So after Shane leaves the Metros, the team starts sending out Hayden Pike to do press to cover their asses and keep their more asshole-ish players from saying slurs in front of reporters.
After one inconsequential game, a reporter asks about what Coach Theriault and Hayden think of the future of hockey with their former star player playing with his husband. Theriault says some shitty PR nothing answer laced with so much disdain that Hayden just. can't. take. anymore.
Obviously his team wants him to shit-talk his best friend and de facto brother-in-law who happen to be playing the best hockey of a generation (he will never let Ilya know he thinks this). The reporter obviously is chomping at the bit for a "dissension in the locker room" story that will make his life even more miserable. So, fuck the both of them.
"and how about you Hayden, what do you think about the future of hockey with Hollander and Rozanov?"
"Well, I think they should get on having kids, like surrogacy or adoption of something"
Dead silence, the reporter blinks in confusion. He can feel the glare coming off Theriault burning into the side of his face. He doesn’t turn his head and blithely goes on.
“Yeah, specifically 3 girls. I have 3 girls so if they have 3 girls, we’d have a whole hockey team to start in the pee-wees and get to the PWHL. My Ruby would obviously be a defender. She’d spend her whole life in the box, but she'd be such a good enforcer, especially if she was playing with her sisters. Jade is sneaky fast, so forward for her. And I know Amber is a baby, but I swear she’s got goalie eyes. My son Arthur is already the peacemaker of the family, so Uncle Shane could start training him up on all the rules so he can be our ref. But Shane and Ilya would have to get themselves another defender and a right or left wing with a center. Yep, that’s the future in hockey I’d love to see with Hollander and Rozanov”
Thus Hayden makes headlines bigger than any other time in his whole career. His time in the locker room does get shittier, but it’s all worth it for the call from Shane telling him that Ilya loved his vision of the future so much he cried looking at baby girl names online and researching PWHL teams.
rocky learning about last names is one of the most stressful days of grace's life on the way to erid.
it starts with them watching a movie, maybe the devil wears prada, and a little way through the movie rocky asks why miranda has two names. is it because she's more important?
grace, already anticipating a long conversation, says no, all humans have two names. everyone's just scared of miranda because her two names are really well known.
"grace have another name and not tell rocky?!" rocky asks, incensed. "what names mean, question? why two?"
"well," grace explains, "your first name is the name your parents give you at birth. usually people call you by your first name, especially if you're close. except in... some situations, i guess," he says, remembering stratt's vat. nobody had called him ryland there, but he still felt pretty close to all of them.
"and second name?" rocky prompts.
"right - last names correlate to your family. when you're born, you take your family name so that people know who you're related to. it also helps differentiate between two people with the same first name."
"so what grace last name, question?" rocky asks. grace blanches a little.
"uhh... grace is my last name, rock," he says, sheepishly.
"what?!" rocky yells. grace winces. "grace not tell rocky grace first name? grace not close with rocky? grace hate rocky?"
"no!" grace protests. "of course i don't hate you! don't say that!" maybe it's stupid, but grace does actually feel a little hurt by the insinuation.
"then why not tell rocky?!"
grace sighs. "i don't know, rock. i mean - when i met you i barely knew up from down, much less what my name meant to me. and i kept getting these memories and everyone kept calling me grace, and i just, i haven't been called ryland in so long it doesn't really feel like my name anymore."
rocky ruminates on this for a moment. then: "...ryland is grace first name, question?"
"yeah."
"rocky like grace better." grace deflates with relief. "yeah, me too, buddy."
"but," rocky says, "rocky want last name too now."
huh. okay, then.
"i guess i could figure that out," grace agrees. "we could give you movie rocky's last name? you wanna be rocky balboa?"
"mm, no," rocky says.
"okay, well we could go region based, i guess. where'd you grow up? i can make up something fitting, or i can look something up on my computer, i'm sure there's places on earth that are similar to places on erid -"
"no," rocky interrupts. "want grace."
"...huh?"
