#jthornton

Joe expects Mario to groan, to tell him how frustrated he is with the team right now. There’s a stupid part of him that wants Mario to want him on the ice even if his glory days are well behind him. At a bare minimum, he can understand Mario dreaming of competence on the ice. They’re his safe space for that, all the things he won’t say to his teammates because he takes his job seriously and he’d never put them down; they’ve got the advantage of age for him though, the knowledge that’s sometimes you have to acknowledge that your line is playing fucking shit.

Mario softens instead. “Tell me?” He says it shyly, glancing away and then back again.

“Tell you—I’m retired?”

Mario smiles and nods.

“I’m retired,” Joe starts, tilting his head slightly. He watches Mario. “I’m staying home.” Mario looks almost pleased, though there’s still something wistful in his gaze. “I’ll be waiting for you to come home,” Joe promises, his heart aching a little with Mario across the country and Burnzie living away from them for the next few years and Patty moving into a more active management role with the team. Life is changing, no doubt about it; necessary change and good change, but Joe doesn’t know what it will look like in the end.

“Yeah,” Mario says, smiling with absolute love shining in his eyes. He curls towards his phone, hand outstretched like he can pull Joe through it, ignore a thousands of miles between them. “Yeah, you’re staying home. You’re my home now, eh? I get to come home to you and Patty.”

“Every day,” Joe swears. “Every day, Mario. We’re retired.”

Mario nods, like he can hear what Joe is saying. Maybe he can; they’re so much alike, good or bad. For people who are always moving, standing still and waiting for someone else is as deliberate a choice in love as they can make, a demonstration of dedication and loyalty. Joe is standing still for now, waiting for the next change.

He’s surprised by how much he likes this now; for so long, Patty was the solid rock that he and Burnzie came back to. Joe thinks he might understand Patty better when he sees Mario grin at him and his heart leaps at the thought of counting down the hours until Mario touches down. Hell, maybe he’ll rope Patty into driving out to the airport with him so they can pick Mario up.

“I miss you,” Mario says finally, quietly looking at Joe with those sweet eyes.

Joe laughs, not meanly. “Good. Patty’s sunk to taking pictures of random dogs he’s met in the neighborhood, if you notice. He’s filling up the group chat to lure you back. He told some lady who wanted to name one of her dog’s puppies after him that she should also name one for you. In fairness,” Joe teases, “he also suggested Tommy, but he definitely said your name first.”

Mario laughs. “Oh good. You think we can tell Mike that if he doesn’t find a way for you and Patty to travel with the team, he’ll have to invent something to keep Pat busy? You don’t even know how often Patty’s texted this week, even between the two of us. I thought maybe he’d be a little more used to it at this point, but he’s been so worried, he’s worrying me. You have to keep him busy until I get home.”

Joe winks. “I can keep him busy.” Joe doesn’t jump when Patty’s hand lands on his shoulder because he could see Mario’s eyes drift up and his smile broaden.

“You’re going to keep me busy?” Patty asks, leaning in to peer at Mario. Mario has cleverly tilted the camera up so his ice pack is no longer in frame.

“I’m unemployed,” Joe informs him, glancing up to see the corner of Patty’s grin. “Fun-employed as the kids say.”

Mario and Patty snort in unison and Joe can feel Patty’s warmth as he leans on Joe’s shoulder more heavily.

“I’m pretty sure,” Joe continues, “that this is the whole point of being retired actually. Wearing as little as I can get away with and hoping Patty is overcome with lust when I walk into the room.” It’s probably a little unfair with how hard Patty laughs at that, but Mario looks like the sun just rose on him so Joe can’t be too mad.

“Oh good,” Mario says, eyes crinkling. “Something to look forward to.”

“Getting old or getting home to Jumbo’s latest nudist exhibition?” Patty asks dryly. His free hand is rubbing soft circles into Joe’s bare back though, so he can’t object too much,

“Jumbo, obviously.” Mario shifts. “In fact, quit sending me pictures of Yorkies and send me pictures of Jumbo instead. Give me something to look forward to after I get my ass murdered in practice tomorrow.”

“That bad?”

“I genuinely cannot repeat what Coach said,” Mario says darkly. “Not just like bad words, but like unbelievably complicated curses on like all of our ancestors. Coach is going to see if a man can die from line drills I think. Imagining Jumbo shirtless will at least let me die happy.”

Patty rolls his eyes. “Well, if I must.”

“You must.” Mario says it firmly, but his smile is barely suppressed.

“Joe will be happy to help,” Patty says. He pauses and then adds, “I know you have to go sleep, but don’t leave the ice on too long.”

Mario gapes at him. “How did you know?”

“How often do you think I’ve iced my bruises?” Patty shakes his head. “Besides, Burnzie said you’d caught an elbow to the side.”

“Tattletale,” Mario sighs. “It wasn’t even that hard, Pat, honest. Nico just tripped.”

“Don’t be stubborn,” Patty advises. “Get some rest, yeah? And call Joe when you’re done with practice.”

Patty has a meeting tomorrow morning but Joe does not. His plan for tomorrow included puttering around in the yard and getting drinks with a couple of the guys who are still in town in the evening. He’ll happily pencil Mario in too.

Mario sighs. “Yeah. Can’t wait to be done with this roadie and come home. For Christmas, someone needs to get me a Burnzie-sized body pillow.”

“We’ll keep that in mind. Night, Mar.” Patty waves and Joe blows Mario a kiss before the screen goes dark.

He hears footsteps behind him and turns, habitual friendliness. It’s Joe, grinning at him.

Tomáš sighs. “What are you doing here?”

“What?” Joe’s eyes crinkle, like he thinks Tomáš is telling him a joke, like Tomáš is still a child.

Tomáš hates this, hates that he is responsible for this today. “Joe, why are you here?”

He can see the confusion on Joe’s face and knows it will feel like cruelty to tell the truth. You’re lost, old man, he thinks. “Come on, the trainers need to see you.”

Joe follows him, the support staff in the halls all smiling gently at him. He’s here more days than not and for some of them he’s more a fixture of this building than any other Shark.

“What do—” Joe starts, still following Tomáš. The glistening spellthread anchored in his chest flickers and his eyes clear. “Oh, it happened again, didn’t it.”

“Yes,” Tomáš says simply. He doesn’t know what words will strike Joe’s slightly shamed averted gaze. He grasps Joe’s wrist at the door to the trainers’ room. “Stay, yes? You can cheer when I score. Just me, though. Fuck Erik.”

That gets a little snort of laughter from Joe and it’s all Tomáš can do before he has to go get ready.

He doesn’t score, of course. Erik does, but it doesn’t matter. They show Joe on the Jumbotron during one of the breaks in play and he waves benevolently at the crowd; he does love them, or he wouldn’t be here.

---

Logan’s talked about it to death. And still, somehow, here he is again. He and Eddie are pretty well drunk, propped up in a booth in what has to be the shittiest club in Arizona.

“No, no, say that again,” Eddie shouts over the booming bass.

“Fuck,” Logan swears wearily. “Come here.” He drags Eddie outside and presses the side of his face to the brick wall. It’s blessedly cold and quiet out here. “It's nothing good.” He shakes his head and then rethinks it as his world sways a little. “Listen, the original spell is a non-starter. Alumni who have the base level of team spirit are gonna get dragged ‘home’ if we’re shit. But the problem is the dampening overlay. They don’t know why it’s failing here and they don’t know why Jumbo’s getting hit harder than Nabby or any of the other locals. The latest theory floated by that weaselly guy in Shielding is that the Cuda in town are somehow a reflector for the NHL spellwork.”

“Ah, bullshit,” Eddie offers, squatting down with his back to the wall.

“Yeah, bullshit.”

“So Jumbo’s fucked, eh?”

“Unless you’re planning to score some goals? Or the rest of us get less shit?”

“You score some fuckin’ goals,” Eddie says, but it’s nothing more than tired banter. They’ve been doing this too long to fight each other when they know how a season stretches out. “Tomáš said he could see it, did he tell you?”

“European fucks,” Logan sighs. “What can he see?” The Europeans train people better, so even without the aptitude to do major spell work, they’re more aware of it. Some of them see it or feel it, but Logan’s even heard of people who swear they can hear the pitch of spells. It’s more important in Europe where stepping the wrong way on a ley line could turn you into a badger, but Logan sometimes wishes Canadians learned more about how to sense spells instead of differentiating ingredients for spellwork. He can identify a bay leaf and recall six uses for it, but he can’t point at a complex illusion spell and deconstruct how many people cast it like Erik can.

