#harrison jansen

Busy, talk later came the short reply. Harrison scowled at his screen, swallowing an angry shout that surely would've woken his children. Instead, he heaved himself up out of his seat, pacing the room as he waited for an update. Out of all of his brothers, Harrison had always been the worst at waiting. In hockey, he'd never been as good as Daichi at waiting for an opportunity, always trying to force the play when it wasn't on. He'd had little patience for reading, skipping to the ends of books to find out what happened faster. Hell, he'd missed out on college because he couldn't wait for Shelley to get on birth control.

As he circled the room like a furious caged animal, Harrison found himself unreasonably angry that his children needed to be watched. That his wife wasn't there to watch them. That he had put himself into such a miserable position through years of stupid fucking decisions, and now he couldn't be there when his brother and best friend needed him most. Daichi was always there for him. Daichi had been the first person Harrison had told about Shelley being pregnant. He'd talked him down when he got cold feet the night before the wedding. When their marriage had last been on the rocks, Daichi had wordlessly handed him a voucher for a romantic getaway and then taken the kids while they were away for the weekend. And now he was what, bleeding internally? And Harrison was just sitting at home twiddling his thumbs.

He felt bad for the thoughts almost immediately. Whatever difficulties they had, he did still truly care for Shelley, and even if they hadn't been entirely on purpose, he loved his children more than anything. God, what an asshole he was. Getting so wrapped up in his own frustrations that he was blaming everyone around him. He just wished he didn't feel so powerless. If there was anything, even the most menial task, that he could do to help Daichi, it would've eased his guilt immensely.

He slumped back down on the sofa with a heavy sigh. If it was really bad, he reasoned, Oliver would call him, right?

Right?

***

Ellen, clearly a trainee nurse from her uncertainty and the colour of her scrubs, led Oliver to a small, seated area. He couldn't sit for long though, too much pent up fear coursing through his veins for him to stay in one place. Even when she told him that this could happen after jaw surgery and was usually fine, his doubts weren't assuaged, but he shot off a text to his brothers anyway.

Nurse thinks probably fine?

Was she right, though? His mind drifted through old history classes, centuries and millennia of people not understanding what was wrong or how to treat it. He imagined some mad medieval doctor offering to bleed Daichi, rambling about unbalanced humours. A filthy herbalist shoving a foul mixture of plants at the problem. So-called scientists providing tinctures of opium or mercury. Who was to say that today's doctors were that much better?

He was broken from his reverie when the older nurse came marching back with news. He didn't understand any of it - stupid, useless philosophy degree - but he did understand that he could go back in and sit with his brother.

“The doctor will be along shortly,” she said, not unkindly. “Try not to worry too much, or your brother may become distressed.”

Oliver muttered an insincere thanks, unable to keep from sulking as he hurried back to Daichi's room. He did school his face into a more neutral expression before stepping inside - Daichi didn't need the stress of seeing that he was angry.

“Ollie…”

At the sound of his name, he hurried to the side of the bed. Perching on the edge of the mattress, he squeezed Daichi's shoulder with a smile.

“I'm here, bud, you're good.”

“‘sssssooooo f’cked up,” Daichi groaned, his brow scrunching up in discomfort. “Wanna go home.”

Oliver reached out, wrapping an arm as gently as he could around Daichi. He remembered for a moment back when he had been bigger than Daichi, when his kid brother had come to him in moments of worry, before a big game or a major exam. He wished he could offer the same kind of comfort he had then. 

“Home,” Daichi begged, tucking himself as neatly as possible against Oliver's body. “Don't…”

He broke off with a lost little sob. Oliver fought the urge to crumple atop him, instead stroking Daichi's hair as gently as he could. “Hey. Hey, it's gonna be okay. I've got you. You'll be okay.”

“‘s Mom?” Daichi asked, leaning into Oliver's touch.

“She'll be here as soon as she can,” Oliver promised, praying that his parents’ flight had departed on time. “Probably next time you wake up, even.”

“Stay here. Leas’ til mom gets here?” Daichi begged.

“I'm not going anywhere.”

***

Anxiety sat like a rock in Shiro's gut, and he tried to swallow the knot in his throat. He watched as the three dots rippled, rippled, rippled… and disappeared. His stomach lurched.

Maya sighed. “Call him before you puke. Stop looking at your phone.”

Shiro nodded meekly, pulling up Oliver's number and looking for the right button. Even that was enough to peak his nausea, and he knew he needed to turn the screen off as soon as Oliver picked up.

“What's going on?” He asked, all too aware of how high and whiny his voice had become. “Is he alright? Are they doing anything about it?”

“Woah, woah,” Oliver said. His tone was calming, but there was a tight edge of worry running underneath. “Take a breath, kid. He's totally stable right now, alright? There's no emergency, it's just kinda…gross. I'd let you talk to him, but…just one minute.”

There was a clatter, then the muted noises of Oliver and Daichi talking, then soft, miserable gagging. Shiro grimaced, a pallor taking over his own face. Maya didn't miss the way he gulped, and she hollered over her shoulder towards the speakerphone. “We're gonna call back later, Ollie. This one needs to take a break.”

“No, I…”

Shiro protested weakly but he handed over the phone when she reached back for it. 

“Do you need me to find somewhere to stop?”

“Uhhh…” Shiro hesitated, wanting to get to the hospital as quickly as possible. Momo, on the other hand, seemed deeply unhappy, whining and nosing his side.

“I'll stop at the next gas station,” she decided, not bothering to wait for him to make up his mind. “You can get some air, I'll grab you a 7up. I need a coffee anyway.”

“Okay,” Shiro sighed, running a trembling hand through Momo's fur. “We have to hurry, though.”

“We have to be safe,” Maya replied, shrugging apologetically. “It's no help to anyone if I fall asleep behind the wheel and you puke your brains out.”

Shiro took a shaky breath, struggling to worry about himself when his mind was still on his brothers. The flurry of texts, the sounds on the phone, the lingering visual of Daichi slamming into the ice. He swallowed tightly, murmuring, “Ollie said he was throwing up blood.”

