The Chains They Revere (PG13)
Nobody in the world is waiting for this fic. Except possibly snickfic. But that's okay. It's only meant as a present for her, on account of some guesses she made about Masquerade that may or may not be partially correct. Or not. Anyone else who reads is just freeloading ;)
(I really, really can't write hockey fic. Sniff. This is my one shot.)
Title The Chains They Revere
Fandoms It's the crossover nobody, ever, was waiting for. BtVS/Hockey RPF
Characters Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin, Faith Lehane, Lydia Chalmers
Rating PG13
Words 3000
Setting some kind of fictitious 2013/14 season, probably. Recent, anyway. The Slayer Council has been running things its way a long while.
Summary A surprising turn of events on the ice in Cleveland brings Sidney something he'd given up hoping for
A/N For reasons which will make sense to anyone in BtVS fandom, it was important that there be an NFL team based in Cleveland, and that overnighting there would make sense for the Pens even though it basically doesn't. For reasons which will make (some) sense to people in hockey fandom, that means the Barons stayed on after '78. They aren't necessarily evil, but it's a possibility.
There's something about playing in Cleveland that rubs Sidney wrong.
Which, in the scheme of life, should surprise nobody. There are many things that aren't Crosby-tastic, and the hockey world loves to document them. Point and laugh, mostly, or sometimes give Sid's little 'superstitions' an eyeroll, a robot-comment, anything but accept that Sid's rituals might just be keeping him alive.
Look. If you were shown, at the age of eight, the mark of the Grannoch on your hip, and if you were also shown the rituals that, carefully performed, will keep them at bay, keep them tame, keep them from ripping you to shreds in your bed and feasting on your kidneys, you'd develop some 'superstitions' pretty fast. Because Sid doesn't rate old age too high, but he doesn't want to miss a moment of hockey that he can hope for.
He hates that this road trip drops them in Cleveland the day before the game. Yeah, okay, it's a rare lunchtime start time and going home for less than twelve hours makes no particular sense, and they can practice in peace this way. But it means a long day and night in Cleveland that he usually avoids, before any hockey can happen.
"Sid not happy," says Geno, on the plane.
"No, you know," Sid responds, awkwardly.
"Hate Cleveland. I know," nods Geno, and doesn't make a thing of it. Geno never, ever does make a thing of Sid's preferences, which is one reason to love him in the whole pantheon of reasons that Sid is aware of and trying to repress. (Geno even said, one night last year, apropros nothing except them being the last two guys left at the table while teammates went on the prowl, "Mama's Baba was witch. Mama told me some shit. Keep safe, Sid?" Which Sid has since interpreted to mean that Geno completely understands that Sid isn't weird so much as preoccupied with the occult. Something Geno seems to find totally logical. Yep, that would be another one on the list of reasons to repress.)
Sid feels antsy the whole time they're loosening up at practice. He's distracted from it once on the ice, of course he is, because nothing comes between Crosby and hockey, but he starts to itch as soon as they come off. He pauses, and steps right back onto the ice. The team barely notices. Sid putting in extra ice time? Shocker.
Geno looks back. "All good, Sid?"
Sid shrugs. "Maybe?"
Geno comes back onto the ice. Sid mentally adds another to the adoration tally. It's seven years old now, and he really should stop counting. But it's a ritual. Not a magic one. He's also a creature of habit, okay?
One of the rink guys waves him over, ten minutes later. "Uh, Mr Crosby, we're booked for a ladies' league now, so-" He's apologetic, but of course they get it. As they're just about to walk off, the women take the ice. A bunch of teenage girls, and one slightly older woman, more like Geno's age. She's the coach, he assumes, from the way she gets them running drills. Then skates over to them to check out if they're creepers.
She's dark, and beautiful beyond words. And dangerous, Sidney thinks. And yet he's been feeling better ever since her girls took the ice.
