Work Text:
“Mitch!”
The yell echoes around the courtyard, followed immediately by a sharp cracking sound, like a firecracker going off. He whips around, almost giving himself whiplash from the movement. Adrenaline makes his heart beat rapidly, but as he looks around the upper campus, no one else seems to have heard it. Students keep walking around, stuck in conversations or headphones in as they travel from building to building.
There was no one rushing towards him, no one around him that he knows.
He heard that though. He knows he heard that. It was so loud, a scream really, and his heart is pounding, hands numb and shaking with a static type of energy given to him by the adrenaline. It’s weird, because - well besides no one else hearing it - he could swear it wasn’t just the volume of the yell, but also the tone of it, that freaked him out. Like that voice shouldn’t ever sound like that. Like he knows the person behind that voice.
His breathing echoes weirdly for a second and then-
He blinks and the world fades back in. His phone vibrates with a few texts, and he looks at the time.
He’s going to be late for his seminar, and he’s got a paper to turn in.
But he can’t shake off the feeling that...that was important.
…
“Are you going to eat sometime today, or…” Mitch sighs, and flips back through his notes again.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re a twig who probably didn’t eat lunch.” Cliff deadpans. He’s throwing some stuff around behind him. “Where the fuck are my slides?”
“Look under the towel rack in the bathroom.” He replies without looking up, choosing to reread the question in hopes of the answer suddenly popping out at him. Take home quizzes sounded great when his professor told the class about them at the beginning of the semester. Of course, when the questions are stupidly complicated, and the answer is nowhere in his notes, they are less awesome.
“Sweet!” Cliffy crows from the bathroom, meaning he found his shoes from where Mitch had kicked them out of the way when he was showering earlier.
“Stop leaving them in the bathroom, I almost died.” He calls to his roommate, and he pops his head out of the bathroom, hands running gel through his hair. “What a shame.” He snarks back, and Mitch sighs, leaning back in the chair.
The dorm room is dark and small, just how both Mitch and Cliff like it. Two beds sit across from each other, raised up so a bureau can fit under each. They found desks that were just the right length so that they could put them side by side, facing the two big glass window that are parallel to the foot of the beds. They fit wall to wall too, so there’s space between the ends of the beds and the edge of the desks (perfect for them to throw their dirty clothes and backpacks and whatever the fuck else they didn’t feel like putting away, which is usually everything).
Mitchy strung up christmas lights on move in day, and Poohbear stuck up all his pop culture posters, and they probably never use the overhead light, both preferring the soft glow of the string lights and the two desk lamps they’ve set up.
Plus the overhead light illuminates like, one square foot of space. The thing is useless.
It’s a little weird, rooming with someone he knew from highschool, but he really enjoys having Cliff as a roomie. He’s knows everyone on the campus, somehow, and if he doesn’t then he knows someone who does. He’s the opposite of Mitch: Cliffy is outgoing and bright and snarky, and Mitch...well he’s just. Him. (Quiet and small and shy, but at least he knows he’s smart, his full scholarship would tell him so).
A balled up shirt hits him in the back of the head. “I’m getting you food, hermit.” Pu says, and he hears some keys jingle. “And put on a sweatshirt or something, I can see you shivering from over here.”
“Yes mom.” He huffs as the door shuts behind him.
The lights glitter around the room, offering nothing but silence in reply. Mitch sits there and looks around, and for some reason he feels like this isn’t where he’s supposed to be.
It takes a second, but he shakes off the feeling and goes searching for a sweatshirt. It’s pretty cold in the room anyway.
…
He sees him on the bus.
It’s stupid, really, because he shouldn’t stand out, and he shouldn’t stick in Mitch’s head, but he does. He’s just a guy, but Mitch’s brain clings to his image, screams it at him. Seeing him feels like a gulp of cold water on a hot, hot day.
Mitch is rushing from his dorm, having slept straight through all six alarms, and he climbs onto the bus and finds a seat in the back. And normally, he doesn’t sleep in, and normally, he doesn’t bother finding a seat, and normally, he wouldn’t look out the window either, but he did, and he does, and there he is.
He looks tired. That’s the first thing Mitch realizes, after he realizes he’s staring at him. His eyes are tired, the brown iris’ dull. His skin is pale, and there’s under eye bags look like bruises.
The second thing he notices is how he sort of wants to laugh at how big this guys forehead is.
The third is that he’s dressed weird. Like - not in his style. Someone else’s clothes maybe, because they don’t fit him right.
And then, also more alarmingly, he’s staring right at Mitch.
Someone drops into the seat next him, making him jump. The noisy bus fades back in, and Mitch blinks, looking around at the random faces before turning back outside.
He’s gone, and when Mitch scans the sidewalks near where he was standing, there’s no one. Like he just disappeared.
It should be nothing. It shouldn’t matter. Just some random guy being creepy that Mitch’s tired brain latched on to.
But as the bus drives away, and Mitch realizes his heart is pounding the same way it was a few days ago when someone yelled his name in the courtyard. He has the same feeling as then too.
Like something important just happened, but he can’t figure out what.
...
Life should move on. Both of those things shouldn’t matter, they shouldn’t stick, but they do. So, really, because Mitch’s life is a joke, this shit - it keeps happening .
Someone bumps his shoulder in the hall, and he turns to see the profile of the guy but he’s gone before he can catch him. He’ll hear the voice again, talking when there’s no one around him. Sometimes someone will laugh, and he’ll feel an irrational burst of happiness, like he’s glad that they’re laughing because that means they’re happy, and Mitch has only ever tried to make that person happy and it doesn’t make sense because he’s never met that person and he doesn’t know that person and what the fuck.
Sometimes he’ll see others - never full faces, never enough to recognize them, not enough of their voices to really place them and yet - he sees them, and he thinks ‘ I know them’ but he can never figure out how or why, and then the memory fades again.
Oh, and because it’s not enough to be seeing random things - he keeps forgetting what exactly he sees. It’s like living in a constant state of deja vu. He knows he’s seeing shit, and he can name a ‘for instance’, but he can’t give details of a specific example. So it’s - he sees these things, and hears them, but forgets, and sometimes he’ll being in the middle of doing something random and a memory will sort of surface like ‘oh yeah throw back to three hours ago when I thought I heard this person but can’t remember who that person was’.
How stupid is that.
“This is horrible.” He moans, flopping pathetically onto Pu’s bed. He stabs Mitch with his pen until he sits up, and then Cliff goes back to is notes.
“You still seeing ghosts?”
“They aren’t ghosts.” He says petulantly. “Ghosts are dead people. These people are not dead.”
Cliff glances at him, skeptic. “How would you know? Every experience you tell me about says ‘ghost’.” He grins. “Does this mean you’re the next ghost whisperer? Oh man when you get your own TV show I better be on it. Do you think you can talk to whoever you want? Because I have this institutional history paper due in a couple weeks and I need another primary source, so if you could interview someone-”
“You’re a disgusting person.” Mitch groans, and smacks Cliff with one of the dozen pillows he for some reason keeps on the bed. Half of them don’t even belong to him. “Why do I even talk to you.”
“Because I, for some reason, have managed to also successfully inhabit this dark, scary cave that you live in, and as such it is my job to make sure you don’t die from lack of self-care, so it’s sort of a mandatory thing at this point.” Cliffy glances up at him. “So. What was the ghost experience today?”
“They aren’t ghosts.”
“Again - how would you know-”
“Because they aren’t dead!” He yells. It echoes in the small space, and Cliff stares at him with wide eyes. “I would know if they were dead. And they aren’t. They- they can’t be dead. They can’t be, I would-” He feels an insane amount of fear at the sheer idea of it, and makes his breathing pick up and his muscles tense. He can’t even identify these people, but he knows them , he does. He knows them so well, he cares for them, they’re his- his-
Cliff puts a hand on his shoulder and pulls Mitch’s attention away from his spiraling thoughts.
“Okay. They aren’t dead.” He placates Mitch, then smiles a little. “But I’m going to keep calling them ghosts because I really don’t want to refer to them as hallucinations.”
