Chapter Text
Eric Bittle had been put into kindergarten when he was six instead of five. He was a year older than all the other kids in his grade. This was extremely significant. This meant that in 2010, though he would still be four years away from college, he would be fifteen years old. This was what Eric had been thinking about since his skates first hit the ice. It was what he had been working towards for as long as he could remember. His dad didn't understand. Eric didn't care, he threw himself into his training absolutely. He probably spent more time at the rink with Katya than he did at school. Definitely more time than he spent at home, where the only things he did were sleep, eat and occasionally bake. He loved to bake but he didn't have time, it wasn't important, the only important thing was skating. Then the trials were coming up. Eric stopped sleeping properly he was so nervous. His Mama flew to them with him and Katya. She knew how nervous he was. When they told him he had gotten onto the Olympic team Eric fainted.
After that Eric was single minded. He barely got his schoolwork done. All he did was skate, eat and sleep. He practiced his routines until he could do them perfectly with his eyes closed. His dad didn't talk about it except to say "good luck" and "make sure your homework gets done" His Mama was supportive, making him food and forcing him to eat when he came home from the rink completely exhausted. He didn't see the worried looks she directed his way. Katya pushed him harder than ever before, and he was glad. He pushed himself even harder.
When the time came to leave for Canada even coach came with them. Eric tried not to panic. He barely registered anything. Then he was being shown to a room in a house, in the Olympic village. He had no idea what to do. There was a knock on his door, when he opened it Evan Lysacek was standing there. He opened his mouth to speak, and couldn't do it.
"Hey, Eric, you alright?" Evan asked.
"Um... yeah. Sorry, I'm just a little... star stuck." Eric stammered. Evan laughed and threw his arm around Eric's shoulder.
"It's okay, kid. We're on the same team now. Relax" he said brightly, "Come on, Johnny and I are gonna go get food." He added pulling Eric along.
"How are you doing, Eric?" Johnny asked when they met up with him.
"Alright." Eric said quietly.
"It can't be easy being the youngest member of the Olympic team. You holding up alright?" Evan asked.
"I'm alright." Eric answered, wishing he had a kitchen to bake in. He knew better than that though, pies were definitely not within his diet plan. "It's just a lot. I feel like a kid surrounded by stars."
"You got onto the same team as us. You're fifteen kid and you beat out everyone else in the damn country to get onto this team. I’ve seen you skate. You’re good, you’re damn good.” Johnny said with a grin.
“I’m worried about having you as competition.” Evan confessed, “I couldn’t have gotten into the Olympics as a fifteen year old. That’s insane. I was busy thinking about high school and shit.” He added.
“Wait, it’s February, aren’t you supposed to be in school?” Johnny asked.
“Yeah, I got some excused vacation time on account of representing our great nation in the Olympic games.” Eric said blushing. They laughed.
“Nice.” Evan said with a grin. After that they just ate and talked about other stuff all obviously trying to forget their stress. It was very nice. For the first time in a long time Eric felt comfortable. He took a sleeping pill to get to sleep that night, he had been doing so since he started training. He had become too anxious to sleep properly, but he knew that he needed rest so… sleeping pills. The next day was the opening ceremony. Eric walked with Johnny and Evan. It was like something out of a dream, walking with the United States delegation at the winter Olympic games. After the ceremony Evan came to find Eric again. Eric was with his parents.
“Eric! Johnny and I were going to head out and find a tattoo parlor. Get the rings, you know? You want to come?” He asked, then he noticed the elder Bittles. “Oh, sorry, you must be Mr and Mrs Bittle, pleasure to meet you, I’m Evan Lysacek.”
“It’s an honor to meet you, Eric’s been following your skating for ages.” Mamma Bittle said brightly, shaking his hand.
“Mamma!” Eric exclaimed blushing. Evan just smiled and laughed.
“So are you up for it?” He asked. Eric bit his lip.
“I’d love to, I mean I don’t know what the chances are I’ll get a medal so I’d like something permanent to remember… but I’m only fifteen you know?” He answered.
“I’ll come with you and give permission my dear.” Eric’s mom told him with a smile. Eric grinned brightly. He didn’t notice that she looked actually surprised by this.
“Thank you!” He exclaimed. Soon enough he found himself sitting in a tattoo parlor, with an artist carefully tracing the Olympic rings onto his shoulder. He was to exhausted to even feel the pain of it.