“He sees spells…sort of woven together I think. The threads on Ricci and Nabby are a little smaller while he describes Jumbo’s connection as some kind of enormous rope. Think the kind of thing you’d tie on a ship anchor.”

“Shit. No wonder they keep telling Joe to stay close. He can hardly drive to SF without getting yanked back in.”

Eddie looks up at him under the streetlights, face unusually soft. “You ever heard of it getting this bad?”

“Yeah, you just have to wait for the perfect storm.” Joe’s not the first guy this has happened to, though he seems to be the only one this bad right now. “Shit season, so the original spell is active. Not an original six team, because newer franchises seem to have less control on the dampening overlay. And a genuine connection to the team. Jumbo’s practically got teal blood.” He loves them a lot, Logan knows; Eddie knows too, from the way he winces. And this is how they’re showing him their love: losing so hard he can’t leave them.

“Hey,” the door bangs open behind them and Middsy sticks his head out. “We’re moving, let’s go, Cap.”

Logan doesn’t even think he notices Eddie on the ground before he disappears again. Logan gives Eddie a hand up and half-shoves him back through the door. They can’t solve this problem, but they might as well go get drunk with the guys and forget this night entirely.

---

James finds Joe Thornton sitting in his stall. The game is over, long over, and the boys are all gone. He’d been, well, not drowning himself in the shower, but maybe lingering to see if the water would wash his mistakes away. Now he’s standing here in just a towel and Jumbo Joe Thornton is looking entirely out of place in a suit.

James makes the joke when Joe’s eyes flick up at him. “As I recall, in this locker room, I’m dressed and you’re shirtless.”

“I could fix that,” Joe says, eyes bright, but his smile is half-hearted.

They didn’t play together long, but James knows Joe isn’t okay. He sits down on the bench, resigns himself to being a little late for his dinner tonight. “You still can’t go, huh?”

“Don’t,” Joe says. “Don’t be kind and patient and sit here. Go home to your wife, Reims. I don’t need a babysitter.”

And maybe it’s because James is nearly the oldest guy in the room, almost 15 years older than the kids they’re calling up, but he doesn’t believe Joe. He crosses his ankles casually, stares at his own bare feet next to Joe’s shiny dress shoes. “They thinking about building you a nice Jumbo-sized bed in here? Or about hiring someone to ward you regularly against the lure so you can at least go about your life?”

“I’ve been reliably informed that sleeping here might make it worse. They want me to try to anchor more strongly with something external. They suggested I get back in touch with my high school classmates.”

James laughs at that. “And you probably told them that you don’t know who the fuck went to your high school because you were very busy going first overall.” James remembers that draft, seeing Patty and Jumbo grinning on stage together.

Joe relaxes next to him a little. “Yeah. I couldn’t name a person to save my life. Hell, I don’t really keep in touch with the guys from Boston either. My whole life is here.”

“Yeah. None of them want to say it,” James snitches, “but the guys like having you here. They know this is hard on you, not having a choice, but they’ll miss you when it’s fixed.”

He can see Joe’s emotions play across his face, love and joy and wistfulness. He’s under no illusion that Joe stopped playing here because he wanted to. “You know they’d do anything for you, Joe. Even stop talking to you if that’s what you need to make that break.”

“No,” Joe says, shaking his head. “No, let’s be honest. That wouldn’t work at all. I’ve never needed another person’s participation to carry a conversation.”

James laughs and Joe grins at him. “Well, as long as you know they care. I’m sure it will work out.” He has faith, both in fate and in simple human persistence.

“God, do they care,” Joe groans, finally levering himself up. He pulls a little packet out of his pocket, wrapped in a nice handkerchief. It looks a bit like a tea bag, if James is honest. “Mario has started making me charm bags to keep me safe after I told him I stubbed my toe hurrying out the door.”

“Awww,” James teases, pulling on his shirt. “Once a rookie, always a rookie.”

“He’s a good kid,” Joe agrees, tucking the charm bag back into his pocket. It’s almost definitely an emptied tea bag, filled with dried rosemary and juniper and stapled back together.

“So how long are you stuck here tonight?”

“They’ll wrap it up in the next half hour. They don’t play with the wards during the game, you know, so it takes a while for them to fix it if I get pulled in on game day.” Joe shrugs. “I’d probably have come to half the games anyway, so I can’t complain too much.”

“Want to walk around?” James shoves his stuff in his bag. He goes to the minifridge to grab a bottle of water. “I’m still buzzing after the game and my wife’ll kill me if I go home and get the kids all antsy at bedtime. We can take a lap around and see if those magicians can manage to tell a charm from a conjuring by the time we’re done.”

“I think they pulled one of the refs from tonight,” Joe says with a grimace, but he follows James out the door well enough. “Gary Bettman’s best is on the case, so I assume they’ll do nothing worth the time.”

James refrains from commenting, but he can certainly sympathize. He’s seen no evidence that the refs are competent or motivated to help the Sharks this year. Still, he can walk around with Joe for half an hour, distract him a little while he waits for the dampening overlay to be mended.

It’s a quiet night and Joe’s always a laugh, even under trying circumstances. The guy just doesn’t know how to be any other way.

---

Joe is a little tired. It’s the middle of winter (a California winter, thankfully) and he’s still being dragged into SAP center at least once a week.

They have given him jobs to do, but he has no idea whether he’s succeeding or being placated like a toddler with a coloring book. Still, a purpose is better than just being a spectator.

So he looks at stats and listens to the GM and coaches talking. He watches the games and takes notes; when Mike asks him about his notes, he answers honestly. He never thought he’d leave hockey anyway, so maybe when they solve this, he’ll have a way to stay with the game.

But the job is a distraction from everything else. His former teammates look at him and he can hardly stand it because they look at him like he’s their grandfather, ambling around in his own memories. They love him and he is humbled by the extent of their love, but he can’t bear the way his fears are reflected in their eyes.

He’d hoped (dreamed, wished, prayed) that he and Patty would come home together. Sure, he hasn’t officially retired, but that’s not far off. And Patty’s supposed to come back for his retirement ceremony in a month or so. But Patty’s been traveling and he hasn’t been sucked in by the spell yet.

Nabby and Ricci are similar to Joe, though he thinks they’ve stayed for slightly different reasons. Ricci chose this, long before the Sharks were losing and the luring spell was reactivated. Nabby just can’t stand the jet lag from getting pulled from overseas. Joe knew he was probably a little too fond of San Jose to ever really leave; hell, he has American citizenship now. But he didn’t think it would be this bad. They can’t even explain to him why the dampening overlay on the original spell is so ineffective for him compared to every other alumnus. It’s not like Nols is being pulled in and he still even lives in the Bay Area.

He texts Scotty while he’s thinking about it, since he knows he’ll be in town for Patty’s retirement.

>>when are you getting in?

<<For Pat? Night before. Btw I’m sleeping at ur place

>>Duh

>>I’ll send a rookie to pick you up from the airport

<<Damn you’re still stuck huh?

>> No luck yet. Just don’t want to leave you stranded if I get lured in and can’t leave right away

<<I’ll be fine. Did u know Uber exists?

Joe responds with a rude emoji because he’s still allowed to be Scotty’s bratty little cousin even now that they’re both grown.

They’re in the planning stages for the ceremony and Joe is sure he’ll have to give a speech. How he’ll do that without just saying “I love you, Patty,” on repeat for ten minutes might be a struggle. He doodles it in the margins of his notebook anyway, way up in the rafters; what else is there to do during intermission?

He doesn’t text Patty. Patty wanted space and Joe understands that. Every guy who retires has to find himself again, has to figure out what the hell you do with all the hours in the day when you’re not training your body to the limit. Joe hasn’t formally retired but he’s started building a different life anyway. He’ll probably announce his retirement this summer and then work with the Sharks to figure out if he really has something to offer the team.

So Patty gets his space and whenever he decides to pick up his phone again, Joe will be waiting.

---

Tomáš can feel the frisson of excitement in the air as they build up to Patty’s retirement. Sure, the team is shit and they’re all keeping an eye on Joe, but they’re happy for Patty. There are fewer of them now who played with Patty, but a lot of the old guys are coming into town. It’ll be a fun weekend.

Logan’s hosting a party at his place before the big alumni game, so everyone who can will be showing up. Tomáš shows up early to help out, which is good because Logan’s white-knuckling a bag of plastic forks and panicking about where to put everything.

By the time everyone gets there, the food and drinks are in disarray and the party has spilled through the first floor of the house and out into the backyard.