He sighs, relaxing a little. “Yeah, me neither.” Hallucinations sounds like he’s losing his mind. It also might be what they are. Which is concerning, to say the least, but- Cliff had told him, in a rare moment of discussion where they were hitting that ‘friends for life’ sort of seriousness instead of their usual ‘college bros’ conversations, that if it was that - they’d figure it out. Cliff said he’d march right down to the hospital himself and not stop making a scene until someone helped Mitch. If it came to that, of course.
“So. Ghosts that aren’t ghosts. What happened today.” Mitch groans, and thunks his head back against the wall. It’s literally a daily occurance now, that something happens, and he, inevitably, ends up telling Cliff about it.
“I saw this guy - and he was with his fiance.” He explains, waving a hand in the air in frustration.
“Gee, that’s specific.”
“Shut up.” He grumbles. “It’s like - no, okay so - I knew the guy. I knew him, or I think I should’ve known him, and I knew her too, but like they looked weirdly sad, and- I think they were looking at me? Or they were sad because of me. But the guy, especially, I knew him. I knew him really, really well, because I felt like I missed him.” He blinks. Is that what happened? He tries to focus on it - it was barely a few hours ago, but he- it was on the bus. Or the way to the bus? Campus Center. No maybe it was-
“-earth to Mitch!”
“What!” He snaps. Cliff’s eyes widen and he pushes himself up onto his elbow. Great. Now he’s worried.
“You like super zoned out there bud.”
“I was trying to remember.” He replies. “And I can’t. It’s so fucking annoying like every time it’s just- it always disappears.”
“There’s certainly something to be said about how we make memories.”
“Right?!” He yells, fully frustrated. “Like, this is so important that it keeps happening or fucking whatever, but oh no, brain cells won’t actually store a fucking memory so I can figure it out. And it’s just- it- ugh!”
Pu makes a thoughtful face. “I mean, I’ve seen people’s brains do much worse things with stress-”
Mitch sighs, shoulders slouching. “It’s not stress.” He knows it’s not. He’s barely even stressed right now, midterms aren’t for a few more weeks, and he’s been in college for over two years now, this isn’t stress. Stressed is when they’re down in the third with two minutes left and-
He blinks.
“You need to stop watching hockey.” He says after a few minutes. “I’m picking up your mannerisms.”
“We stan a hockey man.” Is the instant reply.
Mitch groans and hits his head on the wall again.
...
It wears on him.
The instances don’t go away, and he starts feeling like he’s really missing something, something important. He’s getting headaches, and he keeps zoning out. Once, he has a headache so bad he skips class because of it, which he hasn’t done in...as long as he can remember. Although now a days thats not saying much. The memories, when they surface, sometimes come with pain, and he’ll get dizzy.
It’s scary. He thinks he should probably go to a doctor about it since he flat out refuses to google his symptoms, but he doesn’t think he can handle being told he’s sick.
Plus - he forgets about that too. The thought of seeing a doctor flies away as easily as everything else does, only popping up during a particularly bad days when he can’t seem to focus on anything but what he’s not remembering.
What’s nice (and quite weird, if he’s being honest), is that the feeling of apprehension and concern fades away right before midterms. Suddenly, for a little while at least, he can focus on school again. He hangs out with his friends, goes to class, drowns in homework and misses his family, but it’s normal again. He doesn’t see the other guy - the one that was there the first time, the one that he can always picture, clear as day, the one that shows up more often than anyone else - for several weeks. He doesn’t see anyone he shouldn’t. It’s like things go back to normal, and he can forget about it.
He does, is the thing. He forgets, and remembers, and forgets some more.
Except-
He’s been more tired lately. He keeps getting headaches - they’re frequent now. Sometimes, he looks at things, and there’s a pressure behind his eyes, and he has something like a memory of a memory. Like there used to be something there, and now its not, and even though he doesn’t know what the something was, he knows it was there at least.
But then every time the feeling is gone almost instantly, and he forgets what was even bothering him in the first place (he just knows something was bothering him).
It doesn’t stop him from being spacy, though, and when midterms are finally fucking over, it’s been a month since he last thought about the mystery man (is he a man? He looks more like Mitch’s age than anything, but to call him a boy is too young, and it doesn’t match the amount of pressure that he carries).
(The pressure that Mitch know’s he carries. And he doesn’t get how he knows this - he just knows that man is too serious, and boy is too young, and it hurts that spot behind his eyes to even think about him.)
He could’ve forgotten about it. Chalked it up to stress. Called it a weird mix of lack of sleep and hormone stuff. But then - and Jesus his life is just a mass of ‘but, then-’ moments, strung together one after the other - after a night of particularly heavy binge watching and ice cream, Mitch falls asleep on his bed, slumped over onto his laptop.
He wakes sometime later, and his laptop is gone, probably plugged in along with his phone, if Poohbear is being his predictable mother hen self that you wouldn’t expect a 20 year old hockey bro to be. Especially one who can chug a whole bottle of vodka in one go. He definitely is one though, because Mitch is covered in a blanket that was previously not on his person, and the only light on in the room is her dim little lamp with the dark blue Leafs shade.
He takes a couple of seconds to figure out what woke him, since it isn’t the light and isn’t Cliff being loud (hes a sneaky mother fucker when he wants to be) and Mitch doesn’t have to pee, so what-
“Something I can help you with?”
Oh. Someone must’ve knocked. Except that’s not Cliff’s voice, that’s Mattys. More specifically its his ‘ I really don’t fucking like you! If you want to keep your face the way it is you should leave right the fuck now! ’ tone of voice.
He doesn’t remember Chucky saying he was coming over, but then that’s pretty par for the course for Mitch right now. Also he thinks Cliff had said something about being out for the night? Probably went for a party.
It would figure he got Matty to not only come over and check on Mitch, but to stay in the dorm with him.
Mitch considers getting up to see what’s going on, but then Matty says, “He isn’t here.” in a similarly cold tone, and Mitch is smart enough to stay put and not prove him a liar.
Eavesdropping never helped anyone though, because when he hears the voice respond, it’s like his brain sort of whites out a little.
He knows that voice. He knows- that’s him . That’s the guy that he’s been seeing. The guy he was seeing. That’s the voice that would talk where he was alone, tell him things.
Tell him things? Since when does that- that happened?
Mitch tenses in bed, barely breathing as he listens. “I told you.” Matty snaps. “He’s not here.”
“Do you know where he is?” Mitch shivers at the low tone. He knows him. He knows him. He knows him.
He can practically see Chucky’s face of false pity. “Of course I do.” He snarks condescendingly. “But until you tell me who you are, and why you’re here, you’re never going to see him.”
The person says something else, and Matty laughs. It’s mean. “See, now I really know you aren’t from around here. No one on this campus is going to tell you where he is. You have to go through me to get to him, and let me tell you buddy - I’m not that easy to beat. Now you’re going to get the fuck out of here before I beat the shit out of you.”
The door slams. Mitch shudders under the blanket, and feels so, so tired.
That was important, he thinks, gazing hazily out at the Toronto lights that glitter so coldy through the windows. Cliff always leaves the blinds open while he studies.
He knows Mitch likes to look out at the city.
...
He forgets about it, like he always does, until his methods class the next day.
“You know, I thought I made myself pretty fucking clear last night.”
Mitch looks up from packing his books away to see Chucky standing at the door of their tiny little classroom that’s crammed with desks. He’s blocking the threshold, and Dvo is behind him trying to look intimidating. Mitch isn’t sure it works.
“I just want to see him.”
Mitch swallows and squeezes his eyes shut. His head feels so light all of a sudden. Is the room spinning?
I know him. I know him. I know him.
“No.” Matty growls. “Until you tell me who you are, and why you need to talk to him, I’m not giving you shit.”
“Well no one else will-”
“No shit sherlock, I told you last night-”
“They keep telling me to go to you. I really need to talk to him.”
“You’re not getting within twenty feet of him.”
There’s the sound of feet moving quickly. Mitch isn’t sure what happens, because his eyes are closed and he feels like he’s floating around, but he can guess the person tried to get past Chucky.
“Touch me again and I break every bone in your hand.” Matty snarls, loud and angry and threatening. There’s a huff, and then he must back off.
“Fine!” The person- he yells. Him . Mitch knows him . “Fine. Just- just tell him to come back okay? Tell him- tell him I need him to come back. We need him to come back.”
Mitch blinks. The world stops spinning and he digs around his bag for the bottle of Tylenol he carries with him. Hopefully it’ll stop the oncoming headache from growing worse.
