Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Hayden Pike

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Hayden Pike

Additional Tags:

Hockey nicknames, Hockey Injuries, Broken Bones, Good Friend Hayden Pike, Panic Attacks, Nightmares, Hurt/Comfort, Hayden Pike is Forced to Say Nice Things About Boston, Hockey-Typical Intimacy

Language:

English

Series:

Part 11 of [challenge] Heated Rivalry Febuwhump 2026

Collections:

febuwhump 2026

Stats:

Published: 2026-02-11 Words: 1,389 Chapters: 1/1

waking nightmare

Summary

Shane’s nightmare is something happening to his hands. Watching a Boston game on TV, he learns that there’s worse layers to that fear.

Notes

For Day 11: Broken Fingers.

The arena lights glare harshly off the smooth surface, comfortingly familiar. A chill hangs in the air, dampening the murmur of thousands of voices. It’s all background noise, the only real thing the puck in the ref’s hands, a fresh, black disk of undamaged rubber.

Shane’s stick tangles with his opponent’s as they both wait for the puck to fall, for that first clatter of rubber on a freshly surfaced sheet. His blades dig into the ice, ready to snag the puck and launch him towards the opposing goal, and he meets the faceless player’s eyes across from him – startlingly pale, blue-grey, Rozanov’s eyes – moments before the puck finally drops from the ref’s fingers.

It sails through the air in slow-motion, flips once, twice, three times, and then it hits the ice, clean on Shane’s blade. He’s ready for it, taps it through his opponent’s skates and over to Rozanov; a beautiful pass that he can feel reach its destination while he himself pivots.

“Not so fast,” his opponent hisses, and – it’s Scott, Shane suddenly realises, looking at him with angry, hate-filled eyes, as he raises his stick and smacks, right onto Shane’s bare hands wrapped around his stick. The bone gives with a sickening crunch, and Shane braces for the pain –

and jerks upright, heart pounding to his gums. His chest is slick with sweat, cooling uncomfortably in the A/C of the hotel room, and he can hear Hayden breathing in the bed next to his. He’s alright. He was just dreaming. Regardless, he scrambles for the light next to his bed and switches it on, his hands still shaking when it hums to life. He squints at his fingers. Flexes them. The phantom sensation of Hunter’s stick hitting his fingers lingers, but they’re fine. He’s fine.

The duvet on the other bed rustles, and then Hayden’s bleary voice comes: “Nightmare again?”

“I’m fine,” Shane says, which isn’t a lie. “Go back to sleep, Haydie.”

Hayden is quiet for long enough that Shane almost thinks he’s fallen straight back asleep. Then, he sits up in one abrupt motion and flicks his lamp on, too. His bedhead is terrible, and he’s looking at Shane in a way that makes Shane drop his gaze.

“Your bed’s all gross, isn’t it? C’mon, bunk with me.”

Shane hesitates, but Hayden is right. They haven’t bunked together in a while, but his bed is soaked through with sweat, and so are his boxers, and he’s starting to shiver in the cool air of the room.

Hayden misinterprets his silence. “I mean – go take your shower. But the bed’s wide-enough for two, I promise.”

“I know,” Shane says, and then gives himself a push and goes to take the shower.

When he comes back, Hayden has freed up Shane’s usual side, and he pulls Shane in until Shane is spooning him the way they used to when Hayden couldn’t breathe with anxiety during Jackie’s pregnancies. He laces their fingers together across his chest, squeezing gently. “Nothing’s gonna happen to your mits,” he promises, and it’s not his to guarantee, but it carries Shane into dreamless sleep nonetheless.

“– Pollin has the puck, but he’s all alone there in the Raider’s zone, Morgan and Philippe tangled up near the blue line in the Raider’s defence, and there’s no one to pass to, so – he shoots – that’s Rozanov, seemingly deflecting the puck with his hand, right there for an easy end to the play by Oregan.”

“That can be a dangerous play, as we all know, Jonny; never the best idea to get in the way of a slapshot like that.”