“That's scary,” she nodded, scanning the road signs for options. “But he's in a hospital right now, which is the safest place he could be.”

“I hate not being there yet,” Shiro mumbled. “I feel like the second I stop paying attention, something awful will happen.” 

“Well, right now, that something is about to be you throwing up, so hang on until I find us a rest stop,” Maya said.

“Mmhmm…”

Shiro huddled back in his seat, hugging his arms around his middle. He really was starting to feel awful, his mouth hot and wet and numb as he swallowed back the nausea. He squeezed his eyes shut, shivering slightly as Momo's cold, wet nose brushed against his neck. She climbed onto his lap, lying across him like a weighted blanket, and he tried to focus on her warm steadiness instead of the whirlpool churning in his stomach. He felt no better when Maya pulled into the next stop, stumbling out of the car to slump miserably on the nearest bench.

Climbing onto the bench beside him, Momo pressed her body against Shiro, her fur blissfully warm against the chilly night air. Even her solid presence beside him seemed to wobble, leaving Shiro hunched over until his fringe was brushing his knees. His insides tilted and whirled like a cheap carnival ride, reckless and rapid and vaguely perilous. His stomach tensed, and he pursed his lips together in a tight line, forcing a slow, deep breath in and out his nose. He considered asking Maya how much longer they had to drive. He realized he didn't want to know.

Maya came back with a Sprite and a bag of chips and a packet of blue plastic sick bags. Shiro felt too rotten to be embarrassed. It wasn't like she'd never seen him puke before. Shaking like a baby deer, he made his way back to the car and crawled into the backseat. Momo climbed up beside him, nestling into the crook of his body. Still trembling, Shiro looped his arms around her neck with a queasy groan.

“I'll put the music on again,” Maya said quietly. “The Sprite is in your cupholder, okay? I cracked the seal so it shouldn't be too fizzy.”

“...kay,” Shiro mumbled, burying his face in Momo's soft fur. As Maya was just readying to take off, he spoke up again. “Wait… can you check my phone?”

“Yeah, I'll keep it in the front, okay?”

Shiro frowned, but he knew Maya was right. He sighed, finally giving a reluctant, “Okay.”

“Cool. I'll tell you if there's any update.”

It was even harder to focus on the road as they got further into the boonies. The less commonly traveled stretch of highway hadn't been re-paved in years, and the road curved with the land it traversed rather than cutting straight through. Every bump and turn elicited a whimpering groan from Shiro, bag clutched tight in his clammy hands as he struggled to swallow the foul taste rising in his throat. He kept thinking about Daichi, about the miserable sounds of him being sick through the phone. How, even at that distance, he had been about to hear how much pain his brother was in. How he should have been there.

It started as a sob. Shiro's chest tightened, and suddenly, his stomach lurched. A miserable cry trailed off into a choking heave, liquid crinkling against the plastic bag as he continued to retch. The plastic became full and warm and heavy, all his post-comp rehydration spilling out of him like water from a weir.

Maya cringed, glancing back at him over her shoulder. Momo met her gaze, sharing a knowing, worried look. “Try to breathe,” Maya murmured. “Say the word if you want me to stop.”

“S’okay,” Shiro croaked, burying his face in his arm as he struggled to control his breathing. “Next gas station maybe, so we can throw this out.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Maya agreed. “I'll keep an eye out.”

Shiro grunted in a way that sounded vaguely like thanks, fingers clutching at the fabric of the car seat as a tidal wave of vertigo slammed into him. Momo crooned softly beside him, pressing against his body to keep him steady. He thought about Daichi. He wished he were there already.

***

When Daichi woke up, he wasn't much in the mood for visitors. Even with medication, he had an absolutely pounding headache, and the barely-useful pain meds were making him vaguely nauseous. He couldn't even try to force a smile when he saw Shiro, only giving a feeble wave. Their parents had arrived by then as well, which should have been comforting, but he just felt stifled and self-conscious. It definitely didn't help that, only minutes after he woke, his girlfriend showed up.

“I can't believe I had to call your mother to find out you were in the hospital,” Brynnlee pouted, flashing the rest of his family an accusatory glare. “Why didn't you send me a message?”

“I wasn't really up to texting, Brynn,” he muttered.

“Well someone should have,” she insisted, letting her lower lip tremble as her voice wavered. “I watched the match, baby, I was so scared.”

“We all were,” Oliver said, not hostile but very stern. “Once things settled down, I was going to let you know. It was a rough night.”

“I ...okay,” Brynnlee conceded, perching on the mattress by Daichi's head. “Sorry. What did the doctors say?” She turned her attention to her boyfriend, wincing a little at the mottled, swollen sight of him. “How are you feeling, baby? Your mom said something about surgery? When are they letting you out?”

“I’unno yet,” Daichi sighed, even that simple movement making his face ache. “I barely know what's goin’ on. Woke up feelin’ like I got hit by a bus.”

Her face tensed. “Should I get a nurse? Do you need more medication? Are you still gonna be my date to that New Years Gala?”

Daichi blinked, clearly overwhelmed, while Shiro and Oliver shared a dubious glance. Groaning softly, Daichi rested a hand gingerly against his temple. “Uhhh… when is it?”

“New Year's Eve, dummy,” she giggled, stroking his hair and seeming to forget all her other, unanswered questions.

“That's just over a week, bud,” Oliver said gently. “You might be out of here by then, but you probably still won't be feeling good.”

“A week?” Daichi's face crinkled in confusion. “Of course I'll be fine in a week.”

Now the whole Jansen family exchanged glances of alarm. Daichi's brow furrowed further despite how it hurt.

“What? Why are you guys looking at me like that?”

“Dude…” Oliver looked up at his parents in a silent plea for help.

“It's going to take a bit longer than that to heal, sweetheart,” their mother said gently, patting Diachi’s leg. “The bruising won't even be gone by then.”

Brynnlee’s nose wrinkled. “Oh, yeah. You can't be my date, then. I need to figure out who's taking me.”

“Fucking hell,” Oliver groaned. “Kick a man while he's down, why don't you? Don't you want to spend New Year's Eve with your boyfriend?”

