The aviation museum was closed, the damage from the other day's battle evident in cracked windows and fallen debris. But the building remained structurally sound.
Hal made his way through the familiar halls, past displays of aviation history that now seemed quaint compared to the cosmic vessel that had brought Abin Sur to Earth. The Wright Brothers' first flight, Chuck Yeager breaking the sound barrier, the Apollo missions—all stepping stones to where he now stood, wearing an alien uniform and wielding power beyond human comprehension.
When he reached his father's display, he stopped, staring at the reconstructed X-27 with new eyes. The twisted metal seemed different now, not just a monument to loss but a reminder of how quickly everything could change.
"I don't know what I'm doing, Dad," he said quietly, his voice echoing in the empty hall. "Four days ago I was a test pilot with authority issues. Today I'm supposed to protect thousands of worlds. How did we get here?"
The silence of the museum pressed in around him, thick with memories and ghosts. Hal sat on the bench, head in his hands, feeling the weight of everything that had happened crushing down on him.
"I'm scared," he admitted to the empty room, the words coming easier in the darkness. "More scared than I've ever been. Not just of dying—that fear's been with me forever. I'm scared of failing. Of letting people down. Of not being good enough for this ring, this responsibility."
He looked up at the wreckage of his father's plane, the metal still bearing scorch marks from that terrible day. "You knew what you were doing. You had training, experience, skill. What do I have? A ring that thinks I can overcome great fear? Some joke. I live with fear. I breathe it. It's in every choice I make."
The emotion that had been building since Abin Sur's death finally broke through. Tears ran down Hal's face as twenty-two years of suppressed grief and fear poured out, his shoulders shaking with the force of it.
"I miss you, Dad. Every day. And now I'm terrified I'm going to end up just like you—pushing too hard, taking one risk too many, leaving people behind who need me."
The ring pulsed on his finger, responding to his emotional state. Without conscious direction, green energy began to flow from it, coalescing in the space before him. Hal watched in amazement as the energy took shape—not into a construct he was actively imagining, but into something pulled from his deepest memories.
Martin Jordan materialized before him, constructed from pure will and memory. Not the burned figure from his nightmares, but his father as he'd been in life—tall, confident, wearing his flight suit with casual grace. The construct was perfect in every detail, from the slight graying at his temples to the warm smile Hal remembered from childhood, the small scar above his left eyebrow from a test flight mishap, the way he always stood with his weight slightly on his right foot.
"Dad?" Hal whispered, knowing it wasn't real but unable to resist the illusion.
The construct spoke, its voice exactly as Hal remembered—that mixture of authority and warmth that had made Martin such an effective mentor to younger pilots.
"Hello, son."
Hal stood shakily, facing this manifestation of his memory and will. "You're not real. The ring is just... creating what I need to see."
"Does that make what I have to say any less true?" the construct asked, tilting its head in that familiar way. "I'm made from your memories, your understanding of who I was. Maybe that means I can tell you what you need to hear."
"I don't know what I need to hear," Hal admitted, wiping his face with the back of his hand. "I'm lost, Dad. This power, this responsibility—it's too much. I'm not ready."
"You weren't ready to watch me die, either," the construct observed gently. "But you survived it. You grew from it. You became a pilot despite the fear it gave you."
"Because of the fear," Hal corrected. "I've been trying to conquer it, to prove I could face what you faced."
"And have you?"
Hal gestured to his uniform, the ring. "I faced death and apparently passed some cosmic test. But I still feel the fear. Every moment. When I was fighting Atrocitus—that big red alien—I was terrified. My hands were shaking inside the constructs."
The construct smiled—that proud, knowing smile Hal remembered from his early flight lessons. "Good. Fear keeps you sharp, keeps you careful. It's what separates courage from recklessness."
"But what if I fail? What if I die like you did, pushing too hard?"
"Hal." The construct stepped closer, its form solid enough that when it placed a hand on Hal's shoulder, he could almost feel the warmth. "I didn't die because I pushed too hard. I died because machines fail. Because sometimes, despite our best efforts, things go wrong. You've been carrying guilt for something that was never your fault."
"I couldn't save you," Hal whispered, seven years old again in his heart.
"No one could. But you've saved yourself every day since by choosing to live, to fly, to face your fear rather than let it ground you." The construct gestured to the ring. "And now you've been chosen to save others. Not because you're fearless, but because you understand fear and choose to act despite it."
Hal felt tears on his face again. "I miss you so much."
"I know, son. And I've missed seeing the man you've become." The construct moved to sit on the bench, patting the space beside him. "Tell me about it. All of it. This ring, these aliens, this new life you've been thrust into."
Hal sat, the familiar gesture making his chest tight with memory. How many times had they sat like this, talking about flights, about life, about dreams?
"It started with a crash in the desert," Hal began. "This alien—Abin Sur—his ship went down near the old mining roads. The ring... it called to me somehow. Led me to him."
