this is almost fic
I am generally an uber-slow writer. Like, 300 words is a good day for me. So I'm kind of proud of myself for hammering this out in two hours or so. Also, I wrote this in two hours and now it's one in the morning and I want to sleep so it's not edited so much as barely read twice (please let me know if anything is egregiously bad). I'm not sure if this is the beginning of something or just a weird snippet, we'll see how this looks in the morning.
title: if the silence takes you
rating: R (for brief masturbation)
word count: 1059
pairing: pre Jonathan Toews/Patrick Kane
warnings: none
beta: none whatsoever. everything is my fault
disclaimer: this is all fiction, only very loosely based on alleged facts if you kind of squint and tilt your head
summary: johnny doesn't deal with his concussion very well
The doctors say he should sleep. And fuck, there’s basically nothing else he’s allowed to do, just sit on his couch and read old copies of Sports Illustrated. But if he sleeps then he’ll dream again. Johnny doesn’t know what it means, that suddenly his dreams feel real. It’s not something anybody mentioned and Johnny doesn’t want to say anything in case it means--in case it means something. The only thing keeping Johnny sane is that nobody has said retirement or permanent or anything equally unthinkable so every moment he’s holding on to that, instead of breaking things and drinking until it doesn’t ache anymore. But as hard as he focuses on the chance that he’ll make it back, he can’t stay awake forever.
The nightmares are bad, but the good dreams are worse.
***
There’s some kind of family barbeque, nearly everybody he’s related to is spilled across his backyard in Winnipeg. He’s with his wife, he recognizes her as a girl he hooked up with, one time, a long time ago. She’s sweet and he loves her and his parents are proud of him. And he doesn’t play hockey, somehow he owns his own company. He keeps running into people he’s never met but he knows them somehow and they all seem to like him. Nobody is trying to make him look bad or give something away or compete for anything. It’s so peaceful and joyful and it hurts. Not playing hockey is like a bloody gaping hole in his chest, but he keeps smiling and kisses his wife.
****
Officially he’s recovering. He’s just taking some time to make sure he’s healthy, no point taking risks. He’s given his statements, he know this is mostly his fault, so he’s in the NHL equivalent of a time-out.
Unofficially he’s never felt worse. Time moves so slowly. He can only read for so long before he gets a headache and he can only force himself to stay awake for so long before he slips under again. He keeps the window shades down because the light hurts so it’s impossible to tell what time it is and his sleep cycle falls apart.
***
He dreams about the car crash over and over. Sometimes he goes flying through the windshield. Sometimes the car explodes but he feels too heavy to move and he sits there as the car burns. And once Kaner is with him. They’re listening to the radio and Kaner is singing along and shouting at Johnny to sing with him and Johnny can’t make his mouth move to tell Kaner that they’re about to crash. Kaner keeps shouting and laughing until the car wraps around the steel beam and crushes the air from his lungs.
***
Somebody from the team comes by every day. Mostly it’s trainers and even Q once, that first week, but then Sharpy shows up. It’s hard to track what he says but Johnny nods at the right places and he doesn’t think Sharpy notices. His face is so serious and Johnny loses the conversation for a while, trying to remember if he’s ever seen Sharpy not smiling at least a little. He leaves eventually, reminds Johnny that he brought some chicken thing that Abby made. Johnny agrees to something, smiles, and closes the door behind him.
***
He’s in his own apartment but there aren’t any doors or windows, just blank walls. He knows there’s no way out and panic weighs him down and makes all his muscles burn with the need to escape. He could run through the rooms, maybe he does, but all he finds are smooth blank walls.
***
Trainers keep saying he has to eat. So he does. He forces the food down, even though it tastes like dust and cardboard. He knows he has to be losing weight, even if all he does is sit on the couch for hours.
***
He’s in a bar and there’s a girl talking to him. She’s really hot and really into him, but she’s not what he’s looking for so he moves on. It’s like a parade of hot girls but each one is just off somehow, like skating with somebody else’s stick. He’s horny as fuck though, and he’s going to explode if he doesn’t get off somehow. He’s home, kneeling in his bed with a hand around his dick. It feels unbelievable and there’s someone breathing hot and damp against the back of his neck. He comes, like it was ripped out of him, and when he turns around, there’s nobody there.
***
Kaner finally shows up. Somehow this penetrates the haze of sleep-deprivation and constant migraines and pisses Johnny off.
“Sorry, who are you again?” Johnny seriously considers not letting Kaner in. It doesn’t help the Kaner rang the doorbell non-stop for five minutes and now Johnny’s head hurts so bad he can barely see.
“Fuck off, let me in.” Like he doesn’t give a fuck that Johnny might have completely concussed him out of his memory. Johnny glares and walks away to get an ice pack and some Tylenol. If Kaner follows him in, he’ll deal with that later.
Kaner does follow him in. He sits on Johnny’s kitchen counter and generally acts like an ass. He tells Johnny about his new favorite bar and the crazy-hot chicks that all obviously wanted to suck his dick. And how he and Shawsy drew penises on Sharpy and Hayes and actually most of the team’s faces. And some joke his sister told him and Johnny wants to blame the concussion but it’s not until Kaner starts talking about golfing that Johnny realizes he hasn’t even mentioned hockey. Like he’s been avoiding it to protect Johnny’s feelings or something. And it, it makes his ribs feel too small, and for a second he can’t breathe.
“And then I said, well, seriously, if it’s that tiny--” Kaner stops talking when Johnny hugs him. It’s awkward because Johnny was sort of coming from the side and Kaner’s just sitting there, not hugging back.
