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last01standingTitle: Five For Fighting (9/12)
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Dean, Sam centered with an epic supporting cast
Summary: For the Winchester brothers hockey was always something apart from hunting until one season it suddenly wasn’t.
For those of you not familiar with hockey, you can read a quick primer on game basics here
one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven | twelve | epilogue
Five For Fighting
CHAPTER 9: The Last Seal
The penalty kill again. Sometimes Dean thought they spent the entire season on the penalty kill. There was probably a metaphor about being on the defensive for the apocalypse somewhere in there but Dean was too tired to think of it. He’d been on the ice for the past one minute-thirty seconds. The puck had been in the zone for the entire time leaving them no room for a line shift.
Fortunately, Castiel had taken to being a goaltender far quicker then he’d taken to pretending to be human. Dean wasn’t ever going to be able to scrub half of those interview snafus off his mind.
He shoved at the man posting up in front of the goal as the New York Islanders slid the puck around the blue line.
The guy in the front of the net shoved him back.
God, he was tired. Last night Castiel zapped them to Chicago to try and stop a ritual that would break another seal.
They failed. Castiel had confided in them that the seals were falling and falling fast. The New Jersey Devils had started trading everyone they possibly could, trying to get at least one angel on every NHL team.
It wasn’t helping.
Sam took a shot off his shin, the puck bouncing back out to the Islander forward who fired a shot of his own.
Castiel’s left blocker flashed out so fast, Dean was pretty sure angel juice was the only reason it wasn’t in the back of the net. Dean wondered if it was amoral to use angelic powers to win a hockey game. He was pretty sure he didn’t care either way. Two periods down and they were up two goals to one. If they won it would be their third straight.
The Rage winning three in a row. That was probably another sign of the apocalypses.
Sprawling on the ice, Ben Braeden took a puck in the side, Ash jumping on it just in time to hurl it down the ice. The meager crowd in their home arena cheered. Dean hustled off for a line change.
The bench was remarkable jovial as Dean watched the power play tick down to nothing. Only Ben and Andy seemed to reflect the reality of the times. Andy was flinching every time someone touched him. Ben seemed constantly ready to start a fight.
The rest of the team was laughing and smiling without the knowledge that the apocalypse was looming.
Ellen spent the intermission sketching out the plan for the third period.
The Rage had never won three games in a row. They’d hovered along all season, wining one out of every three or four.
The third period started with the Islanders hitting hard. Ellen was cycling through the lines quickly, trying to keep everyone fresh.
Ed Zeddmore broke his arm midway through the third period. There wasn’t any sort of malice to the hit. It was just the exact wrong angle, the exact right pressure and the exact wrong time. Dean could see the bone through the skin. Ed sagged against the ice, only half conscious as Jess made her way out to check on him.
Ellen called her time out to shift the lines around. She diagrammed a diagram a play for the face off, told them to keep their head in the game and to listen for changes in the line up.
With Ed gone, things seemed to stabilize on the blue line. The Winchesters were both exhausted, double shifting as much as they physically could be Harry seemed somehow more controlled while missing his counterpart and Ben, dropping back from forward had enough body to clear out the crease for Castiel.
One minute left and the Islanders pulled their goalkeeper. Fourteen seconds before the horn blared to signify the end of the game, Dean intercepted a pass and lobbed it in desperation to the far end of the ice.
It would have been icing only it was on net. It glides smoothly into the goal and as the red light flashes, Dean got the same mildly baffled feeling he always got when he scored. Sam was hugging him a second later, Ben screaming joyfully into his face. Hendriksen clapped a hand on his back and Bobby caught his eye from the bench, giving him the half nod.
***
There were lights on his face and a microphone waving in front. The microphone was held in front of him by a tall, blonde female reporter, part of the team for the Rage’s local network. Her make-up was caked on an her hair carefully arranged in a way that made Dean think she probably wasn’t a looker until someone made her up for work.
“So, Dean your first goal of the year.”
It wasn’t an actual question but then again it almost never was. The interview techniques of the local network left a lot to be desired. “Yes,” he agreed. “Goal scoring’s not really my thing. I leave that one to Vic Hendriksen.”
“Couldn’t have come at a better time though.”
Dean grinned. “The Rage winning three in a row isn’t exactly a sign of the apocalypse.” He force a laugh. “It’s a long time coming. We’re a good team with a lot of talent and we’re finally starting to get our skates under us.”
“How about that play by Jim Novak?”
“Yeah,” Dean replied, careful to avoid mention of Castiel’s name. “Seems like his catching glove gets faster every game. He’s a good guy and we’re lucky to have him.”
“One last question, Dean. I noticed after Zeddmore got hurt there was some turnover in the lines. How do you think you will handle this?”