"And he gave you his ring?"
"He was dying. Said the ring chooses its bearer based on the ability to overcome great fear." Hal laughed hollowly. "If only he knew."
"Maybe he did," the construct suggested. "Tell me about this training you mentioned. These teachers."
"God, where do I start?" Hal ran a hand through his hair. "Kilowog—imagine a drill sergeant crossed with a rhino, about eight feet tall. He spent twelve hours straight trying to break me. Throwing constructs at me, testing my limits, calling me 'poozer'—which I think is an insult, but I'm not sure."
The construct chuckled. "Sounds like Sergeant Henderson from flight school."
"Henderson was a teddy bear compared to Kilowog. But he's good at what he does. Pushed me harder than I've ever been pushed. Made me understand that the ring isn't just a weapon—it's a responsibility."
"Who else?"
"Tomar-Re. He's... different. Looks like a bird crossed with a fish, but wise. Patient. He taught me about the Corps' history, about what it means to be a Lantern. He lost his own sector once—carries that weight with him. Taught me that failure isn't the end, it's a lesson."
"Wise words," the construct nodded. "Anyone else?"
"K'rok—he's this massive warrior from the Shi'ar Empire. Terrifying in combat, but surprisingly philosophical. He taught me that power without purpose is just destruction. That every action we take ripples across the universe."
"And this Sinestro you mentioned to your brother?"
Hal's expression darkened. "Sinestro is... complicated. He's considered the greatest Green Lantern. Brilliant, disciplined, utterly dedicated to order. But there's something about him that bothers me. The way his own people fear him. The way he talks about control rather than protection."
"Trust your instincts, son. They've never led you wrong in the cockpit."
"That's just it—everything's different now. The stakes are so much higher. One wrong decision could affect millions of lives across multiple worlds."
"The stakes were always high," the construct reminded him. "Every test flight you took could have ended in disaster. Every experimental aircraft you pushed to its limits could have failed. The scale is different, but the principle is the same."
Hal nodded slowly. "I guess. But it's not just the Corps. These Red Lanterns—they're powered by rage. Lost their entire sector billions of years ago to some massacre. Now they're out for revenge, and Earth got caught in the middle."
"Because of you?"
"Because the ring chose me. Because somehow, Earth is important to whatever's coming. The Guardians—the beings who created the Corps—they're not telling me everything. There's something bigger happening, and I'm just a piece on a board I can't even see."
The construct was quiet for a moment. "Heavy burden for anyone. How's the family handling it?"
Hal's expression softened. "The boys think it's the coolest thing ever. Jim's trying to be supportive, but I can see the worry in his eyes. He's got that lawyer face on, like he's calculating risks and outcomes."
"He gets that from your mother."
"Yeah. And Mom..." Hal sighed. "She's terrified. Tries to hide it, but I can see it. She already lost you to flying. Now she might lose me to something even more dangerous."
"Jessica's stronger than you know. She held you boys together after I died. Kept the family whole when everything was falling apart."
"I know. But I hate adding to her worry. And then there's Carol."
The construct's expression grew knowing. "Ah. Carol Ferris. Still dancing around each other after all these years?"
"It's complicated."
"It always was with you two. What's holding you back now?"
Hal was quiet for a long moment, staring at his hands. "I'm afraid I'll do to her what you did to Mom. Leave her alone. Leave her with nothing but memories and a folded flag."
"Hal—"
"No, let me finish. I saw what losing you did to Mom. How she jumped every time the phone rang for years after. How she couldn't watch us fly kites without crying. How she begged me not to become a pilot." His voice cracked. "I can't do that to Carol. I won't."
The construct leaned back, studying his son. "You think I didn't have the same fears? You think I didn't lie awake at night worrying about leaving your mother alone with three boys to raise?"
"Then why did you keep flying?"
"Because not flying would have been a different kind of death. Because your mother knew who I was when she married me. She knew the risks and chose to love me anyway." The construct's voice grew gentle. "Just like Carol knows who you are. She's not asking you to stop flying, Hal. She's asking you to let her in."
"But now it's not just test flights. It's cosmic threats, alien invasions, responsibilities I barely understand."
"And she stood by you through all of it yesterday. Drove out to the desert when you disappeared. Faced down government agents to find out what happened to you."
Hal's head dropped. "I know. She deserves better."
"She deserves the truth. She deserves to make her own choice about what risks she's willing to take."
"Like Mom did?"
"Exactly like your mother did. And despite everything that happened, despite the pain of losing me, do you think she regrets it?"
Hal thought about his mother's face whenever she talked about the early days of her marriage, the light that still came into her eyes when she remembered their father. "No. No, she doesn't."
"Then trust Carol to make the same choice. Trust her to be strong enough to love you, dangers and all."
They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of years of unspoken fears finally lifting.
