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Whatever happens, I am with you. Safe in your heart. I believe it.
Ilya hit send before he could doubt himself, before he lost the chance to say goodbye. He never got a chance to say goodbye to his mother, and he hated that he was doing the same thing to Shane. He wondered what the love of his life would say to him if he could say anything in these last moments. Or maybe Shane would just hold him close, keeping all of the broken pieces of Ilya together in place underneath his arms.
//ATTENTION CREW AND PASSENGERS, THIS IS YOUR CAPTAIN SPEAKING//
Ilya looked around the cabin, nausea rising from his stomach as he thought of everyone he loved on this team, on this plane. He thought lamely of Harris's dog that he'd been training and bringing to the rink occasionally.
//WE HAVE ENCOUNTERED AN URGENT SITUATION AND WILL BE MAKING AN EMERGENCY LANDING//
Would Chiron be alone now? Maybe Shane could take care of him. They could keep each other company. He didn't want Shane to be lonely.
//PLEASE REMAIN CALM AND FOLLOW ALL SAFETY PROCEDURES//
The plane jerked in the air and started falling faster; Ilya could no longer hear his thoughts over the sounds of alarms and the screaming voices around him. For so many years he'd thought about his death, sometimes even prayed for it, silently. If his mother's God were to take him home, who was he to fight it? Maybe he was meant to be with her. He had never truly dreaded it before, dying.
Now nothing seemed so simple.
//SECURE YOUR SEATBELTS AND BRACE FOR IMPACT//
His stomach lurched as another bout of turbulence wretched through the plane. He held tightly to his crucifix.
Please, Mama, let me see him again.
…
Consciousness came back in waves. Not peaceful waves that you would find at the beach, but violent crushing moments where all Ilya felt was pain and terror before it would recede back into the blackness.
It was the picture of Hell that he had in his mind as a child, the almost cartoonish cycle of torture- pain, heat, fear. He wasn't sure why he was so certain that it wasn't; he'd been told enough times that's where he's heading when he dies, but something in him fundamentally refused any option of the afterlife without his mother. So he couldn't be dead yet.
The heat was bothering him the most. It was only after he pushed himself up by his forearms that he really registered the rest.
A slim shard of metal stuck out of his calf like a poor imitation of one of Bood’s barbecued skewers; he could barely feel it, though. That couldn't be good. His ribs ached as he labored to breathe, unable to control the whine that escaped with each inhale.
He couldn't find the last few moments of the plane in his mind, but the wreckage painted a clear enough picture. They had crashed.
The tail end of the aircraft lay a few feet away from him, separated fully from the rest of the plane, wherever that had ended up. He would search for them later. Right now he had to move himself away from the hungry flames that continued to eat at the wreckage with no remorse. This damn heat.
Keeping his right leg as still as possible, he began to drag himself away from the site, cursing himself for wearing shorts. Not that things would be a whole lot better if he were in his adidas joggers, but the road rash (forest rash?) surely wouldn't
He should have been paying attention to how long they had been flying, maybe sat next to Luca, who always had the flight progress screen in front of him as he sketched on flights. Now Ilya had no goddamn idea what woods he was stranded in.
A pang of longing hit his heart as he thought of Shane; he would know. He could probably map out their location based on the heights of the trees or some shit. Motherfucker was good at everything, and damn if Ilya didn't want him by his side right now.
An attempted shout to find any of the others quickly deteriorated into a coughing fit so violent he thought he was going to pass out again. His soot- and dirt-covered hand trembled as he felt for his cross, stilling around the crucifix. Once again he prayed to a God that he never knew, please let them be alright.
…
Shane knew it wasn't JJ’s fault for dropping the news as he did; his teammate had no reason to think that news of a plane going down would kill him as if he were hit by the aircraft himself. He also didn't know how anyone could just stand there, flippantly scrolling through Twitter feeds mumbling ‘holy shit’ while the love of his life was in trouble.
Guilt washed over him as his shaking hands googled information on the crash. He should've felt that Ilya was in trouble. How could he not have known? How could he have finished up practice and stood under the shower head, dreaming of their next time together when Ilya might be dead?
