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Everyone around the NHL knew that Patrice Bergeron was one of the most welcoming guys in the league. Some people wondered how he never got tired taking care of fully grown, professional hockey players the way he did. This is an in depth look at just how much Bergeron cares for his boys, covering multiple points in his career. The following is based on the headcanons of Tumblr followers who have followed Bergeron through season after season with the Boston Bruins. Sit back, relax, and enjoy Patrice Bergeron and his 19 Angry Children.
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(Tumblr user: that-trans-system-blog: dad!bergeron makes everyone pancakes/waffles on off days and/or whenever there’s a celebration just because he can)
The tradition had been started years ago and nobody really knew where it came from, not even Patrice. The only thing anybody knew was that Patrice Bergeron had been hosting walk-in pancake and waffle mornings on off days for as long as anybody could remember. It was one of the first things new additions to the team learned about when they joined.
Whenever it was a pancakes and waffles morning a text would go out to the team group chat at about six thirty in the morning. A refresher of Patrice’s address and apartment number would be sent along shortly thereafter. Bergy would leave his apartment door open, propping it with whatever he could find laying around and start mixing batter. Within an hour the early risers on the team would start to filter in, taking seats at the breakfast bar or the small table by the floor to ceiling windows.
Bergy would let them take the lead. If they wanted to talk he would keep up conversation as he made the first batch of pancakes, if they wanted to stay quiet he would just keep them company as he cooked. He had learned over the course of his time as a team leader how to care for his players, and the best way he did that was by being open enough that the guys felt safe going to him with their problems.
But the waffle and pancake mornings were a happy place, any personal problems got checked at the door. After the first batches of both Bergy would make himself a plate and sit down with the early risers. The first ones in were almost always Krejci, Marchand, Foligno, and Ullmark. Occasionally Pastrnak would come stumbling in still half asleep but too captivated by the promise of getting Bergy to himself for a little while to sleep in.
The early birds (aside from Pasta who, by now, was curled up on Bergy’s couch with Marchy rambling about something he’d seen on TikTok last night) would file out when Patrice started making the second batch. Around the same time the next wave of guys would come in. Swayman, Coyle, Zacha, Clifton, and Carlo. They often came in chatting together after meeting up in the lobby.
“Hey, Bergy,” one of them would smile brightly as they walked into his kitchen. Patrice would flash his signature smile and nod to the plates piled with waffles and pancakes. He would remain at the stove, still working on the end of the second batch of batter and just listen to them talk.
At the beginning of the third batch Pasta would come into the kitchen and start to help. He would do dishes or make another batch if some of the guys had texted saying that they would be coming over a little later. Marchy followed soon after, gently nudging Bergy from the stove and taking over the pancakes.
By the time the last of the guys showed up there would be a mountain of food in the kitchen and everyone would be circled up in the living room, plates balanced on their laps. Patrice would sit quietly between whoever managed to drag him down first and just listen. He liked listening to the guys, it was the best way he could think of to decompress especially in the middle of the season.
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(Tumblr user: owchar1ie: Bergy cuddles when needed no questions asked.)
(Tumblr user: Anonymous: oh my god no cause if a player comes out they're coming out to bergy first and he's so overwhelmed and honored that they trust him that much and they're like "duh of course you're the person I trust the most look at all the stuff you've done for me already")
Bergy liked to spend his nights decompressing by watching mindless TV shows from the 80’s. He had finished Growing Pains a week ago and moved onto Magnum, P.I. He had considered turning his phone off, but the team had been through a hard week of some grueling games with long travel and rough practices thrown in the middle so he left it on in case any of the guys needed him.
He was happy he did when his phone dinged with a text from DeBrusk asking if he could come over. Bergy knew Jake had been having a rough time as of late and immediately told him that the door was unlocked. Five minutes later he walked in and plopped down on the floor in front of the couch. Bergy paused the episode of Magnum he had on and turned his attention to Jake.
“What’s up, JD?” he asked, moving to sit on the floor with him and leaning against the couch.
