Rating:

General Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander/Rose Landry, Shane Hollander & Hayden Pike, Shane Hollander & Rose Landry, Shane Hollander & Ottawa Centaurs Team Ensemble

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Yuna Hollander, David Hollander, Rose Landry, Hayden Pike, Jackie Pike, Luca Haas, Troy Barrett, Harris Drover, Original Characters

Additional Tags:

Autistic Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander comes out as autistic, Autism, Everyone knows Shane is autistic, supportive friends, Supportive Yuna and David, Supportive Ilya Rozanov, Set post-the long game

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-05-03 Words: 4,323 Chapters: 1/1

The benefits of knowing

Summary

“I think you might benefit from taking an autism assessment.”
Shane wasn’t sure he understood the words at first. Why would he benefit from being assessed for something so random? Like being checked if he had red hair.

Shane Hollander gets a late autism diagnosis. It's surprising to him, but apparently not to anyone else. Slowly, he realises how his friends and family have already helped him.

Notes

My take on a tumblr prompt. The assessment here is mostly based on my own country's system, so it probably doesn't match Canada's exactly. This isn't meant to be very serious. I don't actually think based on the show (and definitely not the books) that he would be diagnosed. Also, I forget if Shane actually ever gets his own Galina in the books, so I picked a random name. They do discuss it, I seem to remember?

Please don't diagnose people based on vibes in real life.

“I think you might benefit from taking an autism assessment.”

Shane wasn’t sure he understood the words at first. Why would he benefit from being assessed for something so random? Like being checked if he had red hair. His gaze was fixed on the door handle just to the right of his therapist’s head. He felt every single muscle in his face as he forced his eyes over to hers and spoke.

“What sort of benefit would that be?”

“Many people who get late diagnosed feel it helps them understand themselves more, and in turn this helps them communicate their needs to others in their life.”

“But why would I need-“ he cut himself off, trying to find the words.

“I just think you display enough traits that it’s worth looking into.”

Shane tried to take that in. His eyes had drifted to the windows of her office. There was a beautiful tree outside. But he knew he had to look back.

“What… traits?”

“Just the manner in which you communicate,” Dr. Chelsea said casually, like she was talking about his choice of beverage. “The way you talk about stress, what overwhelms you, and certain struggles. How you relate to your teammates.”

“That’s- I’m introverted,” Shane interrupted. “I’ve always been focused on my job, and a little anti-social, that’s just,” he shrugged.

“I don’t think you’re anti-social, Shane,” she said gently. “I think you like being social when you’re in the right environment and with the right people.”

“Okay?” Shane hated how petulant he sounded. He looked at her. “But that’s- lots of people are like that.”

“Of course. Look, you do not have to do this, at all,” Chelsea stared at him intensely for a moment. “This is just something I’m recommending. Could I just give you something to read before our next session and you could think about it?”

“Okay.”

He did not show Ilya the pamphlet when he returned home. He did not talk about it. He ignored it for two days. Then, when Ilya was busy with captain stuff one morning, he read through the pamphlet. It was all stuff he had a vague idea was connected to autism. A few of the points felt almost targeted, as though Dr. Chelsea had written the pamphlet just to annoy Shane. He followed the link listed to an online test and tried to let himself just be honest. If he was honest, it would show that he was just particular about certain things.

When he met with Dr. Chelsea again, he accepted he might need an assessment, just to prove to himself it was overblown, but he still wasn’t sure about the so-called “benefits.”

“I feel like I know myself pretty well,” Shane insisted.

“Okay, that’s great,” she wasn’t condescending, just gentle. “Even if you think a lot of these traits fit you, that does still not mean you have to do the assessment.”

“But if I don’t then I’ll just never know for sure if I’m normal?”

“Shane, I think it’s important to remember that autism is a man-made diagnosis. Nature doesn’t make “normal” people and “abnormal” people. We all exist on all kinds of spectrums, nature doesn’t care. It doesn’t know it’s making someone with OCD or someone who’s prone to depression, right?”

“Right. It’s just making whatever traits survive.”

“Exactly. So, with something like autism, researchers are still figuring a lot of things out. A lot of work has been done in the last twenty years especially. Which is why it can be helpful to get a late diagnosis.”

“But, why is that helpful, or beneficial, to me?”  

“It can help you define your needs; help you navigate society better. I’ve had patients tell me that after their diagnosis it felt like they were allowed to be confused more, and that allowed them to be less nervous, less anxious, in social situations. They became more comfortable just asking for clarification and for accommodations.”

“I think I ask for clarification when I need it.”