“Absolutely right. And Rozanov has prevented a nice scoring chance there, but at what cost? He’s not on his way to the face-off dot now but skating back to the Raider’s bench, barely halfway through this shift, and – that’s not looking good to me. Not looking good at all.”

“I can only agree; Rozanov’s talking to a trainer now while Bundry, the usual second-line centre, is hopping the boards to take the face-off in Rozanov’s place while Rozanov is going down the tunnel… Hopefully just to get it checked out –”

“Hot damn. Fuck around and find out, huh?” J.J. says, grabbing another handful of the trail mix on the table. “That is why you forwards should not try to play defence. You are not good at it.”

Hayden replies something, but Shane barely hears him. The air in the room has gone static-y, the light too bright like someone has cranked it up to eleven. A puck fired off by Pollin, from that distance – there’s no way Ilya got away unscathed. Not if he went off the ice right away. Fuck. Fuck.

He stands with jerky movements, not looking at any of the others still engrossed in the game. “I gotta –” Shane doesn’t even finish the sentence, just lurches out of the room. He nearly drops his phone as he fumbles it out of his pocket, has to try three times to get it unlocked.

Me: Are you alright?

Me: Please call me.

There is no answer, because of course there isn’t. Ilya is probably still with the medics, waiting to hear if his season is over. Fuck.

Oh god. Fuck.

“Hey, buddy.”

It’s Hayden’s voice, comforting and familiar and yet not the voice Shane so longs to hear. His phone is silent still, but his mind is loud, replaying the way Pollin’s shot had deflected off of Ilya’s glove. At least he’d been wearing gloves.

“You alright?”

Shane snorts in reply. He has his head buried in his knees, in easy distance of the toilet in case the nausea becomes too much, and he probably should have locked the bathroom door, but then he’d only have had to get up to let Hayden in. Easier to leave it unlocked.

“Nothing new yet on the broadcast, but, hey – it’s Rozanov. Better for us if he’s not playing for the rest of the season, eh?”

Shane makes a sound, somewhere between a snort and a sob, because fuck. Fuck. Ilya might not play at all for the rest of the season. The playoffs. What if he’s fucked up his hands for good? Oh god. Ilya’s hands are – they’re his bread and butter. Oh, god.

“Hey.” Hayden makes a soothing sound as he crouches down next to Shane. “It’s never fun to see someone so skilled get injured, but – it could be worse. Could be a concussion.”

“It’s his hands,” Shane hisses. “God, do you even – what are we, without our hands?”

He expects Hayden so scoff in reply, or take another dig at Ilya. Instead, Hayden pulls Shane into his chest – into safety. Hayden’s been his safe person for years, even if the secrets Shane is keeping sometimes threaten to choke him. He swallows them back down now, too.

“Still fucking great,” Hayden answers his question seriously, “probably even Rozanov. The way they talk about him in Boston? Can’t believe he’d let something like a Pollin-puck get him down. He’d return just out of spite to challenge you. You know this. But hey, buddy – I know this is like, your worst nightmare, but – bones heal, yes? Especially when you’re cautious like they were. Can’t believe you’re making me say positive things about the Raiders, but – they sent Rozanov off the ice. He’s probably already getting whatever happened fixed.” Hayden squeezes him. “Bones heal. This isn’t one of your nightmares. This is real life. And in real life, bones heal. Even Rozanov’s terrible hands.”

Shane laughs, and it only sounds a little like a sob. “His hands aren’t terrible.”

With a sigh, Hayden rubs his cheek over Shane’s hair. “And they won’t be now, either. Genuinely. Now, c’mon – are you ready to watch the rest of the game?”

In Shane’s pocket, his phone chimes. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

“If you’re not, I’ll come and get you,” Hayden promises – threatens, really – but then returns to the den.

As soon as his back is turned, Shane pulls his phone from his pockets.

Lily: clean break

Lily: will call later bc at arena

Lily: guess u now have chance to catch up  😘

Me: Asshole.

Lily: 😘

Shane will probably still worry. But for now, he almost believes that Ilya will be fine. After all, this isn’t a nightmare.