That was important , he thinks, even as the memory seems to fade a little in his mind.
...
“So you’re seeing a random guy, who’s a ghost but not a ghost, and you think he has other ‘ghost’s who aren’t ghosts’ as buddies? Am I getting all this right?”
“Yes.”
“And now - as in just now, as in over a month and a half after it started, not after the first few occurrences - you’re considering that this is, maybe, possibly, in fact, a not okay thing?”
“Yes.”
Cliff stares at him blankly.
“Are you fucking kidding me-”
“It’s getting worse!”
Pu stares at him, and this time the look of worry on his face is too much for Mitch to look at.
“Getting worse how?” His roommate asks gently. Mitch still cringes, and shrinks into his sweatshirt. He hates when Cliff gets all gross and caring on him. He’s been there with Mitch through a lot, and routinely handles emotions way better than Mitch does. Sometimes it’s just- it’s a lot.
“I keep forgetting stuff.”
He sighs. “Marns...”
“No it’s- I don’t know. It’s weird, okay, before I just saw them, or heard them, and now it’s like I see them and I forget what I was doing, or I get a headache, or I get really tired.”
“And you think it’s connected to the guy?”
“I don’t know.” Mitch murmurs, staring out the window despondently. He’s hesitant now because he knows Cliff is keeping something from him. He used to remember what it was, but now all he’s left with is a sense of distrust. “But I keep seeing him Pooh. And it’s like - I know who he is, I know him, but I can’t remember how. I don’t know his name, or when I met him, but I keep seeing him and it’s-” He sighs, and tilts his head to the side to lay his ear on his arm. “I feel like it’s something important.”
He hears Cliff sigh behind him, but he says nothing.
Mitch stares out the window a while longer, watching the city lights glimmer in place of the stars and listens to the scratching of Cliff’s pen on his notebook. Eventually, he sits up and goes back to his essay, but he can’t shake the feeling that he’s missing something.
He doesn’t understand why, when he looks out at the Toronto skyline, it’s much more familiar than it should be. Like he’s been looking at it all his life, instead of the year and a half he’s been at college here.
That might be important.
...
Mitch is lost.
Really, really lost.
“I said Warren, you dumb fuck, not Ram lab.” Cliff’s voice sounds tired over the phone. He must’ve gone to bed late last night.
“I know.” Mitch grumbles, winding his way through identical concrete hallways. “I know, and I don’t know why I came here, I was just-”
“Stuck in that big head of yours? Yeah, I figured. You’ve been doing that a lot lately.” Mitch sighs and pulls the phone from his ear to check the time. “Fuck.” He hisses, and speeds up the pace. Not that it matters, he has no idea how to get out of here, but maybe he can find a window or something and at least see what side of the building he’s on. “Dude I’m going to miss the bus.”
Cliff pauses. “ I mean- oh shit it’s almost eleven. Yikes. Uh, see if there’s like an emergency exit? Or find someone else-” There’s yelling in the background of the call, and he curses. “ Listen worst case scenario you get out and there's no busses just hide in the doorway and I’ll come get you. Or grab an Uber. Just don’t be an idiot and walk back okay? I have to go take care of some bullshit I’ll call you back.”
“What- Poohbear! Don’t you dare hang up-” His phone beeps indicating the dropped call, and he sighs, pocketing his phone, which - how wonderful - is on two percent. He really needs to invest in one of those portable chargers.
Cursing his lack of direction he speeds up again, and then groans as he turns the corner and finds himself in another hall...that same one he was in fifteen minutes ago. He walks down it anyway, and starts wondering is he should be leaving himself markers so he knows where he’s been. He turns around for a second, still walking fast, just to stare down the hall in the hopes of memorizing what it looks like and when he turns back around he ends up on the floor, blinking up at the ceiling.
Wow , they really need to dust in here.
“Shit!”
“God fucking damn it Davo-”
“I didn’t see him!”
“Fucking clearly!”
“Hey-”
“If you didn’t have your face in that god damn phone we wouldn’t be crushing tiny freshman now would we?” Mitch blinks again, and then shakes off the daze a little. He isn’t a freshman, the fuck? Groaning he brings a hand to his nose which is leaking blood all over his face.
“Hey man you alright?” Looking up he sees a face that does a better impression of a racoon than any real racoon he’s ever seen. It brings that pressure back behind his eyes, and it turns his brain fuzzy, and he ends up just staring at the person for longer than any normal amount of time. The guy look over at his companion. “Way to go McDildo, you gave him a fucking concussion with your lack of spatial awareness.”
“I’m not concussed.” Mitch mutters, and pushes himself up with one arm. “I know what a concussion feels like, c’mon Stromer, Davo isn’t that strong.”
He knows it’ll get Connor to smile, despite him feeling guilty. He likes it better when Connor smiles. It makes him look more human.
Dyls lets out a laugh while Davo huffs dramatically, but helps him upright and shoves some tissues at Mitch for his nose bleed. “‘ou suck.” Mitch mumbles, voice thick around his clogged nose. “O’d me a rid’ for dis.”
Stromer laughs again and punches him in the shoulder. “Last bus left five minutes ago, we were giving you a ride anyway.”
“As long as- ew, gross - Davo doesn’t drive again.” He snarks, the blood finally slowing as he follows them out of the building. The night air is cool, but luckily it doesn’t make his nose start bleeding again. He throws the tissues into a trashcan and shivers. Neither of them say anything but they both get closer to him as they walk to the parking garage, arms brushing to share some warmth.
“For the record,” Connor starts as they climb into the car. “I drive fine.”
“Sure.” Mitch agrees, buckling up. Man his head hurts. Since when does his vision have so many spots? Have those floaters always been there? “And I play in the NHL.”
“Asshole.” Davo grumbles, but then brightens as Dylan starts the car. “Well at least I wasn’t the one who yelled ‘McJesus take the wheel!’ in the middle of a crowded intersection and then proceed to let go of the steering wheel in favor of changing the song on his phone.”
Mitch laughs all the way back to the dorms. He gets all the way up to his floor, even gets in bed and plugs in his phone before he realizes two things. One - Cliff isn’t back yet, and two-
They never told him their names.
...
“I’m going crazy.”
It’s the first words he says after kicking open the door some time earlier. He just came from his stats class, where he had sat down next to the same two people he always sits next to.
Except this time, they weren’t the same two people. He can’t remember who he used to sit next to, he just knows he sat down, and thought - wow new people this late in the semester - and then he realized he knew both their names. JT was sitting hunched over, looking stressed as always. He thought it was weird that Morgan was wearing his glasses, since he normally tries not to, but then he was also wearing Gard’s sweatshirt, and looked exhausted, so Mitch didn’t question it.
He should’ve questioned it.
Cliff is sitting at his desk, and the blinds are up again, the sun setting over Toronto. Soon the city will be lit up. Just how he likes it.
“Okay.” Cliff responds, not phased in the slightest (it’s certainly not the weirdest thing he’s ever said).
Mitch drops his bag straight off his shoulder. It hits the floor with a loud clatter, then he walks over to his bed and flops onto his face.
“You’ll be fine.” Cliff says.
Mitch screams into his pillow.
...
He isn’t fine.
He is so, so not fine. It’s been- he doesn’t even know how long, but now everything is worse, it’s getting worse. He never sees him again, and he never hears him again. He remembers, at least, that Cliff wasn’t the one who talked to him , but Matty definitely told Cliff about it, and maybe that’s why Mitch doesn’t trust either of them right now, because how could they talk to someone only he can see? And why wouldn’t they tell Mitch about it?
Whenever he asks Cliff about it, he gets this look on his face that’s angry, but he looks at Mitch with sad eyes and says “he isn’t coming around anymore. You don’t have to worry about him Mouse.”
He feels scared by that. Like the person - he was important to Mitch. He shouldn’t have left.
And that’s-
It gets worse.
...
“I’m worried about you Mitchy.” His professor tells him, handing him back his paper. “This isn’t like you.”
“I know.” Mitch sighs, sitting down and staring bleakly at the grade. He really doesn’t know how he’s going to keep his scholarship if he keeps killing his GPA like this.
“What going on?”