"rocky want grace last name."
grace is suddenly feeling very, very flushed. "you what??"
"last name is family name, question?"
"well, yeah, but -"
"and rocky grace family now. so rocky want grace family name!"
...well, when he says it like THAT, it's so much more innocent. grace... well, he agrees, because what else is he gonna say? that rocky should know that that that's as good as a marriage proposal?
no, that takes too much cultural context, and a longer conversation than he wants to have right now. easier to just let rocky have it. it's not like there'll be any consequences to bite him in the ass, right?
shane hollander is not homophobic. hayden’s pretty sure. solidly 85% sure. mostly very sure. he’s a good dude! he never makes those types of jokes and he has a gay friend, some figure skater he grew up with, and he had recently told rose that while he’d never seen the movie moonlight, he knew it won a lot of awards. so yeah. shane hollander is not homophobic.
but then. okay, a few years ago, hayden had asked if shane wanted to go to pride with him and jackie. shane had said no. no big deal. shane says no to most invites to loud, sweaty, places where he might have to say hi to fan or eat processed food.
shane hollander is not homophobic.
then again. shane hollander never fights. he certainly doesn’t instigate. but he had. he had swung on scott hunter after the end of play. at the time, hayden had asked shane why he picked a fight with scott hunter of all people (a lot of people called shane boring & uptight. hayden had always thought this was really unfair because shane was secretly very funny. he just didn’t like strangers. as far as hayden could tell, hunter was actually boring & uptight, but he got away with it because his play was so inconsistent it gave the illusion of him being interesting).
so the fight was weird. what was weirder, is how shane bristled and mumbled something about the fight being “personal” and “the principle of the thing.” hayden chalked it all up to stress. until now, as he sits, listening to scott hunter accept his mvp award, as the first out gay NHL player.
the thoughts float across hayden’s mind like a wispy clouds. wow, imagine the vitriol scott has heard over the years. heartbreaking, hayden thinks. i wonder if other players knew about him, hayden thinks. shane had the room next to his at a few league events. i wonder if shane knew, hayden thinks. god that fight was so weird. hayden stops thinking.
shane hollander is not homophobic.
now the thoughts fell like petulant rain.
he didn’t go to pride because he’s well. shane’s never shared a diagnosis so it’s really not hayden’s place to speculate. besides the point. shane hollander literally has a gay friend. the figure skater. hayden googles furiously. the figure skater, taylor, is married to a woman. shane is tagged in their wedding photos. so shane hollander has a closeted gay friend in a fake marriage. god, that must be hard. shane is a terrible liar; it must be hard for him to support the union. maybe that’s what the fight was about, like scott knew taylor, like from the closet? wait. no. not a thing. where did hayden even hear taylor was gay from? did he just assume all figure skaters were gay? oh god. hayden’s homophobic. hayden and shane. two homophobic best friends. neither of whom had any intention of seeing moonlight.
mercifully, hayden’s thoughts were slowed by sudden applause. scott was done speaking, apparently.
Grace and Rocky, giving a tour of the Hail Mary to fascinated Eridian scientists and diplomats.
Pointing at things and explaining what they are and how the ship works, lots of awed and appreciative noises are made.
Until one of the visiting Eridians points out a specific item. “And that?”
It’s a strange, circular thing, a xenonite disk mounted upright on some sort of pivot so it can spin freely, but around the edges it has… spokes? Pegs? Sticking out of it, that hit against a stiff flap that would slow down the spinning.
It is also separated into sections decorated with crude etchings of a human and an Eridian.
“Ah,” Grace says.
“That,” Rocky says.
“That’s. Um.” Grace seems somewhat embarrassed. “That’s the sacrifice wheel.”
The Eridian visitors clearly do not know what to make of that. “We think we misunderstood Savior Grace’s word,” they say, apparently hoping this is a vocabulary mix-up. “Explain (question, polite)?”
“Didn’t misunderstand,” says Rocky, sounding very sheepish. “That is sacrifice wheel.”
