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Schlatt had a very, very, VERY specific morning routine.
He wasn’t really the type of player that showed up early often but after they hadn’t done as well in a previous game as he would have liked - or worse, they fucking lost - he felt like he had to do something to get the “bitchiness” (as George had called it once) out of his system.
And he did get bitchy.
Schlatt hated losing, more than anything else in the world. There wasn’t a single good thing about losing. Phil liked to say that losing meant that you could learn from your mistakes and work on where you went wrong. Schlatt disagreed. You can make mistakes and still not fucking LOSE.
Losing really cramped his fucking style.
More than that, it ruined his routine.
His routine was simple.
Every day before an all day or morning practice he woke up at seven AM, grumbled for about seven minutes about how much he wished he was dead and that he didn’t want to get out of bed so fucking early, brushed his teeth, ate breakfast and stared at himself in the mirror for a few minutes before leaving.
It was a simple routine.
But yesterday, they had fucking lost.
So, today he was at the rink at five AM. Alone. Pissed.
Schlatt could tolerate losing when it was close, when there was only a point or two difference - hell, he could stand three points if they gave 'em hell - but yesterday they had lost 17-2.
Seventeen. To two.
Schlatt wanted to put his stick through his eye and stir up his brains to find out where the fuck he hid the secret stupid disorder that he had apparently been developing this entire time.
Fucking humilating.
What made everything worse was the fact that he had made multiple dumbass mistakes that cost not only him but his team time and energy.
In the first period he had checked a guy on the other team when he didn’t need to. The puck wasn’t even close to them, he was just angry about something that the player had done earlier - something so miniscule that he didn't even remember it now. At the time he had thought it was a legal check but honestly, the more he thought about it the more he understood why he got a penalty. He had more than enough time to correct his check before making contact with the guy - he just didn’t.
He hadn’t MEANT to nail the guy in the head but he definitely could have done more to avoid it.
Reckless.
It made his blood boil now, dropping off his gear in the locker room. He was STUPID. Stupid.
He breathed deeply, trying to force out as much of his anger as he could before getting onto the ice. He knew that he was still going to be riled up when everyone else arrived - he was slow to calm - but he could at least fucking try to settle down a little before he hurt himself - or worse, another teammate.
He had done that once.
Schlatt walked out onto the rink, stretching his arms out in front of him as he moved.
He had put on all of his gear already - he wasn’t going to be throwing himself around recklessly - so when he stretched he could feel the padding shifting with his body. On a good day he wasn’t even aware of how many layers he was wearing.
Today was not a good day.
Today he was going to skate circles around the rink as many times as he could before he got tired and sweaty then he was going to practice his puck handling - maybe run some shooting drills.
Every lap he made around the rink he pushed himself harder - to go faster, with more force behind each leg movement. Every breath he took was laboured and burned his throat like a fireball - both the alcohol and the dragon breath kind. He hadn’t properly stretched before he got onto the rink so his muscles were screaming at him like murder victims, each movement forcing them into familiar but deeply uncomfortable positions.
Shut up , he ordered them. You’re fucking fine. This is nothing.
His skates cut across the ice, each movement leaving behind thin white marks.
The rink was far from green, Phil had been saying that the final layer could use some touch ups - it had been ages from the last time they had a zamboni in the rink. They had largely just been scraping up any chipped ice and using hoses to patch up any problem areas for the past few weeks.
Any player worth their salt knew that it wasn't just about the player's ability to play. It was als important that the ice was in good condition, that it had been well maintained. One always had to be aware of their surroundings, not being aware of their surroundings was how people got hurt unnecessarily - recklessly.
Two factors that never go well together; a reckless skater with an axe to grind and ice that isn't smooth.
Schlatt hit the ice before he even realised his skate had caught.
He skid across the ice, the guard of his helmet scraping across the ground and sending bits of ice into his mouthguard. The impact of the ice knocked the wind out of him, leaving him gasping for air as he slid pathetically across another few feet of ice. If there had been anyone watching he might have conjured up the mental image of a seal sliding across the ice - with far less grace.
Everything fucking hurt.
But more than anything else - his foot hurt.
Of course. He had to go and fuck up his foot.