“Hey,” Cranky hollers, very shortly before he yanks Tomáš into a rough hug. Tomáš hugs him back and then shoves him on his way. He and Boyler live close enough that Tomáš sees them at least once a year.

When Patty finally arrives a great big cheer goes up and he’s mobbed by anyone near the door. Tomáš waits, out on the patio, for Patty to make the rounds. He’s got a beer and he’s comfy.

“You going to the alumni game?” Erik asks, lightly kicking Tomáš's chair.

“Yeah. Gonna watch the old guys play,” he says, just loud enough for Hanner to look up from where he’s talking to Eddie and flip him off.

Erik laughs and says, “Should be fun.“

“Hey, guys,” Patty says from somewhere over Tomáš’s head.

“The man of the hour,” Erik says gracefully, lifting his glass in a toast.

“I appreciate everyone coming,” Patty says distractedly. Tomáš twists to look at him. “Do you know where Jumbo is?”

“Uh, no?” Erik digs out his phone. “Maybe ask Logan if he heard from him.”

Tomáš fishes around in his pocket and holds up his phone to Patty. “I can call?”

“No, no,” Patty declines, but his brow is still furrowed. He continues down the stairs to the yard, carefully greeting everyone. Tomáš likes to watch him work; San Jose does something to its captains, down deep in their bones.

“Call,” Erik advises and Tomáš makes a face because he was going to anyway. Joe wouldn’t miss out on something like this.

Joe picks up on the first ring, helpfully.

“Joe?”

“Hey, buddy. Patty arrived?”

“Yeah, where are you?”

“Two guess and the first one doesn’t count,” Joe suggests, which is a silly sentence.

“Rink?”

“Yep. I’m about to steal Kaapo’s pads and take a nap because I gotta wait for the off-duty magicians to come on site and join Vinny here.” That’s probably at least partly a joke, but Joe sounds tense.

“Oh. How long will you be there? Patty is missing you.”

“Tommy, I don’t have a fucking clue. Unless you’ve suddenly become a much better wizard than I remember and you can solve the entire NHL’s lure spell?”

“Joe,” Tomáš chides gently. “I’ll say to Patty that you’re stuck—“

“No! I haven’t…I don’t want to worry him. If he asks, I’m on my way.”

“Lying…” Tomáš frowns to illustrate how he feels to Erik who’s half listening. “Right now Patty is saying hi to everybody. He’ll wait for you.”

“Just,” Joe sighs gustily over the line, “keep him distracted.”

“Okay. We’ll save you cake too,” Tomáš offers. That might actually be harder than keeping Patty distracted.

“Thanks,” Joe says. “Just, uh, keep it on the down low. Maybe tell Scotty if I’m really late because he’s supposed to crash at my place.”

“Okay, yeah, we will.”

“Hopefully, this will be done soon.”

“Soon,” Tomáš agrees. Joe hangs up and Tomas immediately stands.

“Joe’s stuck?” Erik looks discomfited and Tomáš wonders a little meanly if he’s worried about Joe or worried that he’ll be trapped forever between Ottawa and Sam Jose.

“Yeah. I’m gonna give Cooch the heads-up. Joe said not to say anything to Patty though.”

“Stupid,” Erik comments, so Tomáš messes up his hair as he walks back in.

Logan’s not hard to find, hovering in the kitchen. He fusses so much. A couple of the rookies are sitting at the bar stools at the counter, so Tomáš very discreetly grabs a fist of Logan’s shirt and hauls him out to the hallway.

“Tommy?” Logan looks more worried, which is not very becoming on him.

“Joe. He’s stuck again. And he said not to tell Patty anything.”

Logan frowns, which Tomáš agrees with in principle. Since this is not a Best Friend Gossip, however, Tomáš wants a little more.

Since Joe and Patty are former captains, this clearly falls on the head of the current captain.

“He has to wait for Vinny’s backup, he says. I don’t want him stuck there until tomorrow’s game.”

“I’ll make some calls,” Logan agrees. “Can you make sure Seto doesn’t eat all of the puff pastry things? And for god’s sake don’t let Greggy try to open another bottle of wine. He massacred the last cork.”

“Sure,” Tomáš agrees with a shrug. Logan jogs upstairs, presumably for an ounce of quiet while he makes his calls.

Tomáš takes up his guard station near the snacks, which mostly means he gets to mindlessly graze on these little sausage things and some bacon-wrapped dates. It’s actually kind of a nice area to linger since everyone passes by eventually.

Tomáš is interrupted in an interesting conversation with a slightly drunk Rob Blake by his phone buzzing incessantly. He apologizes and pulls it out to find five messages from Eddie, sent one after the other.

>>hey

>>watch out

>>Patty on the warpath

>>Tommy

>>seriously he’s pissed

That gives Tomáš about two seconds before Patty shows up, peering over Rob’s shoulder with a tight smile.

“Sorry, I just need to borrow him,” Patty says before his strong hand latches on to Tomáš’s elbow and yanks him along.

“Patty?”

“Where are your keys?” Patty asks, still smiling as they pass through the crowd at speed.

“My pocket,” Tomáš says nervously, feeling his own accent thicken in his mouth. “Why?”

They make it out the door, somehow, without anyone questioning them and Tomáš thinks that’s maybe down to Patty’s captainly aura. “Logan has disappeared, Eddie’s fucking toasted, and I’m running low on rookies I can use to guilt Jumbo about being the stupidest motherfucker alive.”

Tomáš wisely does not respond to that accusation and simply leads Patty to his car. “So I’m driving?”

“Yes.” Patty opens the door ferociously and flings himself into the passenger seat. “I could have brought Mario, I guess, but he’s never calmed a situation down in his life. Do you know what I would give to have Cobra, right now?”

“No?” Tomas pushes the button to start the car and carefully pulls out of the culs-de-sac.

Patty has moved on apparently. “And I had to hear about this from Scotty? Fucking Scott Thornton? Of course Jumbo couldn’t pick up a phone.”

Tomáš hazards a glance at Patty and sees the fire in his pale eyes, the way his brows are furrowed. He looks like he’s ready to take the most important faceoff of his life.

“Maybe Joe didn’t want you to worry?”

Patty almost snarls. “That asshole has been moping around the rafters of SAP center and ignoring the advice of every magical professional to get a fuckin’ hobby elsewhere so he doesn’t have to actually live within the warding. The easiest way to make me not worry would have been to listen to them.”

Tomáš doesn’t have anything tactful to say to that, so he keeps his mouth shut. Patty’s legs are flexing like he’s pressing down an invisible gas pedal while Tomáš drives; Tomáš is mostly grateful that San Jose is neither big nor busy at this time of night. The dark streets are mostly empty and if Tomáš pushes the speed limit a little, no one will ever know.

The private parking lot on the side is still open, the gate propped to the side. It’s not hard to get in, the building still half lit as they clear out the ice rink and fully clean the concourse. Under the streetlights, the spellthreads seem even brighter than in the sunlight. Tomáš studies it for a second, looking at Patty’s connection to the lure spell and wondering whether bringing him here was a mistake. His threads are not as thick and shining as Joe’s but they’re not small either.

“Well?” Patty asks impatiently, leaning on the hood of the car.

“Am I coming?”

“Yes, yes, come on. Practice making a sad and disappointed face for him.”

Tomáš does not, in fact, practice that as he follows Patty through the halls. “Wait,” he interrupts.

“Yeah?”

There’s a glimmer to the left, not the right, so Tomáš thinks the spell locus is that direction. “I can see, you know, the magic. It’s stronger here so that must be where Joe is.”

“Lead the way,” Patty suggests, gesturing for Tomáš to go on.

Tomáš follows that little spark he can see, away from the corporate offices and down to the kitchen. The light is on, so he tilts his head at the frosted glass door. “In there, I think.”

Patty opens the door and marches in, letting it swing mostly shut behind him.

Tomáš hears Joe say, “Patty?” in equal tones worry and delight. He lingers out of sight by the doorway, presuming some privacy might be nice if Patty’s about to shout at Joe for not telling him.

“Scotty told me everything, you dumb motherfucker,” Patty starts. “What the hell were you thinking? If the team magicians tell you to go get a hobby or get out of the rink, why can’t you listen? The whole world is out there, you idiot.”

“You weren’t,” Joe says and Tomáš can feel his heart drop because even with Joe’s characteristic honesty that felt like an unplanned confession.

“Joe,” Patty says, exasperatedly fond and then there’s a loud slamming noise and Tomáš hurriedly steps inside.