The next few days were a complete blur. Eric hardly knew what he was doing. When the time came to it he was glad he had trained as hard as he did. If he hadn’t known his routine this well he probably would have messed up, he was so nervous and exhausted by the time he stepped onto the ice. He let his brain shut off entirely when he started skating, just letting the music flow through his veins as he moved across the ice. He didn’t come back to himself until they were announcing scores, but he didn’t really comprehend what it meant until Johnny was sitting by his side shaking his shoulder.
“Congrats Eric!” He was saying, “Holy shit! How are you not flipping out right now?"
"What?" He asked, confused.
"You got third! You got the bronze!" He said. Eric's eyes went wide. He froze. "Evan just won, you got third. You got a medal!"
"Good job Evan!!" Eric exclaimed. "Congratulations!"
"You too, man." Evan agreed. He grabbed Eric and dragged him to the podium. Eric barely managed to stay upright on the podium, he was dizzy, he couldn't quite believe this. He nearly fell over when he bent down for them to put his medal on. He stood with his hand over his heart as the national anthem played. He wasn't sure how he made it down and back to where his parents and Katya were standing. His Mamma threw her arms around him. She was crying, and he realised that he was too. He hugged her tightly, and felt his medal digging into his chest. That's when it hit him. It was over. He had made it to the Olympics, he'd done well, he had gotten a medal. His mother let go of him. He wavered. It was over. It was over. He was dizzy. Everything went blurry....
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The next thing Eric knew he opened his eyes and he was staring up at a bland ceiling... Where the hell was he?
"Eric?" His Mamma rushed over to his side. "How are you sweetie?!"
"Where am I, Mamma?" He murmured.
"We're in the hospital, sweetheart, you passed out." She told him, softly.
"What?" He asked.
"You pushed yourself too hard." His father told him.
"I'm so sorry, Eric. This is my fault." Katya told him. He shook his head.
"What, no... I'm still confused..."
"Eric Bittle?" A new man walked into the room, he was wearing a lab coat so Eric assumed it was his doctor. "I’m Doctor Smith. How are you feeling, son?"
"Tired." Eric answered honestly.
"Well, that makes sense. You ran yourself into the ground there boy. I know you’ve got the skill and the dedication but you’re just too young to be performing at that level. You’re malnourished, you’re dehydrated, and just point blank exhausted. We’ve got you on an IV to get some fluid and nutrients back into your system. As long as you get a lot of rest, and eat a lot of food, you’ll be alright. You just need to take some time off.”
“I couldn’t be malnourished, I was eating everything according to a diet plan.” Eric protested weakly.
“Do you get nervous or anxious?” Dr Smith asked kindly. Eric nodded a little, then it hit him.
“I throw up a lot.” He said in a quiet voice. His doctor nodded, and patted his hand gently.
“It’s okay, Eric. You just take it easy.” He told him, “I’ll come back to check on you in a little bit okay?”
“Yeah. Thank you.” Eric murmured softly, sinking back into his pillows.
“I’m so sorry, Dicky.” His mother said tearfully, “I knew you were working too hard. I saw that you weren’t happy but I just couldn’t bring myself to stop it. I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.”
“No, Mamma, it’s my fault.” Eric told her, reaching out to take her hand. “I was being crazy; trying so hard to be the youngest person on the USA olympic team, wanting a medal so bad. It was my dream, course you didn’t tell me to stop.”
“We’re so proud of you.” His Mamma told him, “You did it. You got here, you got your medal. You can relax now sweetheart.”
“Thanks, Mamma.” Eric said softly, he gave her a small smile. “Maybe when we get home, we can bake.” He suggested. With that his mother burst into tears. Coach Bittle just set a gentle hand on his wife’s shoulder.
“You did good, son.” He said, “We’re are very proud.”
“Thanks, Coach.” Eric murmured.
“I am so proud of you as well, Eric.” Katya told him with a smile, “You were perfect out there. You worked so hard, but you’re done now.”
“Thanks, Taya.” he answered. “I’m pretty tired, I’m gonna go back to sleep if that’s alright with y’all.”
“You get some rest.” Katya told him. “I’ll leave you with your family now.”
“Where is it?” Eric asked, before he let himself drift off. His mother looked confused but Katya turned and lifted something off his bedside table. She pressed the medal into his hand.