"The ring shows me things sometimes," Hal said quietly. "Possible futures. In some of them, I die out there. In space, fighting threats I can barely comprehend."
"And in others?"
"In others, I save worlds. Protect innocent lives. Make a difference on a scale I never imagined possible."
"Which future do you want to focus on?"
Hal looked at the construct—his father, his memory, his conscience made manifest. "The one where I make a difference. Where the fear doesn't stop me from doing what needs to be done."
"Then that's your answer. About the ring, about Carol, about all of it." The construct stood, offering Hal a hand up. "Fear is your co-pilot, son. Always has been. The question is: who's flying the plane?"
Hal took the offered hand, standing to face this echo of his father. "I am."
"Damn right you are." The construct began to fade, its form becoming translucent. "I'm proud of you, Hal. Always have been. Always will be."
"Dad, wait—"
"One more thing," the construct said, its voice growing fainter. "Your mother needs to know you're okay. Really okay. She's been carrying her own guilt, her own fear. Help her let go like you're learning to."
"I will. I promise."
"And Hal? Stop visiting my crash every year. I'm not there. I'm in every flight you take, every life you save, every fear you face. That's where you'll find me."
The construct dissolved completely, leaving Hal alone in the museum. But something had shifted inside him. The crushing weight of fear and doubt hadn't disappeared, but it felt... manageable now. Like a force to be harnessed rather than overcome.
Hal wiped his face, taking a deep breath. The ring pulsed contentedly on his finger, as if satisfied with the breakthrough it had facilitated.
"Thank you," he said quietly, whether to the ring, to his father's memory, or to himself, he wasn't sure.
He stood for another moment, looking at the reconstructed X-27. For the first time in twenty-two years, it felt less like a tomb and more like a memorial. A reminder not of how his father died, but of how he lived.
Outside, the night air was cool against his face. Hal lifted off gently, the ring's energy surrounding him in a protective aura. The city stretched out below, its lights a constellation of human life he was now sworn to protect.
The flight back to the safehouse took longer than necessary. Hal found himself circling the city, looking down at the streets where he'd grown up, the beaches where his father had taught him to fly kites, the airfield where his life had changed forever—twice now.
When he finally landed in the safehouse's backyard, he found Faraday waiting on the patio, a tablet in hand and his perpetual expression of mild concern firmly in place.
"Jordan," Faraday greeted him. "Productive day?"
"You could say that." Hal dismissed his uniform with a thought, the green energy dissolving to reveal his civilian clothes underneath. "Just needed some time to think."
"Understandable. However, there's been a development. Director Fury is ready to see you. He's at our facility downtown—the one that officially doesn't exist."
"Now?"
"He's been waiting for several hours. Apparently, your conversation is a matter of some urgency."
Hal nodded, unsurprised. After the events of the past day, he'd expected this. "My family?"
"Still under protection. They'll be safe here for as long as necessary."
"Give me five minutes to say goodbye."
"Of course. The car will be waiting out front."
Hal went inside, finding his family gathered in the living room. His mother looked up as he entered, her expression immediately reading the situation.
"You have to go," she said. Not a question.
"Yeah. Government debriefing. Might take a while."
Jessica stood, crossing to embrace him. "Be careful."
"Always am."
"No," she said firmly, pulling back to look him in the eye. "You're not. But maybe... maybe that's okay. Your father wasn't careful either. It's what made him who he was."
The echo of his conversation with the construct made Hal's throat tight. "Mom, I—"
"I know," she interrupted. "We'll talk when you get back. Really talk. It's time."
He hugged his brothers, his sister-in-law, his nephews—who made him promise to show them more construct dinosaurs—and finally Carol, who walked him to the door.
"Fury's not known for his gentle interrogation technique," she warned.
"I'll be fine. I've faced worse than a one-eyed super spy recently."
"Have you?" She studied his face. "You seem... different. Calmer."
"I had a good conversation with an old friend," Hal said. "Helped put things in perspective."
Carol's expression softened with understanding. "I'm glad."
"When I get back, we need to talk too. Really talk. About us, about the future, about... everything."
"I'd like that."
Impulsively, Hal leaned in and kissed her cheek. "See you soon."
Outside, a black SUV idled at the curb. Faraday held the rear door open, his expression unreadable.
"Ready, Jordan?"
Hal took one last look at the safehouse, at the normal life he was leaving behind once again. But this time, it didn't feel like running away. It felt like running toward something.
"Ready," he confirmed, sliding into the vehicle.
As they pulled away from the curb, the ring pulsed softly on his finger. Whatever Fury wanted, whatever challenges lay ahead, Hal felt prepared to face them. Not without fear—never without fear—but with the understanding that fear was just another force to be directed, like thrust or lift or drag.
His father's words echoed in his mind: "Fear is your co-pilot, son. The question is: who's flying the plane?"
For the first time in twenty-two years, Hal knew the answer.
He was flying. And he was ready for whatever came next.