Yet Another OMG Check Please! Side Blog

It’s just, ever since that first major growth spurt -where he shot up almost overnight to stand a head taller than his peers and taller than his mom, and almost at a height to look his dad in the eye without tilting his head- ever since then, he hasn’t really been held.

He’s gotten hugs, of course, his family is demonstrative and affectionate, but since he’s bigger than most people who might hug him, or throw a casual arm around him, or be inclined to do something like cuddle, well, it always feels like he is the one doing the hugging, like he’s the active party and not the receiver of the affection. It changes the whole dynamic when in order to toss an arm over your shoulders, you’re required to physically lower yourself to facilitate the casual maneuver; it kind of renders the whole thing an uncomfortably moot point.

So, this thing with Bitty is…a surprise. Bitty is, well, small. So much smaller than Jack (though the boy certainly compensates with his personality; Jack thinks that most people who meet Eric Bittle have no idea he’s under six feet tall because he’s got so much heart, but he admits to being biased.)

So, the fact that Bitty makes Jack feel enveloped in his affection is as surprising as it is amazing. Bitty wraps his arm around Jack’s waist, and Jack feels the embrace like a favorite quilt around his shoulders. Bitty hugs him from behind, and Jack feels warm all over. Bitty drapes himself over Jack’s shoulders while he sits at Bitty’s desk to study, and Jack feels loved. Even when Jack hugs Bitty, holds him close while they watch a movie, drags him into his side with a hand on his graceful shoulder, Jack still feels like he’s the one being held, and that is some kind of magic.

His favorite thing though, even though he hasn’t figured out the physics of it, because surely it shouldn’t actually work, things shouldn’t align properly, but somehow they do, and Bitty can somehow spoon up behind Jack and hold him close, and make Jack feel small. Small in the best possible way; not insignificant, not incapable, just precious. Treasured. Bitty cradles him, and it’s effortless, it’s like two puzzle pieces clicking into place.

The first time it happened, Jack had frozen for just a moment, having long since become unaccustomed to the feeling of being so wrapped up in someone’s arms. Bitty had pressed a sleepy kiss to the back of his neck, traced a lazy pattern into his naked chest, and snuggled closer with a tired drawl of a “G’ night, Jack,” and Jack had just melted into the embrace, into Bitty.

He had slept better that night than he had in ages.

So now, it’s a regular occurrence, and of course he’s not always the little spoon, and the feeling of Bitty’s lithe, powerful body curled into his chest is a singular pleasure that Jack marvel at being able to experience, but every single time he gets to be the one to burrow into Eric, to feel his breath evening out and puffing warm and steady against his shoulder, it’s like time travel. It takes Jack back to a time and place where he was small and loveable and unspoiled by bad decisions. It makes him feel loved and worthy, Bitty makes him feel loved, and worthy.

And that makes Jack feel a hundred feet tall. ******

So, we’re talking years down the line. Stanley cup champion Jack Zimmermann has come out, married Bitty. They are both degrees of celebrity and Jack entertains people with random historical rants on twitter. Like, there’ll be nothing for two months then a mass of tweets about some battle you’ve never heard of then nothing again for weeks or whatever.

And the drunk history people approach his agent who turns it down because Jack and alcohol but Jack finds out. And he’s like, I see where you’re coming from but I’m in a good place and within limits I’m willing to do this. So the drunk history people have to agree to not push him to drink more, Bitty and Shitty are both going to be there but he’s basically up for this.

And everyone but everyone is expecting uptight hockey robot Jack Zimmermann being, like, 110% intense about hockey history or something.

Instead they get Jack Zimmermann speaking about historical gay romance, lying in his husband’s lap and keeping interupting his own stories to tell Bitty just how much he loves him. Bitty is delighted. Shitty cries at the beauty of it. The world loves it. When he sobers up again Jack is kind of shy about it in a pleased way. Like, if you mention it to him he blushes and smiles and talks about hockey at you.

“Sweetheart,” Bitty says, sounding amused. That makes Jack smile. He loves hearing Bitty sound happy. He wants to make it happen forever.

“Jack,” Bitty tries again and, right. He never answered.