But that wasn’t entirely true, was it? He would sometimes spend hours wondering about something someone said that he had interpreted in the worst way possible. Then, days later, that same person would say something that clarified things for Shane and he would breathe a sigh of relief.

So, he agreed. Because he trusted Dr. Chelsea, and he couldn’t really find the words to say no.

He still did not tell Ilya, or anyone.

He met with a different doctor, Dr. Winston, who seemed just as nice and gentle as his therapist. He asked Shane so many questions he felt wrung out after every session. Ilya noticed, but Shane said he was just working through something with Dr. Chelsea, and he would talk about it when he was ready. They did that sometimes. Ilya would sometimes say his session with Galina was rough and he needed quiet.

The problem arose when Dr. Winston wanted to speak to Shane’s parents.

“Or anyone who has known you since childhood.”

“Right.”

“It isn’t technically a requirement to get a diagnosis, but I would highly recommend it so that we can make a full assessment.”

“Right.”

He had no idea how to ask his parents. In the end, he went over to their house alone, telling Ilya he was going to get some old hockey books from his room. His mom offered him a tea, which was just what he was hoping for. He sat with them in front of the tv for a little while.

“Is Ilya busy?”

“No, he’s home. I just wanted- I wanted to ask you two something.” This caused them both to turn to him and switch off the television. Shane doing something without Ilya these days was almost unheard of. He took a deep breath and blurted, “Was I late speaking?”

“What?” Yuna asked.

“Did I learn to speak late, as a child, do you think?”

“I-“ she looked to David in surprise, who seemed equally confused. Yuna looked back at Shane. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason.”

“There’s no reason you’re asking about your language acquisition as a toddler?”

“Was I late, though?”

“I-“ Yuna seemed to struggle with what to say.

“I think you were a little,” David said slowly. “We almost asked the doctors about it, but then you started, and you managed things well after that.”

“Did I throw tantrums?”

“Where is this coming from, Shane?”

Shane felt like if he moved, he might start shaking violently. He kept himself very still, staring at the black tv screen.  

“I- I’m seeing a psychologist. He might want to talk to you about some stuff from my childhood. He’ll call you next week to set up an appointment.”

“What does he want to talk about?” Yuna asked. She looked alarmed. Shane hated that, but he also just could not get the words out.

“Just… stuff. Language. Moods. Socialization. I dunno.”

“Shane, honey, what is this about?”

“He thinks I might be autistic.”

“But…” His parents seemed at a loss for words. David was frowning heavily.

“He might be wrong. He just needs to ask you a few questions. Okay?”

“But you’re…”

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” Yuna said. “I’m confused. Can you become autistic as an adult?”

“What? No,” Shane frowned. “Obviously, he thinks I’ve always had it.”

“But you don’t. I mean, you didn’t.”

“Honey,” David said, “Maybe we should just answer the doctor’s questions so he can tell us what he thinks.”

“But we would know if Shane was autistic,” Yuna insisted like any alternative was ridiculous.

“A lot has changed in the field,” Shane said automatically. “Diagnostic criteria have widened.”

“So, you’re just a little autistic?”

“I don’t know if I am, obviously. That’s why I’m talking to Dr. Winston.”

“Okay,” Yuna sighed, nodding to herself. It seemed like she was accepting it at least. She wasn’t angry, Shane thought, relieved. David was still frowning heavily, but he seemed to be thinking as well. “So… what sort of criteria do you meet, if he thinks you might be?”

“Just a bunch of little stuff. It adds up,” Shane shrugged. Of course, his mind blanked on all the hundreds of questions Shane had answered over the weeks in Dr. Winston’s office. “I don’t make eye contact a lot.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I do, sure, when I have to, but I have to… force it.” Shane hated that he was physically incapable of forcing it in that moment. He usually would, he thought. Maybe Dr. Chelsea was all wrong. It wasn’t about finding out how to communicate or how to find accommodations. Just the threat of a diagnosis over his head had made even the simple things he usually did feel like a fake character he had been playing all his life, and someone had dragged the mask off him and now he was helpless without it.

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” David said. “It must be exhausting.”

“Oh, honey,” Yuna sat closer and put an arm around Shane’s shoulder, pulling him close, kissing the top of his head. David sat on his other side a moment later, a hand on Shane’s back. “I’m sorry if I’m not reacting well to this. I just hate the thought of you having struggled all your life and us not realising it.”

“No one did,” Shane mumbled. “I didn’t. And it might not be true. I might not even be autistic, I mean. But it might also help. So,” he gave a shrug. “I figured I’d just do the test.”

“We’re here for you, either way,” David said.

“Yes, we’ll talk to Dr. Winston about it, of course.”