“Well, yes but…” She blinked, as if the thought hadn't even occurred to her. “I already bought a dress. You wouldn't want me to miss out, would you baby?”

What Daichi wanted was for everyone to stop talking. He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut as the pounding in his head intensified. 

“Baby, I'm asking a question. Do you want me to miss a party where I already bought a pretty dress?”

“You should go,” he murmured, squeezing her hand. Anything to stop her talking. “Send me photos. Bet you'll look hot.”

“Of course I will,” she said, smiling broadly. “Hm… do you think I could borrow your brother for the party? Not these two, the handsome one.”

Shiro snorted.

“If you wanna fight his wife for him,” he said, giving her an incredulous look. “I wouldn't risk it.”

“I'm not trying to steal him,” Brynnlee huffed. “I just need arm candy for the night.”

“And so you chose the only married lbrother?” Oliver asked drily.

“I chose the only hot brother,” Brynnlee corrected, rolling her eyes. “Shiro is too young, and you are too….skinny.”

“Babe, be nice,” Daichi mumbled, “Ollie is nerdy hot. It's different.”

“Aaand that's the painkillers talking,” Shiro laughed, only to quickly add, “Not that you're not hot! Just that he wouldn't usually…”

“I know what you meant,” Oliver smirked. He squeezed Daichi's hand again, waiting for his brother to turn and look at him. “Is there anything I can get you? Water or something? You don't look comfortable."

Daichi nodded meekly, but when he looked at Oliver, his lips parted and his stare went blank. Whatever he had wanted had slipped from his mind like water through a sieve, a mixture of loss, alarm, and confusion shining in his eyes. “...I don't know.”

“That's alright,” Oliver nodded. “You want me to list some stuff? Or just tell me when it comes back to you.”

“Uh… you. You please.” Daichi stammered, still fighting his own brain to put words together.

“Okay,” Oliver said patiently. “I could get you water? A blanket? More pillows? I could go get your suitcase so you can have real pajamas.”

Daichi blinked desperately up at him, but none of the words jogged his memory at all. He knew that he wanted something - he felt far too awful not to do anything about the situation. “I don't know,” he repeated, panic rising in his voice.

“Well, figure it out,” Brynnlee told him. “He's trying to help you.”

It was at this point that Mrs. Jansen stepped in, barely a foot away from Brynnlee as she planted her hands firmly on her hips. “That's enough,” she said, her voice more severe than Oliver and Shiro had heard in years. “Daichi is still very hurt, and being interrogated isn't helping him recover.”

“Sorry Mom,” Oliver nodded, visibly chastened. “You just tell me when you're ready, okay bud? No need to play twenty questions.”

“Okay,” Daichi nodded, but stress still shone bright in his eyes. His vision was fuzzy, wobbling in and out of duplicity, and he wondered how much was his injury and how much might be a burgeoning headache. He blinked hard, trying to force his whole being back into focus. “Don't feel….good.”

“Try to rest, darling,” Mrs. Jansen murmured, ghosting a hand over his cheek. “We can leave you in peace. It's a lot to handle at once, you're probably overwhelmed.”

“Just wanna sleep,” he agreed. 

His mother nodded, beginning to gather and shoo away the rest of their family. Brynnlee initially went to argue, but a sharp look from Mrs. Jansen was enough to shut her up and get her moving. Shiro was, though loathe to leave his brother, almost too exhausted to walk straight, giving his family tight hugs before turning to squeeze Daichi's hand. He was relieved to see Maya and Momo sitting in the nearest waiting room, and he knelt down to wrap his arms around the dog's neck, desperate for her warm, silent comfort.

“That bad?” Maya asked quietly.

Momo was waiting loyally for him as he climbed out of the shower, tail wagging as he bent down, still wrapped in a towel, to hug her. He stayed with his face buried in her soft fur for what felt like ages, finally standing up with a shaky sigh. “Come on, girl, let's get some rest.”

Wrapped in a fresh, fluffy hotel robe, Shiro finally felt like he could breathe as he stepped out of the humid bathroom. He was baffled to see Maya standing in front of him, still fully dressed and holding their suitcases. He opened his mouth to question it, but she had already anticipated him.

“Your brother is in the hospital. We need to go.”

“I…what?” Shiro asked, his brow furrowing. He fumbled for his phone, tugging it out of the side of his bag only to realise that the battery had gone completely dead.

“No, don’t look at that,” Maya said. “You don’t need to see it. I rented us a car - the snow has grounded the planes. If we go now, we should get there for visiting hours in the morning.”

Shiro grimaced. “...how far is he?”

“It's gonna be a long night,” Maya said ruefully. “Would you rather wait for a plane?”

“No. No, we need to go,” Shiro said, hurrying to dig through his bag for actual clothes. “You start bringing the luggage down. I'll take Momo as soon as I'm dressed.”

“Okay, good,” Maya nodded. She turned to leave, glancing back over her shoulder to add, “Don't look at your phone.”

“I can't,” Shiro sighed, “it's dead.”

“Good.” Maya flashed him a stern look as she walked out the door. “You don't need to see that video.”

“Wait, what?” He called, alarm flashing across his face, but she was out the door before he managed to get it out. Hands trembling, he scrambled for his rucksack, plugging his phone in and tapping it with urgency as the screen came to life.

A barrage of messages blew up the screen, and Shiro struggled to make his way through all of them. Harrison and Oliver had sent good luck to both Shiro and Daichi, followed by congratulations to Shiro, and then shock and horror. Eventually, one of them sent a location pin of the hospital, and then the chat went quiet.

Sighing shakily, Shiro moved on to the next chat - his mother. Sweetie, your brother got into an accident in the rink. We're on our way back, come when you can. He rubbed a hand over his face, swiping up to the last chat - Valentina.

She had sent a link to a news article, only minutes old, along with two words - Oh dear. Ignoring Maya's warning, and the twisted trepidation in his gut, he clicked.

The video began to play right away. 

Shiro looked away, hand pressed over his mouth, but he’d already seen enough. The news anchor's voice droned on about the particulars of the incident, over the repeated sound of the crowd's reaction from multiple angles of a hundred phones.