“So. While we were on our way to Erid, we might have gotten… anxious about each other’s well-being,” Grace says, which everyone is already very aware is a wild understatement. “And, well, you heard what happened at Tau Ceti, and after. There were a lot of unexpected dangers for the whole trip that required a lot of, at least, attempted self-sacrifice to solve. We ended up almost dying for each other several times. And we had an argument about what we’d do if another crisis like that came up. And we couldn't agree.”
“Grace argued that Grace already was unlikely to survive long-term on Erid, so he should be the one to do any potential deadly but necessary maneuvers to make sure I was able to bring taumoeba back,” Rocky says.
“Which made sense.”
“Did not make sense! Grace already sacrificed so much for me and for Erid, wouldn’t be fair to make you do it again—“ Rocky cuts himself off with a huff. They have obviously had this conversation before. “So sacrifice wheel was compromise.”
“Yeah,” Grace says. He spins it to demonstrate; it whirls around in a blur and a rattle of the flap hitting the pegs, then eventually slows down, and stops—pointing at the segment depicting a very bad but very clear image of an Eridian. “Rocky made the wheel, I spin the wheel, and whoever it lands on, that’s who gets to sacrifice themself to save the other and the other person does not get to argue. This way, we wouldn’t waste time debating who does the self-sacrifice and who survives, it’s just a plain fifty-fifty chance. Or, eighteen-eighteen chance in base six. But the point is it could be either of us and we would have to accept the outcome.”
Rocky started fidgeting while Grace was explaining. When Grace finishes, proud of the equitable solution they came up with to allow them to die for each other fairly, Rocky says, “Now that we are back and we don’t need sacrifice wheel anymore… I have confession to make. About the wheel.”
“What about the wheel?”
Rocky doesn’t answer. Grace frowns, first confused, then suspicious, and spins the wheel again.
It lands on Rocky again.
He spins the wheel again, and again, and again, and it lands on Rocky every single time.
“Rocky!”
“I weighted the wheel,” Rocky admits.
“Rocky the whole point was that it was equal, that was why we even made it—“
“Never was necessary so doesn’t matter anymore!”
“But you WOULD have!”
“And you never noticed because you were hungry and cranky and distracted and so would have done bad job on heroic self-sacrifice anyway!”
“I would not! I would have done fine!”
(The Eridian scientists and diplomats are still here watching this btw. Slowly dawning on them that 1) these two are extremely not normal about each other 2) if Erid ever does another space mission they NEED to send a therapist aboard because this is what happens when they don’t)
When Dick was a teenager and at odds with Bruce, he tried to get a piercing as a form of rebellion. He heard from his friends that their parents totally flipped, so he got himself an earring.
Blue, gaudy, and bedazzled.
When he showed up to the manor with it, he made sure to strut in front of Jason and pretend he didn’t care that his little brother was practically fawning over how cool he looked.
The moment Bruce came into the room, Dick was expecting a huge confrontation and a yelling match, like his friends had all said would happen.
Instead, Bruce lit up and smiled at Dick before leaving the room in a hurry.
Jason and Dick exchanged confused glances before Bruce came back holding a picture and beaming proudly.
The picture is of teen Bruce with a whole bunch of piercings, looking like an ethereal vampire. Snake bites that made it look like he had fangs, industrial, lobe, septum, bridge, etc. Just a lot.
The boys are slack-jawed at their Dad looking like that while Bruce is fondly telling him about all the piercings he had and how he wished he had more, but Alfred wouldn’t let him
“I also had a belly piercing. Ollie convinced me to get that one back at boarding school.” Bruce said wistfully, reminiscing about his intense goth era when he didn’t have to worry too much about public perception.
Dick is mortified because for more than half a second he actually thought his Dad was super cool again. Jason is ooh-ing and awe-ing at the picture.
When Dick does back his apartment, he considers taking the piercing out and letting the hole close up, but he feels slightly bad since Bruce was trying to connect with him.