He was vaguely aware that he had sunk down to the disgusting floor of their locker room, knees braced in front of him as his fingers shook, searching. No one has any answers. It wasn't even officially confirmed to be the Centaurs flight yet, but based on the location and timing of a horribly shaky video someone posted from their phone aimed up at the sky 20 minutes earlier, it was all but confirmed in the laws of the Internet.
Nothing official. No word on rescue. Survivors. Shane couldn't tell if this was better or worse than the alternative, if they found the crash site and there were no survivors….he couldn't think about that. As long as nothing was official, it was Schrödinger's Manifest.
“This is Ilya, I will never listen to your voicemail.”
The inbox tone beeped, the empty space suffocating. He didn't really think he was going to pick up; this didn't change anything. Ilya was okay.
Shane hadn't even realized that Hayden had kicked the rest of the team out of the room, joining him on the floor, until he felt his hand on his shoulder.
“Shit. Fuck. Hayden….” Shane met his best friend's gaze and almost broke down at the tears glistening in the corner of his eyes.
“I know, bud. It's gonna be okay. Let's call Yuna, okay? She'll know what to do.”
In any other situation, Shane might have been offended that Hayden was using his dad voice on him, but right now he couldn't be more grateful. For once he didn't have the space in his mind to think about plans or what to do next; he could only think about piercing blue eyes and a crooked smile that was supposed to come home to him.
…
“Over here!”
Ilya jolted awake at the sound of shouting, his heart immediately jumping into his throat. When had he fallen asleep?
His bleary vision caught movement ahead of him, a blur of red and black with an ugly horse-man plastered on the front. The Centaurs. Ilya had never seen anything so beautiful.
“Rozanov? You with us?” The figure ahead of him morphed into Brandon Wiebe, and although he wasn't all that older than Ilya, he felt relieved that a real adult was there. Coach would know what to do.
Barrett and Haas took up the rest of his vision, along with someone Ilya didn't quite recognize, but based on the outfit, he'd say one of the pilots.
Brandon’s eyes raked up and down Ilya's body, assessing the damage; he was sure. Before giving the man a chance to speak, Ilya had to know.
“The rest of the team? They're alright?” If they heard his voice crack, they didn't mention it.
Brandon sank down onto one knee, placing a steadying hand on the Russian’s shoulder.
“As it is, we've been pretty lucky. There were a handful of guys that got separated from the rest of us, you included. These fellas volunteered to help me track everyone down while we wait for EMS; the rest of the group is camped out a few miles from here near the other crash site.”
Ilya wiped the back of his hand against his forehead, sliding his sweat-soaked curls to the side. It was all too much.
“Who? Who is still missing? For how long?” The tightness in his chest that had started to loosen when he saw his team now threatened to choke him.
“A couple of hours, at least.” The Pilot spoke up, adjusting the placement of his watch.
“We lost contact with Air Traffic Control before impact, but they had our general last location. The density of the forest is what's preventing the search team from finding us sooner; I would hazard that they're coming on foot.”
Ilya nodded. “So help is coming? Good. Coach, who is still missing?”
Based on the deathly pale and distraught look that had been plastered on Troy's face since he saw him, Harris had to be one of them.
“We're still trying to locate a couple of the flight crew members, Dykstra, and Drover.”
As if saying Harris’s name was a switch, Troy’s head jerked up at attention. Ilya had guessed there was something going on between the social media manager and his right winger, and seeing the same look in Troy that Ilya had when Shane went down on the ice…he knew, without having any other words spoken between them, the exact cost of loving someone in secret.
“You guys keep going. I am okay here. Go find the rest of our boys; I'll just wait. Okay?”
Coach Wiebe gave him one of his classic exasperated sighs that he might as well trademark having to deal with this team.
“Rozanov… Ilya. I'm not sure how hard you hit your head, but we're not leaving you stranded alone in the woods to bleed out; that's just not how we do things.”
In all honesty, the pain from his leg had faded into the background, and it was only after he looked down at the shard of metal that he realized that, yeah, he was bleeding a lot, actually.
Shit.
Was it normal that he couldn't really feel it? Shock was a thing, right? Or did it mean he was going to lose the leg? He wasn't ready to give up hockey like this. He would go out on the ice or not at all.