Momo whined, nosing at Shiro's hand. His grip was trembling like he might drop the phone, and she took the case carefully in her mouth when he released his grip. He was still standing, shell-shocked, when Maya came jogging back up to the room.

“There you are!” She huffed, “I thought we were in a hurry. What took you…”

Maya trailed off, taking in his pale, stunned countenance and then clocking his phone in Momo's grasp. She sighed. “You saw.”

Shiro swallowed, unable to escape the knot of fear in his throat. “There was so much blood…” he whispered.

“Yep,” she nodded. “Yeah, there was.” 

She nudged him to sit on the bed, rifling through his duffle until she found him a pair of sweats and a t-shirt.

“God, I told you not to watch it. Get dressed, we're leaving.”

“It auto-played,” Shiro mumbled lamely, fumbling with the tie of his robe until it came undone. He was still slightly damp from the shower, and without the fluffy warmth around him, he began to shiver as he wriggled into his shirt.

“So you were looking it up?” Maya asked drily, slinging the last of their bags onto her shoulders.

“No!” Shiro said hastily, adding a sheepish, “Valentina sent it to me.”

“Valen… You know what, I'm not even going to ask.” 

***

Despite what people might say about him, Oliver took his role as the eldest Jansen seriously. Sure, he'd swanned off to university and got a degree far too cerebral for his father to understand instead of preparing to take over the family business. But Ollie knew he had no business wandering around a building site, and besides, Harrison needed it more than him. And yeah, he sometimes forgot to call Shiro because he got distracted by YouTube video essays. But he made it to as many of his competitions as physically possible, so it wasn't like he didn't put energy into their relationship.

Shiro’s seizures had started when Oliver was only thirteen. They'd been sat in a big bean bag chair, Oliver reading Philip Pullman to his four-year-old brother, when Shiro had stiffened like a board, his body jerking painfully as his muscles locked and spasmed. Oliver had never seen anything like it - no class at school had prepared him for something like this. And he was very good at school. So he would have known. He'd never forgotten it since, that helpless feeling, that terror. 

He'd had a similar feeling when Harrison had announced, freshly 18 and still not grown out of his acne, that he was getting married. The gaping pit in his stomach had opened up, the certainty that this was a bad thing and he could do nothing about it. Hell, he couldn't even try to talk his brother out of it, not the way his mind was set. So he'd watched, quietly, as Harrison’s pregnant girlfriend planned a wedding they couldn't afford. He'd slipped his brother some cash from his scholarship and then some more from his savings to cover the difference. Then, he'd stood beside his brother at the altar and handed him the ring that sealed the deal. He'd done it all with a smile on his face, screaming inside.

And he had that feeling now, while he watched Daichi lying motionless on the floor, blood staining the ice as the replay of the hit cycled through over and over on the screens overhead. He didn't need to look to see - the moment was imprinted in his memory just as indelibly as Shiro's vacant face during that first seizure. The initial shove in Daichi’s back. High speed. Hard hit. Daichi’s face smashing into the plexiglass, then, driven by momentum, cracking into the steel frame of the rink. The immediate slackening. Daichi hitting the ground. The crowd on their feet, roaring, while Ollie just sat and stared.

Everything after that felt like a video tape on fast forward. He could hear that screeching noise in his ears, the one that DVDs didn't make but cassettes always did. His next moment of clarity was in the hospital waiting room, Harrison's anxious foot tapping beside him, a soap opera playing on the small TV screen.

“I have to go be with the kids,” Harrison said reluctantly.

Oliver looked up, frowning in the hospital lights.

“Shelley’s working late,” Harrison continued. “Someone's gotta put them to bed.”

“Uh, yeah,” Oliver nodded, forcing a smile and parting his brother’s knee. “Yeah. You should go. I'll just…be here. If you need me. I've got my phone.”

And then he was alone. Just him, and the replay, and the woman praying the rosary in the other corner of the room.

***

Shiro managed to sleep for the first two hours that they were in the car, snuggled up to Momo in the backseat and obliviously peaceful. Then the text messages started.

Any updates?

Bro, he's still in surgery

Doc won't update

Nurse says it's normal?

Something about wire

As his phone began to ping, Shiro stirred, slowly blinking as the continued onslaught of notifications drowned out Maya's quiet podcast. Seeing motion in the rearview mirror, Maya glanced briefly over her shoulder at him.

“You doing okay back there?”

“Mmmmnn, yeah,” Shiro mumbled. He shuffled upright, fumbling to unlock his phone. “Lemme just….fuck.”

“You wanna take a break? There's a rest stop coming up.” Maya offered. She knew Shiro wouldn't do well reading through his phone while the car was moving, and she had a feeling the messages were going to keep coming.

“No, keep going. We need to get to the hospital as soon as we can.” Shiro said, already typing into the group chat. 

What did the doctor say was wrong??

Bro his jaw is soooooooo fucked up

That was Harrison, who, having had to go home to put the kids to bed, had begun the spate of texting in the first place. Shiro could imagine him pacing up and down his living room, readjusting his baseball cap periodically to allow himself to tug frustratedly on his hair.

Dude, stop texting from the car before you puke

That was Oliver. He was the only one of them at the hospital, both their parents having been away to visit a new brownfield site for potential development.

He's stable right now, that's all you need to worry about.

Shiro swallowed, his mouth hot and sweet. There was something his brother wasn't telling him, he was sure of it. Daichi wasn't okay, he was stable, and from Ollie that distinction was important. The fear curdling in his stomach was only exacerbated by the motion of the car, cold sweat beading on the back of his neck. He squeezed his eyes shut, typing with muscle memory and autocorrect.

Call if there's an update

Oliver sent a thumbs up, and Shiro locked his phone, letting it rest limply in his lap as he stared off into the middle distance. His voice was small and wobbly when he finally found the words to tell Maya, “He's not okay. Ollie wouldn't say he was okay.”

“Well what did Ollie say?” Maya asked, her voice steely calm. “Ollie won't say he's okay, cause if he was he'd have gone straight home. That doesn't mean he's in danger.”