He sighs. “I’m sorry profess- Patty.” He corrects himself quickly. Professor Marleau hates being called that. “There’s just...it’s been a lot lately, and I…” He pauses. “I can’t remember why.”
That’s wrong, he thinks. Shouldn’t he remember what’s wrong with him?
Patty just sighs. “Well, I hope this helps you out. I’m going to give you a few more days - till friday. Go back in, fix your tenses, and then re-submit it, and I’ll bring it up to a B+.”
“My tenses?” He asks in confusion. Scanning the paper quickly, he can’t find anything wrong. “Where am I messing up with my tenses?”
Patty stares at him with his kind eyes and caring face, and looks worried.
“You keep saying ‘I used to play’, and that’s not true.”
Mitch blinks. His head hurts. “What?”
“You say that you used to play for Toronto. Mitch, you are playing . Number sixteen.”
“Oh.” Mitch says. “I guess that makes more sense.”
...
“So.” Willy whispers, dropping down into the seat next to Mitch and simultaneously scaring the shit out of him.
“Damn it Nylander.” Mitch hisses, and then glances around the library to see if anyone noticed the noise. The sixth floor is the quiet study floor, and if a student so much as coughs people will shush them. Willy just waves his hand nonchalantly. Fucking Liberal Arts kids.
“You’re fine.” He says factually, voice still kept low as he leans over to stare at Mitch’s LSAT study book. He makes an obnoxious face and settles back into his chair. “Dude you’re not even halfway through your second year and you’re already starting that shit?” Mitch looks around, not gracing him with an answer.
“Where’s your better half?” Mitch whispers, turning down his music. Willy grins.
“Which one? Be specific Marns.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively but Mitch just glares.
“You shouldn’t do that to them. It’s a real dick move you know.” Mitch watches the gleeful immaturity fall from the blonds face, replaced with worry. Willy can be an asshole, but he has a soft heart.
“I know.” Willy murmurs seriously. “And I’m not. Zach is meeting with his study group on the eighth and I’m bored.”
Mitch nods proudly - at least one of them got their shit together - and then gives him a wary look. “I’m not about to entertain you.” He whispers, eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“I know .” Willy replies. “I just wanted to ask. When are you coming back?”
Mitch turns back to his notebook and pinches the bridge of his nose. His vision shows spots dancing around on the table. Somewhere he can hear a sports announcer talking about shots on goal and feels a pang of annoyance that some kid doesn’t have their headphones on.
“I don’t know Willy. I really don’t know.”
....
“Why are you here?” Cliff asks, surprised. His hair is tied into a tiny sprig of a ponytail and he’s wearing a huge Leafs sweatshirt with red and white Canadian flag knee socks. Ah. So Toronto must be playing tonight. Cliff glares at him. “Don’t mess up my rituals Marns, you know what happens when you watch games with me.”
Mitch rolls his eyes and goes searching for his stash of skittles. “Don’t worry, I’m not staying.”
Pu looks at him curiously. “Where are you going then? Everyone’s out. Normally you’re at the rink right now.”
Mitch straightens up and turns to look at his roomie. He can hear his heart beat in his ears.
“What are you talking about Pooh? I haven’t been to the rink. I don’t even know where it is.”
As he says this, though, he gets flashes - double doors with two older gentlemen outside them, concrete steps, a parking garage - and he knows, he knows, he knows .
He knows what ice rinks look like, but not this ice rink. He’s never been to see the Uni’s arena.
Cliff stares at him for a second longer and sighs, defeated. “Well, either get out or get some sleep. We have shit to do tomorrow.”
Mitch groans just for the show of it, but gets ready for bed anyway because, yeah, they do have crap to do tomorrow, at a disgustingly early time. He really was going to go somewhere, he came into the room with a plan to go out and do something, but now he feels too tired to even remember where he was coming from in the first place, so he climbs into bed and stares out the big windows for a while.
Toronto looks really pretty at night.
...
The Leafs lose the game that night. Cliff says something about them not being focused. He says he doesn’t blame them, considering-
Considering-
“Hey Marns, did you do the homework?”
“Jesus Kappy when has Marner ever not done the homework?” Mitch shakes his head and rolls his eyes, but slides the sheet of math problems over to the pair.
“You’re the shit Mitchy.” Willy says hurriedly, immediately focused on scribbling down the answers.
“Uh huh.” He mutters, going back to copying notes from Freddie's notebook. He missed his last class, having felt too tired to stay awake for more than five minutes at a time. “Make sure you copy the work, and get at least one wrong or Keefe is going to know you cheated.”
“Rude.” Kappy snaps, and then half heartedly apologizes to Fred who’s trying to nap in the middle of the loudest floor of the library.
Whatever. They’re weird.
….
Mitch is in the park, and he doesn’t know how he got there. He doesn’t have his bus pass, so he probably got bored of studying and wandered. It’s nice outside anyway, and he remembers suddenly that he’s meeting someone, so he starts walking. The sun is low, it’s rays hitting the random trees and casting long shadows across the grass and pathway.
“Hey, Mouse!”
Mitch grins and turns on his heels, still walking a bit because he enjoys having to watch Marty jog to catch up.
“Way to wait up for me.” Matt grumbles, making Mitch laugh.
“I thought since I was short that I was the one who was slow?”
“Yeah, yeah you’re funny.” Marty tries to give him a noogie and Mitch shoves him off. They walk together in companionable silence for a while, occasionally making small talk. It’s great, and it costs him nothing to admit that to himself, or to Marty for that matter.
“Yeah? Well I strive to be your greatest mentor of all time, so-”
“Who the fuck are you competting with?” He laughs back, and Marty stops walking.
Mitch stops too, a few feet ahead. He can tell the comfortable atmosphere they held before has shifted to something much more tense.
Marty’s face is sad. It stirs some memory of forever ago, in the hallway on the way to class.
“Oh come on Mouse.” The vet murmurs, sounding almost desperate. “You- you know who else. You have to remember them.”
“Well I fucking don’t.” He snaps, irrationally angry at Marty. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about, and he’s tired of every conversation being some weird set of confusing clues, always hinting that there’s something he should know.
It especially annoys him, that of everyone around him, Marty is the guy saying these things to him. He trusts Marty more than anyone else, and it’s scary that he’s telling Mitch something is wrong.
“Mitchy- look we’re all worried okay? This isn’t like you. You’re a fighter, you don’t quit like this. What’s going on?”
“I don’t know!” Mitch yells, not caring that other people might look at him. “I don’t know what everyone's talking about, nothing makes sense anymore, I can’t even remember what I was doing before this, or where I’m going after, and everytime I try to think about anything outside of the right now it’s like there’s this pressure behind my eyes and then I lose it and I’m stuck, I’m stuck here Marty and I hate it.”
Marty looks him, and there’s tears in his eyes.
“Come back Mitchy. Please, just- we need you back, okay? Please come back to us. Please.”
Mitch sucks in a shaky breath, and nods. “I’m trying. I’m trying so hard, Marty I swear. But I don’t know where you are, and I don’t know where I am, and I don’t know how to leave or stay.”
Marty smiles at him, and it doesn’t match the tears going down his face. “We’re right here Mitchy. We aren’t going anywhere. You just have to find us again.”
...
“Marns?”
Mitch jolts awake, his neck aching from the bad angle. “Damn it.” He groans, rubbing at his cheek. He fell asleep at his desk again. “What time is it?”
Cliff sighs and kicks the door shut.
“Two in the AM bud. Come on,” He pokes Mitch in the shoulder. “Time for bed.” He turns off his laptop and climbs into the creaky mattress, settling comfortably under the warm covers. Cliff leans forward to pull at the chain for the blinds and-
“Hey Poohbear?”
He stops and turns to look at him. “Yah?”
“Can we keep them open?”
Pu smiles.
“Sure Marns.” He whispers, and turns out the lights. He blinks slowly, watching the Toronto skyline glitter against the black sky.
He loves the city at night.
...
“Why are you in such a mood today?”
“I’m not.”
Mitch blinks. “You walked in here, swore for five minutes straight, almost punched the mirror, and now you’re looking at your laptop like it just murdered several puppies.” He lists, but doesn’t stop watching the video playing on his phone.
Cliff doesn’t say anything, and it makes Mitch raise his eyes.
“What’s up?”