Like a fucking idiot he had been pushing himself too hard on an unprepared body and he wasn’t even keeping an eye on where he was fucking going.
Pathetic. Stupid.
Reckless.
Schlatt groaned and pulled himself up off his face, resting his weight on his palms.
He stared back at his foot - his left one. Of course, it HAD to be the one he led with.
He grunted in pain, pulling his leg towards him with his right hand.
Schlatt touched his foot, putting light pressure on each side as he examined himself. It didn’t feel good - that was for certain - it seemed everywhere he touched there was another hurt, stronger than the last place. He knew sprains well and this didn’t feel like a sprain.
“Fuck.”
Schlatt breathed out.
Of course.
OF FUCKING COURSE.
He WOULD go and break his fucking foot before practice before ANYONE would even be fucking awake - why did he have to get such a big fucking head about everything, it wasn’t like he was the only one who was off their game yesterday. Wilbur had tripped and fell ten seconds in and spent the rest of the game sheepishly trying to play it off. Quackity straight up didn't realize he was being passed to by Sapnap and just stared absently at the puck against his stick for at least two seconds - more than enough time for the other team to jump his ass like dogs on a wounded rabbit.
He certainly didn’t single handedly lose the game, why was he acting like he deserved all the punishment in the world?
Schlatt grunted, trying to reach for his stick - it had to be somewhere around here - he couldn’t have thrown it too far when he ate shit.
He patted the ice around him blindly, keeping his eyes on his foot - just in case it decided to fucking explode or something.
It was very Velma Dinkley esque.
After a few seconds of blind futility Schlatt admitted defeat and turned his head to look around, finding - of course - his stick was half way across the fucking rink.
Well. That was what he got for letting go of his stick. Idiot. Idiot. IDIOT.
Schlatt groaned, laying down on the ice.
He didn’t think he could put any weight on his foot if he wanted to. Not yet. In a few minutes he could probably force himself up onto his feet and pathetically drag himself along the rink wall to the exit. From there it was only a few second walk to the locker room and his phone.
But… it was down two stairs. On hardwood. In ice skates.
Fuck. What kind of sadist had designed this fucking place?
Schlatt growled, wanting to scream at the top of his lungs. He didn’t. He couldn’t.
It felt like he couldn’t get enough air into his stupid fucking lungs. He could feel his gear weighing down on his chest like bricks, crushing him.
Schlatt pulled off his helmet and threw it as hard as he could away from him across the rink - luckily he decided against throwing it against the glass, with his luck itd bounce back and nail him in the fucking dome.
He laid there for much longer than a few minutes. He wasn’t sure if he was thinking about anything or just focusing on his breathing. Hot tears of frustration bit at the back of his eyelids but he forced them back in. He wasn’t one of those “men don’t cry” morons, he just didn’t want to cry right now.
He didn’t want to be found hours from now with a snotty nose, a fucked up foot and ice in his facial hair.
God, he was at least going to have some dignity.
He knew that the foreplanning of being found meant that he had resigned himself to not in fact getting up and going to his locker himself.
“Schlatt?”
Schlatts eyes fluttered open. What time was it? Did he fucking fall asleep?
He blinked a few times, rubbing the ice and sleep away from his eyes as he did so. Slowly, his vision unfogged and refocused on Technos face peering down at him.
“Schlatt? Can you hear me?”
Schlatt groaned, sitting up and rubbing his temples.
“I can hear you.”
“No lay back down, you could have a concussion.”
Techno put his hand out, reaching to put it on Schlatts shoulder.
“I don’t have a fucking concussion,”
Schlatt pushed Technos hand away.
“I HAVE a broken foot.”
Techno huffed slightly.
"Youre also bleeding"
Bleeding?
Schlatt looked at the ice around him, slowly processing the smears of blood around him. He wasn't sure how he didn't notice that before.
"Where am I-"
He looked himself over quickly, finding no obvious sources.
"I… didn't notice."
He felt like a kid hanging his head after breaking something.
"C'mon. Lets get you up and out of your gear."
The second Techno helped Schlatt to his feet, he felt dizzy. The room span, his eyes swam, his foot ached.
Schlatt leaned against Technos shoulder, draping his arm around his body for support.
"Mmnrpf-"
An involuntary noise escaped Schlatts throat before he could cut it off.
