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last01standingTitle: Five For Fighting (8/12)
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 8: The All Star Game
“Ben? Ben Braeden?”
Andy nodded wildly. “It happened this afternoon. We were meeting up to watch the game since Vic was playing and the only other two guys off the Rage here were the two of us but someone grabbed him.”
“Who’ve grabbed him, Andy?” Dean demanded. “Ben’s a big guy. Not a lot of people can get him moving where he doesn’t want to go.”
“I don’t know,” Andy sputtered. “There were a few of them. Big guys. I’ve been looking to find help but the security guards. They’re just gone and—”
“Ben’s a big guy,” Sam repeated, putting a hand on his shoulder. “He can more then take care of himself.”
“Right,” Andy took a deep breath. “Right. I know that. I’m just freaking out because of Rube and this whole thing. I can’t remember a time I was ever this stressed when I was playing in Florida. Hell, this whole season’s got me climbing the walls.”
“You and me both, Gallagher.” Dean crossed his arms. “Now you said someone had Ben.”
“What-what are you going to do?”
“We’ll do what we have to, Andy. Teammate’s the same as family in this league. If he’s in trouble we’re going to bail him out.”
“Right,” Andy said. He looked sheepish somehow. Ashamed that he hadn’t gone after Ben himself. But that wasn’t the kind of person Andy was. On the ice he made his living on evasion, speed and precision. He didn’t take hits if he could help it. Six years in the league and not a single fight. “Follow me, guys.”
Verizon center had the normal rotation of in game characters. There were benches offering promotions for credit cards enticing them with promise of free hockey memorabilia. The usual low-level activity for the snack bars while the puck was in play.
Andy led them halfway around the building to the area right behind the Capitals pro shop. “It was around here, I think.” Andy said. He ran his hand nervously through his air. “Do you guys smell that too or is it just me.”
Sam and Dean exchanged glances.
“Rotten eggs,” Andy continued thoughtfully. “Man that wakes you up more then Jess’s smelling salts.”
“Go find Cas,” Dean hissed to Sam. “Something’s keeping him out of the building and we need all the firepower we can get. Take Andy with you. I’m going after Ben.”
“Wait, what? What the hell are you guys taking about. Who’s Cas? What happened to Ben?”
“Jimmy,” Sam corrected. “We’re headed off to find Jimmy. It’s a stupid nickname Dean gave him.”
“Cas? How the hell do you get Cas from Jimmy Novak?”
“You get it from cast-off, “ Dean said. “Man’s been around the league at least three times.” He locked eyes with his brother again. “Get him the hell out of here.”
Sam ushered Andy out of sight, the smaller man twisting violently to look at Dean. “You know, cast-off is a really mean nickname.”
Dean squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block it out. If you were a monster in Verizon center, where did you take your hostage? The answer was simple. The locker rooms. The problem was getting there from the concourse. He didn’t know this arena. It wasn’t Boston. He was only in the Verizon center twice a year and he’d been in through the player’s entrance every time.
He hand no guns on him. Just the two-inch pocket knife that rarely left his person. Whatever was in here was strong enough to boot Castiel out of the arena. It would be smarter to just run.
But it was Ben. One on of the Rage. One of his teammates.
His phone rang. Dean groped through his pockets, fumbling his phone up to his hear. “Sam?”
“We’ve got a problem. We can’t get out of here. Andy’s trying to take me back to their seats...” There were the sounds of cheers shooting up through the arena and then Sam’s quiet cursing. “Dude, they didn’t go under, they went up.”
“What?”
“There’s someone on the catwalk above the ice.”
“Are you serious? You can see that from the stands.”
“I don’t think anyone’s looking up while the puck’s in play. It’s a hell of a game.”
And Dean had to be working through it. With the sheer amount of bad hockey games he participated in, he kind of liked watching a good one every once in a while. “Meet you there.”
“I don’t think so, Dean,” Sam said, quickly. “I’ve been made.”
The phone went dead. “Son of a bitch,” Dean hissed, jogging toward the escalator as the crowd roared its approval from inside the arena. There had to be an access point up here somewhere, something he could use.
