Chapter Text
There was a wet dripping sound that made it impossible for Shane to sleep.
Hayden or Ilya must have left a faucet on. Shane hated the sound. His body was floating, or his mind was floating, and of course someone had left the faucet running just enough to itch in his ear and keep him from blissful sleep.
Shane's head felt heavy. He was here, but he was not. He was somewhere in between, somewhere in a void.
Drip.
It was rhythmic enough that the faucet must be just slightly out of place. One good push and it would stop and Shane would sleep.
…
Why wasn't Ilya turning it off?
Drip.
Ilya.
Oh.
Ilya was mad at him.
Shane had made a huge fucking mistake, and he had pushed Ilya too far. Too fast, too much. Shane was too much.
Drip.
Shane tried to open his eyes, and a broken sound echoed through his head. This was a very uncomfortable bed. Maybe Shane had fallen asleep on the couch? As his head tried to reconnect with his body, he realized he wasn’t laying down at all. He was slumped over…something. Somewhere.
God, that faucet was driving him insane.
Shane tried to move as his body slowly returned to him.
Shit. God-
Oh. He did not want this.
Everything hurt.
Shane slumped back down against whatever he was leaned against, chest heaving. Fuck, it was cold.
Drip.
Shane managed to get his eyelids partially open. Had he fallen out of bed? That would explain some of the pain. Why wasn’t Ilya checking on him? Why-
“We cannot keep doing this, Hollander. I am getting bored,” Ilya had said.
Shane wanted to go back to sleep. He groaned as pain lanced through his head and side as his eyes struggled to stay open. His ribs felt like a boulder sat on them with each breath.
Somehow, all of that was just static compared to the pain of knowing that Ilya didn't want him anymore.
Drip.
What the fuck was that sound?
Shane tried to look around. He was…in a car. And it was dark. Right. He had left his place after…
“You can't- Ilya,” Shane had managed, “Don't say that. I can see your eyes. What is this really about?”
“You.”
Shit.
Ilya didn't want him anymore.
Ilya had come to his house, fucked him, and broken his heart.
So why was Shane in a car?
Drip.
Shane, now frustrated, scrubbed a hand over his head and hissed in pain. He needed to find and stop that sound so that he could fucking sleep. Oh. His hand was sticky and warm and Shane almost threw up. There was a lot of blood.
He had a concussion, he knew. He recognized the feeling and the pain. But the god awful dripping sound wasn't from his head. So, what…
Oh. Shit.
Shane stared down at his body.
There was something in his side. Shane's hands were bloody. They shook as he finally stopped the dripping sound by moving his hand under the object lodged into him. He was the problem. This was a problem.
“Ilya, don't do this,” Shane begged. He was hurt, he was upset, but he was still pathetic enough to beg, “Come to my cottage this summer. I've been meaning to ask you for so long, and-”
“Hollander, you know we can't do that,” Ilya interrupted, voice strained, “It is not what I want. Not anymore.”
Had they argued more? Everything was coming back in black and white, in patches, and Shane wasn't even sure if it was in the right order.
His side. What was in his side?
Shane's hands shook. His whole body shook. Shane wanted to go back to sleep. Fatigue and exhaustion gnawed at him like the worst of the cold in the middle of the Canadian winters. That made him feel very scared. Would he ever see snow again?
Shane looked at his side closer, confused. And then-
After Ilya left, Shane had gotten into his car. He was going to go after Ilya. He was going to convince him that Shane was worth it. He was going to swear to do better.
Canadian roads at 3 am were mostly empty. Mostly.
Shane was distracted, driving behind some truck with ladders and hoses and whatever random things the driver had decided to pack inside the bed. At goddamn 3 AM, of fucking course.
The truck ahead of him hit a pothole or something equally mundane and typical of Canadian roads, and something in the bed dislodged. Shane barely saw it in the blanket of darkness before it shattered his windshield. The object didn’t get stuck by the curated glass. Of course not. No, it plunged right through. Shane lost control of his car because-
Shane had a garden pruner stabbed into his side. Oh, shit. He hadn’t seen the blade, exactly, but he recognized the smaller size of the handles. Shane knew that the pruner likely had a curved blade, and it was almost entirely stabbed into his side. Oh, god. Shane resisted the urge to pass out or throw up.
His shirt was already pooled red, and his vision swam. The concussion and blood loss took everything around him and blurred the edges of it. It did not dull the pain, which pulsed and stole Shane’s breath in ways he had never known. He was shaking, wasn’t he?
Shane looked for his phone. It had fallen onto the passenger seat, cracked and just slightly out of reach. Fuck Shane’s shitty life.
What was he going to do? Who was he going to call? He didn't know where he was. Some highway in Montreal, yes, but he didn't know how long he had been here. The truck must have driven off.
Shane had to assume that he was on his own.
Ilya didn't want him, and he was on his own.
