Queen. he was only allowed to call her by, his aunts have more authority over him than a boy, much less a princess's son. From his visits to the World of Man, he has concluded that his "aunts'" and "grandmother" as 'sexist'.
Mother started, "Honey," Leandro bristled at the word choice, "you are frustrated. I get it. You are young, and a teenager. And I can understand. The whole perspective change. From a boy to a wise man." Leandro felt sick, his nails leaving crescent shaped dents that slightly bled in his palms. The tightness in his chest stretching like an elastic band. "It's terrifying in some ways, to recognise the wrong in the world you never thought previously. But that doesn't excuse you to take it out in…unhealthy ways" His Mother sounded unsure to the word choice to his actions.
His mouth opened, prepared to answer the comment, "Hi! Welcome to Big Belly Burger. What can I getcha?" Leandro cringed at the shrill sound while his mother smiled and ordered to the curvy waitress in a skimpy skirt and high heels.
In some ways, he was grateful for the distraction. He would have said something he would have regretted. He watched the blonde bun on the waitress head bounce away and behind the wooden counter before he answered. His Mother waited, expectantly.
"Unhealthy ways?" Leandro chuckled, the slight satisfaction the frown slowly marring her face, "…So standing up for myself is an unhealthy outlet?" He drawled. Already, the tightness in his chest burned again and hysteria rose to his throat. He felt like laughing like the Joker. Maybe the Red Hood could kill him. Now that was a way to go.
"So, fighting against my "aunts'" is looked badly upon. Even though they call me nefas, detetatio, tedium, ineptus and that's only naming the few Latin nicknames." Leandro felt like ripping out his shaggy locks and crying at the same time. He just felt numb. Like he is every night, in that lonely room he has called his own since his birth. The one that palace refuses to clean for him.
Mother tapped her fingers against the table a couple of times before resting her hand on it instead. "I heard you threatened them," Leandro recoiled as she pointed to his wrists that were laying on the table, "w-with…you know"
Leandro growled as he quickly stashed them in his lap. The metal that he wears on them felt colder. He has worn them since birth. Every time he grew out of them, it was just him and his mother in a stone room so she could replace them with bigger, more powerful ones. Ever since his birth, his abilities have been unstable, much more unstable than his mothers. All because of his father's side. The whole population of Thermyscira have been afraid of that ability, even though they are powerful, experiences soldiers and generals. They have seen the power his mother possesses. It had been speculated that he is stronger than her. None of them want the experience what he encompasses. No one other than himself. Because of that, they leave him in completely ability constricting gauntlets. And they criticise and ridicule him like children for it. There were moments where he thought he was one the most mature individual on the island.
Leandro bared his teeth, "Those are lies!" He ignored the peering eyes from his outburst from individuals at the counter and couples in separate booths. "You know that I will never do that". That was true. It hurt that his own mother thought he would. He could see it in her eyes. That untrustworthy look had his skin crawl. He felt his gauntlets spark on his wrists, and he faintly jumped and took a deep breath to calm the storm that was starting to rage.
It fizzled out
The two were left in silence. His Mother stared out the window onto the bustling street, smiling as the familiar red streak flew pass, secretly knowing that he would visit in the next few minutes, while Leandro stared at the frayed sewing material on his ripped jeans, trying not to cry. It felt like his energy was just being sapped out of his body in the past ten minutes from entering the diner. He wanted to leave. The sooner he could get over this, the better.
They were silent as they brought out the food. A greasy burger filling with bacon and beef with lettuce, and seasoned fries wafting up his nose, begging to be eaten. Like any sane, happy person would. He just played with it, his fork scraping the plate as his strength slightly loosened from the cage only to be slightly hurt when it was forced back it. They were silent as his Mother ate.
"Leandro, stop playing with your fo-"
"I got an offer from Bats" Mother froze, a burger halfway from her mouth. The oil sliding down the bacon and splatter onto the plate amongst the half-eaten fries. It was a wonder why his mother called this food exquisite. Mother sighed and placed the burger back onto the plate.
"What did you do now?" Leandro scrunched up his eyes, and tried to breathe evenly. His own mother doesn't even trust him to be responsible.