He doesn’t know what he expected, but it wasn’t Patty pressing Joe against the fridge and kissing him like he wants to devour him. The bowl of fruits that usually sits on the fridge has been knocked to the floor and Tomáš has the distant, stupid thought that someone will have to collect all the apples and oranges that are rolling to the farthest corners of the room.

He must make some noise because Joe opens his eyes and startles.

He shoves Patty behind him and says, “Tommy. I don’t—I didn’t know you were here. How long were you here?”

“I drove Patty,” Tomáš says, pointing at where Patty is not so much cowering behind Joe as draping himself over Joe’s back.

“Did you…see anything?” His eyes are wild, slightly red, mouth a thin line.

And oh, now Tomáš understands what Joe is saying. “No.” He doesn’t know how to say to Joe Everyone knows, old man. he doesn’t think Joe would like that. He certainly doesn’t have the words in English to explain when I was 19 you threatened to whip your dick out because a reporter was making a happy night sad for me and I think maybe I would do anything to make you happy now. All he can say is, “No, I am European. You know we greet our friends very…strongly.” He sounds like a fool, but Patty is smiling at him, those soft eyes over Joe’s shoulder. “I’m going to go wait outside if Patty needs a ride home, but I will be on the phone so you’ll have to tap my shoulder to get my attention.”

Joe smiles at him faintly now, eyes still damp. “Thank you.”

Tomáš makes it to the door and starts to close it behind himself. He can’t resist though, turning to cheekily ask, “Please don’t fuck in the kitchen?”

Joe laughs at that, big belly laughs of relief that Tomáš can hear even after he’s pulled the door shut.

DENIAL

There’s a tree in the parking lot when Joe leaves the game. He doesn’t mean that there’s a tree next to the parking lot. He means he walks out of the rink, the last man headed home, and almost breaks his nose on a tree trunk.

It’s a full goddamn redwood, through the asphalt and up straight to the dark sky.

“Nope,” Joe says. To himself? To the tree? To whatever fucking shit was in the supplements that the training staff had given him? He sidesteps it and goes directly to his car. When he checks his rear view mirror, there’s no tree at all. Which is correct, but he can’t shake the feeling that he should check over his shoulder.

He goes home. He doesn’t say anything. It’s hard enough to be traded across the country without talking to teammates or coaches about tree hallucinations.

ANGER

Joe leaves the rink after the game, one of the first guys done. The win was good, but he did literally nothing worth media time.

The tree is back. It seems bigger somehow. Broader, maybe, like it’s blocking out light and sound. A man steps out from behind the tree. Joe could not remember what he looked like if his life depended on it. He just remembers those eyes, so pale in the darkness. The man steps back, but his hand is outstretched and Joe can feel a little voice telling him to follow. He shakes his head, trying to clear his vision.

There is no tree. Joe’s eyes almost burn under the streetlights, startled by the absence of a leafy canopy.

“Fuck!” He kicks some loose pebbles. There’s a pressing sense that that was the wrong thing to do, some cosmic disapproval, but he doesn’t give a damn. “Fuck off!”

He spins around, ready to scream, and then notices Patrick Marleau. He’s standing in the doorway, one eyebrow quirked as he watches Joe presumably have a tantrum for no reason. Joe shuts his mouth. He stomps off to his car and thinks absolutely no thoughts about how his teammates probably think Boston was right about him; instead he conjures up a fantasy about getting a lighter and setting the hallucinatory trees on fire. It sustains him the entire drive home.

BARGAINING

There are two trees in the parking lot when Joe parks at practice. A neat V growing right behind his damn car, hemming him into his parking spot between Goc and Clowe.

“Go away,” he whispers, eyes closed tightly. He promises whatever higher entity is haunting him with trees that he’ll be good. He’ll make friends with his teammates and he’ll hustle on the puck and he’ll—

Shit his fucking pants because the man is knocking on his car window, pale eyes wide.

The man mouths something and Joe concedes to rolling his window down just a crack. No need to antagonize the lunatic further, whether he’s a hallucination or not.

“Come with me,” the man says softly, in a voice like the wind through spring leaves.

“Uh, no.” Joe can’t stop the eye contact. There’s something compelling in those eyes, like fresh ice waiting to be skated on.

The man trails his fingers over the edge of the window and Joe has the sudden urge to shut it tight. Curling vines drip into his car, sprouting orange and yellow flowers. “I’ll wait for you.”

“Listen, I have to get to practice. If you let me go, I’ll come back and we can talk later.”

The man tilts his head, strangely bird-like. “Come with me.”

“No, really, I have to go.”

The man’s eyes shift, his form only loosely approximating a person and then there’s the sharp noise of Hanny’s obnoxiously loud engine roaring into the lot and the trees are gone. One flower falls from the bare window edge, into Joe’s lap. He leaves it in the dirt by the rink entrance, unwilling to bring it with him. It’s gone when he returns.

DEPRESSION

It’s getting to be a routine. Joe goes somewhere alone, finds some real asshole of a plant (usually a tree, but sometimes a particularly douchey fern) lurking in his way.

His teammates must think he’s the clingiest fool on this earth, but the trees leave him alone in groups. He’s aware that he’s sounding increasingly neurotic in his conversations with himself, but what is he supposed to do? Ask a trainer if a few too many concussions leads to a weird preoccupation with ghost trees?

Getting angry didn’t get rid of the trees. Accepting the trees somehow made more of them. His last refuge is pretending he doesn’t see them.

Somehow as spring approaches in San Jose, his ghost trees don’t just sprout leaves, they sprout little woodpeckers and unnaturally charming squirrels. Joe knows better than to trust normal birds and rodents and he certainly isn’t going out of his way to acknowledge fake ones.

He’s starting to wonder if there’s something really wrong with his brain. Will they make him stop playing hockey? On the ice he never hallucinates, but coming and going from the rink is increasingly fraught.

He doesn’t know what the trees want, but he knows that if he follows those little bastards, he’ll be leaving hockey behind. He’s finally doing well again, connecting with his lineys and trusting the system. He can’t afford to lose it all for some dubious plants.

The very sight of normal plants is starting to fill him with despair. It just feels inevitable. Real or not, those plants will get him.

ACCEPTANCE

Joe’s trying very hard not to arrive to early or too late. The middle of the pack is where it’s safe. He times it pretty well usually, following Cheech or Crankshaft.

He’s humming along, heading out on time from practice, planning on lunch at home before a good pregame nap. He opens the door haphazardly and it bounces off the wall and right back into his unresisting arm.

There’s a strange fog over the parking lot, shrouding the trees by the road so well that Joe can’t even tell of those trees are real or not. It’s not like the fog that rolls in from the Bay at night, some soft blanket from the sea. This is heavy, smothering.

He wades in anyway. No other recourse if he wants to reach his car. It’s not hard going, but it is disorienting. He wonders if this is his brain completely giving up. Is he going to walk into traffic, thinking he’s in a sea of fog?

He reaches a thinner area, almost like sunshine is breaking through. A few feet away, he can see Nabby, gazing at the gnarled roots of the trees as he steps forward lightly and he knows he only has one shot. He drops his gear and runs to grab Nabby and wrestle him away, pulling him out as best as he can. It takes too long to find the sidewalk and Joe feels like he’s being toyed with, taunted in the fog. He keeps his eyes open, pushing forward without hesitation.

The moment they clear the fog and step into the midmorning sun, Nabby blinks and says something softly in Russian. He sits down hard on the curb, catching himself with a hand just above Joe’s knee.

“Nabby?” Joe crouches down, puts a careful hand on Nabby’s shoulder.

“What was that?”

“You can see it too?” Joe breathes.

“The trees,” Nabby says almost dreamily. “They’re waiting.”

“No,” Joe says emphatically, shaking Nabby until his eyes clear. “Stay out of the woods. Don’t go into the woods.”

“The woods...” Nabby trails off, looking over Joe’s shoulder, startled. Joe turns. There’s nothing anymore. Joe’s bag is in the middle of the parking lot, looking almost lonely.

Something about that sight gives him clarity. He helps Nabby up and retrieves his bag.

It makes him wild, childishly bold. When he comes back to their hotel room and finds Joe lying face down on the floor, shirtless and slightly sweaty, he just drops his bag at the door.

“Have a nice workout?” he inquires pleasantly, dropping to his knees to straddle Joe’s splayed legs so he can bite the dimples in his lower back.