Her first words are, "Help you with something?" It's not exactly unfriendly, but there's a distinct hint of I can break you, you worm underlying it, like it's there in wait. Then she pauses, blinks, registers what's in front of her. "Sidney motherfucking Crosby?" It's really, really loud. Her girls look over, and start squealing. She turns to them, and waves, sharply. "Did I say you could stop? Focus, Slayers."
"I really don't mind giving autographs," says Sid, because people are sometimes protective of him even in spaces where he wouldn't mind hanging out a little. Even if Slayers is kind of an odd name for a league team. "Maybe after practice?"
She eyes him, real sharp. "You planning on hanging about perving on my girls?"
"No! I mean, not perving, obviously, I just- I like to watch," says Sidney, not helping. Geno laughs and claps him on the back.
"Sid not like Cleveland. Like skate. So we stay if okay?" Geno grins right at her, and whatever she sees in him reassures her.
"Okay, Mister Malkin, Mister Crosby. You want to hang about, you make yourselves useful. I'm Faith," she says, and hustles them right back onto the ice. She turns back, "And I'd be curtseying and all, but you should know that I'm from Boston, penguin boys." Her turn of speed back to the girls makes Sidney blink.
Running drills, clearing pucks, signing autographs, this is how Sid likes his life, and he's not at all surprised that the familiar lousy Cleveland mood starts to lift. He is surprised the girls never get close to playing anything competitive at all. He sees Geno starting to look too. Drills, weaving across the same parts of the ice, making patterns.
The girls… they're having fun, sort of, but they're also real alert, checking around the whole space. Clutching at- are those stakes? And that's definitely a knife. Did Sid get Geno into some kind of gang thing?
Geno skates over just as Sid's beginning to panic. "They witches, Sid? Not sure. Not hockey players, for certain."
And Sid can see how he's thinking that, but at the same time, they're amazing on the ice. Fast and limber, good hands, great eyes. They've been trained to a pitch that wouldn't disgrace an Olympic contender, and that just doesn't compute.
A girl skates over, stopping on a dime in a way that makes Sidney's heart lift. "So, guys, you might want to get out of here. Faith says-"
"Shit," shouts Faith at that exact moment. "Dina, did you forget to double punch?"
"I- I dunno," comes the answer. The girl by Sidney winces.
"CLEAR THE ICE," bellows Faith. "We have a Hellmouth situation. Repeat, Hellmouth situation. Get the civilians out of here. Crosby and Malkin are not getting eaten on my watch."
There's a terrible groaning sound from under the ice, and something starts to disrupt the surface. "You have to run," says the girl. "We got this, the world's not gonna end tonight, but you need to-"
Something green and tentacled bursts through centre ice. Three girls start hacking at it with axes. Geno doesn't look even a little bit startled. "Tchuh, Hellmouth. Sure. Is why you hate Cleveland, Sid. You very sensitive to this bullshit. You got spare axe?"
Their temporary guide nods to a trunk halfway round the ice. "Over there."
"C'mon Sid," says Geno, and they skate like they're one down with thirty seconds on the clock, till they arrive at the trunk full of - it turns out - bladed weapons.
"You have the arsenal secure?" Faith hollers. "Good, get it on the ice. We got company."
Sid looks around, and there are figures in the upper seats, some starting to move down.
Geno rolls his eyes, "Vampires too? Sid, you so right about Cleveland." He adds, "I not good with wood. Axe better. You stay here." And he heads off to the bloodbath by the - apparently - Hellmouth, where six heads of the - thing have been removed, but more are growing, and howling.
"You have any combat training?" The girl asks Sid. He shakes his head. "Okay, probably best you stay here. The vamps can't get on the ice, we got protection spells all over. Supposed to be holding back the Hellmouth too, but-" She tuts, lightly. "I need to get back in there. Don't do anything dumb."
Sidney stands, watching. He's aware his mouth is open, but he's okay with that. This is the definition of jaw-dropping.