“Yes, hello. Umm, you know the crazy knife-wielding guy that’s been all over the news?”
“Yes, Sir? Do you have information for us?”
“Uh… yeah. Last seen about a block away from the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. He’s about 5’11, wearing all black clothes, but his hoodie has a red circle in the middle, kinda smells like moldy cheese, and his weapon is actually a six-inch serrated knife.”
The dispatcher on the other line paused. “Sir.” She said gently, her words soft and slow. “How do you know this? Are you okay?”
Dennis pauses and takes a moment to answer. “Oh… he got me.”
“He… got you?” Furious typing on her end. “Sir, does that mean you’ve been stabbed?”
Dennis nodded before remembering this was a phone call, and she couldn’t see him. “Yup. Twice cause I wouldn’t go down after the first one. No biggie. Ha.” He immediately regrets trying to make a joke and laugh, his side burning in a way he’s never felt before.
As he shuffles through the alleyway, his foot accidentally hits a metal trash can, causing a loud bang that reverberates painfully through his skull.
“A-are you moving? Please try to stay in place if you’re in a safe area! And-“
“Put pressure on the wound, I know, I’m a doctor.” Whitaker interrupted, wincing slightly from not only the debilitating pain but from how egotistical that sentence sounded.
“Sir-“
“Don’t worry, I actually work in the ER, so I’m just gonna walk myself over there.” Dennis tries to reassure the lady, taking a moment to pause and lean against the side of a building. All the movement he was doing was really increasing the burn; it didn't help that he had to put himself in more pain by putting pressure on the wounds.
“It’s funny cause I just got out of work and the only reason I’m walking is cause my roommate has a date and couldn’t drive me. My roommate also works with me, by the way… I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”
“Sir, please wait until I call an ambulance for you-“
“Oh no, thank you!” Dennis quickly said. “I can barely afford new clothes, an ambulance would put me under way faster than my stab wounds.”
That was kinda funny, even if it was the truth.
“Okay… I can see the ER, so I’m gonna hang up now. Umm, thank you for…” Dennis grunted, his words slurred slightly. He was too tired to continue speaking, his vision starting to blur around the edges, and his entire body was buzzing unnaturally.
He hung up his phone, his ears ringing too loudly to understand what the dispatcher was shouting from the other side, and stumbled through the ambulance bay.
It was an honest miracle that Dennis managed to stumble his way to the Hub, a trail of blood following his every stumbling step. His side no longer hurt, but his hand was getting numb from trying to press on two separate stab wounds.
Oh, looks like Robby was still doing the handoff to Jack. His boyfriends' looked so cute talking to each other, even if he couldn’t really make out their faces, and their bodies looked wiggly. And Dana was also there? It was getting hard to tell the different-sized blobs apart.
It looked like the day shift was still there, which made sense. Dennis did make sure to leave a little earlier for his walk home.
Suddenly, a blob that suspiciously sounded like Trinity but was underwater rushed toward him just as his body was giving out.
“Sorry… got… stabbed.” Dennis groaned, blood suddenly bubbling up past his lips. Shit, an injury to his lung. That was not ideal in the slightest.
“Hey, Whit, stay with me, man.” Dennis blinked, surprised by the sudden appearance of Langdon right before him. He could’ve sworn it was only Trinity around him. Now there are so many familiar blobs.
Mel, Mohan, Donnie, McKay, and even Victoria happened to be there. Which was weird cause he was only 23% sure night shift would have already started. Or maybe not. Time was slipping away from him.
He blinked again, and suddenly Dana was holding his hand, gently cupping his cheek and looking down at him with a strained smile. He could feel his body moving, so he must’ve been on a gurney.
Another blink.
Robby and Jack never looked good when they worried; it was his least favorite expression from them. He gurgled, wanting to reach out to them, but his body wasn’t responding.
“Shh, baby.” Jack turns and immediately comes to his side, Robby following seconds later. “You’re gonna be okay. Everyone’s gonna take great care of you. You've got some pretty hefty damage going on.”