“Yeah,” Joe laughs, hips hitching when Patty sets his teeth above the waistband of his shorts. He stretches his arms out a little, torqueing his body so he can tilt his head to look at Patty.

Patty crawls up a step to kiss him, settling his weight just above Joe’s ass. Joe hisses and shifts under him and Patty can’t help his growing smile. “That easy?”

“Don’t fish for compliments,” Joe chides teasingly, tucking his face back against the carpet and wriggling his hips under Patty. “This isn’t news to you.”

“Maybe I like hearing it,” Patty says, almost too close to real honesty for the lighthearted tone Joe set. He redistributes his weight, lying down over Joe, their ankles tangled together. He noses at the nape of Joe’s neck just to feel him shiver. “You want me to hold your hand through this?”

“Yes, yes, please,” Joe agrees instantly, hips still moving under Patty. He flexes his fingers like he can hardly wait and it’s no trouble for Patty to fit his palm over the back of Joe’s hand and lace their fingers together.

Joe’s confessed to liking this, being kept and held, with his usual lack of shame. It’s not hard for Patty to indulge that snarling creature in his heart that wants to sink its teeth into Joe and possess him wholly. How can he not want to keep Joe, when Joe does nothing all day but show Patty his soft, vulnerable spots with utmost trust? Patty spends too much time thinking about keeping Joe safe in his arms and showing him off to the world proudly, a contradiction that only makes sense when he’s hopelessly entangled with Joe. Joe is all-consuming and the only reason Patty hasn’t completely lost his mind is that Joe is equally preoccupied with him.

Patty leaves his mark in relatively faint hickies along Joe’s broad shoulders while Joe works for his pleasure. The simplicity brings a strange peace to Patty; all he has to do is keep Joe safe in the cage of his arms and he’ll get to see that satisfaction and affection.

Joe scrunches his eyes shut and tries to hide his face in his own bicep. “Pat,” he says helplessly.

“Yeah,” Patty responds instantly. “Come on. Just for me.”

Joe lets out a ragged breath and Patty can feel every tense muscle contained below him. Joe holds his breath, still for a moment. He comes, pulling their clasped hands closer, shuddering under Patty.

Joe pants quietly into his own arm, muscles slowly relaxing. Patty tries to ease off slowly, rubbing his hands down the length of Joe’s arms and sitting up. “That was so good, babe. You were so good for me.” He kisses the crown of Joe’s head and then moves off of him to sit on the floor. “C’mere.” Joe rolls blindly towards him and presses his face against Patty’s hip. He peeks up at Patty and smiles that blinding smile. “Hi,” Patty says fondly, running his hand over Joe’s short hair.

“Mmm,” Joe sighs happily, throwing an arm over to hug Patty’s leg. “Next time, let’s do that on your nice, soft carpet at home. I’m gonna get rug burn on my dick if we try this again.”

Patty can’t help but laugh. “Next time?”

Joe pinches his thigh in retaliation, looking smug when Patty jumps. “Next time,” he says loftily, “I’ll even let you spend more time leaving hickies, you fucking vampire.”

“Ok,” Patty says, smiling fondly down at this ridiculous man. He doesn’t have to walk away again. He doesn’t have to make distance for his own self-preservation. He doesn’t even have to preemptively push Joe’s hands away, not now that he knows that ‘of course’ Joe listens to him. He luxuriates in the heat of Joe’s hand curled above his knee for a moment before agreeing, “Next time.” He tugs his leg out of Joe’s grasp and leans down to kiss him briefly. “If you go shower, I’ll move the beds together before we nap.”

***

Kevin hasn’t been out for a night with his friends in several weeks, but the weather’s been colder and it’s not unusual for them to take breaks from socializing when work is intense. Dylan and Jake invite him out occasionally, but he’s just made his excuses and they’ve left him alone. Patty’s been on a bit of a tear lately, pushing them all to finish contract signings, and Kevin still feels a little awkward when they talk. It’s like there’s a secondary conversation layered under what they’re saying, but he can’t understand the words. 

He misses Patty desperately. He didn’t realize how much that relationship meant to him until it was suddenly gone. Patty hardly looks at him anymore, even when they’re face to face in a meeting. The only consolation is that it hasn't trickled down to his team.

The domesticity in his apartment would be a better escape from work if he could forget that his involuntary housemates are there to prevent him from getting attacked by a madman on the loose. 

Timo takes him to work the most often, but they all change routes frequently just in case. It’s a long subway ride with Erik some mornings. Kevin watches the tunnel walls flash past the windows and idly asks, “How come we don’t fly?”

The subway car is only half full this early, mostly businessmen on their phones.

Erik glances at him sideways, then shrugs a little. “Not really an option.”

“Like you’re scared of heights?”

“Like I don’t fly,” Erik says firmly. “My powers are strictly terrestrial unless you can come up with a way to make a complete shadow in midair over a city.”

“Oh.” Kevin ponders that for a moment. He’d just assumed, since everyone else seemed permanently stationed about a foot off the floor.

“Now Simmer,” Erik says conspiratorially, as they stand in unison for their stop, “he hates flying so he just won’t.”

“No, really?” Kevin leads the way up the subway stairs. “He can, but he doesn’t?”

“He’s completely competent,” Erik confirms. “But I don’t like the look I get when I ask him to fly, so we’re buddies on the ground.”

Kevin doesn’t think he’d argue with Simmer either. “Well, at least you’re not alone?”

Erik snorts. “With the number of guys underfoot, I’m never alone. Alright,” he says, pausing in the doorway. “I’ll see you later. Tomas is on shift tonight.”

Kevin half-waves as he ducks through the door and Erik disappears into a herd of equally neatly-dressed businessmen. 

***

They have an office meeting with some of the higher-ups. Kevin doesn’t actually have to say anything, he just has to pass Patty the file folders at the correct time while one of the guys in accounting goes through a slideshow about the next quarter. 

In all honesty, Kevin’s drifting a little, staring out the window. There’s a fair amount of dark clouds gathering and it looks like it will rain. Hopefully the route home tonight is not aerial. As much as Kevin has enjoyed flying with Timo, he doesn’t think it would be much fun in icy rain. Jake elbows him gently, pulling him back as everyone else stands and does the polite round of handshakes and small talk.

It’s a good meeting, for a given measure of good. There’s nothing particular about their approach to their work or their workload that needs to be altered. 

He does his share of politely nodding and shaking hands and then gathers the files for Pat and takes them down to the file room. Storing things this way is a bit archaic, but having digital and physical files has been helpful. You never really know when a power outage will hit, Super-induced or not, and you can’t lose data with the physical file.

Thinking of power outages makes Kevin think of storms, which naturally leads back to Timo. He’s been distracted lately, but he’s been happy. Even before they retired the whiteboard, Kevin was thinking it might be time to introduce Timo to his friends and coworkers. He hasn’t gone out with them for a beer in a while and it would be nice to take Timo to their local bar. 

He’s still daydreaming about Timo, smiling faintly when he almost runs Tim over in the hallway.

“Oh,” Tim says mildly. “I was looking for you.”

“Sorry, I had to return the files. What’s up?”

“IT had a question and I couldn’t answer it so they want you.” They step into the elevator together and Tim presses the button for the sub-basement. 

“Wrong floor, bud.” IT has an office in the first basement level, with a few roaming tech guys throughout the building. Kevin didn’t think Tim could get lost between floors, but the dude is severely directionally challenged.

When Kevin moves to press the button for the basement, Tim waves him off. “No, they’ve got a guy down there working on wiring. He wants to ask some questions about project specs and bandwidth. Nabby said it should be quick.”

“Alright.” Nabby’s always helpful when Kevin needs a hand and Kevin doesn’t have anything urgent to do, so he might as well give Nabby’s guy a hand. It probably won’t be quick because Kevin’s never met an IT guy who could speak plainly, but that’s okay. He wonders if Nabby managed to persuade the higher ups to hire another Russian. At some point, they are all going to have to learn Russian just to get tech support.

Kevin steps into the cold sub-basement and walks down the hall to the few offices they have down here, though they’re largely unused. He can hear Tim’s footsteps echoing on the smooth, unfinished concrete floor behind him and he turns to ask where exactly they’re supposed to meet this IT guy.

Except Tim’s gone. In his place is a hulking creature of rough stone. Kevin backs up hastily, but he’s too slow and the creature closes the distance before he can even scream. A cold, jagged hand covers his mouth, pushing him back into the wall hard, and then there’s nothing but darkness.