There's a woman he didn't really notice before, standing in the penalty box. She's reading from a book, aloud. He skates toward her. Is she safe? Because there are vampires all over, and she's not on the ice. "You all right, ma'am?"
"I am very well," she says, calmly. She's English, which is irrelevant and yet surprising.
"Should you be off the ice? I hear it's safer on." He doesn't want to leave anyone in danger. But Sid's pretty certain this woman knows more about what's happening that he does.
She smiles, very sweetly and "Quite safe, thank you. I'm a witch. And a Watcher. I need to be outside the circle for the spellcasting. Otherwise, I rather fear, the Hellmouth might break through the ice and devour greater Cleveland before we at the Slayer Council are able to control it."
Sid gulps. "I- I'm going to assume all of that makes sense in the circumstances, ma'am. Can I help? I'm not much for axes."
His point is proven as Geno yodels a triumphant, "Look, no head!" behind his back. There's a discouraging crunch that suggests new heads are emerging in their place.
"You would have to step off the ice," she says. "And I believe your insurance company would object to that. But if you care to take the risk, I could certainly use an assistant."
It would be very stupid indeed, and Sid is surprised to find himself doing it anyway. Like taking a risk in a magical situation is something he's familiar with. "Tell me what to do," he says, settling beside her. She explains what to pass, and when, and what to read out, and he does it, sensing behind him the approach of creatures that explain exactly why Sidney has always hated Cleveland. He was always confused about it before, it's not like the Barons are the Flyers. But now, with the whispering and slithering behind, the dragon skin in his hands, the half-familiar Latin over which he's stumbling, Sidney knows that Cleveland is full of darkness.
"Aaaand, action," says the woman he's with. She sounds contented. "Sorry, should have introduced myself. I'm Lydia." They shake hands as a huge fireball engulfs the Hellmouth monster, leaving the hockey players untouched. The fireball pauses, then blows out to fill the whole building.
"Uh-" is all Sidney has time to say before it's on him, and past him, leaving him unscathed, and he turns his head in time to watch some vampires (?probably?) dissolving into dust amid the flame. They were real, and now they aren't, and he doesn't know how he feels about that.
"Yay Lydia," says Faith, skating over. "You were right about that enchantment, huh?"
"So it seems," says Lydia, dusting off her ass and walking toward the exit. "Shame you couldn't keep a lid on the Hellmouth till I was ready. But thanks to this young man, matters were expedited."
Geno's standing next to Faith, suddenly. Sid scans him, fast. He looks okay. Covered in goop, but grinning. "Sid, best!" he says, and Sid mentally appends a ))))))), because Geno has him brainwashed that way now. "You witch now?"
"Uh, just temporarily, I think," says Sid, cautiously. "You a… Slayer? Axeman?"
"Temporary also," says Geno. "Slayers all girls. Awesome girls." And that's hard to argue with, as between them Faith and Geno half explain to Sid what seems to be some kind of worldwide conspiracy to save the world from stuff that logically shouldn't exist.
He's distracted from trying to understand by Lydia returning with another bag of what he's assuming is magic junk. "Mr Crosby?"
"Uh, yes?" She looks very serious. Like something terrible is about to happen.
"I couldn't help but notice you have the mark of the Grannoch about you."
"Uh, yeah? I'm managing that," says Sid, because he's too surprised to say anything that isn't the truth.
"I'm sure you are. You're quite competent," says Lydia, and he just knows that's a compliment she doesn't give often. "But as we saw today with that premature Hellmouth ejaculation, sometimes what seems like competent problem management can go awry." Faith makes a face at that little dig. Geno opens his mouth. Lydia bowls right along. "We could remove it, if you'd like. It's quite safe, these days, with the synthetic belladonna."
Sid opens his mouth and not a thing comes out.
"Because," says Lydia, "It's rather a thing to live with, isn't it? And one might appreciate being relieved of such an unending burden, mightn't one?"