“It’s right here. It’s real, no one is taking it away from you. You did so well Eric, it’s over now.” She promised. He smiled a little and drifted back to sleep.
Eric spent the most of his Olympic games sleeping in the hospital, watching his teammates on the television. It was a day or two before they took him off the IV. It was good not to be hooked up to a bunch of tubes anymore. Evan and Johnny both came to check up on him. A few of the other people did so as well. He was grateful but really he just wanted to go home. Finally it was over, and he was back in Georgia. The first thing he did was bake an apple pie. It was the happiest he had been since he could remember. So he baked, and he ate pies, and he listened to pop music and he danced and sang. He tucked his medal into the drawer in his beside table. Whenever it got hard to breathe he would take it out and hold it tight and remind himself that he had done it, it was real and it was over. He was going to be okay. Sometimes it was enough.
It took him weeks to even go near the rink again. Even the thought of stepping onto ice seemed draining, exhausting. He tried to remember how much he had loved it, had loved skating, but now all he could remember was the exhaustion and stress and fear. All that work and he hadn't been happy standing on that podium, he had been broken, barely conscious. He never wanted to go back to that again. In the end, it was Hockey that brought him back to the ice. He couldn't help being interested after seeing a couple guys playing one time he visited the rink. (He hadn't skated that day, of any of the times he had gone back before, just stood outside the ice and watched, trying to calm the mixture of fear and longing in his chest.)
Hockey was different enough that it didn't trigger the same things in Eric. He wasn't as naturally good at it for one, he couldn't push himself to be perfect, so he tried to be good instead. He could work hard without taking it too seriously. He could still be on the ice, which was a relief. Eric was pretty sure he was addicted to the ice in the same say some people were addicted to drugs. He couldn't take hockey too far though. He made sure he didn't. He spent time being him. The first time his mom walked into the kitchen to find him baking, singing and dancing while he stirred batter, she teared up again and hugged him tight.
"I'm just so glad you're acting like you again." She blubbered, "I was so worried about you!" He smiled and hugged her back.
"I know, Mamma. I'm sorry. It won't happen again." He promised. He meant it. The tattoo on his shoulder was something he tried not to let anyone see. He was proud of having been an Olympian, it was important to him, but didn't like to talk about it. Ever. The tattoo was every bit as much a reminder of his own dangerously obsessive nature as it was a mark of pride.
When he came to Samwell it felt like a new beginning. He had a chance to be whoever he wanted to be, a hockey player, a baker, and while he wasn’t going to pretend that he didn’t used to figure skate he wasn’t going to tell them that he went to the Olympics. His story had been hushed up. No one mentioned him, they didn’t want to talk about the young figure skater who had had a physical and emotional breakdown, they didn’t want to talk about how the US team had broken a high school aged kid. Eric felt confident that none of the guys on his team would have heard of him, after all his career had been short and had ended on a very sour note. He hadn’t put on figure skates in nearly four years by the time he got to Samwell, but his medal was still in his bedside dresser.
Eric was fine at first. No one had heard of him, no one cared that he used to figure skate. He even managed to his his tattoo in the locker room easy enough. It was good. He was happy. He was happy to spend all his free time in the Haus kitchen baking pies. Happy even to wake up at four in the morning to do checking practice with Jack. Happy just to spend time with Jack honestly. It was good, it was all wonderful and good. He had noticed himself doing more jumps and spins when he was messing around before and after practice, and it didn’t scare him so much. Eric was alright, he wasn’t even Eric here. He was Bitty. He liked his nickname and the affectionate way that his teammates said it. Everything was fine, until February rolled around. It was 2014, time for the winter Olympics again. He had been avoiding even thinking about it. He was in the kitchen, singing happily when suddenly the door burst open.
“Bitty! Get your ass down here! You’re going to miss it!” Shitty exclaimed. Bitty barely managed to set down the pie he was working on before he was being dragged into the living room, utterly confused.
“What on god’s green earth are you doing Shitty?” He demanded as he was dragged into the living room.
“Dude! The Olympic opening ceremony is starting! I couldn’t let you miss it.” Shitty said.
“Come on bro, sit down and watch with us! It only happens every four years!” Holster said. Even Jack was smiling encouragingly, most of the team was gathered in the Haus livingroom. Bitty backed up, suddenly aware of the tattoo on his shoulder, the rings seeming to burn into his skin all over again.