It feels like being drowned, crushing pressure so painful he thinks he might die. He can’t breath or see or think, every pounding heartbeat in his temples growing softer as he gets dizzy from the lack of oxygen. 

Distantly, he feels himself fall face first, hitting the ground with a shattering noise despite trying to catch himself on literally anything. He inhales desperately, blinking tears away in the low light. He can feel how the cement has split from his collarbones to his hips, cracks just enough for him to breathe shallowly. There’s still cement on his face, covering his mouth and part of his nose and cheek where the creature had grabbed him. His eyes and scalp seem blessedly unscathed, but anything that came in contact with the creature has hardened to stone, thin dress clothes an inadequate protection against Super powers.

He can feel his head pounding from the lack of air and he breathes very deliberately. If he inhales too hard the skin between the cement adhered to him pulls painfully, but if he exhales all the way, the plates of cement pinch his skin in the cracks. When he blinks again, there are boots in front of him. 

He whimpers behind his cement gag when one of the boots makes contact with his shoulder to flip him over onto his back. Haloed against a lantern light, a man with a short bushy beard stares down at him. The pale ginger hair glints in the  flickering light. 

“Who do you work for?” the man asks, more curious than accusatory.

Kevin doesn’t bother trying to answer. The man snaps his fingers impatiently and Tim steps over, looking perfectly normal. He taps Kevin’s mouth, none too gently, and Kevin feels the cement split across the seam of his lips.

“Who do you work for?” The man squats down, looming over Kevin. Tim wanders out of sight.

Kevin can’t think straight, dazed and confused. No amount of adrenaline could save him from whatever is happening here. “City Unified Data Administration,” he mumbles, slurring the words together.

The man catches his jaw and shakes him, ignoring his yelp of pain. “Don’t be stupid. Who do you work for?”

“Mr. Plattner?” Kevin tries again, feeling the cement jab and tear at his mouth. 

Something viscous and bright green drips from the corners of the man’s eyes, a sickening parody of tears. Kevin can feel his head swimming and his stomach turning. Whatever the man says next is lost to him as he tries to keep from throwing up. 

He drops his gaze and when he looks back, the man’s face is entirely clear, watching him avidly. “I d’n know what you want,” Kevin manages to eke out when the pressure inside his skull abates. 

The man rolls his eyes. “Well, if you insist.” He smiles and it is perturbingly even and pleasant. “It would have been nice to know, but it doesn’t matter. You’re just here to be the bait anyway. Chum, as it were,” he laughs, apparently amused by himself. “You sit tight, bud.”

He walks out of Kevin’s view and Kevin can’t quite move enough to see where he’s gone.

It doesn’t take long for Tim to show up again. He grabs one of Kevin’s ankles and unceremoniously drags him across the floor. As Kevin lifts his head enough to keep it from bouncing on the ground, he catches sight of where he is. It’s some kind of boathouse; it looks like it’s on the bay based on the water lapping at the edges. Tim drags him to a corner by the opening and pours cement over his lower legs, pinning him to the wooden boards of the side deck. 

“You can scream,” Tim offers blandly. “Patrick would hate that. Might make this all go faster.”

Kevin’s heart goes cold. They want to hurt Patty for some reason. They’re going to use him to hurt Patty. 

Tim takes a picture of him with a phone, flash too bright. Kevin winces too hard, curling away from the sudden light, and has to catch his breath when his neck stings. Tim leaves him there, helplessly flat on his back like a bug. Despite his lightheadedness he resolves to fight back somehow, to try and stop them from hurting Patty.  He doesn’t have his phone. He knows exactly where it is, top right corner of his desk, a place so far away now that it might as well be on Mars. He can’t call for help.

Still, he has to try something. Find a weapon of some sort, maybe a big rock, and try to hurt them enough that Patty doesn’t get hurt. 

The first step is to get free.

He takes stock of his own body. There’s cement all down his front with hardened bands across his back from where Tim’s arms reached around him. His ankles can’t move, trapped as they are, but his hands are mostly free. His left thumb and the edge of his palm has some cement on it, but it’s not particularly restrictive even though it is uncomfortable. 

He scans the boathouse. There’s an industrial skylight set into the roof, dusty from lack of use. He can see the darkening sky above, nighttime and a storm both swiftly approaching. There’s a lantern close to the door, bright enough that Kevin’s corner is not in complete shadow. There’s no boat in the water, just an empty dock. 

In order to get out, he has to get past the Supers somehow. He can’t go into the water with heavy cement on him and he certainly can’t make it into the rafters. So, through the front door it is. He just needs an opening.

He can only curl his upper body a little to watch the Supers, gingerly holding his torso still so he doesn’t stab himself in the neck or groin with the edge of one of the cement pieces stuck to him. They’re sitting at a small table by the door and he can hear them talking but he can’t make out the words.

They’re both so unremarkable. They look perfectly average, the same kind of background people Kevin passes on the subway or at the local bar. Or in his own office. 

They’re ignoring him for the moment, but now Kevin worries that there are more of them out there, waiting to hurt Patty. He doesn’t know why they want to use him to help trap Patty, but the sooner he gets free, the better.

He tries to pull on his legs to crack the cement  or reach down with his hands, but he can’t do much. Unlike the thin pieces adhered to his torso, the block on his ankles is thick and solid.

All he can do is wait, breathing shallowly and watching rain start to patter on the broad skylight. 

Eventually, the sound of the rain on the water drowns out even the quiet conversation between the Supers.

Kevin aches from neck to knee, bruised and sore from the concrete wrapped all around him, digging into his ribs and pinching the tender skin by his hip bones. His mouth is burning from the constant scabbing and reopening of the wounds, every exhalation lighting his lips on fire. He reaches up one hand to gingerly touch the corner of his mouth, where the concrete is digging in the most. He can feel the abnormal slickness on his fingertips, blood accumulating at the edges of the jagged concrete digging into his mouth. 

He holds his hand up to the lantern light, stomach lurching when he sees the way the blood has seeped under his fingernails. He drops his hand over the edge of the dock, letting the icy water wash away the evidence. 

Breathing is getting harder, the concrete feeling heavier and heavier. His muscles are starting to burn as he tries to breathe so slowly and carefully; he thinks ruefully that he’d have spent more time at the rink if he realized his cardio was going to be life or death.

He focuses on the sound of the distant thunder, the slosh of the waves brushing against the dock. He keeps clenching his muscles to try and keep blood flowing, but the cold is getting to him. He feels slow, like the cold has sunk into his brain. There’s a strange sensation, like sinking below the surface of the water for just a moment, and he startles, jumping slightly. But the rain on the glass hasn’t changed above him and the wooden dock is still worn smooth under his fingertips.

There’s a flash of blue-white lightning and an incredible crashing noise; Kevin flinches as the long skylight explodes into thousands of pieces, glass shrapnel flying everywhere. He brings his arms up a second too late, clumsily trying to shield himself, and screams when a wet hand comes out of the water and clutches his arm.

He lowers his arm slowly, heartbeat rabbiting. The dark man coming up out of the water next to him smiles. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.” He gestures to the side, dripping slightly. 

“Who are you?” Kevin tries to lean away, craning his neck up. None of the glass hit him and he knows better than to believe in coincidences, especially when there’s a clear semicircle of glittering shards piled around his body.

“Ward. I’m here to keep you safe.”

Kevin assesses him for a fraction of a second and finds him to be the least of his worries. He looks past him, looks for Timo. He knows that lightning, that afterburn brightness when he blinks. He could almost cry when he sees Timo there, lightning flashing against a concrete wall where there was previously no wall at all. Timo leaves that electricity flowing and turns to him; though his face is masked in blue light, Kevin knows he’s searching for him and he tries to sit up, to call to him.

Ward’s hand comes down on his shoulder as the lightning arcs towards Kevin, seeking him like a searchlight. It illuminates whatever barrier is around them, some bubble that does not warp or bend to the force Timo is using. “Hey, relax,” Ward says. “I won’t let him hurt you. We have people on the way to handle The Captain and they can take care of this too.”

“That’s my boyfriend,” Kevin snaps. “He’s not going to hurt me.” He wipes blood away carelessly, every word agitating the cuts around his mouth. “And I don’t know anything about you. He’ll take care of me.”

“That’s your...boyfriend?”

“Let me talk to him,” Kevin insists, trying to sit up. 

“Don’t move,” Ward says, frowning. “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“He’s gonna get hurt! You’re distracting him. Fucking Tim is gonna get an advantage!”

“Tim?” Ward’s hands are gentle as he tests the concrete on Kevin’s chest. 