The thing is, if you were told at the age of eight that you were doomed and you had to work hard, very hard, every day of your life to save yourself from certain doom and one slip would kill you, and then one day you accidentally helped to save the world and someone offered to save you… It might be a while before you can process that.
Sid hears Geno saying, "Yes. Do." And he nods, because he's not entirely on his game, but he's not stupid. Lydia takes them into the showers, where messy stuff can happen. Sid's vaguely aware of Faith's (justified) comments on how bad he needs a shower anyway after practice plus Hellmouth. She's trying to make him feel better. It's nice, he recognises. He just doesn't overwhelmingly care just now.
Lydia says, "It's important that others help you bear this burden. I'll need a couple of volunteers."
"Me," says Faith, bored. "I know the drill." She looks like nothing in the world could shake her. Which is good, and Sid hopes it also works for unearthly things.
"Need helpers for Sid?" says Geno. "Me." He folds his arms, like nobody should question him. And, Sid remembers, he just axed a hellmonster like it was just a thing you do, so maybe being a part of some kind of spell is also old news to Geno. Sid wonders whether Geno would have told him more, that time he mentioned the family witch, if only Sid had looked more welcoming or they'd had a full language in common.
They talk, and read, and mix some stuff, and talk more, and Sid tries to understand that this could be it. He could be free. There could be a life after hockey, when his rituals will fall apart, and when he was pretty much assuming he would die. Except apparently not.
He tries to speak, and Lydia says, "Maybe not just now, Mr Crosby," in tones that suggest, very coolly, that he better shut up right now or they all die.
So he looks at Geno instead. Geno's mostly doing spell stuff. Chanting something (Sid really hopes the accent doesn't make a difference, but then he just shut down a hellmouth with Latin he doesn’t understand, so probably not). Waving a candle. Touching Sid's shoulder, just for a little while, and Sid sees something shiver out of himself, through Geno, Faith, Lydia and away. And Geno's mostly looking at Sid too.
He does that. It's the first time Sid's felt it might be okay to look back.
"Right," says Lydia after a while. "That should do it. Grannoch-free, Mr Crosby. I'll just check-" and he rears back as she touches his hip, because okay, he's in the showers, but there will be no nudity before ladies thank you.
Geno laughs. So does Faith, louder. Sid says, "I'll check that out myself, thanks." He's startled by the sound of his own voice. He's been silent a while. He doesn't know how to follow it up though. Still processing.
It's Geno that says, "Thanks," and "We shower now," and "Your girls, amazing. Ever make real hockey team, you beat everyone." And also, "Time to go. Sid needs peace."
"You're not leaving, right?" Sid says, almost plaintive. It's like all his Geno-defences came down today. Which is okay. It's not every day that your life is saved, or that you find out the world is being saved by a bunch of teenagers who - Geno's right - would play really good hockey if they gave it some time.
"No. I stay."
It's a ritual that doesn't need to have any meaning anymore. Shedding gear, showering, dressing. He does it every day of his life. Maybe it's not a ritual. Maybe it's the only sensible way to do this. Sid's trying to remember what in his life is a ritual that he wove for survival, what's a ritual he created for himself, what's just a habit, what's just good sense.
His Grannoch mark is gone, though. So there's that.
"Geno," he says eventually, when he's sitting waiting for Geno's unexpectedly lengthy not-a-ritual of getting his hair acceptably dry. "Geno, I can't remember what I used to do that's a spell and what's just crazy me."
Geno shrugs. "Does it matter? Choose what you keep. Whole new Sid, if you want."
"Yeah." Sid looks at Geno, who is towelling his ears. He doesn't look sexy. Or momentous. And yet. "Whole new me. I thought- Did you know? Today? You understand exactly what they just did? You know I thought I was going to die, most likely? And now… I have sort of a future. Maybe."
"Yes," says Geno. "Got that. Like I say, whole new Sid. Whole new future, maybe?"
"Yeah." Sid stands up. "Yeah, it might just be."
"Good," says Geno. "No room for me with old Sid. Now… Maybe."