He waves a hand, dismissive. “I don’t think you’d care, but there’s this guy who got hurt a while ago, and they just released some press statement that basically said he’s shown no signs of getting better.”
Mitch perks up. “A guy? What like a hockey guy?”
Cliff stares at him, eyes narrowed. Mitch pauses the video on his phone - he can watch tape later - and pulls his other headphone out. “Why do you care?” Cliff asks.
“Well, you’re obviously pissed about it, so…”
“Yes, Mitchy, a hockey guy.”
“A Leafs guy.”
Cliff rolls his eyes, totally oblivious to the way Mitch is sure his face has drained of blood. “A Leafs guy.”
“Do you- did you know him?” Mitch’s voice is weirdly high, he knows that, but his mind is racing. He lets his fingers gently trace over the outline of the leafs logo on his sweatshirt.
“Do I know a NHLer,” Cliff scoffs. “I mean I watched him play a lot, and he was really good, but no, not on like a personal basis.”
He blinks and feels his breath hitch a little. “So then- why do you care so much?”
“I mean- it’s like- it’s hard you know? The whole team is struggling, you can tell every time they point a camera at them, and I really want them to do good and I definitely don’t him to be hurt either, so I mean- it sucks I guess.” Cliff twirls a pen around in his fingers, staring at Mitch with a weird expression on his face. “Mitchy you okay?”
He isn’t paying attention to Pu. Or he is, but his head- god it hurts so bad, but his fingers fly across his keyboard anyway, searching for the roster, and there’s- there’s pictures-
There’s-
Hyms laughs, and points to a few different options on the screen. “I think you’d like those” He says, and Mitch adds the books to his cart. “And if you don’t then I know some cool romance ones that might make you cry a little but that you’ll definitely love”.
“William Nylander!” Morgan screams, and Mitch nearly falls off the couch in laughter while Willy turns bright red and shrinks into his chair even while he tries to hide his laughter. “That was the most inappropriate- fucking disgusting- if you ever say that joke again I swear to god I will fly your mom to Toronto to wash your fucking mouth out-”
He-
Brownie throws a pillow at his face, “Shut up and go to sleep you fucking idiot, god Mitchy-”
Freddie smiles as Mitchy screams in his face, even lifting him off the ice as he hugs the much bigger goal tender. Patty’s deep belly laughs after Mitch fails horribly at mini sticks, Naz getting annimated as he explains the delicate nature of hair gel, Hyms and JT slamming into him in a celly, screaming in his face because fuck yeah, they tied it, “You did it Mitchy!”, “Nice fucking shot kid”-
Mo rolling his eyes but wrapping his coat around Mitch’s shoulders anyway, because it’s the back end of the season, and Mitch is always freezing, and Morgan is such a dad, so Mitch smiles and chirps him while Gards gets this dopey look on his face when Mo starts lecturing Mitch for not dressing warmer, and it’s stupid and wonderful at the same time, because Mitch feels warm because he knows Morgan cares about him, and they’re- and he-
It’s just- it won’t stop it won’t-
Marty tying a blindfold around his head, shoving smelling salts in his face, crushing him in a hug after a win, introducing him to Syd, waltzing into his hotel room to watch movies, “This ones gonna make you cry Mitchy, get the fucking tissues ready-”
Patty laughing as he beats Mitch in Euchre for the sixth time in the row, showing him where he hides the junk food in the locker room, grinning as he hands Mitch a mini stick, “Good luck Marns, Brody can be vicious”-
-why can’t he breathe -
So many memories, so many people, again and again and again , just a flood of Brownie, Kappy, Willy and Hyms, Naz, Freddie, Mo and Jake, Leo, Marty, Patty, Auston-
Auston.
///
He wakes up screaming. Or- he would be screaming, but there’s a something blocking- something’s stuck in his mouth, he can’t-
“-someone get help in here!”
“Oh my god-”
“Is he-”
“Mitch!” A voice rises above the others, loud and firm but not mean spirited. “Mitchy if you can hear me I need you to calm down okay? You’re okay, okay? It’s just helping you breath. Just try and relax.”
The voice cuts through his panic like it’s done many times before, and he realizes there’s a tube down his throat. There’s a fucking- he must be in a hospital, there’s so much noise-
There’s a hand in his. He clings to like it’s the only thing that’s holding him to this earth (and maybe it is) while he tries to relax enough to let the machine breath for him.
“There you go Mouse. Keep breathing. You’re doing great.” He knows-
He knows that voice. That’s Patty. That Patrick Marleau, that’s his friend, that’s the guy who taught him card games and let him stay over his house and play with his kids and helped him with his skating and he knows him oh god he knows him. He remembers- he remembers him. He remembers them.
He actually starts crying, it’s such a sheer relief. People are still talking to each other, holding a thousand different conversations over Mitch, but he’s to wrapped up in the explosion of emotions to try to follow anything. He forgot them - god he forgot all of them, he almost forgot himself -
A finger brushes his cheek, rough and calloused as it wipes away his tears. There’s other people talking to him, he’s sure, but he can’t hear them. He only feels the gloved hands brushing against his hand and arm, touching his fingers, biting at his skin.
He can hear Patty though. He can hear him loud and clear, even if his voice is pitched low, it’s still gentle and soothing as he talks to him. “You’re okay, you’re okay Mitch.” There’s more conversation above him, and Patty snaps something at someone. His breath hitches, and he’s confused, so confused because it feels like he can’t breath again. Is he supposed to be breathing on his own? Is he- well maybe he shouldn’t be crying, that’s definitely messing up his respiratory rate but-
“Hey, hey keep breathing Mitchy. You’re doing so good okay, just calm down, it’s okay-”
“We’re all here Marns, you’re safe-“
“Mitch, buddy please stop fighting them- Mitch, Mitch , it’s okay!”
“Mr. Marner, we’re going to give you something to relax okay?”
Something cold slides into his veins, slicing through his panic, and Mitch’s world dissolves again.
…
It’s dark in the room.
Mitch blinks his sticky eyes open and is registering input before he even realizes he’s awake. It’s dark. It was bright before. The curtains are open. He can see parts of the Toronto skyline.
There’s a large, calloused hand covering his. It squeezes his fingers and he squeezes back automatically.
“Hey Mitchy,” Patty’s warm voice covers him like a blanket, making what little anxiety his brain managed to accrue fall away. “You doing okay buddy?”
Mitch hums and blinks. His eyes feel sticky. His brain feels like mud.
“‘S the tube gone?” Mitch slurs slightly, then frowns at how garbled the words come out.
Patty laughs. Mitch really would like to look at him, to see him smile, but moving his head just feels impossible right now. “Yeah the tubes gone. They didn’t expect you to wake up so soon, so that’s why…if you remember earlier. But you’ve been breathing on your own for a while now.”
“Been awake?”
“About as awake as you are right now,” Patty chuckles. “But they’ve got you on some pretty good drugs, and you’ve been passing your evals, so they think you’re…you’ll be okay.”
Mitch thinks he might be hallucinating a bit, because he’s never heard Patty’s voice shake like that.
He blinks again. The lights of the skyscrapers outside blur.
“Go back to sleep Mitchy,” Patty whispers. “We’ll be here.”
He squeezes Mitch’s hand again. Mitch squeezes back, and before he can really contemplate the fact that there’s someone else besides Patty in the room, he’s slipping back into the dark.
…
When he wakes up again, Patty is gone, but Marty is there in his seat, slumped with his head to his chest.
“Don’t you have a game?” Mitch asks - or at least he tries to ask, what comes out of his mouth is nothing more than slurred together gibberish. Fucking hell, he’s having a time of this.
Marty jerks his head up, eyes wide. Mitch frowns, eyebrows drawing together as he rolls his tongue around his mouth before trying again. This time the words actually sound like words , and some of the fear on Marty’s face fades.
“I did have a game,” Marty chirps easily, relaxing back into his chair. “In fact I’ve had several.”
Mitch sends him a flat look. “Why are you here?”
Marty sends him a look right back. “Oh, I don’t know Marns. I’m sure it’s got nothing to do with you being in the ICU of a hospital, though. Certainly not because you are finally coherent.”
Mitch frowns. “You missed games for me?”