To do what? His weapon was barely big enough to put down a four-year-old.
But this was Ben. Halfway through the season and he felt like half of the team, Ben, Adam and Andy especially were extensions of the Winchesters. Forget angels and demons and seals and hell, even hockey.
This one was about family.
He located the service entrance, picking the lock as fast as he could before a security officer approached him. “Sir, I’m going to need you to back away...”
Dean acted fast, catching the officer by surprise and maneuvering him into a sleeper hold, applying pressure until his body went limp. The gun holstered at his him was a bonus. He finished, slipping inside and dragging the unconscious guard behind him to avoid a scene.
Creeping out onto the catwalk, he had to bite back the nausea from the vertigo. There was a reason he never looked out the window during the team flights. The All-Star Game raged on below.
The fall would kill him.
Ben was positioned over the middle of the ice, tied with arms spread to the scaffolding. “Dean!” he called, his breath coming in short gasps. There was a mess of red on his stomach. “Thank God your—why do you have a gun?”
Dean put a finger to his lips, walking over as quietly as he could. “I’m here to help, dude, calm down.”
“Calm down? Are you freaking serious? I’ve been kidnapped and cut and I can’t even watch the damn game.”
“Cut? How bad is it?”
“Surface stuff.” Ben waved a hand. “I’ve had worse from a hockey stick. You are going to untie me, right?”
“Yeah,” Dean said, feeling around in his pockets. While Castiel had transported him without warning, it was hard to find a time when Dean was off the ice when he didn’t have some sort of pocket knife on hand. He sawed Ben free from the ropes, nearly buckling under the burly youth as he collapsed. “You all right, dude?”
“I’m fine,” Ben growled. He lifted up the lip of his shirt and Dean just barely glimpsed an intricate symbol etched onto his stomach. “I want an explanation but I want out of here first.”
“Don’t worry about it, buddy.”
Ben’s eyes widened slightly but his scream was drowned out at the cheers of the crowd as Eric Staal put in the tying goal past Roberto Luongo. Dean felt something crash into the side of his face and he sat blood onto the catwalk as the entire stadium trembled.
“I don’t like this,” Ben mumbled as a demon wearing the face of a burly security guard took a swing at Dean.
“You think?” Dean snapped, throwing a sloppy blow of his own.
“You will not stop Lucifer’s army,” the demon hissed.
“Lucifer,” Ben parroted. “Why the hell are you talking about Lucifer?”
Figured Ben’s first instinct wouldn’t be to jump into the fight. Stupid hockey with its stupid rule about third men in.
The demon grabbed Dean by the throat. “For God’s sake, Ben. Help!”
That jarred him into office as he leaped onto the demon’s back while Dean pulled the gun out of his waistband. “Don’t you dare aim that thing at me,” Ben yelled, struggling to keep his hold on the demon.
“What are you doing here?” Dean asked the demon.
“Same thing as you,” the demon smirked.
Below them the game had stopped. The announcer thundered evacuation instructions over the PA. The ground shook. “You’re not going to win this fight.” Dean hissed. “I’m here, my brother’s here and the best and brightest of the NHL are here. And you know the thing about hockey players? We don’t back down from a fight.”
“Did you really think we’d put all our eggs in one basket?”
Before Dean realized what was happening the demon flipped Ben over his shoulder, very nearly off the catwalk. He grabbed one the railing with fingertips. Laughing, the demon stalked toward Dean, unperturbed by the four rounds Dean shot into him.
And then, a miracle. Sam’s voice drifted over the PA, reciting the exorcism ritual loud and clear. All around the stadium, various demons convulsed and the air of Verizon center was suddenly filled with inky, black smoke. The body of the security guard collapsed to the ground, dead and Dean grabbed Ben’s hands to pull him back up to solid ground.
“What the hell was that?” Ben demanded.
“After we get out of here, I’ll explain everything. I promise.”
***
There were too many people in the house in Lawrence. It was one thing to have Jess around. Another completely to have Ben and Andy hanging out while there were guns within eyesight. Sam was scanning the internet.
“You know my twin brother used to talk about all this demon magic bullshit,” Andy said, wringing his hands together.