“I, uh,” Jake was picking at his cuticles as he searched for the right words. Bergy frowned and reached for the rubber band ball he kept on the end table and wordlessly passed it to him. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking recently and I’m a little freaked out.”
Patrice stayed silent and let Jake work through his thoughts.
“I think- I’ve been doing some research too and I think I might be gay,” he said, not making eye contact and instead staring at the rubber band ball in his hands. “I wanted to tell you first because, you know, you’re our captain but you’re also, like, a father figure to me.”
“Jake,” Bergy said softly. He reached forward and took one of Jake’s hands, squeezing gently. “I’m so honored you trusted me with this, and I’m so proud of you. You are so strong, Jake, you’re gonna be alright.”
“I know,” Jake nodded, sniffing as he looked up. He offered Bergy a small smile and wiped at his already red, irritated eyes. “I’m sorry to burst in on you like this, I know you’re decompressing right now.”
“Don’t even go there,” Patrice shook his head. “You’re so worth it, Jake. You are so worth it.”
“Can- do you mind if I just sit with you for a little bit?” he asked.
“Absolutely,” Bergy was quick to answer. He moved back up to the couch and opened his arm for Jake to sit next to him. Jake made himself comfortable on the couch, legs curled up into his chest and head resting on Bergy’s thigh.
Patrice reached for the lamp on the end table and turned it off before resumed the episode of Magnum. He rested a hand on Jake’s arm and rubbed gentle, calming patterns that never failed to calm the guys down whenever they needed physical contact. He felt Jake’s breathing even out and glanced down to see him asleep. Bergy smiled and turned the volume on the TV down, just letting Jake rest.
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(Tumblr user: that-trans-system-blog: him sending good morning messages in a team group chat every morning. he forgets his alarm and is late one morning and they almost break down his door to make sure he’s okay)
Routine was a really big part of every hockey player’s life. They liked having reliability in their lives, it was a comfort to them. For the Boston Bruins, the source of a lot of that reliability came in the form of their captain.
Every morning when Bergy woke up the first thing he did after turning off his alarm was send a good morning text to the team group chat that contained a few reminders for the day. Practice times, weight room sessions, meetings and film sessions mostly. A few times it was flight information if they were leaving in the morning.
Bergy’s texts were reliable and it was how a lot of guys knew when to wake up after turning their alarm off. So when Bergy’s alarm didn’t go off for a change it caused widespread panic amongst his players. It was a normal day, morning skate and then a film session before their game against the Canucks that night. All the guys knew what was happening so, technically, Bergy didn’t need to send out his morning text. But it was a part of the routine, and hockey players like their routines.
Bergy woke up twenty minutes late. He yawned and rubbed the sleep from his eyes before rolling over and blindly groping for his phone on the nightstand. He yawned again and turned it on.
“What the…” his voice trailed off as he scrolled through the missed phone calls and unanswered text messages.
Missed Call: Charlie McAvoy
Missed Call: Jeremy Swayman
Missed Call: Pavel Zacha
Missed Call: Trent Frederic
Missed Call: Jeremy Swayman
“Oh my God,” Bergy muttered while scrolling through the texts. However confused he was with all the missed calls he was even more confused when the pounding on his door started. He slipped his feet into the fuzzy L.L. Bean slippers that had been a gift from Swayman last Christmas and stumbled to the front door.
“Oh thank God,” Pasta breathed, brushing past Bergy as he walked in.
“What are you two doing here?” Bergy asked, closing the door after Trent.
“Your morning text never came,” Trent said, typing away at his phone. Bergy looked between them, confused.
“What?” Bergy asked again. Freddy and Pasta blinked at him. “Seriously, guys, what are you two talking about?”
“The text you send out in the group chat every morning,” Freddy said, brow furrowing. “You didn’t send one out today.”
“We were worried,” Pasta said, shrugging casually.
“Hang on,” Bergy said, shaking his head. “Let me get this straight. Everyone on the team is so reliant upon my ‘good morning’ texts coming through at a specific time that when I woke up late you were all worried something happened to me?”