“Hmm?” Jack asks, rolling onto his side and curling in close enough that his nose gently brushes up against Bitty’s hipbone.

“Jack,” Bitty says, definitely sounding like he’s trying not to laugh, “honey, you were in the middle of a story?”

He was in the middle of a story? Jack blinks once, twice, then remembers.

“Oh yeah,” he says, rolling back over to face Derek Waters and the camera crew. “I’m on t.v.” 

“Not if you don’t finish telling us about James Buchanan and his Vice President.”

“Hey, you know why I picked them?” Jack asks. 

“Why’s that?”

“Because.” Jack flops on his back and looks up at Bitty. Instantly distracted, he says, “You’re very pretty.”

Bitty just smiles down at him, helplessly fond. Eventually he looks up at the camera crew and says, “I’m so sorry about this, y’all.” 

I know we talk a lot about how much Shitty helps Jack (constantly defending him, encouraging him to be himself, showing him how to have fun) and believe me, I agree with all of it (I am currently working on a freshmen year jack and shitty friendship fic) BUT may I also present: 

Headcanons on How Jack is Just What Shitty Needed:

So Shitty went to Andover, which context clues/google tells me is a fancy boarding school for fancy, rich people. And we also know Shitty is… Shitty. Of all the boys, I feel like he fits in with the Andover crowd the least. 

And I’m sure some of that is rebellion against the school after the fact (I went to an all-girls catholic school so rebelling after the fact is in my lifeblood) but the signs must have been there while Shitty was still attending. He chose to go to Samwell for a reason so we can assume that even in high school, Shitty did not 100% fit with the Andover crowd. 

He’s not unpopular, because Shitty is loud and friendly and plays hockey but I’m not sure Shitty had any super close friends. The smart kids are a little bit jealous that he never seems to do any work and most of the hockey team isn’t keeping up with his questioning musings on sexuality and gender and he is probably known as that kid who gets in fights with the teachers all the time and Shitty doesn’t go to Harvard for many reasons: because he doesn’t want to and because fuck his dad and his dad’s family, but also because… he wants to meet different types of people. Because he doesn’t really fit in at Andover. And he never really wanted to.

So he goes to Samwell and he doesn’t get a hockey scholarship but he is allowed to walk on the team and suddenly he finds himself living across the hall from Jack Zimmermann. Who Shitty of course knows about. Because he grew up in Boston. And he plays hockey. And he loves hockey.

But he does not imagine he will be that close with Jack Zimmermann. Because, honestly, at this point, Shitty can’t imagine being that close with anyone. His friends at Andover put up with him (or at least, they at least pretended to listen to him for part of the time before talking over him or telling him to cmon, man, shut the fuck up!) and Shitty could share a few laughs with them but in terms of connecting well… 

(Just please, please imagine slightly insecure but has convinced himself he’s fine young baby 17 year old Shitty Knight. But like… not even insecure just he probably doesn’t even realize that real friendship is out there. maybe he has a small inkling that this isn’t how friends treat each other but not really and i am going to need to think about this more. baby shitty. who knew.)

ANYway, the one thing Shitty does know how to do well and does love doing is getting into fights (god, young shitty was probably almost like Dex in this regard). So it’s natural that when someone says a sly, stupid comment about overdosing to Jack, Shitty jumps on ‘em. Because fuck you, sir and he has been looking for a fight since he arrived and–

Okay, I promised myself I would keep this focused on how Shitty needs Jack so let’s skip forward to the moment when Shitty realizes that Jack listens to him. Like ever since the outstanding defense move, Jack has opted to sit near Shitty and Shitty feels a warm glow of something at that (and, later, he will recognize this as claiming his role as Defender of Jack Zimmermann against All Evil) and at first they work because Jack is pretty much silent and Shitty never really stops talking and Shitty figures that is his role. To talk while Jack Zimmermann thinks about hockey.