“He said he's stable,” Shiro sighed, “but Harrison said his jaw is really messed up.” He swallowed tightly, finally murmuring, “I'm afraid I won't recognize him.”

Maya huffed out a laugh, glancing over her shoulder at him.

“Don't be insane, he's your brother. Of course you'll recognise him.”

“No, I know, I mean… like… what if he never looks like himself again?” Shiro fretted.

Maya rolled her eyes. “Shiro, relax. He's not even stitched up yet. Besides, he's got NHL money. He can afford a plastic surgeon later if he needs it.”

“But what if something goes wrong?” Shiro's anxiety changed tack in the face of Maya's stubborn reason. “Some people just never wake up from anaesthetic. Remember Mr Wiggles?”

“Mr Wiggles was a rabbit.”

“But what if?” Shiro whined, his breath wobbling in his throat as his anxiety continued to spiral. Momo nosed at his chest, letting out a small whine of her own.

“If you keep freaking yourself out, you're probably going to seize. Go back to sleep,” Maya said sternly.

***

The heavy hospital door creaked open, the first voice Oliver had heard in hours breaking the grim silence.

“Mister Jansen? Your brother is out of surgery. He's still very groggy, but the operation was successful.”

He shot to his feet immediately, reeling a little after having been sat so long. He should call his parents. And message the boys. And probably Brynlee, although he was loathe to do so given the melodramatic scene she'd caused earlier. All he could think though, was that he needed to see for himself.

“Can I see him?”

“Yes, of course. Follow me,” she said, opening the door and gesturing for him to walk in.

Oliver hovered close at the nurse's side, drumming his fingers on the case of his phone as he walked, pondering who he needed to call first. His mom, he thought. His mom should at least know that Daichi was alive and conscious.

By the time they’d got through the hospital to Daichi’s recovery room, his brother had fallen asleep again. Oliver reasoned that it could only be a good thing - rest aided recovery, so Daichi would need as much as he could get. What was less reassuring was the mess that had been made of his brother’s face. His nose was broken, bruises blooming across his cheeks and around his eyes, the whole lower portion of his face swollen in the aftermath of the surgery. The only immediately recognizable feature was his hair, which had curled under the sweat of his helmet as it always did, and now hung across his forehead in loose ringlets. Oliver grimaced at the sight. He'd seen Daichi with a busted lip and even a black eye before, when disagreements in the rink got out of hand. This, however… this was a whole new monster, a vast, unknowable beast that dug into his stomach with steel claws dripping fear and reeking of dread. Oliver sucked in a deep breath, settling into the chair by the bed and reaching for his brother's hand.

He'd almost dropped off to sleep himself when Daichi stirred. Excitement fluttered in his chest, followed by guilt as he realized he'd never updated their family. Hastily pulling out his phone, he shot texts to his parents and brothers, not bothering with Brynlee. She could wait until tomorrow to pester poor Daichi.

“Hey, bud,” Oliver said gently, giving his brother's hand a squeeze. “How you feeling?”

Daichi groaned, low and miserable. He was, unfortunately, very familiar with debilitating headaches, but this was a different beast altogether. His entire face was burning, the aching pulse of magma hottest in the bridge of his nose while agonizing lava seemed to erupt all along his jaw, creeping up the bottom of his face and threatening to consume him.

“Right, fuck…” Oliver laughed nervously. “No talking. Do you need more pain meds? Squeeze once for yes.”

Daichi clutched his hand tightly, the raspiest vestige of a voice sneaking out between immovably clenched teeth. “Hur’s like a muhrfucker,” he grumbled.

“I said no talking,” Oliver groaned. He groped for the call button by the bed. “Wait, lemme just… There, someone should come by soon.”

“Wha’ ha’ned?” Daichi slurred, head tilting to one side to see Oliver better.

“Oh, right. Why would you remember? I'm stupid. Uh, some jackass slammed you into the barrier. You hit your head really bad.” Oliver sighed.

“Huh…” Daichi’s forehead crinkled with concern. “Face?”

Oliver took a slow breath, his expression grim. “Your jaw is broken in six places. The doctor had to wire it shut.”

“Huh….”

“Don't worry though,” Oliver added, “they said once the swelling goes down you'll still be better looking than me.”

Daichi blinked slowly, not having processed a word. Instead, he lamented, “Fuck’n hur’s…”

Oliver cringed. “I know, bud. A nurse should be here soon.”

“Uhh….”

Reaching for his phone, Oliver shot off a quick text to his brothers.

He's awake!

“Want me to say hi to the guys for you?” Oliver asked, glancing back at Daichi.

“The wha’?”

“Don't worry about it,” Oliver said, patting his leg gently and sending another text. 

Super not with it haha

Daichi groaned, reaching clumsily for his brother's arm. “Ollie… I’un… feel good.”

“Yeah bud, the nurse is coming,” Oliver reassured him, patting his hand gently. “I bet they'll give you something to help you sleep.”

“Noooo…” Daichi squeezed his eyes shut, his head wobbling minutely as he tried to shake it. “Really no’ good.”

He swallowed tightly, struggling to sit up on his elbows as his breath became more labored. The room rocked beneath him and he squeezed his eyes shut, letting out a low moan.

“Easy, bud. The nurse should be here any second.” Oliver lied, hoping Daichi was woozy enough to not realize.

“Mmmmnn…” Daichi smacked Oliver's arm with surprising strength. “No. G’nna puke.”

“Oh shit,” Oliver muttered, looking around in a panic. He was still darting his eyes across the small space in a desperate search when Daichi lurched forward over his lap, a grimace twisting his face as a grating heave strained against the wires holding his jaw shut. Oliver finally spotted an emesis basin, diving across the bed to snatch it up and under Daichi’s chin in time. “Go on, you're good. Don't hurt yourself.”

He'd never really had to take care of Daichi like this much. His oldest brother had always been the most self contained - and besides, there were only three years between them. He thought back to a few months earlier, their last Nerf battle and how abruptly it had ended. His worry, intense then, was nothing compared to the anxiety gripping him now. Daichi retched again, and Oliver's stomach dropped. Because what was coming out of his mouth wasn't his pre-match meal - it was blood.