“Coworker. Kidnapped me to hurt Patty. My boss.”

“Patty’s fine,” Ward says gently. He’s interrupted by a lavender haze at Kevin’s feet, floating up through the boards. The lightning on the other side of the bubble ceases for a moment and Kevin can see again, the destructive force of the lightning on concrete evident. 

Simmer’s face flickers into view as he pushes himself up through the boards and Kevin has never felt so happy to see him looking thoroughly unhappy. Ward raises a hand, quick as can be, and it’s only Kevin grabbing frantically at his wrist that throws his aim off. Simmer swears vociferously when a bubble traps one hand, but it seems better than the alternative of having the bubble hit his face. 

“Stop,” Kevin hisses. 

“This one can’t be your boyfriend too.” Ward says with a sigh, not looking away from Simmer for a moment. He doesn’t shake Kevin off though, lowers his hand carefully. 

“God no,” Simmer grunts. “Just here to keep him safe while Blue Blaze fucks shit up.”

“Okay,” Ward agrees slowly. He waves his hand and pops the bubble trapping Simmer. “Common purpose then. Can you, by any chance, get him unstuck from this dock?”

“Yes.”

“Great. I’m going to let my team know we have non-hostile Supers here so they—“ whatever Ward was going to say is cut off by Jumbo ripping the front door and a good part of the wall straight out just as a fireball lands explosively in the middle of the boathouse.

Kevin grabs Ward again. “Tell them. He’s good. They’re helping. Don’t hurt them.”

Ward fumbles for some small black device and Kevin doesn’t hear a word he says because the giant hole in the wall Jumbo left is suddenly widened by Bigfoot. Even Simmer jumps a little at the noise, but he stays focused on where his hands are sinking through the concrete to Kevin’s ankles. It’s very quiet, but the block of concrete is suddenly not tethered to the dock.

“Okay, I need to immobilize him,” Ward says to Simmer, completely ignoring Kevin. There’s that sensation of sinking into water again, rising tides around his face, but it stops. He can’t move, but it’s somehow softening the pinching feeling when he tries to breathe. 

“You’re okay,” Ward says and Kevin really does believe him. He has a very open and kind face, strangely unworried by what is happening outside of this bubble, though Kevin can still hear the crashing noises. “I’m going to try and keep this from causing permanent damage. When the room is clear we’ll call for emergency services and they’ll take care of you from there.”

“No,” Simmer says severely. “Not waiting.”

“I can’t get a bubble between his skin and this hard material without risking serious blood loss,” Ward says evenly. “I’m just trying to stabilize him until real help arrives.”

“I’m the help,” Simmer says. “Can we get him out of here? I have to take this off.” He’s staring Ward down in his usual unnerving way, some urgency that Kevin doesn’t understand.

Ward frowns and then nods. “I can try.”

“We need to be somewhere safe and someone needs to hold him down.”

“Would another person holding him help?”

“Yes,” Simmer agrees. “Less movement is safer.”

“Okay. Paulie will get us out of here if you really think you can help. Hold on.”

“Hold on?” Kevin asks nervously, wishing he could move to look at Ward. He feels like the blood around his mouth is drying, stiffening. He hopes the scabbing is a good sign.

“You’ll be fine. I recommend, uh...”

“Ultraviolet,” Simmer says briefly.

“Ultraviolet, you sit down. We’re not going through the door.”

Kevin can’t convey how much he wants to know what’s happening with Timo, how frustrating it is that he can’t see. He closes his eyes as they move, the weathered rafters of the boathouse giving way to open sky. He’s feeling sick enough as it is without adding motion sickness.

The bubble is softening the pinching pain in his ribs, but he’s still breathing shallowly, trying to stay focused on what he can feel. It’s hard to feel present in the silence, nothing to grasp but the ragged sound of his own breath. He categorically refuses to pass out like a damsel in distress. He reminds himself that when he was fourteen he broke his ankle and he didn’t pass out or cry in front of his friends. What’s some slow breathing to a broken ankle?

“Hey, Kevin,” Ward says, “relax. I need you to stay still while we move you.”

Kevin squints, hoping they’ve stopped moving in such a dizzying way. Simmer and Ward’s faces have been joined by another, haloed by the dark night and the rain sliding over the unnatural bubble. The raindrops catch the light just enough that Kevin can see all three men clearly. The unknown man is wearing a dark plaid and he’s shockingly pale in contrast to Ward, face shrouded by a ginger beard. 

“Paul,” he says quietly. “You might know me as The Lumberjack, but some people nicknamed me Paul Bunyan.” He steps closer. “Wardo, keep the bubble. We’ll lift him.”

Paul takes Kevin’s wrists carefully and instructs him to just clasp his hands together over his stomach. He slips his hands under Kevin’s head and shoulders and lifts up and Kevin assumes Simmer has his other half because he can tell he’s being raised up. It seems like they’re on the beach by the docks, based on the streetlights Kevin can see. When they set him down on the long slope of sand to the sea, he can tell he was right.

“Okay, what’s next?” Ward asks. “I’m trusting that you have a plan.”

“Cut everything off of him that we can,” Simmer says steadily. “Then I’ll remove what’s stuck while you hold him still.”

“I have a knife,” Paul says. He reaches to his waist and pulls out a folding knife easily. “My apologies,” he murmurs to Kevin as he starts peeling Kevin’s shirt into ribbons, leaving the concrete-saturated pieces in place. 

“Any chance,” Kevin half-wheezes, “you can spare the belt? It’s new.”

“Not a chance,” Paul says, deftly moving down Kevin’s body, almost out of his sight. “Oh, good news: your choice of boxers over briefs saved you a hell of a lot of trouble. Nothing sticking there!”

Kevin huffs a weak laugh at that. Small mercies when he’s being stripped on a public beach. He’s grateful for whatever bubble is around him, protecting him from irritating grains of sand. It’s not warm in the bubble, so apparently Ward can’t change the temperature of a stormy night, but at least the rain isn’t falling on his increasingly nude body.

“Okay,” Simmer says. “We start here.” He points at Kevin’s chest. “This has to be very...very careful. Don’t let him move.”

“Okay.” Ward places his hands on Kevin’s shoulders, barely noticeable through the strange dullness of the bubble. “I’ll expose sections as you work on them, but I want to keep the edges blunted so he can still breathe without slicing himself up.”

Paul straddles Kevin’s hips gingerly and places one hand on Kevin’s stomach, a strangely heavy weight.

“You can hold him?” Simmer asks skeptically.

“I’m stronger than I look,” Paul says dryly.

Simmer nods slightly in acknowledgement. “Pin his left hand.” As Paul leans into him, Simmer takes Kevin’s right hand and wraps it around Simmer’s thigh where he kneeling next to Kevin. “While I work, no breathing,” he says sternly. “If you need to breathe, squeeze and I’ll stop.”

“Okay.”

“Ready? Hold your breath.”

Kevin holds his breath, going very still. He watches Ward’s face above him for a sign of how things are going. He can feel his lungs starting to ache when Simmer says, “Done.” He holds up a fragment the size of a quarter. 

Kevin’s heart sinks at how long this is going to take. 

“Again,” Simmer says. 

Kevin holds his breath. He closes his eyes hard, but Ward says his name. “Stay with me, Kevin. I need to see how you’re holding up.”

When Simmer gives him the go ahead to breath again, Kevin holds his hand up, asking for just a moment. Paul takes the time to cut away the fabric where it has been exposed. Kevin blinks at Ward, a little dazed. “You know my name.”

“Yeah,” Ward says, looking a little worried. “We came looking for you. Patty sent us.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t have time,” Simmer says.

Whatever he’s pointing at is enough for the other two to agree, pinning Kevin again. They shift as Simmer works, holding him down as close as they can to the spot Simmer is clearing. Kevin is lasting shorter and shorter amounts of time between breaks. 

He realizes why they’re trying to move fast very suddenly when Paul leans on his sternum to hold him in place and he screams involuntarily. His mouth fills with blood and they won’t let him curl up into the fetal position like his instincts demand. Paul moves back immediately, but Kevin can’t see much through the sudden haze of tears.

Someone turns his head to the side slowly, stroking along his hairline as he tries to breathe again, blood dripping down so far that Kevin can feel it on the skin under his ear where the concrete isn’t covering him. 

“I’m sorry,” Simmer says miserably, right at Kevin’s side. “You have burns.”

“This left some kind of chemical burn,” Paul explains urgently from some distance. “We need to get it off. It’s going to hurt, but if we don’t do it now, you will have nerve damage.”