He hurls his stupid, smelly damp towel into his bag, and walks out of the changing room. Sid looks after him. And follows, fast.
*
(I really, really can't write hockey fic. Sniff. This is my one shot.)
Title The Chains They Revere
Fandoms It's the crossover nobody, ever, was waiting for. BtVS/Hockey RPF
Characters Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin, Faith Lehane, Lydia Chalmers
Rating PG13
Words 3000
Setting some kind of fictitious 2013/14 season, probably. Recent, anyway. The Slayer Council has been running things its way a long while.
Summary A surprising turn of events on the ice in Cleveland brings Sidney something he'd given up hoping for
A/N For reasons which will make sense to anyone in BtVS fandom, it was important that there be an NFL team based in Cleveland, and that overnighting there would make sense for the Pens even though it basically doesn't. For reasons which will make (some) sense to people in hockey fandom, that means the Barons stayed on after '78. They aren't necessarily evil, but it's a possibility.
There's something about playing in Cleveland that rubs Sidney wrong.
Which, in the scheme of life, should surprise nobody. There are many things that aren't Crosby-tastic, and the hockey world loves to document them. Point and laugh, mostly, or sometimes give Sid's little 'superstitions' an eyeroll, a robot-comment, anything but accept that Sid's rituals might just be keeping him alive.
Look. If you were shown, at the age of eight, the mark of the Grannoch on your hip, and if you were also shown the rituals that, carefully performed, will keep them at bay, keep them tame, keep them from ripping you to shreds in your bed and feasting on your kidneys, you'd develop some 'superstitions' pretty fast. Because Sid doesn't rate old age too high, but he doesn't want to miss a moment of hockey that he can hope for.
He hates that this road trip drops them in Cleveland the day before the game. Yeah, okay, it's a rare lunchtime start time and going home for less than twelve hours makes no particular sense, and they can practice in peace this way. But it means a long day and night in Cleveland that he usually avoids, before any hockey can happen.
"Sid not happy," says Geno, on the plane.
"No, you know," Sid responds, awkwardly.
"Hate Cleveland. I know," nods Geno, and doesn't make a thing of it. Geno never, ever does make a thing of Sid's preferences, which is one reason to love him in the whole pantheon of reasons that Sid is aware of and trying to repress. (Geno even said, one night last year, apropros nothing except them being the last two guys left at the table while teammates went on the prowl, "Mama's Baba was witch. Mama told me some shit. Keep safe, Sid?" Which Sid has since interpreted to mean that Geno completely understands that Sid isn't weird so much as preoccupied with the occult. Something Geno seems to find totally logical. Yep, that would be another one on the list of reasons to repress.)
Sid feels antsy the whole time they're loosening up at practice. He's distracted from it once on the ice, of course he is, because nothing comes between Crosby and hockey, but he starts to itch as soon as they come off. He pauses, and steps right back onto the ice. The team barely notices. Sid putting in extra ice time? Shocker.
Geno looks back. "All good, Sid?"
Sid shrugs. "Maybe?"
Geno comes back onto the ice. Sid mentally adds another to the adoration tally. It's seven years old now, and he really should stop counting. But it's a ritual. Not a magic one. He's also a creature of habit, okay?
One of the rink guys waves him over, ten minutes later. "Uh, Mr Crosby, we're booked for a ladies' league now, so-" He's apologetic, but of course they get it. As they're just about to walk off, the women take the ice. A bunch of teenage girls, and one slightly older woman, more like Geno's age. She's the coach, he assumes, from the way she gets them running drills. Then skates over to them to check out if they're creepers.
She's dark, and beautiful beyond words. And dangerous, Sidney thinks. And yet he's been feeling better ever since her girls took the ice.
Her first words are, "Help you with something?" It's not exactly unfriendly, but there's a distinct hint of I can break you, you worm underlying it, like it's there in wait. Then she pauses, blinks, registers what's in front of her. "Sidney motherfucking Crosby?" It's really, really loud. Her girls look over, and start squealing. She turns to them, and waves, sharply. "Did I say you could stop? Focus, Slayers."