He scoffed, "I did nothing. Bruce asked me to do something and I accepted". That was true. During his rare visits to the Watchtower, the Bruce stalked up to him in full Batman gear. From the crease in his brow, he knew he had something that required his abilities or his person. They have been introduced before, in fact, it wasn't a rare occurrence for one of the Bat's to take him away to Gotham, without mother's permission of course. He and Clark, the one that Mother said used to wear his underwear outside of his clothing, were some of the closest men that he has ever come to, other than the younger Bat's, of course.
It was a small conversation at the start before he asked the question. Leandro instantly agreed. And the Batman thought he didn't see the loose smirk that adorned his face after his small happy dance, for an out from the prison he was being kept in.
"And Bruce didn't come to me first? And you accepted!?" she screeched, disappointment lacing her voice. Again, other customers turning back to the commotion in that corner booth next to the window, they sat in. "Do you realise how irresponsible that is. What are you doing? What has he set up? You don't know what is out there, Leandro! I am your mother. You have to listen to me"
Something inside of him snapped. It was quiet and hidden before, but when that magma started to burn through his veins. He had no control.
The table vibrated as he smacked his hands on it, the burning of his hands was welcoming. He stood on his legs, electricity running through his muscles. He felt alive. And angry. And disappointed. And afraid.
"Of course, I accepted. Like your shitty parenting was doing anything. I'm fifteen years old, only a few months short of sixteen. In two years, I will be eighteen. A legal adult. I have that right as a person! I don't have to tell you whatever the hell I will be doing" Leandro panted and sagged against the table. He felt slight shame in the fact that he just swore in the first time in his life. And those short sentences were exhausting.
His hearing could pick up the whispered comments from across the diner. It made him angrier. He threw the navy spectacles off his face and stormed out of the building. It felt like he may as well lay lava in every footprint and watch it melt and solidify. He turned around for one last look. Mother had the face of utter heartbreak amongst the broken glass lens of his fake glasses, a little bit of him thought she deserved it. He huffed, "Goodbye, Mother". His heartbeated furiously in his ears, and blinked away tears. This was a victory against his negligent mother. Why should he be crying? Like a patheticus filius? The bell rang as angry as he felt when he pushed open the glass door and into the busy street. The honking of cars, chattering pedestrains and the stomping of feet drowning out the calls from his mother. He tore through the people, not caring if he pushed them a little to hard on the shoulders. He didn't even listen to the comments at his roughousing, not even when he miraculsly pushed Barry, who-as predicted- was going to visit them at Big Belly Burger.
He didn't hear his calls, he continued to walk. When they grew, softer and stopped altogether, he presumed that he left to comfort his Mother.
As me moved to the zeta tubes that was laid in Central City to head to Gotham City, one thing ran in his mind.
His last words as he whispered it to himself.
"Goodbye, Mother"
It was almost funny how their relationship went from "My Moon and Stars" to "Stop ignoring me, Mother".
G - A - L - A - X - Y G - A - R - R - I - S - I - O – N
A pretentious school for the young and gifted. Taught by literal federal agents, PHD scientists and experienced aircraft pilots, engineers and tech experts. Quite the school indeed. And tough to be accepted in. He could tell, by those darkened eye bags and crow's feet on their faces – both teacher and student.
Now, this is where he stands. Tugging the brown jacket Jason must have bought as he stared down the empty airplane hangar. Bustling crowds of bright smiles and excited faces in an empty airplane hangar. High ceilings, and sunlight filtering through the open doors. Where it has, numerous buses drive off and pull up with new students. The walls plastered with posters, the biggest with Takashi Shirogane. His target, sorta not target. For some reason, it felt like Shirogane's eyes were watching him from the far wall and his overpowering height, his "brave pose" fluttering in the non-existent wind.
He sighed and looked back to his first objective: Enter Galaxy Garrison. Strangers passed him dragging bags of luggage towards the hundreds of desks that lined the entire width of the hangar, attached to baggage screenings. Pass that barricade, he could see passed student pull their luggage into corridors directed by staff, most talking excitedly to (assuming) parents on the other side of phones. Soldiers walking through the crowds of people, being observed like spectacles, and distant students of previous years watching the "new meat" from the side-lines. He shifted the duffle bag to be more secured on his shoulder and began to walk towards the closest, empty desk. In the space full of loud to-be students, only the sounds of his footsteps registers in his mind.