Dean shrugged. “The nice thing about this group of guys is how versatile we all are. I mean we really hope Zeds is going to be back on his feet but we had Ben covering for him in the back and the forwards making due. I mean it bounces us around a little and it’s a little weird not always skating with Sam, but it’s a good group of guys and we can find the chemistry.”
“Thank you very much,” the report said as she turned back to the camera. “That was Dean Winchester of the Lawrence Rage after their three-two win against the New York Islanders.”
***
“They’re calling up the antichrist,” Lucas Barr said in the locker room. “He’s going to get here before we hit Detroit.”
“The antichrist?” Castiel asked, his voice grave.
“Yeah,” Adam snorted. “Because what are the odds that the antichrist plays hockey.”
“His name’s Jesse Turner,” Ben offered. “Lucas just didn’t like him because he pulled that prank on him that one time.”
Tricks looked up from the blades of his skate. “Pranks? Do tell.”
Adam shook his head. “Let’s just say it involved a water balloon a, a handkerchief and a badger and it scarred half our team for life.”
The team kept talking, going around the room and swapping stories. Coming off three wins in a row, it was the best locker room atmosphere they’d had all season. Only Ben Braeden looked downcast. Dean approached him as they were exiting the arena. “What’s wrong?”
Ben scuffed his foot on the ground, looking younger then his nineteen years. “Jesse Turner plays my position, Dean.”
Dean squeezed his eyes shut. They had left wingers. They had Ash and the Trickster and Jake Campbell. With a call up at the same position, Ben was going to get pushed out. There were enough forwards. He clapped his hand on the kid’s shoulder. “Hey, you’re worth more then half these clowns.”
***
What Dean failed to realized was the only call up had been a forward, leaving them to deal with the shortage on the blue line. Apparently, after deciding no one in their farm system fit the profile of an NHL ready blue liner (which answered the question about why Harry and Ed lasted as long as they did) so they used Ben to fill the hole.
Ben wasn’t the most skilled forward when he played but he’d been on their most defensive line and had the body to combat a presence in front of the net and throw a hit. It took him a few games to get his feet under him. Playing defense in a pinch when the team needed it was nowhere near the same as playing it full time.
In a way, it reminded Dean of how his brother looked when he was a freshman on the varsity. He was just a hair too slow going backwards and he had problems with holding onto the puck too long when he was in the defensive zone.
But while he wasn’t one of the most skilled players in the league, he was proving himself to be one of the smarter ones. He adjusted to defense, learned to play with Adam as Lucas started sharing time with Harry.
The played Philadelphia twice in a week. Once at home, once on the road. The games were knock-down drag out, Gordon got tossed for fighting in the first one, tagged with a three game suspension. Andy and Chuck worked well with their line but came off nursing bruises and in Andy’s case, a cracked jaw. He took the painkillers from Jess with relief but refused to sit out.
For the home game, the rage unveiled their alternate home jerseys, a gold jersey with navy trim with a complicated symbol that was actually designed by an old friend of Sam’s.
“Is that a Devil’s trap?” Dean asked Ellen.
“You better believe it,” Ellen said.
The next Philly game, their final one of the series season ended with the Rage down four to two. In the hand shake line after the game, the world went funny. Castiel had taken off his gloves, two fingers pressed against the face of a Flyers defensemen. The lights in the building flickered and the PA crackled and a white light built up out of nowhere.
Then, before Dean knew what was happening, he was in the middle of the brawl.
It went on for what seemed like hours but couldn’t have been more then minutes. He had vague recollections of Sam screaming out the exorcism and fists and lights and then they were all sitting in the locker room as Bobby screamed at them for being immature idiots. When he was done, he sat down and Ellen came in, renewing the verbal onslaught.
Only then did Dean notice that Castiel wasn’t there anymore.
Jess patched them all up one at a time, nearly half the team needing stitches. Dean watched the tiny TV with the post-game coverage. There was no footage of the fight. All cameras had reportedly failed at the exact same time.
Sam, Jess, Dean, Andy and Ben retreat to the Winchester homestead with the intention of getting completely plastered.
When they were halfway there, Castiel appeared before them in a flutter of wings.
“What the hell did you do back there, Castiel?”
“I apologize for my leaving, Dean. I was... frustrated. I could hear the trials of my brothers from afar. I had to do what I could to protect them.”
“Protect them from what?”
“I’m afraid the last seal fell last night.” Castiel looked up somberly to meet Dean’s eyes. “I fear the end has started.”
***
Next chapter... LUCIFER
| ten |
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Dean, Sam centered with an epic supporting cast
Summary: For the Winchester brothers hockey was always something apart from hunting until one season it suddenly wasn’t.