But then one day at breakfast, Shitty is talking about his Intro to Women’s Studies class and the studies about how the idea that “boys are better at science and math” is a learned behavior, and Jack is sitting next to him, as usual, and then– “Hold up,” Jack says. “I have to go get more eggs.” and for a moment, Shitty is completely confused as to why Jack told him that information because he is more than used to people walking away from him mid-ramble and so he sort of watches as Jack leaves and wonders what is wrong and then Jack returns and doesn’t look up from his food but says something like “Okay, sorry, so girls want to be doctors, eh?” and Shitty realizes that Jack has been listening this whole time. 

Behold one (1) Jack Zimmermann bringing his “A” game to his relationship:

And here are some fun facts about it

He is the most aggressive driver ever. it takes him about .3 seconds to get frustrated enough to lay on the horn. he is used to driving in the middle of buttfuck nowhere, GA, so if he finds himself in a city traffic jam in Providence he is Baffled and Not Very Happy About It

Learned how to drive stick before automatic

His first car was like, a 2000 Ford Ranger or something like that (we know he drives a truck based on 03.01 and come on that looks like a nice lil Ranger okay if you doubt me then look at some pictures but trust me the body looks like a Ford)

Probably is not a fan of Jack’s Fancy and Boring and Safe SUV

I mean, what’s a car that doesn’t have pieces falling off of it? There’s no personality there

Speed limits are just a suggestion

Texts and drives. Absolutely, for sure. I just know this. It’s one of his biggest character flaws and it freaks Jack out and they’ve had some genuine fights about it

Also road rage?? One of those drivers who just starts talking absentmindedly to the other drivers on the road and it begins with him being a little patronizing about their driving and ends with him fully cussing them out

Jack, alternatively: slightly cautious, pretty generic driver. Obeys the speed limit. Relaxed even during rush hour traffic jams. Bitty cannot stand it

When they go on road trips and it’s Jack’s turn to drive Bitty lasts about an hour maximum before insisting they pull over so he can drive because “really, honey, I know it says 60 but we are NEVER going to make it to Montreal if we don’t go 80 for a bit”

HOWEVER, as soon as there’s snow on the ground, he refuses to drive until the plows have been around

Bitty: *wakes up from nap with his shirt halfway off, a shoe in one hand and a set of measuring cups in the other*

Jack: “Goose!!” *starts jumping up and down while giggling*

Shitty: *starts lecturing his friends unintelligibly, but it’s definitely a lecture*

Ransom: *only wants to hold hand with his bestie in the hallway, cries if he cant*

Holster: *hugs his best friend so hard, they both topple over and start crying, but they’re still hugging*

Lardo: *quietly orders her friends around while shoving fistfuls of Cinnamon Toast Crunch in her mouth*

Dex: *literally only plays with the singing tool set*

Nursey: *rolls into the classroom wearing some cool ass shades, but promptly trips over the ball he couldn’t see*

Chowder: *Happy Tappies at the thought of getting to run around with his friends*

Bonus:

dex is eighteen years old and he's playing hockey with, scratch that, he's spending all his waking minutes with, a first round draft pick.

(and that's not even to mention jack fucking zimmermann playing right beside him on the ice)

he finds that he doesn't think about it as much as he expected to. his days aren't clouded with jealousy that his friend was scouted by nhl teams before dex even owned his own hockey skates. instead they're filled with laughter and platonic hugs and cafeteria lunches that dex wouldn't change for the world. they're filled with cellies and pies and a truly insane amount of sharks merch.

but don't think for a second that, even though the draft had been completely normalised to him, dex even thought for a second that he could try and see if he could be drafted.

it doesn't cross his mind until he bumps into george martin outside of annie's and she asks him whether he's planning to make himself draft eligible this year.

dex isn't expecting that to say the least.

then she says "oh, we've really been keeping an eye on your this year. it would be a shame if we couldn't draft you" and dex's brain simply stops working.

he really isn't expecting that.

he's so not expecting it that he drops nursey's drink and pumpkin spice latte floods the pavement.

dex doesn't mind all that much.

when he gets back to his dorm, the first thing he does is call chowder and ask him to come over. the next thing he does is frantically google search how to enter the nhl draft, how to be drafted, will nhl teams want a gay ginger hockey player, college nhl draft odds. the next next thing that dex decides to do is wait to ask chowder these questions.