"I think you've got a bit more than a broken foot."
Schlatt didn’t protest, just weakly leaned himself against Techno and let himself be helped to the locker room.
Schlatt could get his gear off on his own for the most part but he still let Techno gingerly remove his left skate and leg padding. Techno was just better at being delicate than he was.
Techno took one look at his foot and whistled slightly before suppressing it.
"Yeah that's. That's broken."
Schlatt dared a look down at his foot - only one - and immediately felt worse than he did before. He could see a bump on one side of his foot that he knew wasn't there before - the kind of bump that you only get when a bone is pressing against skin.
"Jesus christ."
"Did you trip over the ice or something?"
Techno looked up at him, eyebrow raised.
Schlatt nodded.
"Yeah."
"Oh Phil will have fun with this. He's been looking for a good reason to get on the rink owners about the ice."
Techno sounded… amused. It almost pissed Schlatt off. He had just fucking broken his foot - he'd be off the ice for sure for weeks if not MONTHS - and Techno was amused?
But at the same time.
It kind of was funny. He broke his routine because he was angry at himself for not performing as well as he wanted to at a game that required his feet and then immediately broke his foot.
Schlatt chuckled despite himself.
“That's… That's definitely broken, yeah.”
“Here. I’ll call an ambulance.”
Techno walked over to his locker and fished out his phone - Techno never left his locker unlocked so it was unusual to see him simply swing the door open.
“Why are you here?”
Schlatt cocked his head slightly.
“It's only-”
He glanced at the clock.
“6:25.”
“I always get here earlier after we’ve had a bad game. I would have been here earlier but Wilbur was asleep on my arm so-”
“Why was Wilbur at your house?”
“He always comes over when we lose.”
Techno pulled his bag out of his locker and turned to look at Schlatt.
“So do most of the other guys. George doesn’t but Sapnap, Wilbur, Quackity-”
“You guys get together without me when we lose.”
That. Wasn’t exactly fucking comforting. All his teammates got together for a little feelings jam and didn’t invite him.
“George doesn’t come.”
Techno was cool - cold.
“Does George KNOW?”
Schlatt could feel anger burbling up in his chest again. If his foot wasn’t broken he would have stormed up to Techno and-
“We didn’t invite you because every time we lose you don’t respond to our texts, Schlatt. You just storm off the ice and go home.”
Schlatt blinked, momentarily stunned out of his barbarian rage.
“Quackity said he tried to get you to go out with us after we lost but you didn’t even respond to him.”
Schlatt... Vaguely remembered doing that.
He sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. He had a headache - when was the last time he ate anything? Did he eat breakfast before he left? Maybe that was why he felt so much worse than he should…
“Schlatt. If you want to come over to my house and watch a movie after a game - even if we do win - you can just tell me. The worst that can happen is I need to clean up after you.”
“Like you guys had to yesterday.”
The words came out before Schlatt realized they had come to him.
Techno made a noise Schlatt didn’t recognize.
“Schlatt. We all played poorly yesterday. It happens.”
He sat down beside him, pressing himself against Schlatts side.
“Every team has an off day.”
Schlatt shuffled his weight around, trying not to lean too much into Technoblade.
“But-”
“Ssh.”
Techno placed a finger on Schlatts mouth, slowly withdrawing a muffin from his bag. Blueberry. Schlatt could smell it from here - how on earth did he manage to keep it smelling fresh in a fucking GYM BAG?
“Eat a muffin.”
Techno whispered to Schlatt.
“Just eat the muffin.”
Schlatts stomach growled - he guessed he hadn’t eaten breakfast after all.
Schlatt ate the muffin.
It felt good to have food in his stomach and once he was done the muffin Techno was already pulling out a wrapped sandwich bag.
“It's cheese and bacon."
"Just cheese and bacon?"
Schlatt shrugged as he unwrapped the sandwich.
"Not even any mayo?"
"I did tell you I had Sapnap over last night right?"
"And you still had bacon left over?"
One time Schlatt had watched Sapnap eat an entire ham on his own for no other reason than wondering if he could.
Techno snorted before pulling Schlatt into a tight side hug.
"Do you want to come over after a game?"
Schlatt chewed thoughtfully for a second before nodding.