"I really don't mind giving autographs," says Sid, because people are sometimes protective of him even in spaces where he wouldn't mind hanging out a little. Even if Slayers is kind of an odd name for a league team. "Maybe after practice?"
She eyes him, real sharp. "You planning on hanging about perving on my girls?"
"No! I mean, not perving, obviously, I just- I like to watch," says Sidney, not helping. Geno laughs and claps him on the back.
"Sid not like Cleveland. Like skate. So we stay if okay?" Geno grins right at her, and whatever she sees in him reassures her.
"Okay, Mister Malkin, Mister Crosby. You want to hang about, you make yourselves useful. I'm Faith," she says, and hustles them right back onto the ice. She turns back, "And I'd be curtseying and all, but you should know that I'm from Boston, penguin boys." Her turn of speed back to the girls makes Sidney blink.
Running drills, clearing pucks, signing autographs, this is how Sid likes his life, and he's not at all surprised that the familiar lousy Cleveland mood starts to lift. He is surprised the girls never get close to playing anything competitive at all. He sees Geno starting to look too. Drills, weaving across the same parts of the ice, making patterns.
The girls… they're having fun, sort of, but they're also real alert, checking around the whole space. Clutching at- are those stakes? And that's definitely a knife. Did Sid get Geno into some kind of gang thing?
Geno skates over just as Sid's beginning to panic. "They witches, Sid? Not sure. Not hockey players, for certain."
And Sid can see how he's thinking that, but at the same time, they're amazing on the ice. Fast and limber, good hands, great eyes. They've been trained to a pitch that wouldn't disgrace an Olympic contender, and that just doesn't compute.
A girl skates over, stopping on a dime in a way that makes Sidney's heart lift. "So, guys, you might want to get out of here. Faith says-"
"Shit," shouts Faith at that exact moment. "Dina, did you forget to double punch?"
"I- I dunno," comes the answer. The girl by Sidney winces.
"CLEAR THE ICE," bellows Faith. "We have a Hellmouth situation. Repeat, Hellmouth situation. Get the civilians out of here. Crosby and Malkin are not getting eaten on my watch."
There's a terrible groaning sound from under the ice, and something starts to disrupt the surface. "You have to run," says the girl. "We got this, the world's not gonna end tonight, but you need to-"
Something green and tentacled bursts through centre ice. Three girls start hacking at it with axes. Geno doesn't look even a little bit startled. "Tchuh, Hellmouth. Sure. Is why you hate Cleveland, Sid. You very sensitive to this bullshit. You got spare axe?"
Their temporary guide nods to a trunk halfway round the ice. "Over there."
"C'mon Sid," says Geno, and they skate like they're one down with thirty seconds on the clock, till they arrive at the trunk full of - it turns out - bladed weapons.
"You have the arsenal secure?" Faith hollers. "Good, get it on the ice. We got company."
Sid looks around, and there are figures in the upper seats, some starting to move down.
Geno rolls his eyes, "Vampires too? Sid, you so right about Cleveland." He adds, "I not good with wood. Axe better. You stay here." And he heads off to the bloodbath by the - apparently - Hellmouth, where six heads of the - thing have been removed, but more are growing, and howling.
"You have any combat training?" The girl asks Sid. He shakes his head. "Okay, probably best you stay here. The vamps can't get on the ice, we got protection spells all over. Supposed to be holding back the Hellmouth too, but-" She tuts, lightly. "I need to get back in there. Don't do anything dumb."
Sidney stands, watching. He's aware his mouth is open, but he's okay with that. This is the definition of jaw-dropping.
There's a woman he didn't really notice before, standing in the penalty box. She's reading from a book, aloud. He skates toward her. Is she safe? Because there are vampires all over, and she's not on the ice. "You all right, ma'am?"