and then chowder- well, chowder asks jack for him.

but then suddenly he's being bombarded by emails from agents, from scouts, from personal assistants of personal assistants of important nhl people informing him about the details of the combine and then suddenly he's receiving information about the actual, real life, 2015 nhl draft.

holy shit.

jack and chowder and nursey all fly out to sunrise with him, insisting that they have to be there for such a momentous occasion, even though dex is certain that they all have much better things to be doing. but jack insists that it will just make his trip to georgia to visit bitty even more convenient, and chowder is just so excited and nursey is- well, nursey is nursey.

but then suddenly dex is on the stage and he's shaking hands with george martin and suddenly people are taking hundreds of photos of him, well him and jack, but mostly him, because-

George’s text flashes across his phone and Jack tilts it towards himself, sighs, rubs his eyes in a stiff and awkward way. Of course there’s a presser. She wrote it apologetically enough — I know. I argued against it. They want you in an hour. — or apologetically enough for George, nicer than the rest of management, nicer than the itchiness of this cast. 

Falconer Blue? the doctor had suggested. Jack’s nod was more of a shrug, but no one really seemed to notice. It wasn’t a bad hit, just unlucky. Too much momentum and too close to the boards. Pretty common, really, if you think about it. He hadn’t even needed to be carried off the ice.

And now he’s cold and sitting on the patient bed, swinging his feet out of habit and trying not to, trying to figure out what to text back.

The door bangs open. “Jack!”

“Bits,” he says. Bitty’s cowlick’s sticking up wildly. Jack smiles at it. “Hey.”

Bitty crosses the room in seconds, hands fluttering over Jack’s shoulder and cast and the open line of his shirt, mouth in a thin line. “Does it hurt?”

Yes. “Euh, not too bad—”

Bitty’s mouth thins further. “Jack Laurent Zimmermann, do not lie to me.”

“It’s not … great,” he admits. 

“I knew it.” Bitty’s hands settle on Jack’s knees. “MacPherson, right? Lord help that boy if I ever—”

He’s still frowning at the cast. Jack touches two fingers under his chin, raising his eyes so they’re looking at each other. 

“It was an accident,” he says gently. “It’s okay. It’s the end of the season anyway, I’m not missing anything, we’re already not going to the playoffs.”

It’s funny saying this when, a few years earlier, this would’ve been devastating. And it’s still a slight disappointment, it is; when they’d missed their playoff berth last game, he’d taken a long walk and even longer shower. But Bitty had baked a pie and Shitty had piled on top of him and Lardo had shown pictures of their new dog, so. There are better, more worthwhile things to miss.

“Okay,” Bitty says. The corner of his mouth relaxes somewhat. “But I’m still taking MacPherson off my jam list.”

Jack says, “Didn’t expect anything else,” and after they kiss, Bitty fiddles with the hem of his shirt.

“Guess we’d better get you out of here then, Mr. Zimmermann,” he says. 

Jack smiles. “Guess so.”

Bitty does his buttons without being asked. He takes his time, lightly brushing Jack’s stomach and chest as if using the moment to make sure there aren’t any other bruises or scrapes or aches Jack’s hiding from him. Here and there he presses his lips to a freckle, an old cut, a random shadow. Jack watches him quietly, in love and being loved back.

was thinking about @parvuls' post re: the way jack flirts and got stuck on the idea of "caretaking phrased as orders". i briefly blacked out and when i came to i had a google doc open and this had happened.

(p.s. @ohyoufool... come get your food)

Bitty means to go back to his messages, but there's a new video from the Falcs’ account of the team getting off the bus in Buffalo. Bitty isn't dead quite yet, so he hits play. Jack’s the fourth one down the stairs, wearing a sharply-tailored gray suit and a charcoal tie and the platinum Rolex. It catches the light from the cameras as he buttons his coat, shoulders his bag, and strides out of frame. If Bitty were playing him tonight, he'd be intimidated as all hell—Jack looks good. Focused, ready, in control.

Sweet Jesus.

Okay, so Bitty might die, actually, and it won’t be because of the fever.