“Brothers tend to do that for each other,” Marty snaps back. Mitch’s eyes widen in surprise and Marty sighs, rubbing at his face. “Sorry. I’m sorry, I’m just- tired. And stressed.”
“You could probably use a shower too.” Mitch says quietly, and it takes a minute for Marty to realize he’s being chirped.
He looks up at Mitch with a bit of awe, smile spreading across his face. “You little shit, here I am being vulnerable, and you decide-“
“You called me your little brother,” Mitch giggles, “I’m honored.”
Marty flicks his hand. “I’m literally never going to talk to you again after this.”
“You wish.” Mitch scoffs, trying to flick him back. It gets a little tiresome way to fast, and he realizes Marty’s not smiling anymore.
“Matt?”
“Sorry,” Marty apologizes again, rubbing at his face. “I just- I do need a shower, and sleep.”
“How long have you been here? For real this time,” Mitch asks, catching onto the serious tone. He wonders how long he’s been here.
“The Islanders played the leafs two days after your accident. I flew up with them, played, then stayed. They finished the road trip without me. I’m probably going to have to leave tomorrow, but I basically said either they let me stay or they break my contract, so…”
“ Jesus Marty-“
“Mitch,” Matt interrupts Mitch, the muscles in his jaw clenching as he works to say his next words. Mitch’s heart is in his throat, thinking that Marty could get in trouble with his team because of him. “Mouse you were- this wasn’t like a normal concussion, okay? This was bad. This was really bad. I think half the league has been in your room at some point or another, because we thought-“
Marty cuts himself off, blowing out a breath and running a hand through his hair.
Mitch swallows hard. His throat aches with the movement, and the memory of waking up the first time comes back.
Along with the memory of what he was waking up from .
“How long has it been?” Mitch rasps. Marty is the only one in the room, but he’s sure that there were others. They must’ve finally gone home since Mitch was, apparently, okay.
Marty looks at him warily. “Just over six days since your accident.”
Mitch feel the blood drain from his face. He’s been unconscious for a week . “What- what happened?”
Marty grabs the back of his neck, looking nervous. “I think the doctors should-“
“ Marty ,” Mitch pleads. “What the fuck .”
The older man sighs. “You were in a car accident. Um, I guess you were driving home pretty late, and some guy blew through a red light and hit you.”
Mitch narrows his eyes. Marty rolls his eyes and continues. “Some broken ribs from the impact, some bruised ribs from the seatbelt locking. You can’t really tell I’m sure, but if your face is sore that’s because the airbag did it’s job really well. The only problem was that he hit you on the side, and you spun and hit a light pole. When you stopped, your head snapped to the side and hit the window.”
“So that’s the, um…the coma part.”
“Yeah- sorta. Mostly.”
“Okay.” Mitch swallows again, twisting his hands in his lap. It doesn’t feel real, that any of this happened. He doesn’t remember it. He doesn’t remember anything before it, either. It’s like theres this great big blank space in his head, and Marty is trying to write in the answer. “Did- was that it?”
Marty shrugs. “Broke your wrist, they did minor surgery on it, should be fine. A lot of bruises. There was a dance with the ventilator because your left side was- I mean they said it was hard to tell if you’d broken any ribs. The first time I’ve ever heard an X-ray be inconclusive. Um, they MRI’d your left knee because it was swollen but didn’t find anything serious. You’ve got a lot of rehab ahead of you, that’s for sure.”
“Fantastic,” he murmurs. “Why am I not like…in a shit ton of pain?” His head hurts, but it doesn’t feel anything like how he felt when he first woke up.
“Well for one, you’re still on painkillers, even if they’re not as heavy as they were. For two, the swelling went down a lot. So I guess comparatively it’s not as bad?”
Mitch hums. That doesn’t make any sense, but he’ll take it. “S why I’m floating, right?”
“You’re also slurring like that time you tried to out drink me your freshman year.” Marty scoffs, and completely misses the way Mitch’s face changes. It isn’t until he puts two and two together - Marty means freshman year of hockey - does Mitch manage to relax.
“I did out drink you,” Mitch replies weakly, just to see Marty roll his eyes.
“Shut up and go back to sleep will you? There’s going to be a gazillion people here tomorrow.” Marty sits back into his chair, scrolling through his phone. “I know Syd’s going to smother you.”
Mitch frowns, feels a strange pull in his face as the muscles try to work. “Like with kisses or a pillow or…”
“Depends on if you behave,” Marty laughs, glancing up at him. “Please get some rest.”
“M not tired.”
“I can literally see your eyes closing against your will, you numbnut.”
Mitch really does try to grumble something back, because he’s not tired, he doesn’t feel like he’s tired, he just feels...heavy. His eyelids are heavy. Everything’s very heavy, and he can’t keep holding it up anymore.
He doesn’t want this to be like his dream though, where he blinks and wakes up and people are no longer where they should be. He doesn’t want Marty to leave.
“I’m not going anywhere Marns,” A warm hand slips back into his. “I’m staying right here, as long as you stay with me.”
Seems like a fair trade, at least.
…
Marty was right - Syd does smother him. Luckily it’s with caring love and affection, and also cookies. Apparently there was a lot of stress baking. Syd is adamant that she wasn’t the only one who made them.
In addition to Syd though, there is a steady parade of visitors in his room the next day. Most of the team is there the second visiting hours start. Now that Mitch is no longer in the ICU, multiple people can be there, and it’s loud . Mitch barely speaks ten words for how much they talk. It’s a lot of jabbering and everyone tries to catch him up at once and he barely processes any of it.
Luckily for Mitch, his team is awesome, and JT seems to realize that Mitch is tapped out on processing power not five minutes into the visit. He sent one look to Mo and they were ushering the boys out a few moments later. Everyone gives him fist bumps as they leave. While absolutely chaotic, seeing the boys, talking to everyone, it’s grounding.
The dream has faded, but not as much as he’d like.
He takes a nap, which is code for he was talking to Syd one moment and the next it’s five hours later and he doesn’t ever remember closing his eyes.
Supposedly that’s normal. His doctor and neurologist and like six other medical professionals assure him so. He’d gotten a word in with them before the hoards had descended and they told him about the same that Marty did, only with a much more sophisticated air.
The afternoon brings him several other important visitors.
His parents, for one. Mitch’s emotions are all over the place, which means when he sees his mom he instantly bursts into tears and physically cannot stop crying until she leaves.
He feels really bad about that, but she cries with him for most of it, and his Dad and his brother maybe also shed a few tears at seeing Mitch awake. His Dad promises to update him on hockey when he’s feeling up to it, and the fact that he doesn’t immediately start doing so but instead promises to wait for Mitch to ask for it makes him cry harder.
His brother gives him a Toronto Maple Leafs coloring book he found in the gift shop, complete with a sixteen piece box of crayons. It is probably the best present Chris has ever given him.
He’s sat up doodling lazily on the paper, Syd having gone back to the hotel her and Marty are staying at, when there’s a knock on the door. Mitch hums a greeting, figuring it’s the nurse coming in to do her check thingy where she writes down a bunch of numbers and makes him move his fingers and toes and a bunch of other stuff that takes ten minutes but it supremely annoying to wake up for.
“Hey Mitchy,” a soft paternal voice hits his ears and Mitch inhales sharply, then winces as his ribs scream at him.
“Patty?” his voice wobbles slightly and when the older man smiles at him Mitch very nearly starts sobbing. “You- I thought- since the boys were here and you...”
“Well I wasn’t here at first,” Patty takes care closing the door, then wanders over to Mitch’s bed. “We were on a road trip, so it was tricky getting a flight. The Pens were on board with me getting a personal leave, but we were in Anaheim when it happened. It actually would’ve worked that it would have been faster for me to travel with them, so I stayed and played in Colorado, then managed to hop over here.”
Mitch vaguely remembers Patty being there at one point. “You didn’t stay though.”
Patty shakes his head. “We had a home game, then played Boston. I went down for the Boston game and practice, and I was going to go back to Pittsburgh, but then Marty texted everyone you were awake, so…”
Mitch is hit with the overwhelming urge to start crying, and he can’t blame it completely on his head injury. He hasn’t seen Patty in so long.