“Thanks.”

“Have you told Ilya?”

“No.”

“Shane-“

“Please don’t mention it. I don’t want to tell him until I know one way or the other, okay, please?”

“Okay.”

Yuna and David met with Dr. Winston. Shane hated that they were talking about him. Afterwards Yuna called him and told him a little about what questions they’d been asked. It seemed they had had a similar experience to Shane’s – that they slowly realised they were answering yes to a lot of the questions.

“I think we might have missed it,” Yuna admitted.

“Everyone did. It’s not your fault.”

“But you could have had help, more support.”

“I did have it. You guys always supported me.”

“I know. I know we tried. I just wonder about what we could have done differently.”

Shane sometimes wondered that too. Would he and Ilya have wasted less time? Was Shane’s inability to admit he was gay due to his autism, or was that just internalized homophobia? He thought a lot about all the times he had misunderstood Ilya.

Almost two months later, after well over a thousand questions, Shane finally got the news.

“After reviewing your assessment with two of my colleagues, we have all come to the conclusion that you display enough characteristics to be considered what was previously called Asperger syndrome, but which we today consider part of the autism spectrum.”

“So… I have autism.”

“We think so, yes.”

And that was that. Shane was given more pamphlets, recommendations for resources and support groups (never doing that, Shane thought with terror), and even separate pamphlets for family members. “How to support adult-diagnosed autistic family – for parents”. It even included checklists with needs and stressors that Shane could tick off so that he could hand out lists, which sounded ridiculous. He read them all, and hated everything.

But he also kind of found it fascinating.

Slowly, stuff that before he had just accepted about himself had an explanation. His sudden need to remove himself from social situations. He could maybe recognize the signs sooner and make a more natural exit. He understood why his entire day was ruined if he didn’t do his routine, that gnawing sense of wrongness that just didn’t go away. Apparently, other people might be annoyed, but they would probably forget about it come lunchtime.

He also started to understand the mental work he was doing in addition to everything else. How other people didn’t keep tabs on their facial expressions, their eye movement, their hand placement, while also carrying on full conversations, and also keeping tabs on everyone else in the room, their expressions and body language and words so that he didn’t miss stuff. All of it, all the time, every waking hour. No wonder he was more exhausted at a social event than a hockey game. In hockey, it was just the body, the movement on the ice, and that he could read like a book.

He was kind of angry at himself for not realizing sooner that it wasn’t how everyone did it.

“Shane, can you talk to me, please?” Ilya asked on day two after the diagnosis. Shane had done his routine exactly, enjoying their breakfast together before practice. Ilya would leave first, so he could catch up with Wiebe on any captain stuff, and Shane would take the time to wash up.

If he told Ilya now, the routine would definitely be disrupted.

“Shane? It’s been months, I think you should tell me about what is troubling you.”

“I’m autistic.”

Ilya blinked at him. Shane dropped his gaze, waiting.

“And this is… new for you?”

It was Shane’s turn to blink. Ilya took another bite of his breakfast muffin. He looked at Shane expectantly, like there had to be more to the story.

“I just got diagnosed,” Shane said slowly, hoping that would make things clear. Why wasn’t Ilya getting it?

“Okay,” Ilya said, chewing thoughtfully. “You were not before?”

“Before?”

“As child, you were not diagnosed?”

“No, of course not.”

“But…” Ilya gestured to something ephemeral, to the general state of their house. “But we handle it, right? You are good already, about most of that stuff?”

“What stuff?”

“You know,” Ilya shrugged. “Your routine, your preferences, your little Shane rules.”

“Shane rules?” Shane’s voice went a little high in disbelief.

 “Rules about where things go, when you do things, when you wear certain hoody,” Ilya listed casually. “Putting on headphones when you make dinner.”

“I like to listen to podcasts.”

“How you clench your whole face when you need to leave social event,” Ilya continued without stopping. “When noise gets too much. I make sure you always get window seat on bus or plane. Never change soap brand.”

“Lots of people prefer the window seat! People have their preferred soap.”

“Shane,” Ilya said in that patient voice that always made Shane’s brain melt a little. He reached out and placed his hand over Shane’s. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“I have always loved every part of you.” Shane felt himself blush, and he smiled, turning his hand up and letting their fingers intertwine. “The first time we were together, I knew you were special.”

“Don’t say special, it makes me sound…”

“You folded your clothes before sex, Shane. Your first time with a man, your hockey rival, and you fold your clothes perfectly and keep your socks on.”

“It was a hotel room!”