Batman had a hunch, and when Batman had a hunch, he was always right. Even when he was wrong, he would still be right. The moment Leandro stepped into the Batcave from the zeta tube, and his name ring out and echo in the cave, his "target" was already on the multiple screens at the "Batcomputer". Dick's name for it, not his.
Mitchell Iverson
An old looking general. Wrinkles decorated his face, along with the miniscule scars that adorned it. The image looked like the it was taken right off the Galaxy Garrison surveillance footage. He wouldn't be surprised if it was. Then he spotted the blurred students behind Iverson's zoomed up form. It was. But, to be honest, it looked like Iverson had a massive stick up his ass. One that tickled his oesophagus. Bruce's description stated that, "Has a connection to the Kerberos Mission and Crew", and Bruce's idea that he was doing something shady. With a huff, his eyes continued to the "sub" targets.
Samuel Holt
A highly decorative scientist. And commander of the Kerberos mission. An old man, with laugh lines in the corners of his mouth and eyes. This one looked like he knew how to have fun. And enjoyed his job and teaching his students. Well, given the image was in one of the Garrison's lecture rooms. A big holographic board fill with formula's he had no clue how to decipher and the huge smile on his face to the class of incredibly focused students.
Matthew Holt
The son of Samuel Holt, and top of the class. One of the reasons he was going employed to join the Kerberos crew. Following in his father's footsteps and career path. Not only in interest are they similar but the identical bright smiles that shone into his eyes. His eyes read the description that Bruce put together. "Highly intelligent young man, with a history of "pranks" in the facility, both property, fellow students and faculty, with the Garrison's top piloting student Takashi Shirogane". His eyes noticed the poof of black hair just out of the camera's view, the person Matthew Holt was laughing at, his next target,
Takashi Shirogane
Top of his class in his entire history at Galaxy Garrison and holds the flight simulation record. A Japanese-American, immigrated from Japan at the age of fifteen and almost immediately got accepted into the Galaxy Garrison. As to be one of the youngest pilots to pilot a space craft into space, and the one of the first humans to reach to furthest in space yet.
All four faces blinded him in the dark cave as he stalked closer the computer. The screen illuminating the cave in a light blue hew. As he moved closer he spotted the duffle bag he was to take to the Garrison sitting a few feet from him on the bench with littered grappling hooks and a few strange bottles. Which included; casual clothing -which Dick, Jason and Tim he presumed bought-, Garrison uniform, toiletries, and some "stuff" he "burrowed" from Thermyscira, particularly the armoury. Not that Bat knows or his mother. He placed his trembling hand on the bag's material. The walk to the zeta tube gave him time to calm down before he could breakdown and start crying and sobbing like a psychotic person…he was an ugly crier.
The moment Bruce came down those stairs in the usual turtle neck and slacks, he started the briefing.
The Galaxy Garrison plans to launch the Kerberos mission in six months. Their Commander; Samuel Holt. Communications Expert; Matthew Holt. Pilot; Takashi Shirogane were to be sent into space and land on Pluto's moon; Kerberos. The purpose to collect data within the ice that was formed on Kerberos. Though, Bruce has a hunch that Mitchell Iverson was planning, or involved with something. Something League related, and could possibly lead to the deaths of millions. Which, to a sane person's mind would be stupid and insane. That's why Bruce is a billionaire with unresolved issues. So many unresolved issues.
He wanted Leandro to go undercover and discover information. Information their camera's and audio could not reach. Like gossip and rumours. That he could do.
Then they moved onto his alias. Or the list Bruce pulled up onto one of the screens.
Lance "Charles" McClain
Sex: M
DOB: 28/07/20XX
Garrison Code ID: 0966337
Sarcastic, arrogant, …incredibly annoyingly social, naïve, flirt, uses… a skin care routine…
"Do I really need to do that?"
"Yes"
…
"Are you sure?"
"Yes…Dick suggested it...all of them took part."