“I didn’t know you had a twin brother.” Ben sounded surprisingly steady despite his minor injuries.
“I had a twin brother. I kind of killed him when we were Twenty.”
“You what?”
“It was self defense and it went down on the books as an accident. But he was on the top of this damn and he was going to kill my girlfriend and I tackled him and there was a scuffle and then he kind of... took the plunge.” Andy was hyperventilating. “I don’t want to be here right now.”
“Everything’s fine,” Jess said, rubbing circles onto his back. “You get used to stuff like this.”
“You know I’ve always though Zdeno Charra was a troll,” Ben said. “This kind of thing makes so much more sense.”
“Half ogre actually,” Dean said off handedly. “Don’t mention it to him. He’s a little touchy on the subject. Nice guy though.”
“Found it,” Sam said. “One of the Russian leagues. Richard Zednik beheads what appears to be a rabid dog with the blade of his skate during a game.”
“Rabid dog?” Dean echoed.
“From the picture, I’m thinking more like a hell hound. How the hell are we supposed to stop the apocalypse if seals are breaking halfway around the world?”
An uncomfortable silence settled over the house until Jess wrinkled her nose and said, “Wait, Zednik beheaded something with his skate?”
| nine |
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 8: The All Star Game
“Ben? Ben Braeden?”
Andy nodded wildly. “It happened this afternoon. We were meeting up to watch the game since Vic was playing and the only other two guys off the Rage here were the two of us but someone grabbed him.”
“Who’ve grabbed him, Andy?” Dean demanded. “Ben’s a big guy. Not a lot of people can get him moving where he doesn’t want to go.”
“I don’t know,” Andy sputtered. “There were a few of them. Big guys. I’ve been looking to find help but the security guards. They’re just gone and—”
“Ben’s a big guy,” Sam repeated, putting a hand on his shoulder. “He can more then take care of himself.”
“Right,” Andy took a deep breath. “Right. I know that. I’m just freaking out because of Rube and this whole thing. I can’t remember a time I was ever this stressed when I was playing in Florida. Hell, this whole season’s got me climbing the walls.”
“You and me both, Gallagher.” Dean crossed his arms. “Now you said someone had Ben.”
“What-what are you going to do?”
“We’ll do what we have to, Andy. Teammate’s the same as family in this league. If he’s in trouble we’re going to bail him out.”
“Right,” Andy said. He looked sheepish somehow. Ashamed that he hadn’t gone after Ben himself. But that wasn’t the kind of person Andy was. On the ice he made his living on evasion, speed and precision. He didn’t take hits if he could help it. Six years in the league and not a single fight. “Follow me, guys.”
Verizon center had the normal rotation of in game characters. There were benches offering promotions for credit cards enticing them with promise of free hockey memorabilia. The usual low-level activity for the snack bars while the puck was in play.
Andy led them halfway around the building to the area right behind the Capitals pro shop. “It was around here, I think.” Andy said. He ran his hand nervously through his air. “Do you guys smell that too or is it just me.”
Sam and Dean exchanged glances.
“Rotten eggs,” Andy continued thoughtfully. “Man that wakes you up more then Jess’s smelling salts.”
“Go find Cas,” Dean hissed to Sam. “Something’s keeping him out of the building and we need all the firepower we can get. Take Andy with you. I’m going after Ben.”
“Wait, what? What the hell are you guys taking about. Who’s Cas? What happened to Ben?”
“Jimmy,” Sam corrected. “We’re headed off to find Jimmy. It’s a stupid nickname Dean gave him.”
“Cas? How the hell do you get Cas from Jimmy Novak?”
“You get it from cast-off, “ Dean said. “Man’s been around the league at least three times.” He locked eyes with his brother again. “Get him the hell out of here.”
Sam ushered Andy out of sight, the smaller man twisting violently to look at Dean. “You know, cast-off is a really mean nickname.”
Dean squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block it out. If you were a monster in Verizon center, where did you take your hostage? The answer was simple. The locker rooms. The problem was getting there from the concourse. He didn’t know this arena. It wasn’t Boston. He was only in the Verizon center twice a year and he’d been in through the player’s entrance every time.