Ilya grinned, lifting their hands and kissing the back of Shane’s. “Shane rules have always made perfect sense to me.” He leaned forwards and kissed Shane softly. When they parted, they remained close and quiet for a while. Maybe Ilya knew exactly that Shane needed a moment to think.

“I feel like an idiot for not realizing sooner.”

“It was not something you had to realize. Took professional to realize, correct? I did not really think about it, with purpose I mean, but I did make assumption. We should have talked about Shane rules more, maybe I would have asked properly. But, if diagnosis helps in future, that is good, right?”

“Yeah, I think so, I hope. They gave me lots of pamphlets.”

“I will read them.”

“You… yeah, okay.”

Ilya drank the last of his coffee and stood. “We can talk more later.” He kissed Shane’s cheek and that was it.

It almost felt unfair. Shane had been holding in so much tension about telling Ilya, and now it had all just fizzled out. But, Shane reasoned, the alternative was Ilya making a big deal about it, so maybe this reaction was preferable.

He hadn’t really planned on telling anyone else. But then, for some reason, he felt a need to. More and more pieces fell into place around him, explaining things, giving him moments of intense clarification so much he almost burst into laughter.

At lunch with Rose during their game against Detroit, she and Ilya had been chatting as they entered the restaurant, walking in front of Shane. When they reached the table, both Rose and Ilya stepped aside, letting Shane move forward so he could pick his spot. He surveyed the table placement, the sounds and lights of the room, and picked the correct chair. It was completely automatic, something he had done for longer than he could remember, that it only took him a couple of extra seconds. Usually, his spot was obvious, and Ilya or his parents didn’t have to wait for him. But at a new place, it was sometimes difficult to predict which chair was going to be Shane’s. So, they would step aside for a moment so Shane could sit first.

All three sat and found their menus, Rose and Ilya continuing the conversation about Rose’s new boyfriend (thumbs down from Ilya apparently).

“Enough about me,” she said once the waited had taken their orders. “Tell me what’s new about you two.”

Ilya glanced at Shane, and maybe he was wondering if Shane wanted to say something, or just trying to think of something new about them? Their lives were pretty quiet right now, especially this early in the season.

“I- I have news,” Shane found himself saying.

“Oh?” Rose looked interested. There was rarely news from just one of them now.

“I got an autism diagnosis recently.” He was very proud of how steady his voice sounded. “Turns out I’m autistic. Mildly.”

“Oh…” Rose’s eyebrows rose to her hairline, but she didn’t look shocked. Shane had trouble placing the expression. He glanced at Ilya, who was smirking slightly. Rose took a sip of her water, clearly trying to buy time. Shane had never thought Rose would be mean about something like that, so what on earth…? “That’s great. I’m so glad you have that, for yourself. I hope it’s been useful?”

“Yeah, I guess… did you… know?”

“I mean…” she winced. “I might have assumed. I’m sorry.”

“… but how?”

“Not when we were dating, exactly,” she clarified. “Just over time, I began to sort of understand you had a certain way of doing things.”

“Like what?”

“Just you know,” she looked at Ilya, gesturing as though he might help her.

“The clothes folding for me,” Ilya deadpanned. Rose burst into laughter.

“Ilya,” Shane hissed.

“He did do that, oh my god! And the way he tried so hard to do everything by the book. Which did not work for us, obviously.”

“By the book?” Ilya asked, interested.

“We are not talking about this,” Shane interrupted loudly.

“He was just trying so hard to fill the boyfriend role. It felt like he had read a how-to-wiki article about it.”

“Okay, you can stop now.”

“And the sex?” Ilya asked. He turned to Shane. “Did you read sex manual for straight sex?”

“Shut up.” But Shane knew he was blushing and telling on himself. “Just about cunnilingus.” This set them both off.

“Oh, Shane,” Rose said. “I’m sorry. I’m really glad you told me. And obviously, this doesn’t change anything about our friendship.”

“Good.”

“Good thing I have manual for sex with Shane.”

“Shut up!”

“I wrote it.”

“Oh god.” Shane dropped his head on the table, but he was smiling.

The next time he felt the need to tell someone, they were at the Pike’s after a game against Montreal. Ilya and Hayden had settled into a kind of truce over the years, so dinner had been peaceful.

When the adults were left alone at the table at the end of the night, Hayden cleared his throat.

“So, we just confirmed something and we’re telling family and friends, per Amber’s wishes.”

“Confirmed what?”

“That Amber is autistic. She told us to spread the news, cause she hates having to say the same thing over and over again. She gets frustrated.”

“Oh,” Shane said. He found Ilya’s hand under the table. “That’s… good.”