Shane brought his shaky arm out straight to reach for the phone. He whined when his fingers brushed the edge of the case. He was too uncoordinated for grabbing. His hands tingled in a way that told Shane the blood loss was worse than he could comprehend. Well, he was going to die here either way, so…
He took a deep breath, and-
Shane leaned into the wound in his side and let out a scream. His lungs shuttered, his vision whited out, and sound left him for several seconds. He had never felt this much pain, all centered on one place, the nerves of his side fighting the blade actively tearing into his organs.
The screen left his throat raw, but his vision returned long enough for him to see that he was staring down at his phone. Shane pulled it closer, gasping for air as his vision went dark against his will.
The next time Shane woke up, he didn't know if seconds or hours had passed. He couldn't really think through…anything. It felt obvious to say that being stabbed hurt, but Shane had never felt the wrongness, the pulse of his heart killing him slowly.
Shane opened his phone, blood smearing across the screen. He couldn’t make sense of any of the contacts. He pressed the first one and sobbed into the airbag.
Please answer. Please. Please. Please-
“This is Ilya Rozanov. I didn't answer. Text me like a normal person.”
Shit. Shane's heart ached. He had a million thoughts about how Ilya didn't want, was done with him, but he processed and understood none of them. He didn’t have time.
He was losing consciousness again.
Shane clicked the next number.
Please. I don't care who it is. Please. Just answer.
“...Shane?”
Hayden!
Hayden-
“Haayyyy- den,” Shane slurred, shocked by the weight of his lips and tongue. “...Fuuck..”
Hayden sounded more alert when his voice came through the speaker again, “...Where are you?! What happened?!”
Shane blinked very slowly. He jolted when he heard Hayden screaming his name from far away. Oh. He'd dropped his phone in his lap.
“I need…help,” Shane said into the phone when he got it back to his head. Sort of. Shane didn't know anymore. He felt very fuzzy. “My car is…nowhere.”
Shane had meant to say that no one knew where his car was, but his mouth was not cooperating.
“I'm on the way. Remember when I made you download Life360?” Hayden said, trying to keep Shane conscious more than anything.
“I deleted it,” Shane mumbled.
Hayden's voice was anything but calm as he said, “Yeah, buddy, but you forgot to turn off your location sharing.”
Shane thought he ought to mad about that, because fuck, Hayden would find out about Ilya if he tracked Shane's location at the wrong time-
Oh.
No, Hayden wouldn't. Not anymore.
A sob ripped from Shane's chest.
“I'm here,” Hayden promised, “I'm on the way! How bad are you hurt?”
“...I'm alone,” Shane mumbled. His whole body shook and he laid against the airbag. He would close his eyes for just one…minute…
Shane was so tired. He was in so much pain, and had been for so long.
“Shane! Shane- hey, you can't fall asleep right now! Hey-”
“Ilya,” Shane whispered into the nothingness of the night as darkness overtook him and carried him away.
The paramedics beat Hayden to Shane. Hayden felt like he'd been trapped in a nightmare, and he still didn't fully think he was awake.
God, please don't let Hayden be awake.
Shane's car was crumbled in a ditch on the side of the road, at an angle where it would have been hard for passing cars to see him in the dark. Hayden jumped from his car and ran to where Shane was being pulled from the wreckage, and-
“Oh, my god,” Hayden managed. He almost threw up. Shane had some kind of gardening tool, small shears or something, lodged in his side. Hayden had seen broken bones, he had seen cuts and a million other injuries that just happened naturally in hockey. But this…Hayden thought he might never breathe again. There was so much blood, and everything was red, and-
A paramedic waved Hayden back as he almost barreled into them. “Is he breathing?!” Hayden asked, his own voice distant and warped.
Why the fuck had Shane even been out driving?? How long had he been trapped in the car? His voice had been so weak and wrong. Hayden had always known Shane to be steady, dependable, and stronger than anyone gave him credit for. Shane could shoulder the blame for every loss, yet he shared the glory of every win. The sound of Shane’s sob when he said he’d been alone…
Hayden had to watch as Shane was lifted into the ambulance, the paramedics too focused on Shane to speak with Harden. Shane was truly unrecognizable. Between the blood and the bruising, his face was a map of wrongness. Maybe this wasn't even Shane. Maybe this was someone else's nightmare.
But Hayden knew his best friend, and he knew that this was Shane.
“His…phone?” Hayden stammered, turning to a police officer nearby, “His phone. Where is it? I'm going to the hospital, I just-”
Hayden cut off with a sob as the officer went back to the car and retrieved Shane's cracked and bloody phone. The officer squinted at him. “Are you okay to drive?”
Probably not. Hayden was having some sort of shocked response, but he didn't have time for this. Shane needed him. Shane always kept things together for Hayden, and he owed him this. Shane had called Hayden, and Hayden would not let him be alone ever again.
“I'll be fine.”