“I um… I don’t think I will if that’s alright with you.” He said, tugging at Shitty’s grip weakly. They all stared at him.
“Dude it’s the winter Olympics! Why wouldn’t you watch, you’re a hockey player, and a figure skater.”
“We’ll even watch the figure skating with you.” Ransom said brightly. Bitty couldn’t help the color draining from his face.
“No!” He yelped, “I don’t want- I just don’t watch the Olympics anymore okay!” He said, still trying to get away.
“Bits, what’s wrong?” Jack asked, standing up. Shitty had finally let go of his arm and Bitty turned to run, but he stumbled. Jack caught his arm.
“Bittle, please tell me what’s wrong.” He demanded, obviously worried.
“Nothing! It’s nothing! I just… I don’t want to watch it! Don’t make me- I can’t…” everything was becoming rather spinny and he just had time to think ‘Oh no.’ before the blackness overwhelmed him. When he woke up he was lying wrapped in blankets on the couch and most of the team was gathered around him. The TV was mercifully off.
“Bittle, what happened there?” Jack asked softly. He tried to take a deep breath but he was still panicking a little. He bit his lip.
“Jack, I need… it’s in my apron pocket.” He murmured. Shitty bolted towards the kitchen before Jack could move from Bitty’s side. When Shitty came back he was holding Bitty’s medal with a reverent sort of look on his face, his steps slow and careful.
“You were keeping this in your apron?” He asked, his voice shockingly quiet. Bitty blushed.
“I… it’s comforting when I’m upset.” He muttered.
“Shits… what is that?” Jack asked, staring at it. Shitty handed the medal to Bitty very gently.
“That my friend. Is an Olympic bronze medal for figure skating, from the Winter Games in Canada 2010, with the name Eric Richard Bittle engraved on the back.” Shitty answered. They all stared.
"Dude... how?" Ransom asked.
"Did you mug an Olympian and put your name on their medal?" Holster asked. Bitty went red.
"Of course not!" He yelped. "I worked hard for that. I put myself in the hospital for that medal."
"Sorry, it's just, you're eighteen aren't you?" Holster muttered.
"I'm nineteen! I was fifteen in 2010, that's the age limit for figure skaters in the Olympics." He said. He was gripping his medal tight. He sat up, hunched over a little, rubbing his thumb over the surface he had memorized.
"Bittle, you don't have to tell us what happened. But if you want, we've always got your back." Jack told him. He nodded.
"I um... skating came natural to me. I was good and I knew it. So I wanted to go to the Olympics, it was my dream. I worked so hard... I worked too hard. I stopped doing anything but the bare minimum in the rest of life. I stopped baking." Someone gasped and Bitty nearly laughed despite what he was talking about. He took a deep breath before continuing
"I barely did schoolwork. All I did was sleep eat and skate. Mamma was worried about me but she didn't stop me because she knew how much it meant to me. I got on the team. I got to Canada. I was so tired, but could never sleep right without sleeping pills, cause I was so anxious. I kept throwing up meals, but I wasn't really thinking about it. I was in a haze of exhaustion and stress. I barely even felt it when I got the rings tattooed on my shoulder, I was that out of it."
"You have the rings?!" Ransom enthused. Bitty nodded. He pulled his shirt up and turned around so they could see his shoulder.
"Wow.... dude that's so cool." Holster breathed.
"Holy shit, I never thought I'd see that." Shitty murmured. Ransom nearly reached out to touch his shoulder but Jack slapped his hand away.
"Go on, Bittle" he murmured.
"Well, I skated. I was in a haze still. Didn't even realize how the points added up until Johnny told me. Evan practically dragged me up onto the podium, I nearly fell over up there. I made it back to my parents, I hugged Mamma, I was crying and overwhelmed and dizzy. The next thing I knew I was waking up in a hospital. Doctor told me I was malnourished, dehydrated and beyond exhausted. I um... Well I had a complete mental and physical breakdown; watched the rest of the games on tv from a hospital bed. Finally got home. I started baking again, I swore I'd never go back. I have an obsessive perfectionist nature about that type of thing, but I took it so far I didn't even enjoy skating anymore. It was hockey that got me back onto the ice, couple months later. I haven't touched a pair of figure skates since I took mine off after the skate that won me this medal." He told them. Shitty launched himself forwards and wrapped his arms tight around Bitty.