“Um, is this a concussion thing? Sharp didn’t say anything about--”
“Shut up. Just, shut up.” Kaner opens his mouth again but just sighs and puts his arms around Johnny. Johnny pulls him closer and pushes his face into Kaner’s shoulder. For the first time since he got hit, he can finally, finally relax.
fin
title: if the silence takes you
rating: R (for brief masturbation)
word count: 1059
pairing: pre Jonathan Toews/Patrick Kane
warnings: none
beta: none whatsoever. everything is my fault
disclaimer: this is all fiction, only very loosely based on alleged facts if you kind of squint and tilt your head
summary: johnny doesn't deal with his concussion very well
The doctors say he should sleep. And fuck, there’s basically nothing else he’s allowed to do, just sit on his couch and read old copies of Sports Illustrated. But if he sleeps then he’ll dream again. Johnny doesn’t know what it means, that suddenly his dreams feel real. It’s not something anybody mentioned and Johnny doesn’t want to say anything in case it means--in case it means something. The only thing keeping Johnny sane is that nobody has said retirement or permanent or anything equally unthinkable so every moment he’s holding on to that, instead of breaking things and drinking until it doesn’t ache anymore. But as hard as he focuses on the chance that he’ll make it back, he can’t stay awake forever.
The nightmares are bad, but the good dreams are worse.
***
There’s some kind of family barbeque, nearly everybody he’s related to is spilled across his backyard in Winnipeg. He’s with his wife, he recognizes her as a girl he hooked up with, one time, a long time ago. She’s sweet and he loves her and his parents are proud of him. And he doesn’t play hockey, somehow he owns his own company. He keeps running into people he’s never met but he knows them somehow and they all seem to like him. Nobody is trying to make him look bad or give something away or compete for anything. It’s so peaceful and joyful and it hurts. Not playing hockey is like a bloody gaping hole in his chest, but he keeps smiling and kisses his wife.
****
Officially he’s recovering. He’s just taking some time to make sure he’s healthy, no point taking risks. He’s given his statements, he know this is mostly his fault, so he’s in the NHL equivalent of a time-out.
Unofficially he’s never felt worse. Time moves so slowly. He can only read for so long before he gets a headache and he can only force himself to stay awake for so long before he slips under again. He keeps the window shades down because the light hurts so it’s impossible to tell what time it is and his sleep cycle falls apart.
***
He dreams about the car crash over and over. Sometimes he goes flying through the windshield. Sometimes the car explodes but he feels too heavy to move and he sits there as the car burns. And once Kaner is with him. They’re listening to the radio and Kaner is singing along and shouting at Johnny to sing with him and Johnny can’t make his mouth move to tell Kaner that they’re about to crash. Kaner keeps shouting and laughing until the car wraps around the steel beam and crushes the air from his lungs.
***
Somebody from the team comes by every day. Mostly it’s trainers and even Q once, that first week, but then Sharpy shows up. It’s hard to track what he says but Johnny nods at the right places and he doesn’t think Sharpy notices. His face is so serious and Johnny loses the conversation for a while, trying to remember if he’s ever seen Sharpy not smiling at least a little. He leaves eventually, reminds Johnny that he brought some chicken thing that Abby made. Johnny agrees to something, smiles, and closes the door behind him.
***
He’s in his own apartment but there aren’t any doors or windows, just blank walls. He knows there’s no way out and panic weighs him down and makes all his muscles burn with the need to escape. He could run through the rooms, maybe he does, but all he finds are smooth blank walls.
***
Trainers keep saying he has to eat. So he does. He forces the food down, even though it tastes like dust and cardboard. He knows he has to be losing weight, even if all he does is sit on the couch for hours.
***
He’s in a bar and there’s a girl talking to him. She’s really hot and really into him, but she’s not what he’s looking for so he moves on. It’s like a parade of hot girls but each one is just off somehow, like skating with somebody else’s stick. He’s horny as fuck though, and he’s going to explode if he doesn’t get off somehow. He’s home, kneeling in his bed with a hand around his dick. It feels unbelievable and there’s someone breathing hot and damp against the back of his neck. He comes, like it was ripped out of him, and when he turns around, there’s nobody there.
***
Kaner finally shows up. Somehow this penetrates the haze of sleep-deprivation and constant migraines and pisses Johnny off.
“Sorry, who are you again?” Johnny seriously considers not letting Kaner in. It doesn’t help the Kaner rang the doorbell non-stop for five minutes and now Johnny’s head hurts so bad he can barely see.
“Fuck off, let me in.” Like he doesn’t give a fuck that Johnny might have completely concussed him out of his memory. Johnny glares and walks away to get an ice pack and some Tylenol. If Kaner follows him in, he’ll deal with that later.
Kaner does follow him in. He sits on Johnny’s kitchen counter and generally acts like an ass. He tells Johnny about his new favorite bar and the crazy-hot chicks that all obviously wanted to suck his dick. And how he and Shawsy drew penises on Sharpy and Hayes and actually most of the team’s faces. And some joke his sister told him and Johnny wants to blame the concussion but it’s not until Kaner starts talking about golfing that Johnny realizes he hasn’t even mentioned hockey. Like he’s been avoiding it to protect Johnny’s feelings or something. And it, it makes his ribs feel too small, and for a second he can’t breathe.
“And then I said, well, seriously, if it’s that tiny--” Kaner stops talking when Johnny hugs him. It’s awkward because Johnny was sort of coming from the side and Kaner’s just sitting there, not hugging back.
“Um, is this a concussion thing? Sharp didn’t say anything about--”
“Shut up. Just, shut up.” Kaner opens his mouth again but just sighs and puts his arms around Johnny. Johnny pulls him closer and pushes his face into Kaner’s shoulder. For the first time since he got hit, he can finally, finally relax.
fin