For those of you not familiar with hockey, you can read a quick primer on game basics here
CHAPTER 9: The Last Seal
The penalty kill again. Sometimes Dean thought they spent the entire season on the penalty kill. There was probably a metaphor about being on the defensive for the apocalypse somewhere in there but Dean was too tired to think of it. He’d been on the ice for the past one minute-thirty seconds. The puck had been in the zone for the entire time leaving them no room for a line shift.
Fortunately, Castiel had taken to being a goaltender far quicker then he’d taken to pretending to be human. Dean wasn’t ever going to be able to scrub half of those interview snafus off his mind.
He shoved at the man posting up in front of the goal as the New York Islanders slid the puck around the blue line.
The guy in the front of the net shoved him back.
God, he was tired. Last night Castiel zapped them to Chicago to try and stop a ritual that would break another seal.
They failed. Castiel had confided in them that the seals were falling and falling fast. The New Jersey Devils had started trading everyone they possibly could, trying to get at least one angel on every NHL team.
It wasn’t helping.
Sam took a shot off his shin, the puck bouncing back out to the Islander forward who fired a shot of his own.
Castiel’s left blocker flashed out so fast, Dean was pretty sure angel juice was the only reason it wasn’t in the back of the net. Dean wondered if it was amoral to use angelic powers to win a hockey game. He was pretty sure he didn’t care either way. Two periods down and they were up two goals to one. If they won it would be their third straight.
The Rage winning three in a row. That was probably another sign of the apocalypses.
Sprawling on the ice, Ben Braeden took a puck in the side, Ash jumping on it just in time to hurl it down the ice. The meager crowd in their home arena cheered. Dean hustled off for a line change.
The bench was remarkable jovial as Dean watched the power play tick down to nothing. Only Ben and Andy seemed to reflect the reality of the times. Andy was flinching every time someone touched him. Ben seemed constantly ready to start a fight.
The rest of the team was laughing and smiling without the knowledge that the apocalypse was looming.
Ellen spent the intermission sketching out the plan for the third period.
The Rage had never won three games in a row. They’d hovered along all season, wining one out of every three or four.
The third period started with the Islanders hitting hard. Ellen was cycling through the lines quickly, trying to keep everyone fresh.
Ed Zeddmore broke his arm midway through the third period. There wasn’t any sort of malice to the hit. It was just the exact wrong angle, the exact right pressure and the exact wrong time. Dean could see the bone through the skin. Ed sagged against the ice, only half conscious as Jess made her way out to check on him.
Ellen called her time out to shift the lines around. She diagrammed a diagram a play for the face off, told them to keep their head in the game and to listen for changes in the line up.
With Ed gone, things seemed to stabilize on the blue line. The Winchesters were both exhausted, double shifting as much as they physically could be Harry seemed somehow more controlled while missing his counterpart and Ben, dropping back from forward had enough body to clear out the crease for Castiel.
One minute left and the Islanders pulled their goalkeeper. Fourteen seconds before the horn blared to signify the end of the game, Dean intercepted a pass and lobbed it in desperation to the far end of the ice.
It would have been icing only it was on net. It glides smoothly into the goal and as the red light flashes, Dean got the same mildly baffled feeling he always got when he scored. Sam was hugging him a second later, Ben screaming joyfully into his face. Hendriksen clapped a hand on his back and Bobby caught his eye from the bench, giving him the half nod.
There were lights on his face and a microphone waving in front. The microphone was held in front of him by a tall, blonde female reporter, part of the team for the Rage’s local network. Her make-up was caked on an her hair carefully arranged in a way that made Dean think she probably wasn’t a looker until someone made her up for work.
“So, Dean your first goal of the year.”
It wasn’t an actual question but then again it almost never was. The interview techniques of the local network left a lot to be desired. “Yes,” he agreed. “Goal scoring’s not really my thing. I leave that one to Vic Hendriksen.”
“Couldn’t have come at a better time though.”
Dean grinned. “The Rage winning three in a row isn’t exactly a sign of the apocalypse.” He force a laugh. “It’s a long time coming. We’re a good team with a lot of talent and we’re finally starting to get our skates under us.”
“How about that play by Jim Novak?”
“Yeah,” Dean replied, careful to avoid mention of Castiel’s name. “Seems like his catching glove gets faster every game. He’s a good guy and we’re lucky to have him.”
“One last question, Dean. I noticed after Zeddmore got hurt there was some turnover in the lines. How do you think you will handle this?”
Dean shrugged. “The nice thing about this group of guys is how versatile we all are. I mean we really hope Zeds is going to be back on his feet but we had Ben covering for him in the back and the forwards making due. I mean it bounces us around a little and it’s a little weird not always skating with Sam, but it’s a good group of guys and we can find the chemistry.”