"…of course, they did"
…
"There should be skin products beside your bag"
Moments later, Leandro stared down the designated zeta tube. Bruce's hand a comforting presence on his shoulder. He wanted to say goodbye to his "cousins". Again, Dick's name. But, if he wanted to avoid his mother he had to leave, and now. He took in a shuddering breath, with slight hesitation he turned and borrowed himself into Bruce. His skinny arms curling around his waist. He felt him stiffen then slowly relax, and have his own beefy arms engulf his lean form. Bruce was practically his parent when his mother became "distant".
Now, what stood (or sat) before him was a woman. Tight pencil skirt and billowing blouse, a pen held around her ear. As she typed on the holographic screen, she had the expression of full boredom as she chewed and popped the white gum. The stereotypical business woman, and a woman who would give no fucks.
"Uh…Lea-uh-Lance McClain?" he stuttered. His hands fiddling with the rough, thin straps of his bag. The typing stopped as she spun her chair in his direction.
The petite woman stared at him, expecting something as she chewed her gum. His heart rate sped up. Did he already do something wrong? What did he fuck up? Did she catch on? Was it the slight change from his name to the alias? Did she know that he brought magical weapons that could not be picked up by earthen technology in his bag? The black-haired woman huffed, "Your ID number?"
Leandro sagged in relief, "Oh, yeah. Sorry, 0-9-6-6-3-3-7" Thank the gods. At least he has done something right.
Not a fuck up, 1.
Fuck up, 0.
B579. B580. B581. B582.
B583.
Ah ha!
The door was grey and it was boring. To be perfectly honest, what else would someone expect on a military owned door for its students. He twirled the orange ID in his hands, the one with his profile picture Bat's made, room and ID number and a washed-out picture of the Galaxy Garrison logo behind the important information.
He brought his ID card to the pad beside the door. Swiping it through, and the green indication became almost instantly. The doors pulled apart swiftly, the soft grinding of metal and the change in the atmosphere hiss gave way as it gave him the view of the Garrison standard room.
The window at the back, giving the rather boring view of the desert, then noticed the rather obvious "blinds" of metal that he would assume close on him and his roommate at night. Two identical beds on either side of the room with the exciting grey bed sheets and pillow. Two desks and a very small wardrobe on both sides. They definitely know how to trap their students up like rats. But,
…it looked so much better than his one on Thermyscira. So, modern. So, different.
Leandro laughed as the door slid shut behind him, he didn't care to register it. In fact, he instantly flopped onto the bed on the right side of the room. His bag landing with a dull thump beside it. The cluttering of weapons and small pieces of armour on impact.
"It's so soft!" His screamed into the mattress. It looked like he was hugging the bed. That won't be surprising.
He laid there in what felt like hours. His face smooched into the bedding, or his eyes stared into the ceiling. This is what freedom felt like, he thought as he stared at the horrendously orange ID card. For the first time in forever, he felt light. Like nothing he couldn't stop. That he had no weight to drag behind him every morning. No immature aunties. No cruel grandmother. No negligent mother. He was free from all blood ties. Sure, he wasn't himself. But that was not going to stop him. He had been a person that had chains tied to his arms and legs, now they were rusted and feeble. Just one firm pull with an ounce of his Amazonian strength and he was free.
"H-hello?" Leandro shot up, resisting the urge to grab the currently non-existent sword that he would usually have on his bedside table.
His blue orbs met a pair of brown ones. A dark, large man stood at the door. Shifting on his feet and carrying two bags of luggage. The plain door behind him closed behind his form. Even from this distance, he could see the sweat bead down his forehead. He was nervous, both of them were. This was the very first person he would "live" with outside of the League and family. Leandro took a deep breath.
"H-Hey," They stared at each other. It was becoming awkward and uncomfortable very quickly. He gulped. "I-I'm Lance, uh, Lance McClain…from Cuba, well Florida, but Cuba – yeah, ah…" That did nothing! Stupid!
"…I'm-," the word that just pass the man's lips was alien, and he would not dare to pronounce it. Ever. The man must have seen his lost expression and quickly closed back up. No! That was the opposite that he wanted.
They continued to stare in silence. This was not Lance McClain does. He has to be funny, arrogant, social. Right now, you are being none of that! Like a failure.
He quickly observed the large man's figure. Dark green vest, black pants. Huge. Not in a fat way, obviously, but more of a warrior way. Big and strong, everything that the Greek ideal for men, that he isn't. Which was lean and thin.