What did he do? Daichi needed help. The nurse wasn't here yet. Oliver didn't want to leave him, but he couldn't do anything to help, either. His heart jackhammered in his chest as suddenly he was a teenager again, watching helplessly as Shiro seized. Barely an adult himself, handing Harrison the life sentence of a marriage he wasn't ready for. He was useless. He couldn't do anything for either of them.

And then his mind cleared. Giving Daichi's shoulder a firm squeeze, Oliver promised, “I'll be right back.” Adrenaline flooding his body, he booked it out of the hospital room, running like he was ten years younger and still working out every day. He didn't even slow down until he caught sight of a nurse's station, slamming both hands on the counter with urgency as he panted for breath.

Having the ice under their blades as they skated a slow arc of the rink was a familiar comfort. Shiro felt his shoulders begin to loosen as the chatter of the crowd fell away, the energy between him and Maya unfurling, soothing and bright, until the only things that mattered were her and the ice. He supposed this was as important a part of the warm up as the actual physical warming of muscles.

After only a couple laps around the rink, he was fully in the zone, worries forgotten in the wake of muscle memory. Maya beside him was like another limb, fluid and supportive and perfectly in sync. As they made another loop around the ice, however, Shiro felt the weight of eyes watching him, not from the stands, but across the rink. One glance at Maya told him she felt it, too, and as they turned, he pinpointed the source. From the edge of the ice, Sunny and Valentina loomed like a storm cloud, staring daggers into Maya and Shiro. 

Maya flashed a smile, ever civil to the public eye, but her voice in Shiro's ear gave away her true feelings. “Look out,” she whispered, “Team Rocket at one o’clock.”

Shiro smirked, pulling her into a dazzling spin. When they'd finished, he glanced over again to see a sour look on Sunny's face. Feeling suddenly much more confident, he flashed the other man a wink, before continuing on with Maya. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Sunny fuming, and he fought the urge to chuckle as he spun Maya around the ice.

Aside from the requisite nasty looks across the rink, practice went by flawlessly. As the time of the actual competition approached however, Shiro began to feel a nervous weight in his chest again. The stands were filling up fast, and it felt like every single eye was on him. What if he was only good for the junior leagues? What if everyone else here was worlds ahead of them? What if he let the nerves get him and fumbled the routine?

“You good?” Maya's hand on his shoulder brought him back to earth, and he released the iron grip he'd had on his water bottle.

Taking a long drink, Shiro sighed. “I'm okay. Just antsy. I hate waiting to go on.”

Maya smiled gently, turning back to look out at the ice. Shiro reached over, trembling hand gripping her knee as he tried to keep his breathing slow. There was nothing Maya hated more than sweaty palms once they took the ice.

While they waited, Momo sat loyally by Shiro's feet. She knew how to stay out of the way of the skates, and it was her job to keep an eye on him for as long as possible. Shiro ran his hand over the fluffy curls on her head, trying to keep his anxiety at bay, and she rested her muzzle gently on his thigh. She hadn't been trained as an emotional support animal, but she was a smart dog - she knew what he needed from her before a competition.

It felt like seconds and eons all at once before their names echoed over the loudspeaker as being the next to go. Shiro took a deep breath, bending down to hug Momo. “Am I good?” he asked her, mostly as a formality. They both knew she would have alerted if he wasn't.

Momo snuffled his cheek and Shiro gave her a final squeeze. “Good girl. I'll see you after the competition, okay?”

“Good luck,” his brother smiled, taking Momo’s lead so Shiro could leave. Maya grabbed his arm.

“We're about to be up,” she reminded him. 

“Right,” Shiro nodded, allowing her to lead him along even as the nerves tightened his chest. He only let go when she stopped to remove her guards, trying not to let his hands shake as he mirrored her movement. To this day, he wasn't sure if she was as serene as she seemed moments before a competition or whether she simply hid her nerves better than him.

The worry left Shiro as soon as he entered the rink. The ice had always been his safe space, a powerful aura of calm that kept his bad thoughts at bay. He linked hands with Maya, beaming despite the nerves that had threatened to overwhelm him seconds earlier. She grinned back, twirling under his arm as they took their starting positions.

Then the music started and everything else fell away.

They were perfect. They were always perfect. He wasn't sure why he bothered worrying. He knew her so well, he knew exactly where she was, exactly when she would move. The scrape of their blades on the ice melded into one, indistinguishable even though there were two of them skating.

The music swelled and Shiro felt a wave of euphoria fill his chest. He lifted Maya into the air with the same effortless grace as always, beaming pridefully as the crowd roared. He was on top of the world. He was flying. He could hardly even feel his hands anymore, moving on sheer muscle memory. It was only when they scraped to a stop, flushed and panting and clinging to each other, that everything snapped back into focus, heart pounding in his chest at the thought of the massive crowd surrounding the ice.

The stands around them thundered with applause, and Shiro could feel his cheeks burning red. He was flattered, but terrified, and he squeezed Maya's hand a bit tighter in his own. Her grip wasn't as reassuring as it should have been, his hand feeling like it could float away even as their fingers interlaced. Schooling his face into an impassive expression, he tugged her along with him towards the kiss and cry. He was more nervous than he'd ever felt at one of these things, his stomach swooping as if someone had pulled the floor from under his feet. Would they be good enough? Or had they been just a flash in the pan, prodigious at the junior level but nothing really special now they were competing against adults?

By the time they reached the kiss and cry, Shiro was nearly ready to collapse. He sank down on the bench, staying latched onto Maya's hand. He couldn't let her wander off right now. This was all scary enough with her here next to him.

“It’s fine,” she whispered, smiling brightly at the cameras as she sat down neatly beside him. “We did great. I bet even Lyudmila is impressed.”

“You think?” Shiro asked, the nervous scrunch of his face dissolving into sheer surprise.

“Yeah,” Maya grinned, tipping her head to draw his attention across the rink. “See, you can tell cause Sunny looks like he wants you dead.”