“Fine. Luca stays with me and makes sure I don't bleed to death. You, Barrett, and Mr. Pilot find the rest of the team.” Ilya realized he wasn't in any position to be giving orders, but he also knew if they wasted another second talking to him when someone else might need their help…he wouldn't be able to live with himself.
That was how he found himself babysitting the rookie while trying to hold onto consciousness, using all his willpower to ground himself in the present. He tried to focus on the kid in front of him.
Luca looked alright, for the most part. A bruise was blooming on his neck and appeared to stretch down his abdomen, from the seatbelt, no doubt. He didn't talk much normally, and the crash only seemed to push him further into himself. Every so often he would make eye contact with Ilya, before looking back down at his leg, holding a sweatshirt against the bottom of the wound to help the blood stay in place. Luckily, it seemed the metal was doing most of the job of keeping it in. Ilya shuddered to think of the gush that would come when it was taken out. Hopefully he wouldn't be awake for that.
“It will be okay.”
The kid nodded, still too lost in his head to speak. Jesus, he was so young. How was he even allowed out in the world by himself? Marly would tell him that he was being a mother hen. He would tell Marly to shove it; he can't help feeling maternal over the new rookies. Now he just had to hold on long enough not to scar the kid for life by dying on him.
Easy.
Right?
…
“What do you mean, lost? How do you lose a goddamn plane?!” Shane was aware that he shouldn't be shouting, not the least at his mother, who had been a saint the last few hours- pulling strings he didn't even know she had to find the current information.
They learned that it was indeed the Centaurs' plans that crashed, and they learned that the area of the forest they landed in was too dense for air rescue. Shane was moments away from jumping into his Jeep and driving until he couldn't anymore, and then he would hike the rest of the fucking way if he had to. Hayden had talked him down from the plan, for now.
“I know, Sweetie. But they have a ton of really great people looking for them, and we'll have more answers soon.”
Shane was too afraid to say that he wasn't sure if he was ready for answers if it wasn't going to be the one he wanted. He had never felt more out of control.
“David already said he's buying an AirTag for Ilya on his next birthday.”
Shane exhaled a laugh that was more surprise than anything; he loved how close his parents had gotten with his boyfriend over the past year. They treated him like a second son, their favorite son, as Ilya would like to tease.
All the hostility of his tone dropped away as he thought of his parents being just as heartbroken to lose him.
“They’ll find them. They’ll find him.”
Shane wasn't positive if he was reassuring her or himself, or simply telling the universe what had to happen. He would accept no other option. Not after they'd come this far.
…
The first thing he noticed was his skin was no longer on fire. The second thing he noticed was that he was no longer on the dirt floor of some Canadian forest, but instead what appeared to be a surgical wing of a hospital.
He silently thanked his mother that he didn't have to be awake for the extraction after all. He supposed he owed her God a thanks too.
“Ilya..”
The voice came from the doorway, a wistful and tortured-looking Shane Hollander crossing the distance in two short strides.
“Lyubimy, come here.”
If Ilya were at his full strength, he would have pulled his boyfriend so close to him that he'd be in his lap and it still wouldn't be close enough.
Shane rolled his eyes at his insistence, sinking in as close as he could without getting in the way of any wires or the propped-up leg, recently stitched back together.
“Baby, I'm never letting you out of my sight again. You're gonna be sick of me.”
The crooked smile and piercing blue eyes Shane had been waiting for sparkled up at him as if he held the world.
“No. Never sick of you.”
Ilya sighed into his neck, pulling him as tightly into an embrace as he dared. Everything was still fuzzy, and he didn't remember anything about getting out of the woods. Had everyone made it? As if sensing his boyfriend's worry, Shane stroked the back of his head, fingers gently playing with the curls.
“Everyone's okay. Harris is a couple of rooms over; Troy hasn't left his side. It's kinda cute, actually.”
Ilya laughed, the unease slowly dissipating upon hearing the news.
“Oh, so now you think Troy is cute? I see how it is.”
“You know what I meant, asshole.”
Ilya smiled. For a terrifying moment on that plane, he thought he would never get this again. He didn't think he had the words to describe what he was feeling. He settled on just holding Shane close to him as he whispered his gratitude.
Thank you for bringing me back to him, Mama.