“Yup.”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
Bergy laughed and shook his head. He looked back up at Pasta and Freddy and said, “You guys are the best.”
Patrice didn’t realize his everyday actions meant that much to the guys. He knew they relied on him for a lot, but he had no idea his good morning reminder texts carried that much weight with the guys. It filled him with an emotion he couldn’t pinpoint as he looked between a mostly asleep David Pastrnak and a bed-headed Trent Frederic.
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(Tumblr user: Anonymous: When the boys have a bad game Bergy hosts a sleepover where the boys just hang out with each other eating snacks and watching movies. Just enjoying each other presence after a hard night.)
Losing against an Original Six team at home was never easy. Especially when it got down to crunch time at the end of the season and every point mattered. They were slated for a 12:30 start against Montreal at the back half of a weekend back to back. And they lost. All the guys were taking it harder than they normally did, each one blaming himself for the loss.
Patrice could never handle seeing his team beating themselves up like this. He often left them to work through their feelings by themselves, but this afternoon he was a little worried about them and didn’t want them to be alone. He took matters into his own hands as he walked into the middle of the locker room and cleared his throat, getting everyone’s attention.
“We’re having a sleepover tonight,” he announced. The guys looked at each other in confusion. Bergy waited, letting his words sink in before saying anything else.
“Pat,” Marchy spoke up first. “We lost.”
“And?” Bergy asked, raising an eyebrow. “I’m not leaving you guys alone with your thoughts tonight. My place, eight o’clock. If you’re not there you’re skating suicides tomorrow at practice.”
He knew he left the guys with no choice. But as he compiled bowls upon bowls of popcorn and all sorts of candies the nutrition staff would have a heart attack if they ever saw the guys eating during the middle of the season he decided he didn’t care. If he needed to force the guys to unwind with a movie night and shit food then that’s what he was going to do.
Around 7:45 the first guys started showing up. Marchy was the first one, dressed in a ratty pair of sweatpants and a long sleeve shirt. Fliggy and Ully, trailed by Pavel and Bambi, weren't far behind. Bergy just left the door unlocked with a sticky note on the door saying to just come in.
The guys slowly trickled in, most of them arriving in pairs. Before long Patrice’s living room was filled with professional hockey players. They had claimed all the blankets he had previously laid out and were sharing the bowls of food.
Marchy, Ully, Fliggy, and Forby were sitting in the corner, leaning against some chairs. Chairs that held Pavel, Greersy, Hallsy, and Lindy. In front of the couch Cliffy, CC, Chuck, Gryz, and Krej were sprawled out under one of the larger blankets. Chuck was leaning against Bergy’s legs, head resting on his knees.
Bergy was bracketed by Pasta and Sway on either side of him. Pasta had his head resting on Bergy’s left shoulder and he was silently playing with the tag sewn into the hem of the blanket covering the three of them as he watched the movie playing on the widescreen of Bergy’s TV. Sway was sprawled out to his left, head resting on his thigh and feet hanging over the armrest. He too was watching the TV but he was starting to doze off. Patrice had his arms wrapped around both of them, one hand on Pasta’s shoulder and the other on Sway’s hip.
Everyone was silent, just enjoying each other and helping each other get over the afternoon’s rough loss. Patrice smiled and leaned back into the plush cushions. He really loved moments like this with the team, and he knew his days doing this were numbered. But he was going to enjoy the hell out of them while he had them.
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(Tumblr user: that-trans-system-blog: someone ( pasta or fliggy ) made him a friendship bracelet and he hasn’t taken it off, ever.)
David Pastrnak had been through a lot. Around the time he got drafted by the Bruins his father succumbed to cancer. As a result, Pasta had attached himself to Bergy and Krej. Patrice had, naturally, taken him under his wing and nurtured him every step of the way in the beginnings of his National Hockey League career.
“Bergy,” Pasta said, walking into the locker room one day after morning skate.
“Pasta, hey,” Bergy smiled and sat up, brushing his hands off on the thighs of his pants. “I thought you went home?”