“We’re gonna have to intubate you, love.” Robby’s voice sounded rough, as if he were doing the best he could to stop himself from crying. “You’re gonna be okay, you’re our fighter, Den.”
“I’m so sorry, Dennis.” Oh. Trinity was also there. Why was she crying? She hates crying.
“I-I should’ve just driven you. Fuck-! I’m so sorry. You better fucking wake up after this, you hear me? I’ll never fucking forgive myself if you don’t.” Dennis could feel light pressure on his hand; maybe Trinity was squeezing it, and he did his best to squeeze back.
Trinity let out a soft, wet laugh, feeling the light flutter of his hand trying to reciprocate, before looking up at the two attendings and nodding.
Dennis felt a small prick before exhaustion took over. Anesthesia before intubation. He was going under. He was getting put on oxygen because one of his stab wounds, or maybe both, pierced his lung and caused damage. He was going to have intensive surgery.
Fuck, he really hoped he would wake up.
He had just found a place where he was starting to feel like he belonged. He couldn’t lose it already. He just couldn’t.
people always ask “why doesn’t nightwing compete in the olympics?” like babe. he did. accidentally.
it started because bruce said “maybe go to college” and dick heard “develop a new personality and flee the country”. next thing anyone knows he’s in romania qualifying for men’s artistic gymnastics under a fake name. the funniest part is he’s the adopted son of one of the most photographed billionaires on earth. “who is this mysterious gymnast? 😍” would last approximately six minutes before anyone chronically online goes “?? isn't that??? richard grayson???”. (it is quite literally the worst-kept open secret in history). (the fake name didn’t last very long).
and still, everyone pretends it’s normal. like, yeah. of course the acrobat heir to the wayne empire ran away to do elite gymnastics on a global stage. that tracks.
except the olympic committee is sweating through their suits because how do you deal with someone who is
a global celebrity and established philanthropist
actually qualified athletically
also somehow immune to media training
because dick will just casually give post-routine interviews like: “i train about 6 hours a day, plus core, flexibility, patrol… uh, patrolling my thoughts :) mental patrol. positive patrol. yeah.” the press laughs because they think he’s joking. bruce is at home gripping the armrest and tearing out his hair
they try to put him through media prep because they want gotham to have SOME good press but dick just does not get the memo. like he genuinely believes he’s nailing it while saying things like: “yeah no, i don’t really get nervous. i just pretend i’m vaulting over a burning car haha.”
fans are making thirst edits, sports analysts are crying, and every commentator opens their segment with “yes, that richard grayson.”
and every time he does a routine, there’s always like one move that’s not illegal so much as “the FIG code of points literally does not know how to categorize that.” the judges just quietly agree to let it slide because there is no rule that says “the gymnast may not perform a vigilante-adjacent aerial manoeuvre.” and through all of it dick is genuinely just trying his best and being stupidly sincere and uncompetitive like “i’m just grateful to be here :)” while absolutely assassinating the scoreboard.
clark interviews him once for the olympics broadcast (good ol’ “family friend” nepotism) and is sweating the entire time because this is his most globally televised story yet like do not mention batman. do not mention acrobat double life. do not mention chasing a dude off a train last tuesday.
and dick just smiles like sunshine and says “i don’t really believe in limits. b says pain is temporary and so is death if you have the right connections” and clark nearly chokes on-air.
he wins medals, gives one to alfred, and spends the after-party dodging wealthy diplomats from subtly asking if he’d like to join the CIA
Consider: Post-canon Zuko wakes up in the body of his childhood self, the morning of That War Meeting. Would he still speak against the plans, knowing his fate? What do you think he would do differently the second time around?
"Turned away at the doors, Zuzu?"
"Shut up, Azula," her brother sulked. But sulked weirdly, after staring at her too long and too wide-eyed, not like she'd surprised him but--
But like he hadn't expected her to be there. At all.
He turned away. ...He turned back. "Hey, Lala? Do you think you could help me practice that one set?"