Okay not entirely true, but Mitch is- Patty’s his-
If Patty had been on the Leafs when Mitch made the roster, Mitch probably would have lived with the Marleaus. He used to have dinner over their house every other week, he’d play mini sticks and video games with the kids and he’d helped them with their homework and picked them up from school once in a while and he’d- they’d been exactly what he needed. Patty had been exactly what he needed.
He’d been stable, at a time when Mitch was anything but. Patty had cared and in turn Mitch learned to trust him with everything.
“Would it hurt if I gave you a hug?” Patty asks gently.
Mitch sniffles. “I think I’m going to lose it if you don’t.”
Patty laughs softly, then proceeds to carefully wrap his arms around Mitch. Mitch’s ribs protest and his neck twinges painfully at the movement but it’s still the most gentle hug he’s probably ever received. Patty doesn’t even call him on the fact that there’s tears in his eyes when he pulls away.
The veteran player doesn’t go very far either, dragging a chair over and neatly draping his coat over it. “So! How are we enjoying the hospital television?”
“I have a grudge against Downtown Abby now.” Mitch says flatly. “And I’ve only been able to watch one episode.”
Patty laughs again, digging something out of his pocket. “Well I can’t say I’ve ever had the inclination to watch it, so I will take your word for it. Here, this is from the kids.” He drops a stack of folded up papers onto Mitch’s lap. “You should know along side a lot of tears, there was also a lot of begging and bribing and screaming when I told them they couldn’t come up to Toronto to see you.”
Mitch tries to laugh, but it comes out more of a sob as he shifts through the different drawings; trying to make sense of some absolutely abysmal handwriting. Not that he expects crystal clear letter - they’re all kids still, and even Patty’s hand writing is barely legible some days - but his eyes have a hard time following the lines. He’s been okay with large print, and if he concentrates hard he’s fine with most handwriting too.
Head injuries will do that.
“Yeah, I heard it was busy in here I guess.” Mitch sniffs. He has to move the papers so his tears don’t drip onto them.
Patty nods, and it hits Mitch that maybe that wasn’t really the reason. Maybe it was because Mitch was in pretty bad shape - still is, he’s seen the bruises on his face and arms - and Patty didn’t want the kids to see him like that.
“It was like a rotating door of hockey players,” Patty snorts. “I think one of the Tkachucks were here at one point? I heard about McDavid and Strome...oh like half the London Knights stopped by as well - one of your friends stayed pretty much the whole time. I think his name was-”
“Poohbear,” Mitch smiles softly, finally getting his eyes to stop imitating faucets. “Pu. Cliffy.”
“Yeah him. Your mom had to basically force him to go home and get some sleep in an actual bed.” Patty shifts in his seat, tapping his legs as he thinks. “And then obviously the Leafs...they lost that first game they had to play, which was pretty understandable I think. They’ve won everything since, and according to the scoop I’m getting from JT absolutely no one is paying attention in practice so those wins are a miracle.”
“I’m surprised Keefe hasn’t killed them.”
“I mean it’s a bit understandable Mitchy, this really scared them. It scared me . At least they waited until a reasonable hour to call me and let me know what happened, most guys got woken up in the middle of the night and drove down to the hospital because they thought they were going to have to say goodbye.”
“Oh.” Mitch says, staring at the cards again, tracing the little stick figures from Patty’s youngest. “I don’t- I really don’t remember…”
“I know you don’t kid, that’s not why I said it,” Patty explains gently. “I just wanted to impress upon you why they’ve been so...different. Why they’ve all been clamoring to get here and see you.”
“Not all of them,” Mitch mutters, moving the papers to the small table on his right and sinking back into the bed.
Patty sighs, copying Mitch and leaning back into his chair. He looks settled, like he’s not planning on moving for a while. “There’s a lot going on there kid, and I’m not the right person to explain it.”
“Give me an abridged version then,” Mitch mutters, fiddling with the edge of his gown. “I want to know why the fuck my bo- best friend decided that after I almost died he can’t be bothered to come and visit me.”
“Marns, he- it’s not like that.”
“Then whats it like!?” Mitch yells, anger bubbling to the surface just as easily as the tears did. “Tell me why the fuck Auston hasn’t been here! I’m sitting here in a fucking hospital bed after being in a medically induced coma and where is he?! Huh, where is my supposed best friend, where is-”
His voice breaks and he cuts himself off, quickly looking away from Patty towards a random spot on the wall to try and regain some control. Patty lets him, staying in silence until Mitch speaks again. “I mean was he- was he here when I was asleep, at least?”
Mitch hates how weak his voice is when he asks, but it’s the only thing he can think that would salvage this. That could possibly salvage what they had.
It wasn’t like being with Auston was easy. Mitch didn’t think it would be. They’d fought more than once and they’d taken breaks more than once but they were- they were solid . They were good together.
They were not and had never been at a place where they wouldn’t see one another at the hospital .
The look Patty gives him almost makes his heart break in two. It’s not condescending by any means, but the sympathy there, the slight amount of pity, it makes Mitch want to scream again.
“No,” Patty says after a long moment. “He wasn’t here while you were sleeping. He was barely here while you were unconscious.”
“Patty-”
“But it wasn’t for lack of trying, Mitch.” Patty continues before Mitch can completely fall apart. “It was not because he didn’t want to be here. Trust me, he tried.”
He stares, uncomprehending. Patty sighs again, frustrated this time as he runs a hand through his hair. “Look I told you, I’m not the one who needs to explain this. I wasn’t here when it happened. But apparently...the team decided that he shouldn’t be here.”
Mitch gapes at him before bringing out the sarcasm. “I’m sorry, I’ve got a concussion so it seems I’m not hearing you right. Did you just say that the team just decided that they could keep my boyfriend from me while they thought, to quote your own words, ‘that they were going to have to say goodbye’ to me?”
Patty purses his lips. “I said I wasn’t the best person to explain this…”
“ Try .” Mitch snaps.
“He wasn’t your boyfriend anymore, alright?” Patty breaks finally. “When the accident happened, he wasn’t your boyfriend anymore. The team heard about it. They knew about what happened, whether you told them I don’t know. I can’t explain it to you because I don’t know what happened because you didn’t tell me .”
Mitch stares at Patty for a second before he pulls his eyes away to look at his hands, unable to hold Patty’s gaze.
His fingers are shaking. The IV tapped to the back of his left hand makes him look and feel even more frail.
“They told him he wasn’t welcome here,” Patty says quietly. “He kept trying to see you, and they kept kicking him out. I’ve never seen Auston so wrecked, but I...I’m not on the Leafs anymore, I don’t know what happened.”
“Why didn’t JT say anything?” Mitch asks, voice trembling. He feels- he doesn’t know how he feels. He thinks maybe he should want to cry, but for the first time since he woke up he can’t , and he doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know what to do with this information. “Why didn’t Mo?”
“From what I understand, they didn’t have a problem with it. They were- they were angry, Mitch. Angry at him.”
Mitch shakes his head. “It wasn’t Auston’s fault.”
“I’m not saying it was-”
“It wasn’t Auston’s fault.” Mitch wants to scream. He can’t fucking remember anything, but he knows that, in his heart. This wasn’t something Auston controlled. “It wasn’t.”
“I’m not saying it was , I’m not saying that they think it was, I’m saying that they’re angry at him.”
“But you’re also not not saying it.” Mitch points out. “You haven’t said that you don’t think it was his fault.”
“Because I don’t know what happened!”
Mitch shakes his head, ignoring the way his neck twinges. “It shouldn’t matter. You know Auston nearly as well as you know me, you should trust him, you should believe him.”
“He’s not told me what happened either, how am I supposed to-”
“ No ,” Mitch snaps. “ I’m telling you, it’s not his fault. Do you believe me?”
Patty stays silent for a second too long. Mitch watches his hands tremble. “I want you to go.”
“Mitchy…”
Mitch turns his head away from Patty too look out the window, chest shuddering as he tries to hold onto control.
The older man exists quietly, whispering something that Mitch can’t quiet decipher, his head to full of cotton to try and understand.
The blinds have been pulled back, the large sliding window showing him the Toronto skyline. It reminds him of his dorm room-
But he didn’t have a dorm room, did he. Mitch never went to UT, he never- he never did any of that.
It’s a strange thing, to be able to remember it, because it feels like a dream. All the pieces that were missing, all the strange things that happened, and he never put it together. It made sense, while he was asleep.