He hand no guns on him. Just the two-inch pocket knife that rarely left his person. Whatever was in here was strong enough to boot Castiel out of the arena. It would be smarter to just run.
But it was Ben. One on of the Rage. One of his teammates.
His phone rang. Dean groped through his pockets, fumbling his phone up to his hear. “Sam?”
“We’ve got a problem. We can’t get out of here. Andy’s trying to take me back to their seats...” There were the sounds of cheers shooting up through the arena and then Sam’s quiet cursing. “Dude, they didn’t go under, they went up.”
“What?”
“There’s someone on the catwalk above the ice.”
“Are you serious? You can see that from the stands.”
“I don’t think anyone’s looking up while the puck’s in play. It’s a hell of a game.”
And Dean had to be working through it. With the sheer amount of bad hockey games he participated in, he kind of liked watching a good one every once in a while. “Meet you there.”
“I don’t think so, Dean,” Sam said, quickly. “I’ve been made.”
The phone went dead. “Son of a bitch,” Dean hissed, jogging toward the escalator as the crowd roared its approval from inside the arena. There had to be an access point up here somewhere, something he could use.
To do what? His weapon was barely big enough to put down a four-year-old.
But this was Ben. Halfway through the season and he felt like half of the team, Ben, Adam and Andy especially were extensions of the Winchesters. Forget angels and demons and seals and hell, even hockey.
This one was about family.
He located the service entrance, picking the lock as fast as he could before a security officer approached him. “Sir, I’m going to need you to back away...”
Dean acted fast, catching the officer by surprise and maneuvering him into a sleeper hold, applying pressure until his body went limp. The gun holstered at his him was a bonus. He finished, slipping inside and dragging the unconscious guard behind him to avoid a scene.
Creeping out onto the catwalk, he had to bite back the nausea from the vertigo. There was a reason he never looked out the window during the team flights. The All-Star Game raged on below.
The fall would kill him.
Ben was positioned over the middle of the ice, tied with arms spread to the scaffolding. “Dean!” he called, his breath coming in short gasps. There was a mess of red on his stomach. “Thank God your—why do you have a gun?”
Dean put a finger to his lips, walking over as quietly as he could. “I’m here to help, dude, calm down.”
“Calm down? Are you freaking serious? I’ve been kidnapped and cut and I can’t even watch the damn game.”
“Cut? How bad is it?”
“Surface stuff.” Ben waved a hand. “I’ve had worse from a hockey stick. You are going to untie me, right?”
“Yeah,” Dean said, feeling around in his pockets. While Castiel had transported him without warning, it was hard to find a time when Dean was off the ice when he didn’t have some sort of pocket knife on hand. He sawed Ben free from the ropes, nearly buckling under the burly youth as he collapsed. “You all right, dude?”
“I’m fine,” Ben growled. He lifted up the lip of his shirt and Dean just barely glimpsed an intricate symbol etched onto his stomach. “I want an explanation but I want out of here first.”
“Don’t worry about it, buddy.”
Ben’s eyes widened slightly but his scream was drowned out at the cheers of the crowd as Eric Staal put in the tying goal past Roberto Luongo. Dean felt something crash into the side of his face and he sat blood onto the catwalk as the entire stadium trembled.
“I don’t like this,” Ben mumbled as a demon wearing the face of a burly security guard took a swing at Dean.
“You think?” Dean snapped, throwing a sloppy blow of his own.
“You will not stop Lucifer’s army,” the demon hissed.
“Lucifer,” Ben parroted. “Why the hell are you talking about Lucifer?”
Figured Ben’s first instinct wouldn’t be to jump into the fight. Stupid hockey with its stupid rule about third men in.
The demon grabbed Dean by the throat. “For God’s sake, Ben. Help!”
That jarred him into office as he leaped onto the demon’s back while Dean pulled the gun out of his waistband. “Don’t you dare aim that thing at me,” Ben yelled, struggling to keep his hold on the demon.
“What are you doing here?” Dean asked the demon.
“Same thing as you,” the demon smirked.