“No,” Pasta shook his head. “Have something. For you.”
“For me?” Bergy asked, raising his eyebrows and Pasta sat down in the locker beside his. Pasta nodded and silently presented Patrice with a carefully knotted together bracelet. It was made of black, yellow, and white string. Bergy could imagine Pasta sitting in the lounge focusing intently as he tied the pieces of string together. He felt his chest warm up a little at the mental image.
“You like, yes?” Pasta asked, snapping Patrice from his thoughts. He looked over at his younger right winger, a bright smile on his face.
“I love it,” he said, reaching out and pulling Pasta into a hug. He squeezed him gently before ruffling his hair and saying, “Thank you, Pasta.”
That had been years ago. Patrice had never taken it off after Pasta tied it around his wrist that day in the locker room. He had honestly forgotten about it until he saw David looking at him with a shocked look on his face.
“What?” he asked, pausing as he put his skates back where they belonged. Pasta wordlessly reached over and grabbed his wrist, looking intently at the bracelet on his wrist. It was a little dirty after gathering years of hockey grime, and the white string was more gray now than anything, but it was still the same bracelet.
“You still have it?” Pasta asked in a small voice, looking up at his captain.
“Of course I still have it, Pasta,” Bergy said, sitting down in his locker. “You gave it to me, I wouldn’t get rid of it for the world.”
“Bergy,” Pasta’s voice cracked.
“Pasta, you might as well be one of my kids,” Patrice said as David sat down beside him, still holding his wrist. “This obviously meant a lot to you when you gave it to me so I didn’t take it off.”
“Bergy,” Pasta repeated, looking up at him as a tear slipped out of his eye. Patrice smiled and reached over, wiping it off his face with the pad of his thumb.
“You’re a good kid, Pasta,” Patrice said. “Don’t ever change.”
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(Tumblr user: owchar1ie: He makes sure everyone eats. And notices if they don’t. and talks to them after privately abt it.)
(Tumblr user: Anonymous: bergy will notice that a guy is feeling down so he takes him out for a drive after practice and they talk while he just aimlessly drives through boston as long as they need to talk it out)
Patrice Bergeron was perceptive almost to a fault. No one knew how he managed to keep tabs on his team to the extent that he did, but he did it. And he did it really well. He was able to keep tabs on all his players and know almost immediately if something was wrong.
One of Lindy’s biggest tells was that when something was bothering him he stopped eating. He would pick at the food on his plate or just push it around to make it look like he had eaten something. And he was able to fool a lot of the guys this way, not Bergy though. He watched Lindy like a hawk from the corner of the lounge during lunch in between meetings. He was sitting with Chucky, JD, and Greersy, a group that was normally one of the livelier ones in the lounge. The other three were laughing and elbowing each other and obviously having a good time. Hampus, on the other hand, was just sitting there playing with the grilled vegetables on his plate and frowning down at his lap.
Bergy made a mental note to pull him aside after meetings were over and talk to him before Forby pulled him back to the conversation they were having. They wrapped up lunch and filed into the media room. Bergy sat in the third row, keeping Lindy out of the corner of his eye. He was paying attention to what Monty was saying but he still had that distant look in his eye that was another one of his tells.
“Lindy, wait up,” Bergy said, slipping between Ully and Bambi to catch up with him. “Walk with me for a minute.”
“Is everything alright?” Lindy asked as Bergy steered him down the hallway towards the Warrior locker room.
“I wanted to ask you that,” Bergy said as they stepped around a corner. He shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned against the wall, studying him. “I noticed you haven’t been eating that much for the past two days. I just want to check in and make sure you’re doing okay.”
Lindy sighed heavily and looked down at his feet. Bergy waited patiently, not pressuring Lindy at all as he tried to find the right words for what he had to say.
“It’s just,” Hampus cut himself off with another sigh. “I haven’t been playing all that well recently.”
“You’re not punishing yourself for not meeting the standards you set for yourself, are you?” Bergy asked, ducking his head to meet Lindy’s eye. Hampus just shrugged and kept looking down. Bergy pursed his lips together before saying, “Come on. We’re going for a drive and you’re going to talk.”