The corner of Shiro’s mouth twitched as he glanced over to where Sunny and Valentina were standing, a momentary blip before he made his face carefully blank again.

“Yeah, can't have been too terrible,” he admitted.

“Exactly.” Maya nodded, tilting her head back up to where the TV cameras still bore down on them. On anyone else, the move would have looked vain, but Shiro knew it was just her way of controlling whatever narrative the press tried to spin about them. “Smile when the results come up, the blogs are all worried you're about to throw in the towel and we could do with another sponsor this season.”

Shiro's stomach lurched again, tightening as if he was on the Ferris wheel that occasionally came to town. “Uh, yeah,” he mumbled, knuckles white against his trousers. “Okay.”

By the time the results came up, Shiro had completely spaced out, staring fearfully into the middle distance. It was only Maya giving his leg a brief tap that brought him back to earth, and he schooled his face into a smile despite the fear clutching his chest.

“That's it,” she whispered, squeezing his hand so tight it hurt. “That's… that's bronze, I think.”

He looked up at the screen and felt his jaw drop. He was sure it was very unattractive and the photos would follow him around for the rest of his career but…bronze? In their first senior competition?

“Thank God,” he breathed eventually, pulling Maya into a hug and burying his face in her hair. “Sweet Jesus.”

Maya hugged him back, laughing as he lifted her briefly into the air. When they finally pulled apart, she could see tears of joy welling in his eyes. “You did great,” she reminded him. “We deserve this.”

Shiro floated through the medal ceremony on cloud nine, smiling without any falsehood. There was still a dampness in his eyes as they got their medals, and he hugged Maya tightly again before rushing over to the stands. Harrison, Daichi, and Oliver were hooting and howling from the front row, hanging over the railing like maniacs to reach for him. He launched himself towards them, holding out his hands, trusting that between them they would catch him as they always did. Daichi and Harrison pulled him up so that all three of them could hug him over the railings, laughing and congratulating and making fun of him for being nervous. Shiro grinned too, feeling light as a feather.

And then Momo began to howl. She had been silent all through the competition, sitting calm and polite as ever, but now it was as if a different dog took over. Jumping up, she barked loudly, shoving her way between the brothers to get closer to her human. She wasn't strong enough to actually move him, but she grabbed Shiro's sleeve in her teeth, tugging and whining urgently.

“Oh shit,” Daichi said softly. “Shiro, are you…? Harrison, help me get him up!”

Shiro blinked blearily. His stomach swooped again and he swallowed, peering at his brothers' concerned faces. Somehow, it seemed as though this had all happened before. But it hadn't, had it? Usually they just put him back down and he -

His body stiffened like a board. Oliver swore, tucking a jacket under his head as the other two laid him down on the floor of the stands. Seconds later, his body began to jerk.

People in the stands around them started to murmur, but the second someone drew closer, Harrison puffed up, glaring daggers into them. Maya, meanwhile, had heard Momo bark, and, knowing what that meant, made a mad dash for the stands. By the time she made it up, barefoot and breathless, the tremors were subsiding. Oliver turned Shiro onto his side, checking his airways, but there was nothing to do now except wait for him to wake up.

Momo had laid herself down next to Shiro, her muzzle pressed against his cheek as he settled down. It was her warmth that he felt first, the floor wobbling beneath them as his vision blurred back into existence. He let out a low groan, not daring to sit up yet.

“Did I… how'd we do?” He asked, lifting his head to look for Maya. Even that small motion sent him reeling and he sank back against Oliver's jacket with a moan. There was a small wet patch on it, cold against his cheek, and he screwed his face up. Something bitter coated his tongue.

“Easy,” Oliver said gently, one firm hand on his shoulder to keep him from moving. “There's no rush, right? You're doing great.”

“Did we…?” Shiro mumbled and then, as his fingers stroked through Momo’s fur, felt the cool disc of metal against his chest. “....oh.”

“You did amazing,” Daichi added, leaning over Oliver's shoulder to smile at him. “Catch your breath, and we'll get you home once you feel a bit steadier.”

“Mmm…” Shiro didn't dare nod, simply letting his eyes slide closed. His body was heavy with the kind of bone deep tiredness he associated with the flu. The bitter taste lingered in his mouth, and he smacked his lips weakly in an attempt to get rid of it.

“I'm going to bring the car around,” Harrison said. “So when you're ready to go it's just straight out the door.”

“Give him a minute,” Daichi advised, clocking the way Shiro's face scrunched in discomfort. He knelt down to get a better look. “Baby bro, you still with us?”

“Mhmm,” Shiro mumbled, unable to form a proper sentence when his mind was still so fuzzy. He wanted to go home, to lie down properly in bed, but even opening his eyes felt an insurmountable challenge.

“Good, that's good,” Daichi said, his voice steady even as the hubbub around them remained frantic. He laid a hand on Shiro's hair. “Let us know when you can move and I'll carry you out.”

Shiro clumsily clutched onto Momo, her warm, soft fur the only stability he could find. He was tired. His whole body was sore. He wanted to go home. He groaned. “Dun’... Feel good.”

“I know. Just take a deep breath. As soon as you're ready, we can go,” Daichi said calmly.

Shire smacked his lips again, nose scrunching. It had been a while since he'd had an episode like this, and he wondered whether he'd simply forgotten how bad it felt or if coming straight off the ice had made it worse. He wasn't just dizzy, he was starting to feel nauseous, and knowing there was a car ride between him and home did nothing to help. Grabbing Momo for support, he sat gingerly up on his elbows. “Dai… wanna go home,” he mumbled.

“Come on then.”

Daichi scooped him up easily, almost as though he were a child. Shiro’s head lolled weakly against the thick bands of hockey muscle that made up his brother's arms. Harrison was already shooing people out of the way, while Oliver grabbed Momo's lead.

Shiro groaned as Daichi began to move, burying his face in his big brother's sweatshirt. Daichi did his utmost to walk smoothly, but he knew the stairs down from the stands were going to be rough. He held him tighter still, hoping to minimise the amount of jostling, how much Shiro might bounce in his arms. Even so, he heard the little whimper half-muffled by his shirt. “You're okay, it's not far now,” he murmured, glancing down at Shiro's pallid face.