He didn't meet her eyes.
She narrowed hers. "Which set?"
"The one I'm bad at."
She scoffed. Pushed away from the wall she'd been leaning against. "That's all of them, Dum-Dum."
He didn't shout or stomp or yell about the nickname. His lips twitched.
"It's okay," he said. "If you're afraid you won't be a better teacher that my instructor..."
It was the most obvious manipulation ever.
Perhaps if he proved an adequate firebending student, she'd work on his courtly survival skills next. Honestly, it was good that not even Uncle Gets-Cousins-Killed had been fool enough to take Zuko into that war meeting. She could only imagine how terribly that could have gone.
"Keep up," she said, and turned her steps towards the training grounds.
He did. There, and during the katas she ran him through.
Azula kept her eyes narrowed.
"Hey," he asked, "do you know how to bend lightning yet?"
As if he could have missed it, if she'd been able to get more than sparks. "I will soon," she said.
"You will," he agreed, and flowed through his next set. The one she'd only just mastered.
Father didn't notice how weird Zuzu was being. Uncle never noticed anything. Zuko ate dinner and asked a servant for seconds and didn't stutter or flinch or lose his appetite when father asked, coolly, what he'd done with his day. Azula's shoulders tensed, because one mention of how she'd squandered her own training time teaching him--
"Azula hogged the training grounds. For hours," Zuzu scowled, exactly like a petulant thirteen year old.
Exactly like he hadn't been acting all day.
By the time Father was looking her way, Azula had her usual smirk in place. "I'm sure there would be room for both of us," she said, "you're not afraid of a little friendly fire, are you, brother?"
Zuko sulked. And ate his seconds, like he was enjoying each bite. There was something in his eyes, like a joke no one else was getting.
---
Father died that night. A heart attack. There were the faintest of burns to either side of the treacherous organ; the royal physician hypothesized that he'd grabbed at his chest, fingers burning hot in his final moments; so hot they'd only exacerbated the problem.
The royal physician would never have been brought any victims of lighting strikes. Those that occurred in the capital did not generally require a doctor in the aftermath.
Zuzu ate a hearty breakfast.
He didn't order seconds. Azula gave him points, at least, for not being tacky.
---
The sages named Iroh as regent.
They named Zuko as Fire Lord.
"No," the tiny Fire Lord in his perfectly miniaturized Fire Lord robes said, sitting at the head of his war council. "We're not doing that. And I'll be reviewing all recent battle plans, as well. What's this I hear about a division of new recruits being deployed to the front?"
He did not mention how he'd heard of the 41st Division. No one asked.
"Prince Iroh, surely--" one of the generals tried to appeal.
The young Fire Lord's regent was looking as startled as the rest of them, for a moment. Then he sipped his tea, and smiled.
"Your Fire Lord is correct, of course. A change in our leadership--a change the other nations may mistakenly view as weakness--will necessitate a change in our strategy."
"Now," said their lord, "what, exactly, is our overall objective in this war?"
War, the new Fire Lord decreed, was not an end unto itself.
---
The new Fire Lord continued to have time, to pretend to be trained by her. Azula watched him. Adjusted her footwork. Did not tolerate, and was not offered, any commentary on who was teaching who.
"What did you do with my brother?" she asked, as they flowed from one set to the next. As her hands, poised to throw fire, just so happened to be pointed his way.
He missed a step. It didn't look like an act.
"I'm, uh. Right here?"
She didn't bother to dignify that.
He didn't bother to look worried about her hands, one movement off from a true attack.
He looked around, then grabbed her sleeve, and tugged her further from any walls that may hide ears. The royal family's private training grounds were wonderfully large, and wonderfully open.
"It's me," he said. "It's still me. Just. More of me? Longer of me?"
She narrowed her eyes. A familiar expression, by this point. "Explain."
"...I found the Avatar," he said. "And this is definitely his fault, but--but I guess it started at a war meeting, when I was thirteen."
