Disclaimer: I do not own the Power Rangers, and never will. I'm just borrowing them for a while.
The Weakest Color
Prologue
He was standing on what remained of the land surrounding SPD headquarters, the ground scorched and blackened. Smoke stained the skies red, and the wind echoed with distant sounds of battle, now fading into the distance. The ruins of SPD headquarters rose behind him, its smoking, broken form a testament to the brave, and ultimately futile last stand of Earth's defenders.
Around him were strewn the still forms of the Power Rangers; red and blue, pink and shadow, their bodies and morphers broken and shattered, the blank look of death now replacing the one of hatred that had seared across their faces only moments ago.
Only Z, the yellow ranger, remained. She knelt before him, already de-morphed in defeat. Mustering the last of her strength, she stared up at him defiantly, the fire in her eyes not extinguished by either tragedy, or betrayal. "Why?" She whispered. "Why have you done this?"
'I'm sorry.' He wanted to say, but his voice failed him, even as he raised his weapon to deal her a killing blow.
He did not hesitate. There was too much at stake. "You have done well," whispered a sinister voice in his head. And Bridge screamed in anguish.
"Bridge? Bridge! It's only a dream!" Rough hands shook him, rousing him from his nightmare. "Wake up!"
"Sky?" Bridge asked blearily, blinking to hear the haze from his eyes. The full impact of his dream suddenly hit him, and Bridge bolted to his feet, looking around in panic.
Sky stifled an urge to reach out towards his frightened roommate, realizing that it might be unwise considering his team-mate's psychic powers. Bridge simply stared at him, like had had just seen a ghost.
'Maybe he did.' Sky considered, yawning slightly. Bridge's nightmares had steadily become more violent and frequent, and Sky had found it increasingly difficult to sleep through the night. 'I should speak to someone else about this,' he thought, reminding himself to have a word with Kat in the morning.
But for now, his friend needed him. Bridge looked every bit as exhausted as Sky felt, and he trembled slightly, his muscles tensed in a fighting posture. "Take it easy, Bridge." Sky repeated. "It was only a dream."
Bridge relaxed imperceptibly. "But ...it seemed so real..." Sky waited for him to elaborate, but the Green Ranger said nothing more, a heavy silence falling between them.
"Do you want to tell me what it was about?" Sky prompted, not truly expecting an answer. Bridge, always a consummate talker, had been extremely close-lipped when it came to the content of his nightmares, and weeks later the blue ranger was no closer to finding an answer. "It might make you feel better..."
"No!" Bridge shouted, and then immediately felt guilty for his harsh reaction. Cringing slightly, he continued in a softer tone. "No. I...I have to leave." And with that he fled the room, grabbing a green sweatshirt on his way out.
Sky frowned, bemused, and settled back into his bed. Sleep, however, eluded him. "Why don't you trust me, Bridge?" He thought, hurt more than he cared to admit. "Why won't you tell me what's wrong?"
Bridge ran. He ran until he reached the rec room, where he turned on all the lights, as if to banish the terrors of his dreams. Throwing himself on the couch, he panted with exertion and distress. The ever-present whisper of foreign thoughts and feelings grew to a deafening cacophony, and then faded to the background as Bridge calmed himself, and reasserted a tenuous control. Sighing in relief, he glanced at the clock.
3:42 AM.
'2 more hours,' he thought, 'and I will have made it through another night.'
Rising to his feet, he walked to the attached kitchen, intent of making himself some toast. Toast always made him feel better. It was so crispy and ...buttery. Bridge unconsciously wriggled his fingers at the thought, grinning with pleasure, only to sober immediately at the thought of his dream. He could no more divine their source than he could tell his friends of their content. 'Maybe it's a premonition.'
'No,' he reasoned, arguing with himself. 'I would never betray my friends. It's just ...stress, probably.'
'Or maybe I'm dreaming someone else's dreams, and that someone is dreaming of killing the Rangers. Someone like Gruumm. Or Mora.'
'I wonder if Gruumm dreams...' he idly wondered, taking a bite from his toast. Even evil galaxy conquering monsters must dream sometimes. It was a biological fact. Bridge shook his head, returning to his previous train of thought. "Someone else's dream," he rationalized aloud, unwilling to even consider the alternative. "That makes sense."
But try as he might, he could not shake the terrible sense of foreboding, or the fear that he would somehow be responsible for the downfall of the Power Rangers.
A/N: Like it? Hate it? Please review.