"Okay. But not always after we lose. Thats a real fucking downer."
Techno laughed.
"Alright, fair. I'm going to go call an ambulance, service is shit in here."
"Can't you just drive me to the hospital?"
"I walked here."
An absolutely insane thing to do considering Techno lived halfway across the city but Schlatt decided to take his word for it.
Techno stopped, half way out the door.
"Hey Schlatt?"
"Hmm?"
"You come here every time we lose, don't you?"
Schlatt nodded.
"How about next time you and I come here together? You can't really practice anything on your own."
Schlatt chewed for a few seconds before nodding. That could be nice. It'd certainly beat what he did now - could be nice to have a new routine because this one definitely wasn't fucking working for him.
"As long as we don't walk."
"We won't walk."
"I hate walking."
"We won't walk."
Techno repeated.
Schlatt resumed his sandwich.
"When I get back, I want you to take off your undershirt, you were bleeding from somewhere. Didn't look like much blood but it could be serious."
Schlatt considered making a joke about Techno wanting him to take his shirt off but decided to continue his sandwich instead, giving him a nod as he ate.
—
It wasn't serious.
Not that you'd know that from the way Wilbur had reacted. Wilbur never took his own injuries seriously but whenever his teammates got hurt it was the end of the world.
Schlatts foot was Definitely broken. However it was a clean break - something that surprised the doctors after seeing the bump on Schlatts foot. No one seemed to think it'd need screws to put it back into place - but he would be laid up for a few weeks. No running, no skating and definitely no hockey.
"But it WILL heal?"
Wilbur asked the doctor for the seventh time.
Wilbur had been the first to arrive at the rink - coincidentally showing up earlier than normally intended, and just in time to see Schlatt getting loaded into the ambulance.
"It will heal."
"He'll be able to play again."
"As long as he is not intending to make a habit of kicking cement walls he can do whatever he wants. AFTER it heals."
The doctor seemed more exasperated than anything else. Terrible bedside manner - but he worked fast.
"He's going to be fine, Wilbur."
Techno put his hand on Wilburs shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze as he did so.
"Just a minor scratch on his chest and a little break."
Schlatt crossed his arms.
"I'm pretty sure it's a big break, Techno. I'll be off the ice for weeks."
"Anywhere from 4 to 12. Depends on how everything sets."
The doctor chimed in.
"Thank you doc really needed to hear specifics."
Schlatt gestured vaguely.
"See-"
A muffled noise came from the hallway.
Then more noise.
Then So Much Noise.
The doctor turned around just in time to watch in disgust as a team of hockey players ( + surprise guest figure skater) burst through the examination room doors.
“Schlatt!”
One of them - Sapnap - cried.
“We heard what happened.”
George sat down beside Schlatts bedside in the chair that Techno had neglected.
“Are you alright? Is he going to be alright?”
George turned on the doctor before Schlatt could respond.
“Because if he’s-”
“He’s going to be fine, George. Lets not threaten the nice doctor trying to help.”
Phil pushed his way through the small gaggle of hockey players (and Tommy) towards the bed. It was really funny how much taller everyone was than him.
“Right, Schlatt?”
Phil turned his gaze to Schlatt, lowering his voice slightly. He was asking Schlatt if he was going to be okay more than anything. He was giving him an option to say no.
“Yeah.”
Schlatt nodded.
“I’m going to be okay. Just a little brea-”
Schlatt was interrupted by Tommy, pushing past Phil to give Schlatt a tight - if awkward due to the bedside bars - hug.
“I was worried about you.”
Schlatt blinked in surprise before gently resting his arm on Tommys back and squeezing him as close to his own body as he could.
“Wilbur probably didn’t explain that well huh?”
“It’s not just that.”
Tommys voice was quiet, speaking in a tone that was only for Schlatts ears.
“I saw how you were last night and then Quackity said you don’t like to come over after…”
Schlatt had worried Tommy.
Schlatt squeezed him even tighter, forcing as much strength as he could into the hug. If either of their rib cages were intact after this hug it would be a miracle. He nestled his nose into Tommys fluffy blonde hair and sighed heavily.
“I’m okay, Tommy.”
And he would be.
If a little worse for wear.