"You poor sweet, beautiful, southern boy!" He muttered. When he let go, Bitty nearly jumped as Jack moved to take his place.
"We're always here for you, Bitty. Always. No matter what." He promised. Bitty hugged him back.
"Thank you." He muttered. He was crying and he hated that he was crying.
"I just. The medal helps me calm down when I get upset, because I survived through that, and it's over. It's what my skating coach told me when I was in the hospital, she pressed my medal into my hand and told me I had done well, and I didn't have to work anymore, I could rest. After I collapsed, I used to have panic attacks, start hyperventilating. I couldn't sleep sometimes. It was the only thing that could calm me down, holding onto my medal to know that it was real, I did it. I skated in the Olympics and I got a medal. It wasn't all for nothing."
"Oh, Bits." Shitty murmured, and he hugged Bitty again, though Jack still had an arm around his shoulders. Ransom and Holster joined Shitty in hugging him.
"If it bothers you, this is an Olympic free Haus, Bittle." Jack told him, obviously daring the others to argue, they didn't.
"Thanks, Jack. All of you, really thanks." Bitty murmured, "But we can still watch the Olympics. Things like Hockey and Skiing and all the other stuff. Just, I didn't want to see the opening ceremony, see them walk in... remember... and I can't watch figure skating. I can't see the guys I was there with compete again. I can't watch it. If I do all I'll see is the things I could have been doing better. That's not good for me." He told them. They all nodded.
"Of course." Shitty agreed. "Come on guys, let's watch a movie." He said. They all piled onto the couch with him, and Bitty had temporarily forgotten his hatred of it, and Jack still had his arm around him so he wasn't about to move. They watched Crazy Stupid Love and laughed and ate and Bitty felt something in his chest loosen.
Afterwards Jack paused outside Bitty’s room and hugged him again, and Bitty couldn’t get over how this was the most emotion Jack Zimmerman had expressed in all the years Bitty had known him. He had never gotten a hug from Jack off the ice before.
“You’re not alone. You know that.” Jack told him quietly, “If you ever need to talk, I’m just across the hall.” He added. Bitty nodded, not sure if he would take Jack up on it or not. For now he was warm from the love of all his teammates, and comfortable and tired, and he was just so happy.
A couple days later Bitty knocked on Jack’s door.
“Come in.” Jack called. He was sitting on his bed with his laptop but he set the computer aside when he saw Bitty there. “Hey, Bittle. What’s up?” He asked cheerfully.
“I wanted… I thought we could talk about… I just thought you’d understand.” Bitty stammered. Jack’s face went soft, he patted the bed next to him and Bitty sat down with a grateful sigh. He had his medal in his hand again.
“I do understand, Bitty.” Jack told him. “I understand the anxiety and the fear that you’ll never be good enough, and you have no idea what you can do otherwise… I understand the addictive personality it takes to get to that point.”
“I just… I wanted it so bad I lost sight of everything else. I made myself miserable. I just feel…”
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Not how hard you pushed to get there, not the addictive personality, not the anxiety, and not the fact that you ended up in the hospital. You worked really hard and you got an Olympic medal. But even without the Medal. You… you are incredible, Bittle.” Jack told him. He wouldn’t look at Bitty, just staring awkwardly at his hands but he was trying and Bitty’s heart felt full to bursting.
“Thank you.” He murmured, “I just. I was trying so hard to be perfect, and I found out that I couldn’t be.” He added at last, putting voice to the dark pit of fear and shame in his chest. Jack finally looked up at him, eyes so wide and blue.
“You’re always perfect.” He whispered, barely audible like he couldn’t quite get the words out. Everything went crystal clear. That’s what Bitty would realize afterwards, there was no haze, no blur that he couldn’t quite remember. Instead everything seemed to be in high definition as he leaned forwards and kiss Jack Zimmerman, and Jack kissed him back.
“Jack Zimmerman, what am I ever going to do with you?” Bitty asked when he pulled away. Jack smiled.
“Hopefully date me?” He asked, blushing. Bitty laughed, pressing his face into Jack’s shoulder.
“Yeah, that sounds good.” He agreed. He was bright red as well, but he didn’t care. He dropped his medal onto the bedspread somewhere so he could lean forwards to wrap his arms around his boyfriend while he kissed him.