SOTW: Gabe (Bryce/Jared, Canucks); trenches (pt 1)
For the prompt: Outside POV of the end of the last chapter of Jared
You’ll be getting these for the next four days: I think needless to say, there are massive spoilers for the latest part of IJ(aoe) here.
I’m counting these four stories as my August 18th SOTW as well (I’m visiting my dad then, and I'm assuming you guys are okay with 4k of Gabe POV of this for the price of two stories of the week? I think it’s a good deal, at least!)
Gabe sees it coming, but only for a split second. Doesn’t expect it, because he shouldn’t — Jared’s not eligible, the puck already long gone, the hit illegal even if it wasn’t interference, late, high, primary contact with the head: you name it, the hit has it. And Gabe can only watch.
Jared goes down, hard, hard enough Gabe knows he wasn’t controlling that fall, that he was stunned at best, at worst he’s — Gabe refuses to think about at worst — and before the ref even blows the whistle Gabe’s broken position and skated over to him, dropping to his knees. Jared’s eyes are shut, but he’s conscious, thank fuck, face screwed up in pain.
“Don’t move your head,” Gabe says, when it looks like Jared’s about to brace himself to sit up, finds himself repeating it like a mantra. Thousands of kilometres away he was helpless, but breathing distance away leaves him helpless too. It makes no difference.
“Can you open your eyes?” Gabe says, and Jared’s lashes flutter before he grimaces and squeezes his eyes shut again.
“Too bright,” he says.
“Okay, that’s okay, you’re fine,” Gabe says. “You’re fine, okay Jared?”
“I’m fine,” Jared repeats, more an echo than actual reassurance.
“You’re perfectly fine,” Gabe says back. Apparently he has a new mantra. Why the fuck is Gabe the one dealing with this, he’s not a doctor, all he has is a hockey management degree from Athabasca, which qualifies him for absolutely nothing.
Graham lands across from Gabe, and Gabe’s chest loosens a bit, loosens more when he establishes Jared can move his hands and feet, and he has never been so relieved to hear someone be sarcastic, and his boyfriend’s Stephen. Sarcasm means Jared’s okay. Well, it means Jared’s Jared. Same thing right now.
Jared gets off the ice on his own steam. Graham and Gabe help, but while Jared’s leaning on him, he’s not putting a lot of weight on Gabe, and he’s skating straight enough that if he’s dizzy, it’s mild. All really good signs Gabe is going to clutch at so he can keep his head in the game. Or get it back there, more accurately.
There’s TV timeout as Jared goes down the tunnel, thankfully, time for the refs to figure out whether they’re going to toss Chase or not, commercials in the meantime. TD Garden is quiet, or as quiet as it can be — nobody likes seeing that — which gives Gabe time to breathe, just one, two, try to settle his shaking hands, before he goes to talk to Bryce, because Bryce is going to be tapped on the shoulder in a minute to head on for the power play, and there isn’t a chance in hell he’s in the right mindset for it right now. He’s got his eyes on the tunnel Jared’s disappeared down, and the body language of someone debating whether or not to follow.
Gabe waves a hand at Dmitry, and he scoots down the bench. He gives Gabe a significant look as he does, a silent ‘you talking to him?’. Gabe makes himself room, Pats glancing over when Gabe lands mostly in his lap, then shifting so Gabe can squeeze in.
“I want you to listen to me right now,” Gabe says right into Bryce’s ear, as much for privacy from the cameras as their teammates. “Are you listening to me?”
Bryce nods, short, sharp.
“Jared’s conscious. He’s alert. He got off on his own steam, and he said his head hurt, but he was stringing together full sentences and he was throwing snark at the trainer,” Gabe says. “I don’t know anything else, but neither do they yet, and they’re going to have to run tests. There is nothing you can do right now. You know how small those exam rooms are — they’d make you wait outside even if you went down the tunnel. You hear me?”
Bryce’s jaw is so sharp it could cut someone. Chase, probably.
“You guys don’t want to be out,” Gabe says. “And I know that this is terrifying, I’m pretty fucking terrified too right now. But there’s nothing you can do right now even if you go back there. If you can’t play, that’s okay. If you don’t want to tell Coach that, that’s okay too — I’ll tell him. But if you go down that hall right now people are going to ask why, and they’re going to figure out the answer quickly. Do you hear me? A nod’s fine, but I need confirmation.”
“I hear you,” Bryce says, his voice as tense as everything else about him, coiled like a spring and just as ready to snap.
“Do you want me to ask Coach to sit you?” Gabe asks. That’ll raise questions too, but not as many as Bryce going down the tunnel right now, and honestly that’s not the first thing on Gabe’s mind. He imagines it’s not the first thing on Bryce’s either.
“I can play,” Bryce says.
“You sure?” Gabe asks. “You don’t have to, Bryce. Nobody would ask that of you right now.”
“I can play,” Bryce repeats.
“Okay,” Gabe says, looks over Bryce to Dima, who nods, face stony. “I don’t need to tell you that if they don’t throw him out Chase is off-limits, do I?”
Bryce cuts his eyes over at Gabe. Gabe clearly does need to tell him that, and Bryce clearly isn’t interested in hearing it.
“I have him for you,” Dima says quietly. “You would not know how to stop.”
Two minutes go onto the board, Chase protesting vociferously, as if that’s anything but grossly inadequate, as if he isn’t lucky he didn’t get five and a game, supplementary discipline to follow, and Gabe can feel Bryce shaking through his pads before he goes over the boards, knows the only thing keeping Chase safe right now is the plexiglass box.
“You need to be gunning for him the second he’s back on the ice,” Gabe says as Bryce takes his spot on the half-wall. “Or Bryce will beat you there.”
“I will,” Dima says, and Gabe claps his shoulder, a silent thanks.