“Talk?” Lindy asked, already following Bergy to the parking garage.
“Yup,” Patrice nodded, opening the door for him. “You can tell me anything you need to. My car is a judgment free zone, you can say anything in there and it will never leave. What happens in Bergy’s car, stays in Bergy’s car.”
“Okay,” Hampus nodded quietly and climbed into the passenger seat. He remained quiet until Bergy pulled out of the parking garage and then let the floodgates open. “I just… I don’t know what happened. I started the season off so well and then- and then I just fell apart. That goal the other night against the Stars, it was my fault. I blew my coverage and they got the two on one. I was the one that put Sway in that position…”
Patrice stayed quiet and listened to him rant. The only time he interrupted was to reach into the glove box and grab one of the fidget toys he kept stashed there when he noticed Hampus start to pick at his fingernails. He just drove, letting Lindy rant and get off his chest what he needed to.
He had done a handful of loops around the city by the time Lindy ran out of things to say. He spoke up when they were nearing Warrior once again, saying, “Hampus, you’re allowed to have bad games. We all have bad games, we all have stretches of bad games. This is part of being a professional hockey player. I know it’s hard but you need to let it all run off your back. The beauty about the regular season is you can go out there and try again in a few days.
“And I promise you none of us will ever be upset that you’re having a bad day. But you have to promise me you’re not going to stop eating. Marchy did that once in his rookie year and he collapsed on me in the middle of a game. I can’t see the same thing happen to you.”
“I promise,” Lindy nodded as Bergy pulled back into his parking spot. “Thank you, Bergy. You mean a lot to me.”
“You mean a lot to me too, Lindy.”
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(Tumblr user: that-trans-system-blog: bergy trying to learn at least a little in everyone’s native language so he can help them if they get overwhelmed and Cannot English)
The majority of the Bruins locker room were native English speakers, and everyone had a firm grip on the language. That didn’t mean, though, that there were times when English was just not an option.
There were a lot of Czech players on the team, and almost all of them were excitable or, at the very least, wore their emotions on their sleeves. After an incident with Pasta a few years ago when he broke down and could only mumble in Czech, Bergy had brushed up on the language. He was nowhere near fluent, but he had a good enough grasp on it to be able to comfort any of the Czech players if they were upset enough that speaking English was not going to work.
He was already fluent in French, having spoken it growing up. So if AJ was having trouble with something Bergy would be able to pull him aside and they could have a conversation in their native language.
Swedish was a little bit harder for him to grasp, but he had enough of it that he would be able to help Ully or Lindy or even Pasta if Czech wasn’t working in addition to English and Swedish was the only option.
Russian was a little bit harder. When Dimitry joined the team Bergy had redownloaded Duolingo to his phone and started basic lessons. He was struggling with it a little bit, but Dimitry was extremely well adjusted almost to the point that Patrice was taken aback. Still, he worked at it a little bit every day.
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(Tumblr user: motier-boleyn: Some of the players accidentally call Bergy dad and they get all embarrassed. But secretly Bergy loves when they do it because it interprets that into saying they think of him like a dad-like figure.)
A lot of things got said in the heat of the moment. Guys let things slip all the time when in the middle of an intense game that they would retract later.
That didn’t mean, however, that a lot of it wasn’t wholesome. There was one time in Arizona that Bergy could vividly remember. They had been in the locker room after a really good win, excitement pumping as high as the music was loud. Bergy was standing in the middle of it all, smiling and letting the energy of his team wash over him. There was a lot of yelling and if someone wanted him for something they were going to need to physically grab him because the odds of him hearing someone call his name over the din were slim to none.
He didn’t expect, though, to respond to the call of ‘Dad!’ from the back corner of the locker room. He turned around and scanned the crowd, trying to find the source of the shout. When his eyes landed on Jake DeBrusk looking almost scared he knew he found it. He squeezed his way through the other players on his way over to him.