Now he can tell that each instance, each new person appearing in his little alternate life, that was- that was when those people visited him. And that includes Auston.
Those times when he heard him, or when he was trying to see Mitch, that was happening. That was real, that was Auston trying desperately to get to Mitch. And each time someone sent him away.
Mitch does not remember what happened. He always thought, when he heard about these things happening or saw it dramatized on TV, he always thought it was supposed to teach the person something. To show them, make them learn a lesson.
Mitch doesn’t know what the hell he was supposed to learn from being at Uni. He just knows that he’s hurting and he’s scared and the person he loves the most isn’t there.
Auston isn’t there, and his team, the people he loves like family, they’re the reason for it.
He doesn’t remember breaking up with Auston. He doesn’t want to. In a large way, he doesn’t believe it’s happened. He can’t remember it, so it must not be real.
They weren’t perfect, but they were solid. They were solid . Auston wouldn’t have done that to him, and Mitch wouldn’t have ever left Auston. There wouldn’t have been a reason for it, Auston never would have given him a reason.
He wouldn’t have. No one else may believe in Auston, but Mitch does.
Mitch trust Matty. And with all the shit he’s gone through the last few days, he can’t lose that too.
...
“...but you said-”
“I know what I said! I know what I- look, he’s asking for you, and I can’t...it’s not my place to tell him. Patty said he doesn’t remember it, so here’s your chance to fix your fuck up.”
“Should I tell him-”
“You tell him whatever the fuck he wants to hear. But so help me Auston if you break his heart again I’ll make sure your never allowed to step foot in Toronto again, you understand?”
“I’m sorry, Morgan.”
“It’s not me that you need to apologize too.”
The door clicks, signaling the departure of one of them. Mitch isn’t totally awake, but he was listening at best he could. He’d known Mo was there, the senior defenseman talking to Mitch every once in a while when he’d thought Mitch was asleep.
A hand slots in his and Mitch jolts, peeling his eyes open.
“Oh!” Auston blinks up at him, brown eyes wide. “You’re awake!”
Mitch stares at Auston for a second before he bursts out laughing. “Astute observation there Aus..”
Auston stares at him for a long moment, a myriad of emotions crossing his face before he finally settles on relief. “I didn’t- I haven’t seen you. Um. Awake. In a while. I’ve had dream where you wake up but- jesus what am I saying right now.”
Mitch gives him a small smirk. It’s not often he sees Auston so flustered.
“I mean- I’m glad you’re awake. And okay.”
“Me too.” Mitch says wryly, rolling his head to the side to peer over at Auston. His fingers twitch with the need to touch Auston, but his boyfriend (are they still boyfriends? If they broke up but Mitch can’t remember?) is sitting in a chair, close to Mitch’s bed but not touching it.
The space between them makes him panic. He doesn’t remember them breaking up, he doesn’t want to break up, he wants everything to be normal. He wants Auston back.
“Why are you all the way over there?” Mitch whispers when Auston doesn’t try to further the conversation.
Auston looks surprised, the dullness in his eyes broken up by a spark of life. “I thought they would have told you.”
“What am I allergic to you or something?” Mitch tries to joke, but it falls flatter than a pancake. “I know- Patty said we split up.”
Auston looks broken when he nods. “We did.”
“The team knew about it.”
“They did.”
“They’re mad at you. Wouldn’t let you see me.”
“Yeah.”
Mitch looks at Auston and really looks at him. He sees all the cracked edges, the physical evidence of shitty sleep and guilt , guilt coming off of him in waves as he avoids looking at Mitch.
“Why?” Mitch asks. “Why would they do that? It’s one thing for us to fight and to break up but for them too say you couldn’t be here, when all I wanted was for you to-“
Mitch blinks, cutting himself off as realization hits him.
I wanted for you to find me again.
That’s what he was about to say. Because they’d- they’d lost each other, hadn’t they? He may not remember the past month or so, and his brain is straight mush, but he can remember before. The way it felt like Auston didn’t see Mitch anymore. How he was distant. Annoyed.
Bored.
Mitch didn’t think he changed that much. If anything he thought he grew up a bit. But couples do this sometimes, it happens. People drift apart, they take breaks. Marty and Syd took a break while Marty was on the leafs, JT said the same about his relationship with his wife.
It happens.
“They didn’t tell you,” Auston starts slowly. “About why you’re here. And- and I think that’s the answer to your question.”
Mitch feels his fingers grow cold. “Why would that be important? I know it was a car accident.”
Auston shifts in his seat. “It was, yeah. It was a car accident. But the reason you’re- the reason they blame me? I’m the reason you were in that car.”
“Oh please Auston you didn’t-“
“No, Mitch,” Auston sits up, firm in his tone. “I am. I had-“ He closes his eyes, taking a deep breathe through his nose as if to steel himself. “I had texted you. I asked you to come over. You never would have been driving if it wasn’t for me sending that text.”
Mitch feels like he might throw up when Auston starts to cry. “You never would have had a reason to drive if it I hadn’t been so stupid . If I hadn’t- you wanted space and I said- I said things to you because I was scared and confused and went on the offense instead of listening to you.”
“Why does this have to do with the team-“
“I kicked you out, Mitch,” Auston inhales shakily, wiping at his eyes. “We fought and I kicked you out. That’s why the team knew about it. We broke up, and when I tried to fix it, when I asked you to come over…it was late. It was really late, you know? And it’s fucking winter in Toronto, the road must’ve been icy, and you…slid.”
“It wasn’t anyone’s fault then,” Mitch says slowly. It’s the most anyone’s told him about the incident, and it makes him feel a tiny bit better that at least he didn’t hit anybody and nobody hit him. Just shitty tires loosing their grip on iced over pavement. “It wasn’t your fault.”
Auston shakes his head. “It was. It was my fault. It was my fault you felt inadequate, it was my fault you wanted to leave, it my fault you got in your car at one in the morning. You should’ve been at home, in bed with me, sound asleep. Not driving from JT’s house because I finally got my head out of my ass.”
Mitch pulls his hands together on his lap, idly picking at a loose corner of the medical tape thats keeping his IV in place.
He doesn’t really know how to deal with any of this. No one’s ever given him the playbook on what to do when he breaks up with his boyfriend, moves out of his house, then gets in a car accident while driving to see said boyfriend and forget everything that happened.
He doesn’t know if he’s supposed to be angry at Auston for this. If he should be more upset. If there’s something wrong with him because he isn’t either of those things.
The only thing he wants right now if for Auston to hold him. Touch him. Literally any form of contact, because he just- Mitch just wants his boyfriend. He’s scared beyond measure about a million things and he doesn’t care what happened before, he cares what happens now.
“I don’t care.” He says finally. “I don't care why I’m- I’m here now, and I have to deal with this and I want you here.”
“I didn’t just lose you Mitchy,” Auston says, almost like a warning. “I lost the team too. They think it’s on me and they’re right.”
“They’re hurting,” Mitch replies softly. “And they’re hockey players who are not and never will be good with emotions. They want something to blame. They picked you.”
Auston swallows and it looks painful. He shakes his head. “I don’t think so Mitchy, the- the things I said to you, I-”
His voice breaks and Mitch’s eyes widen as a sob tears itself from Auston, who covers his face with his hands. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Mitchy I was such a fucking idiot and then you almost died and I thought you were going to die and you- you would’ve died thinking I meant those things. You would’ve left me , and the last words I said to you were-”
“It doesn’t matter,” Mitch says firmly. Auston looks up at him, tears tracking down his face. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t need to hear them again.”
“Mitch…”
“Did you mean them? Those words you said to me?”
“No, no I didn’t, I don’t know why I-”
“Then it doesn’t. Matter .” Mitch repeats, reaching out with a pained wince. Auston quickly gets with the program and takes his hand. “What matters is that your’re here now with me. That’s all I want.”
“But I-“
“If you want to exercise your ability to feel guilty here, you can start your penance by fucking listening to me,” Mitch snaps. “I want you here. With me through this. I want you to-“
“I’ll be with you,” Auston catches on, the tiniest smile on his face. “I will. I love you Mitch.”
“You fucking bonehead,” Mitch grumbles, because really- why did he have to be in a coma for them to get to this point? “I love you too.”