“Gonna puke,” Shiro mumbled, voice so frail Daichi could easily have missed it.

“Okay,” Daichi glanced towards the exit. “Just hold on like thirty seconds.”

Shiro groaned, fingers clutching at Daichi’s sleeve as they hurried from the stands. Swift as a bullet, Daichi darted out of the building, finding a relatively clear space to stop. He carefully guided Shiro to stand, keeping the younger boy braced against him.

Shiro curled forwards, retching weakly. He never ate much before competing, but his stomach was so unsettled he just wanted everything out so that he could finally wash the bitter taste away. His legs felt limp as cooked spaghetti, and it was only Daichi's strong arms around his body that kept him from collapsing. He heaved again, choking up a dribble of bile.

Daichi cooed, patting his back. “There you go, that's better. Harrison's just - oh, look, he's here with the car.”

“Dai…” Shiro mumbled, coughing and spitting out a mouthful of butter slime. “Don't feel good.”

“I know, buddy. Just hang on a sec. Ollie’s grabbing a blanket from the trunk.”

While Harrison was helping Shiro to stand up, wiping his chin on the sleeve of his hoodie, Maya came jogging out of the building. She'd haphazardly thrown on her street clothes, looking around until she zeroed in on Shiro, hurrying over to him.

“Hey!” She exclaimed, hands fluttering until they landed on his hair, stroking gently. “Habibi, you look awful. That was so scary, imagine if they'd dropped you. I brought your stuff - I hope everything's in there, it was everything I could see.”

“‘s fine, thanks,” Shiro mumbled, groggy and grey-faced. Daichi leaned over his shoulder to mouth thanks to Maya, taking the bag from her. Oliver came around with the blanket from the trunk, wrapping Shiro up and ushering him towards the car.

“C'mon, let's get you home,” Oliver murmured, easing Shiro down and guiding Momo into the car after him.

“I… Feel better!” Maya called, teeth worrying her lip as she waved them off.

The brothers waved before taking off, with Oliver hopping in the passenger seat while Daichi climbed in the back beside Shiro. Even wrapped up in the blanket, he felt shivery and unsteady, toppling over so his head rested in Daichi's lap. Daichi gave a little grunt of surprise but didn't comment, instead resting a hand on Shiro's shoulder to keep him from bumping about as the car picked up speed.

Momo stretched out her long nose, sniffing Shiro's face worriedly. She looked up at Daichi, as if expecting him to do something. He ruffled the fur sticking up between her ears. “He'll be okay,” assured her. She warbled a protest at him, but settled down onto the floor, eyes flicking sideways to keep tabs on her owner.

Shiro, meanwhile, was struggling to lie still, every movement of the car exacerbating his lingering nausea. Daichi gently stroked his hair, glancing out the window to see how far they were from home.

“Harrison?” He asked quietly, trying not to disturb his baby brother. “You got any bags in here anywhere?”

“Uh, yeah. Ollie, check the glove box.”

“Roger,” Oliver nodded, rifling through the glove compartment until he produced a plastic bag. “Here,” he said, passing one back to Daichi.

Daichi nodded to him, prying the edges open ready. “Shiro?” He said quietly, thumb rubbing across his brother's shoulder. “You gonna puke again?”

As loath as Shiro was to admit it, his stomach seemed to be tumbling in rhythm with the tires. “Mhmm,” he nodded, keeping his lips tightly pursed.

“Alright, up.” 

Daichi's tone was sharp, commandeering, even though his hands were gentle as he shifted Shiro's weight. They called it his hockey captain voice, the one he used to get someone on the other side of a rink to do what he wanted without having to shout.

Shiro moved, practically on autopilot as Daichi leaned him over the plastic bag. A weak choking noise tightened his throat, liquid trickling into the bag. He coughed, whimpering and clutching the bag with shaky hands. Daichi coaxed him forwards, until he was leaning between his legs, elbows propped up on his knees.

“It'll be over in a minute.”

Shiro whimpered, gagging weakly until his stomach clenched again, forcing up a tiny dribble of bile.

“There you go,” Daichi nodded, patting his back. “Just hang tight. We'll be home in a minute.”

Shiro was still gagging, struggling to bring anything up despite how ill he felt. Tears welled in his eyes, and he let out a strangled whimper. It didn't seem fair. The memory of the skate and the ceremony had come back to him in trickles, like the first rays of sun poking over the horizon in the morning, and he thought he had all of it back now. It didn't make him feel any better. Something about that high made this low even more devastating - he should be celebrating. No, it wasn't fair.

It was Daichi who saw the tears welling in his eyes, recognized the tense, shaky breath he drew in. Giving Shiro's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, he murmured, “it's okay. You're allowed to be upset. Try to take a deep breath.”

The breath came out as a trembling gasp. Shiro's shoulders hunched miserably tighter.

“Were there cameras?” He asked, anxiety a constant thrum under his words.

“Not… in the stands,” Daichi said slowly. 

“Harrison almost broke a girl's phone when she tried to get close, so you should be fine,” Oliver chimed in.

Shiro's breath shuddered again, just one tiny nudge away from breaking down in hysterics. It wasn't like he kept his epilepsy a secret, but there was a difference between being public and being public. He was done being sick, at least for now, and he let himself crumple against Daichi's broad chest, sniffling quietly. Once he'd tied up the bag, Daichi wrapped his brother up in a massive bear hug.

“It's going to be okay,” Daichi said. It broke his heart a little, thinking about the horrible things that people might be saying about Shiro on the internet. He'd seen it enough times for himself and his teammates.

“Today should've been happy,” Shiro mumbled, his voice threatening to crack. “Can't believe I ruined it.”

“You didn't,” Daichi said patiently. He rested his chin on Shiro's head. “You just gave everyone a bit of a scare. The pride, the relief, the joy? That's all just waiting until you feel a bit better.”

“I don't… want any more attention.” Shiro lamented, “I just wanna disappear.”