Below them the game had stopped. The announcer thundered evacuation instructions over the PA. The ground shook. “You’re not going to win this fight.” Dean hissed. “I’m here, my brother’s here and the best and brightest of the NHL are here. And you know the thing about hockey players? We don’t back down from a fight.”
“Did you really think we’d put all our eggs in one basket?”
Before Dean realized what was happening the demon flipped Ben over his shoulder, very nearly off the catwalk. He grabbed one the railing with fingertips. Laughing, the demon stalked toward Dean, unperturbed by the four rounds Dean shot into him.
And then, a miracle. Sam’s voice drifted over the PA, reciting the exorcism ritual loud and clear. All around the stadium, various demons convulsed and the air of Verizon center was suddenly filled with inky, black smoke. The body of the security guard collapsed to the ground, dead and Dean grabbed Ben’s hands to pull him back up to solid ground.
“What the hell was that?” Ben demanded.
“After we get out of here, I’ll explain everything. I promise.”
There were too many people in the house in Lawrence. It was one thing to have Jess around. Another completely to have Ben and Andy hanging out while there were guns within eyesight. Sam was scanning the internet.
“You know my twin brother used to talk about all this demon magic bullshit,” Andy said, wringing his hands together.
“I didn’t know you had a twin brother.” Ben sounded surprisingly steady despite his minor injuries.
“I had a twin brother. I kind of killed him when we were Twenty.”
“You what?”
“It was self defense and it went down on the books as an accident. But he was on the top of this damn and he was going to kill my girlfriend and I tackled him and there was a scuffle and then he kind of... took the plunge.” Andy was hyperventilating. “I don’t want to be here right now.”
“Everything’s fine,” Jess said, rubbing circles onto his back. “You get used to stuff like this.”
“You know I’ve always though Zdeno Charra was a troll,” Ben said. “This kind of thing makes so much more sense.”
“Half ogre actually,” Dean said off handedly. “Don’t mention it to him. He’s a little touchy on the subject. Nice guy though.”
“Found it,” Sam said. “One of the Russian leagues. Richard Zednik beheads what appears to be a rabid dog with the blade of his skate during a game.”
“Rabid dog?” Dean echoed.
“From the picture, I’m thinking more like a hell hound. How the hell are we supposed to stop the apocalypse if seals are breaking halfway around the world?”
An uncomfortable silence settled over the house until Jess wrinkled her nose and said, “Wait, Zednik beheaded something with his skate?”
| nine |
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
17/1/10 07:17 (UTC)Hi there, Verizon Center! *waves* (actually, the last time I was there, it was still the MCI Center)
“I don’t think anyone’s looking up while the puck’s in play. It’s a hell of a game.”
And Dean had to be working through it. With the sheer amount of bad hockey games he participated in, he kind of liked watching a good one every once in a while.
Aw, poor Dean!
Richard Zednik beheads what appears to be a rabid dog with the blade of his skate during a game
I remember you talking about this way back when this AU was but an idea in the back of your head, and it's even more awesome now! Seriously, I'm doing a happy dance of joy right now!
(no subject)
24/1/10 02:13 (UTC)I've got to confess, having Zednik behead something with his skate was probably the reason I started writing this. SERIOUSLY, THIS WHOLE FIC IS PRETTY MUCH IN EXISTANCE FOR THE SAKE OF THROWAWAY LINES THAT ONLY AMUSE PEOPLE LIKE ME AND YOU. BUT I DON'T EVEN CARE. =)
(no subject)
6/5/11 18:00 (UTC)I will have a lot more to say when I finish the whole story, but this:
“You know I’ve always though Zdeno Charra was a troll,” Ben said. “This kind of thing makes so much more sense.”
“Half ogre actually,” Dean said off handedly. “Don’t mention it to him. He’s a little touchy on the subject. Nice guy though.”
:::: dies ::::
(no subject)
7/5/11 04:39 (UTC)This fic basically exists entirely for throwaway lines like that AND I REGRET NOTHING.
(no subject)
13/10/11 06:18 (UTC)(no subject)
14/10/11 00:33 (UTC)But yeah, this entire fic was written so Richard Zednick could decapitate something with his skate.
(no subject)
14/10/11 00:40 (UTC)