"I am very well," she says, calmly. She's English, which is irrelevant and yet surprising.
"Should you be off the ice? I hear it's safer on." He doesn't want to leave anyone in danger. But Sid's pretty certain this woman knows more about what's happening that he does.
She smiles, very sweetly and "Quite safe, thank you. I'm a witch. And a Watcher. I need to be outside the circle for the spellcasting. Otherwise, I rather fear, the Hellmouth might break through the ice and devour greater Cleveland before we at the Slayer Council are able to control it."
Sid gulps. "I- I'm going to assume all of that makes sense in the circumstances, ma'am. Can I help? I'm not much for axes."
His point is proven as Geno yodels a triumphant, "Look, no head!" behind his back. There's a discouraging crunch that suggests new heads are emerging in their place.
"You would have to step off the ice," she says. "And I believe your insurance company would object to that. But if you care to take the risk, I could certainly use an assistant."
It would be very stupid indeed, and Sid is surprised to find himself doing it anyway. Like taking a risk in a magical situation is something he's familiar with. "Tell me what to do," he says, settling beside her. She explains what to pass, and when, and what to read out, and he does it, sensing behind him the approach of creatures that explain exactly why Sidney has always hated Cleveland. He was always confused about it before, it's not like the Barons are the Flyers. But now, with the whispering and slithering behind, the dragon skin in his hands, the half-familiar Latin over which he's stumbling, Sidney knows that Cleveland is full of darkness.
"Aaaand, action," says the woman he's with. She sounds contented. "Sorry, should have introduced myself. I'm Lydia." They shake hands as a huge fireball engulfs the Hellmouth monster, leaving the hockey players untouched. The fireball pauses, then blows out to fill the whole building.
"Uh-" is all Sidney has time to say before it's on him, and past him, leaving him unscathed, and he turns his head in time to watch some vampires (?probably?) dissolving into dust amid the flame. They were real, and now they aren't, and he doesn't know how he feels about that.
"Yay Lydia," says Faith, skating over. "You were right about that enchantment, huh?"
"So it seems," says Lydia, dusting off her ass and walking toward the exit. "Shame you couldn't keep a lid on the Hellmouth till I was ready. But thanks to this young man, matters were expedited."
Geno's standing next to Faith, suddenly. Sid scans him, fast. He looks okay. Covered in goop, but grinning. "Sid, best!" he says, and Sid mentally appends a ))))))), because Geno has him brainwashed that way now. "You witch now?"
"Uh, just temporarily, I think," says Sid, cautiously. "You a… Slayer? Axeman?"
"Temporary also," says Geno. "Slayers all girls. Awesome girls." And that's hard to argue with, as between them Faith and Geno half explain to Sid what seems to be some kind of worldwide conspiracy to save the world from stuff that logically shouldn't exist.
He's distracted from trying to understand by Lydia returning with another bag of what he's assuming is magic junk. "Mr Crosby?"
"Uh, yes?" She looks very serious. Like something terrible is about to happen.
"I couldn't help but notice you have the mark of the Grannoch about you."
"Uh, yeah? I'm managing that," says Sid, because he's too surprised to say anything that isn't the truth.
"I'm sure you are. You're quite competent," says Lydia, and he just knows that's a compliment she doesn't give often. "But as we saw today with that premature Hellmouth ejaculation, sometimes what seems like competent problem management can go awry." Faith makes a face at that little dig. Geno opens his mouth. Lydia bowls right along. "We could remove it, if you'd like. It's quite safe, these days, with the synthetic belladonna."
Sid opens his mouth and not a thing comes out.
"Because," says Lydia, "It's rather a thing to live with, isn't it? And one might appreciate being relieved of such an unending burden, mightn't one?"
The thing is, if you were told at the age of eight that you were doomed and you had to work hard, very hard, every day of your life to save yourself from certain doom and one slip would kill you, and then one day you accidentally helped to save the world and someone offered to save you… It might be a while before you can process that.