“Ultraviolet was right,” Ward says. “We can’t wait.”

Kevin flails for Simmer, finds his hand blindly and squeezes hard. “Like the egg. Do it.”

There’s a beat and then Simmer repeats, “Like the egg.”

“Go,” Kevin grits out. “I’m ready.”

He holds his breath and waits for that excruciating burning pressure again. He’s braced for it so he doesn’t scream, but he can’t stop the tears. 

Through the blur he can see the flashing lights in the distance, the colors that show him that Timo is still fighting. He thinks he sees Melker’s red and Antti’s green too.

He floats a little, breathing only when he’s told. He thinks the cold might actually be a blessing, something to numb his skin where it feels like lava has been injected into his nerves. 

Strong hands grip his face and Kevin stares up at Paul.

“This’ll be the worst of it, I expect,” he says. “Can he breathe for this?” He looks over to Simmer.

“When I clear his mouth, yes.” He raises his hands, glittering purple, and hovers over Kevin’s face. “Eyes closed for this, please. Hold your breath.”

He works fast and although it leaves Kevin feeling like someone rubbed his face on a pile of rubble doused in acid, he’s grateful to no longer feel the phantom pressure of Tim’s hand on his face. He tests moving his jaw slightly and then absolutely stops doing that because it hurts like hell.

“You can breathe,” Simmer says, sounding calmer. Kevin hadn’t realized until now how tense Simmer was; he didn’t know he’d gotten to a point where he could even interpret Simmer’s tone.

He makes quick work of Kevin’s cheek and the edges of his nose while Kevin breathes through his mouth. Either the layer of dried blood or some bubble is making breathing hurt his mouth less. 

Simmer moves his way through Kevin’s extremities, first his hand and then his ankles and feet. Based on Paul’s approving noises, the protection from his leather shoes was decent. Kevin’s chest burns so much that he can hardly even register sensation elsewhere, so it’s helpful to have someone else’s perspective.

“The last bit is on his back,” Ward says. “Moving is going to hurt no matter what. How should we brace him.”

“Are you cold?” Paul asks, hand on Kevin’s forearm. 

He nods a little. It’s cold and it feels like it’s getting colder. The bubble around him only helps so much. 

“Wardo, bubble this.” Paul slips out of his flannel and holds it out. Ward waves a hand over it and it looks almost shiny in the low light. Paul works one of Kevin’s hands into the flannel, slipping it on him backwards. Ward does the same for his other arm so the flannel covers his arms and front. Whatever Ward did made it so the fabric doesn’t stick to his raw skin. It’s a weird sensation, all slick, but at least he’s not getting painful goosebumps on top of everything else. 

“Come here.” Paul leans in and makes Kevin wrap his arms around Paul’s neck and then pulls him forward. It hurts and Kevin’s vision goes slightly grey for a moment. When his vision clears, he’s well-braced against Paul’s shoulder, facing down the dark beach. He lets his head rest on Paul, but he’s uncomfortably aware that he’s leaving blood on Paul’s white undershirt. Behind him, he feels several hands cutting away what’s left of his shirt. There’s not much stuck to his back, compared to the front, but it’s enough that Kevin thoroughly curses Tim. 

“Last piece,” Simmer says. “If you need to breathe, pat his back and he’ll say stop. Don’t breathe now.”

Kevin holds still, a pine scent lingering even as he stops breathing. He can feel the way Paul has stopped breathing too, a matter of practicality that feels like solidarity.

He watches the lights flashing by the docks, wonders why no one has come to investigate. He doesn’t even know how late it is, too full of adrenaline for his own fatigue level to have any meaning.

There’s an explosion of light, and then the sound rolls down the beach a second later, and Kevin gasps, clawing at Paul’s back. The conflagration stands out against the dark night, whatever’s left of the boathouse rapidly turning to smoke. 

“We have to go now,” Ward says, but Kevin barely hears him. He keeps trying to move, to run or walk or crawl to where Timo was.

“I’ll take him,” Paul says, chest rumbling against Kevin as he holds him tightly. “You go!”

Kevin knows Ward is gone because the bubble pops around them and the rain is pouring down on his back suddenly, drenching him in a freezing shower. Simmer takes off, a purple blur, leaving Kevin behind.

“Oh shit, yeah, I don’t want to get eaten. How far does the perimeter go?”

“They’re moving it out to twenty blocks. Your station is definitely out of bounds.” Kevin groans. That’s going to make a huge mess of traffic. Indeed, down the block, Kevin can see fledgling Supers working in tandem. Bear is moving pedestrians while Whitecloud herds a few cars along gently. “Some people are just going home, but I know a few of you have to get to work. I can take you around the long way faster.”

“Sure,” Kevin agrees. “Any chance you can drop me down the block instead of at work? Today’s my day to bring in breakfast and I wanted to get some bagels.”

Giant, shaggy shoulders shrug. “No problem.” He slowly reaches down and Kevin lifts his arms so Bigfoot can just pick him up. It’s always weird to be encased in a giant hand, but it is more comfortable with his arms free.

“Hey,” a voice says sharply. “Leave him alone!”

Kevin blinks in surprise. Blue Blaze’s lightning is less prominent in the sunshine, but he’s fully glowing. It hides his face and shows the giant crackling ball of energy raised over his head.

He’s thankful Bigfoot isn’t given to fits of jumpiness because his hand doesn’t move at all. “Just moving him away from the hot zone, bud. You have a problem with that?”

Kevin shivers a little at the timbre of his voice, but gamely waves at Blue Blaze. “It’s okay. He’s a friend from work.”

Blue Blaze shifts in the air, looking uncomfortable, but he does put away the ball of lightning.

“If you’re itching to fight,” Bigfoot says much more pleasantly, “there’s a Devil on the bridge and I’m sure Jumbo would love the help.”

Blue Blaze hesitates, but eventually drifts away, moving much more slowly than Kevin’s seen yet.

“Why’s Jumbo on bridge duty?”

“PR,” Bigfoot complains. “We have to take turns being big and smashy in public.”

Kevin laughs at that, holding on carefully when Bigfoot sets him atop one broad shoulder. They end up picking up quite a few more people headed to the business district. One woman actually works at the bagel shop Kevin is headed for and they chat as Bigfoot lopes along.

Kevin’s one of the last to get dropped off, but he has enough time to grab an assortment of bagels. He steps outside the bakery and Bigfoot is still standing there. “Bagel?” he offers a bit stupidly.

“Oh, no. I’m a carnivore.” Bigfoot shrugs casually.

Kevin keeps his thought about how terrifying that is to himself. “Oh. Okay.”

“Come on,” Bigfoot says and Kevin gets the distinct sense Bigfoot is laughing at him. “Might as well take you all the way.”

He scoops Kevin up and lets him sit cross legged in one broad palm. It’s only a few giant strides to his building and Bigfoot bends down slightly to peer at the windows. “Sixth floor?”

“Yes?”

Bigfoot taps a large finger very delicately against a window frame. The window opens inwards and Bigfoot slides Kevin in carefully.

His boss stares at him, having hastily stepped back so Kevin wouldn’t land on him. “Good morning.”

“Hi, Pat, sorry. Devil on the bridge this morning and Bigfoot offered to take me in.”

“How nice,” Patty says. “No, no,” he waves Kevin off, “I’ll get the window. You take those bagels to the staff room and save me a cinnamon raisin one.”

“Tell him thanks again,” Kevin calls as he jogs out of the corner office.

The tv is on as usual in the break room and his coworkers are ambling around, getting their morning coffee and clocking in.

“I got bagels!” he announces as he slides in.

There’s a quiet cheer as people gather around the table and rummage through the box. He grabs an everything bagel for himself and a cinnamon raisin one for Patty.

“Okay,” Noah says, turning away from Dylan and pointing at Kevin. “Is the New Jersey Devil always on fire, or is this new?”

Kevin peers at the tv screen and winces as Jumbo gets knocked into the river briefly and then gets up again to punch the Devil. “He’s usually on fire but it’s very...black and red? I don’t think he’s usually on fire and blue.”

“That’s what I said,” Noah says triumphantly. “And Jumbo’s power is to get huge, not set people on fire.”

“But why would a superhero set someone on fire if they were already on fire?” Dylan argues pointedly. “Maybe it’s another supervillain boosting the Devil’s powers.”

Kevin takes a closer look. There’s definitely a blue glow around the Devil’s flames. Hard to say whether it’s Blue Blaze, though. The city is full of colorful Supers.