The words slipped out without his notice, "A hunk"
The man stopped, an arm coming to rub the back of his neck, "S-sorry?" Silence rained down again. Panic came into his mind. Not this time, he had this. A smile quickly adorned his face, big enough to crease his eyes and stretch his lips.
"You're a real Hunk. You know what? I'm going start calling you Hunk"
Leandro hopped off the bed and skipped to towards the man, now dubbed as Hunk. He swung an arm around his shoulder and brought him into the middle of the room. This was his chance to impress. Hunk seemed to be a in state of shock and confusion, because he held no resistance or spoke. With the best of his ability, he spoke in the most silly, upbeat tone and voice possible.
"My name is Lance McCain, at your service. I'm one of Garrison's freshmen, I'm assuming is the same with you. Buddy, I'll offer you some mints but I'm all out because I don't have any to begin with. I'm from Cuba, but an immigrated to Florida when I was twelve. Now, that's enough about me, what about you, Hunk the man."
He twirled on his heel and faced Hunk, a hand out expecting the usual mankind handshake.
Slowly, Hunk's shocked expression crumbled. It crumbled into laughter.
It quickly became his first out of League friendships.
Five Months Later
Within a five-month timeframe, he has gotten no solid lead, and no information. Every small lead led to a dead end, and leading to a rather harsh scolding from Iverson. He was right, he did have a massive stick up his ass, like you could hear it in his voice. It was tickling his oesophagus. Every dead end made him and Bruce all the more frustrated. And from his small "chats" he has on his phone (with earphones in, and the screen turned off), he has come to know what happened to his mother in the outside world. Apparently, minutes before he left the cave, she barged in and demanded she know why he went. Luckily, Bruce denied and even luckier Alfred contacted Clark to intervene before there was a full-on fight out. That's everything he knows. Bruce refuses the ask any other questions related to anything but the mission, which he understands.
Currently there is nothing, nada, zero, zilch.
Absolutely nothing.
So, he continues. Going to class. Studying. Hanging out with Hunk. Talking and befriended hundreds of other students. Like a normal person would. This was what a normal person did. That was exciting on its own. Even with his increase studying, he has come to understand Hunk's terms for things he never knew previously. It was amazing.
And for five months, it was perfect.
Then it wasn't.
Why?
Because he met the most annoying person he has ever met in his sixteen years of life. Every time he saw his head, he would go back to when they first met.
It was just before class, and he was reviewing some of the work before the midterm exam. Sure, he was supposed to watch where he was walking, that was life's first rule. One he has come to not follow. Rushing and panicking student passed him and he stuck by the inner wall, and they became a distant memory. It was like a white noise match. There was nothing there to be distracted by. That was before he walked around that dreaded corner.
The punch like feeling in his abdomen, the air in his lungs escaping his body and the flying of his notes. His back met the ground with a thump, and the ringing of his head when it hit the floor. He groaned as he got up on his elbows. It was giving some mean PTSD with the fighting spars with his cruel aunties taking advantage to his "disability, aka gauntlets".
A second groaning met his ears, it was then he faced the asshole that bumped into him. Putting all of his weight on his left side, he used his free hand to rub his head, and to get a good view of said asshole. He opened his eyes and put them into a glare. Not quite Bat worthy, but close enough. His blue clashed with a strange purple.
"What the fuck, asshole"
The asshole's face was flushed as he glared him too, he would have scoffed. It was so weak.
"You were in the way" He forced out, already getting onto his knees. Leandro's lip curled in displeasure, at both the asshole and the mess of notes he had. He only has three minutes until the exam, and he's pretty sure he has a concussion.
"You were fucking running" Leandro argued back, already starting to pick up pages of notes he spent hours working on the past two weeks. The asshole growled and got up, his face still flushed and had gotten deeper.
As Leandro reached to the paper to his side a foot landed on it and kicked it forwards. Leandro's breath hitched and quickly turned to an insult ready to be released. His head snapped to the running figure down the hall, but it died on his lips.
The asshole has a mullet.
And it was so fucking ugly… he was speechless.
I love your comments! I plan to reply to all!
Big Geek
.com