“I mean, yeah?” Hayden said, frowning slightly. “You sounded unsure about it?”

“No- of course not.” Shane looked to Ilya, thinking maybe Amber had the right idea. Ilya squeezed his hand and Shane returned it with a tiny nod.

“Shane was also diagnosed recently,” Ilya said, turning back to the Pike’s. “So, might be why Amber prefers Shane to me, which should not be possible.”

“That’s great, Shane,” Jackie said. “It takes such a long time getting assessed. Good for you.”

“You don’t sound surprised.” Hayden and Jackie exchanged a look, and it was the exact same look Rose had exchanged with Ilya. Shane sighed. What was even the point? He wanted to laugh. “Did everyone know except me?”

“We didn’t know anything,” Hayden said. “But I mean, I’ve been on the road with you for a long time, sharing hotel rooms. I… I kind of assumed you had something.”

“Something?”

“Just… I know how you’d get if you didn’t do your routine. Or if the hotel’s AC was too loud. I always made sure you got your correct seat on the bus, or explain JJ’s sarcasm when he was being too obnoxious. Jackie knows your diet as well as anyone and it’s a lot about texture as well as performance, you know? We used to turn off half the lights in the house when you came over. We do that all the time now since Amber, but… I mean, Shane, I practically had to bully you into being friends with me.”

“What?”

“Not in a bad way! I just meant,” Hayden sighed in frustration. “I became very aware when I met you, that you need a little more… time, with certain stuff.”

“You think I’m slow?”

“No! You’re the best hockey player in the world, Shane. I don’t think you’re slow. You just need clear instructions. Like Amber. It’s just how some brains work, right?”

 “Right.”

“The first time you played with Amber,” Hayden looked to Jackie, who smiled.

“We noticed you seemed to have so much patience for her. You two just seemed to connect.”

“She’s a good kid.”

“Yeah, man, we’re kind of her number one fans.”

Shane sighed, trying to figure out how he felt about him failing to come out properly yet again.

“You just did all that for me, you just assumed?”

“I did it so that you would be comfortable in our house, and we would get along on the road. I did it because I’m your friend, Shane. The exact diagnosis didn’t matter back then, obviously.”

“Oh.”

Ilya kissed his cheek and the big conversation was over. Shane was left contemplating how to express how nice it felt, to be seen without even having to ask.

The last time he told people, he finally knew exactly what the reaction was likely to be. Shane had been noticing things a lot more, especially about how his team accommodated him. The way the locker room music would get turned down when Shane came in during morning skate. The way his spot in the showers, on the bus, at team dinners, was always empty for him. The way they would telegraph when they were going in for a clap on the back or a hug. The way they told him things that other people might not need to be told. Like at Bood’s, he would always tell Shane what his options were. Not in a commanding sense at all. Just, here’s the food, here’s the drink, take some and sit by the fire. Or at Harris’ – hang your coat here, shoes here, sit here. It wasn’t managing him, Shane realised. They just knew he hated standing around feeling unsure about where to place himself, so they told him where he could go. Just tiny little instructions that other people might assume, they made explicit for him, or asked his preference.

So, when he finally told them, he wasn’t shocked at their lack of surprise.

They were at Bood’s with most of the players present. Shane was sat between Ilya and Luca, who was explaining to Shane in great detail about why Lemieux’ playmaking was overrated compared to Shane’s own.

“Have you ever gotten tested for autism?” Shane asked him suddenly. Luca blinked.

“Oh, yeah, I did, but they said I fell just outside of diagnostic criteria. Um, why do you ask?”

“Oh, I just got diagnosed myself, so it’s been on my mind, sorry. I didn’t mean to assume.”

“No, that’s ok. Lots of people think that. But you are? Autistic I mean?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool.”

“You don’t seem surprised.”

“No- I-“ Poor Luca looked like he might overheat in his desperate attempt not to offend Shane.

“It’s ok, no one is.”

“No one’s what?” Troy asked as he sat down across from them, Harris sitting down next to him.

“No one’s surprised I’m autistic,” Shane said, feeling completely at ease saying it for the first time.

“Oh… yeah, no, it’s not surprising.” Troy smiled. Shane snorted.

“Thank you for telling us,” Harris said.

“Thanks for not caring.”

“Thanks for making hockey your special interest,” Troy said.

Shane closed his eyes, another piece of the puzzle slotting into place. He shook his head in amusement, catching Ilya staring when he opened them.

“My husband’s beautiful brain, best playmaker of all time.”

“I mean,” Luca said, relaunching his talk about Lemieux. Shane let the conversation wash over him, content to just listen with Ilya’s solid frame against his side.