“Thank you very much,” the report said as she turned back to the camera. “That was Dean Winchester of the Lawrence Rage after their three-two win against the New York Islanders.”
“They’re calling up the antichrist,” Lucas Barr said in the locker room. “He’s going to get here before we hit Detroit.”
“The antichrist?” Castiel asked, his voice grave.
“Yeah,” Adam snorted. “Because what are the odds that the antichrist plays hockey.”
“His name’s Jesse Turner,” Ben offered. “Lucas just didn’t like him because he pulled that prank on him that one time.”
Tricks looked up from the blades of his skate. “Pranks? Do tell.”
Adam shook his head. “Let’s just say it involved a water balloon a, a handkerchief and a badger and it scarred half our team for life.”
The team kept talking, going around the room and swapping stories. Coming off three wins in a row, it was the best locker room atmosphere they’d had all season. Only Ben Braeden looked downcast. Dean approached him as they were exiting the arena. “What’s wrong?”
Ben scuffed his foot on the ground, looking younger then his nineteen years. “Jesse Turner plays my position, Dean.”
Dean squeezed his eyes shut. They had left wingers. They had Ash and the Trickster and Jake Campbell. With a call up at the same position, Ben was going to get pushed out. There were enough forwards. He clapped his hand on the kid’s shoulder. “Hey, you’re worth more then half these clowns.”
What Dean failed to realized was the only call up had been a forward, leaving them to deal with the shortage on the blue line. Apparently, after deciding no one in their farm system fit the profile of an NHL ready blue liner (which answered the question about why Harry and Ed lasted as long as they did) so they used Ben to fill the hole.
Ben wasn’t the most skilled forward when he played but he’d been on their most defensive line and had the body to combat a presence in front of the net and throw a hit. It took him a few games to get his feet under him. Playing defense in a pinch when the team needed it was nowhere near the same as playing it full time.
In a way, it reminded Dean of how his brother looked when he was a freshman on the varsity. He was just a hair too slow going backwards and he had problems with holding onto the puck too long when he was in the defensive zone.
But while he wasn’t one of the most skilled players in the league, he was proving himself to be one of the smarter ones. He adjusted to defense, learned to play with Adam as Lucas started sharing time with Harry.
The played Philadelphia twice in a week. Once at home, once on the road. The games were knock-down drag out, Gordon got tossed for fighting in the first one, tagged with a three game suspension. Andy and Chuck worked well with their line but came off nursing bruises and in Andy’s case, a cracked jaw. He took the painkillers from Jess with relief but refused to sit out.
For the home game, the rage unveiled their alternate home jerseys, a gold jersey with navy trim with a complicated symbol that was actually designed by an old friend of Sam’s.
“Is that a Devil’s trap?” Dean asked Ellen.
“You better believe it,” Ellen said.
The next Philly game, their final one of the series season ended with the Rage down four to two. In the hand shake line after the game, the world went funny. Castiel had taken off his gloves, two fingers pressed against the face of a Flyers defensemen. The lights in the building flickered and the PA crackled and a white light built up out of nowhere.
Then, before Dean knew what was happening, he was in the middle of the brawl.
It went on for what seemed like hours but couldn’t have been more then minutes. He had vague recollections of Sam screaming out the exorcism and fists and lights and then they were all sitting in the locker room as Bobby screamed at them for being immature idiots. When he was done, he sat down and Ellen came in, renewing the verbal onslaught.
Only then did Dean notice that Castiel wasn’t there anymore.
Jess patched them all up one at a time, nearly half the team needing stitches. Dean watched the tiny TV with the post-game coverage. There was no footage of the fight. All cameras had reportedly failed at the exact same time.
Sam, Jess, Dean, Andy and Ben retreat to the Winchester homestead with the intention of getting completely plastered.
When they were halfway there, Castiel appeared before them in a flutter of wings.
“What the hell did you do back there, Castiel?”
“I apologize for my leaving, Dean. I was... frustrated. I could hear the trials of my brothers from afar. I had to do what I could to protect them.”
“Protect them from what?”
“I’m afraid the last seal fell last night.” Castiel looked up somberly to meet Dean’s eyes. “I fear the end has started.”
Next chapter... LUCIFER
| ten |
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
25/1/10 08:02 (UTC)(no subject)
25/1/10 22:24 (UTC)I really love this fic too. It exist solely for me to make hockey in jokes in the SPN world but it makes me CRAZY HAPPY.
And... I write in SPN. I might even venture to say that over the years, it's been my main fandom. I do so love it dearly.
(no subject)
26/1/10 06:44 (UTC)(no subject)
28/1/10 03:59 (UTC)And the apocalypse kicks off with a full-on hockey brawl in the post-game hand shake line!
(no subject)
28/1/10 14:17 (UTC)