Sid hears Geno saying, "Yes. Do." And he nods, because he's not entirely on his game, but he's not stupid. Lydia takes them into the showers, where messy stuff can happen. Sid's vaguely aware of Faith's (justified) comments on how bad he needs a shower anyway after practice plus Hellmouth. She's trying to make him feel better. It's nice, he recognises. He just doesn't overwhelmingly care just now.
Lydia says, "It's important that others help you bear this burden. I'll need a couple of volunteers."
"Me," says Faith, bored. "I know the drill." She looks like nothing in the world could shake her. Which is good, and Sid hopes it also works for unearthly things.
"Need helpers for Sid?" says Geno. "Me." He folds his arms, like nobody should question him. And, Sid remembers, he just axed a hellmonster like it was just a thing you do, so maybe being a part of some kind of spell is also old news to Geno. Sid wonders whether Geno would have told him more, that time he mentioned the family witch, if only Sid had looked more welcoming or they'd had a full language in common.
They talk, and read, and mix some stuff, and talk more, and Sid tries to understand that this could be it. He could be free. There could be a life after hockey, when his rituals will fall apart, and when he was pretty much assuming he would die. Except apparently not.
He tries to speak, and Lydia says, "Maybe not just now, Mr Crosby," in tones that suggest, very coolly, that he better shut up right now or they all die.
So he looks at Geno instead. Geno's mostly doing spell stuff. Chanting something (Sid really hopes the accent doesn't make a difference, but then he just shut down a hellmouth with Latin he doesn’t understand, so probably not). Waving a candle. Touching Sid's shoulder, just for a little while, and Sid sees something shiver out of himself, through Geno, Faith, Lydia and away. And Geno's mostly looking at Sid too.
He does that. It's the first time Sid's felt it might be okay to look back.
"Right," says Lydia after a while. "That should do it. Grannoch-free, Mr Crosby. I'll just check-" and he rears back as she touches his hip, because okay, he's in the showers, but there will be no nudity before ladies thank you.
Geno laughs. So does Faith, louder. Sid says, "I'll check that out myself, thanks." He's startled by the sound of his own voice. He's been silent a while. He doesn't know how to follow it up though. Still processing.
It's Geno that says, "Thanks," and "We shower now," and "Your girls, amazing. Ever make real hockey team, you beat everyone." And also, "Time to go. Sid needs peace."
"You're not leaving, right?" Sid says, almost plaintive. It's like all his Geno-defences came down today. Which is okay. It's not every day that your life is saved, or that you find out the world is being saved by a bunch of teenagers who - Geno's right - would play really good hockey if they gave it some time.
"No. I stay."
It's a ritual that doesn't need to have any meaning anymore. Shedding gear, showering, dressing. He does it every day of his life. Maybe it's not a ritual. Maybe it's the only sensible way to do this. Sid's trying to remember what in his life is a ritual that he wove for survival, what's a ritual he created for himself, what's just a habit, what's just good sense.
His Grannoch mark is gone, though. So there's that.
"Geno," he says eventually, when he's sitting waiting for Geno's unexpectedly lengthy not-a-ritual of getting his hair acceptably dry. "Geno, I can't remember what I used to do that's a spell and what's just crazy me."
Geno shrugs. "Does it matter? Choose what you keep. Whole new Sid, if you want."
"Yeah." Sid looks at Geno, who is towelling his ears. He doesn't look sexy. Or momentous. And yet. "Whole new me. I thought- Did you know? Today? You understand exactly what they just did? You know I thought I was going to die, most likely? And now… I have sort of a future. Maybe."
"Yes," says Geno. "Got that. Like I say, whole new Sid. Whole new future, maybe?"
"Yeah." Sid stands up. "Yeah, it might just be."
"Good," says Geno. "No room for me with old Sid. Now… Maybe."
He hurls his stupid, smelly damp towel into his bag, and walks out of the changing room. Sid looks after him. And follows, fast.
*