“I- I,” Jake stuttered. “I don't know where that came from. I’m sor-”
“Don’t apologize,” Bergy cut him off with a hand on his shoulder and a wide grin on his face. “You were calling for me, right?”
“Yeah,” Jake nodded, looking up at his captain. Bergy smiled wider and pulled his winger into a hug, hand cradling the back of his head.
“I love that you think of me as a father figure,” he said, leaning out of the hug and placing both his hands on either side of Jake’s face. He pressed a quick kiss to Jake’s sweaty forehead. “You’re a good kid, JD.”
As word spread around the team that Bergy responded to dad some of the other guys tried it out for themselves. Trent let it slip purely on accident one day at [practice. He was across the ice from Bergy, skating up the wall.
“Dad!” he called. Bergy looked over to him in time to see him rip a pass. Patrice dropped to a knee and shot a once timer at the net. He didn’t even register the fact that in order to get his attention Trent, like Jake, had called him Dad. And he didn’t bring it up, either. He just let it sit in his chest, making him all warm and fuzzy whenever he thought about it.
“What’s got you all happy?” Marchy asked as he sat down beside Bergy in the lounge as they killed some time before their afternoon meetings.
“The kids are calling me dad,” Bergy mumbled under his breath. He smiled down at the table as he played with his napkin. “They’re calling me dad, Marchy.”
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(Tumblr user: motier-boleyn: Ok ok ok but I feel like being captain just makes Patrice so tired and marchy just gets so concerned. After a tough day he helps pat relax, like rubbing his back and kissing him. Maybe put on a movie and like just praises him. They talk about feelings and stuff)
It was around the end of February when things really started to get to Patrice. He had been going non stop trying to make sure that all the guys had everything they needed for the upcoming playoff push. He had been going so hard at the rink that he had completely forgotten he needed to take care of himself. And it bit him square in the ass.
He woke up the morning they were playing the Sabres achy and unable to move without feeling like his joints had turned to unoiled wood overnight. He groaned as he reached for his phone and blindly called Brad. He put the phone on speaker and rested it against his chest, feeling far too weak to hold it to his ear.
“Hello?” Brad’s grainy voice answered.
“Marchy,” Bergy groaned. “I feel like shit.”
“I knew this was going to happen,” Patrice barely heard Brad mutter to himself. “Alright, I’m on my way over. Don’t move.”
“Do you still have a key?” Bergy asked, voice raspy.
“Of course I do,” Brad responded. “Now if you are not in bed by the time I get there you are going to be in so much trouble mister.”
Patrice didn’t move. He didn’t think he could move even if he wanted to. His bedroom door creaked open and he squinted at the thin line of light cast over the mattress. Marchy closed the door behind him and slowly walked over. He carefully sat down on the edge of the bed and rested a hand on Patrice’s thigh.
“Marchy,” Bergy groaned, opening one eye to look at him.
“You forgot to take care of yourself again, didn’t you?” Brad asked, already toeing off his shoes and swinging his legs into the bed. Patrice just nodded and rolled over, loosely wrapping his arms around Marchy’s waist. “Let go of me real quick,” Brad ordered gently. Patrice pouted but did as he was told.
Brad hooked his hands beneath Patrice’s arms and maneuvered them so he was sitting with his back braced against the headboard and Patrice laying in his lap. He let Bergy get himself comfortable before beginning to thread one hand through his hair and using the other to rub comforting patterns into Bergy’s back.
Patrice hummed and wrapped his arms around Brad’s waist once again, nestling his head further into his lap. They stayed like that for a while, Bergy absorbing Brad’s warmth and letting his touch heal his aching joints.
“You need to slow down,” Brad said after a little while, continuing to play with Patrice’s hair. “You need to take care of yourself.”
“I’m the captain,” Patrice said, voice muffled by Brad’s thigh. “I have to look after everyone.”
“And it’s my job to look after you,” Brad countered gently. “Please let me do that. If you burn yourself out like this you’re not going to be helping anyone. Please let me take care of you, Patrice.”
“Okay.”