1 – 1 of 1 Work in Medical Examination
- Medical Examination ×
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Alternate scenes in the hospital following the hit in s1e5. The last thing Shane Hollander felt before Marlow slammed into him wasn’t fear. He never saw Marlow coming. The last thing Shane felt was confusion. One moment, he had the puck, confident, cocky even, and he stole a glance across the ice. From under his shield, he met Ilya’s gaze, and smirked. Ilya returned his smirk with a half-grin of his own, competitive, but Shane didn’t have time to revel in the reaction. Ilya’s face transformed in a fraction of a second, his eyes growing wide, his mouth half-open, maybe in surprise, maybe in a desperate attempt to shout a warning, a look Shane Hollander had never before seen on the face of Ilya Rosanov. Terror. — The ringing in Shane’s ears was deafening, all of his other senses dulled, his world enveloped in darkness. He swam aimlessly through the darkness, with nothing but the sound of the ringing, trying to decipher up from down. He thought he heard someone say his name, and tried to concentrate, bringing the sound of the voice forward through the ringing. “Shane! Open your eyes!” he heard, louder this time. “Come on. Wake up!” Before he could think or respond, he felt a grinding pressure in the middle of his chest, and groaned. He cracked his eyes open, the bright lights from the arena ceiling sending shooting pain through his head, and immediately squeezed them shut again. His helmet was gone, and he could feel the cold sting of the ice on the back of his head. “Nope, there you go, stay awake, Shane,” the voice said again. The grinding pressure assaulted his senses once more, the medic pushing a fist into his sternum beneath his heavy pads. He groaned again, his limbs feeling heavy and uncoordinated as he struggled to move to push the person away. “Hollander!” he heard from further away, this voice different, familiar, distinct from the ringing. His senses sharpened. He tried opening his eyes again, squinting against the lights. “Mmokay…” he mumbled incoherently, and tried to turn, searching desperately for the man he knew was calling his name. “No, Shane, don’t move,” the medic above him said sternly, putting both hands on the sides of his head and keeping his face pointed toward the ceiling. He squeezed his eyes shut again and groaned as another pair of hands slid a collar behind his head and secured it around his neck. He tried to concentrate, tried to put all of the pieces together – the arena lights above him, the ringing in his ears, the medics, the cold ice beneath him, Rosanov’s concerned voice. There must’ve been an accident. “Hold still, Shane. We’ve got you,” he heard, more loudly this time, the ringing finally starting to subside a little. He felt multiple people grip him at once, rolling him to the side. He winced and grit his teeth hard as they rolled him back again, onto a board. He listened. “Is he okay? Fucking tell me!” It was more aggressive this time, with a distinctly panicked undertone Shane had never heard from the man before. “Get back to your bench, Rosanov!” someone yelled back. Shane fought to open his eyes again, scanning from left to right as best he could, desperate to catch a glimpse of the panicked Russian, to reassure him, to settle at least a little piece of the emotional turmoil he knew the man was enduring. A medic tugged the glove from his right hand, and he groaned, pain shooting through his shoulder as they secured his arms across his chest. Nausea rushed through him in a wave and his vision swam, dark spots dancing in front of him, as the medics rolled him swiftly off the ice and down the corridor toward the waiting ambulance. “Stay awake, Shane. Keep those eyes open,” they baggered him. “My parents…” Shane mumbled quietly. “Your coach is calling your parents,” the medic answered him. “Tell him I’m okay,” Shane adds. “He’ll worry.” “Who?” he hears the medic ask, the ringing getting louder again. “Ilya…” Shane whispers, letting the darkness envelop him again. — The next time Shane regains consciousness, his senses all hit at once. The bright lights, the beeps and drips and shorthand speak of dozens of people, the sharp scent, the distinct feeling of cold air on dried sweat, and most importantly, the pain. “You’re okay, Shane,” a man in scrubs says, mercifully holding up a hand to shield Shane’s eyes from the lights as he looks down at him. “Do you know where you are?” “Hospital?” Shane guesses. “Good job,” he smiles. “Do you remember what happened?” Shane grits his teeth and uses his left hand to try to fumble toward his right shoulder.. “Whoa, buddy, hang on,” the doctor says, grabbing Shane’s left hand and guiding it away again, placing it back on the table. “Do you remember what happened?” Shane tries to shake his head and a lightning bolt of pain shoots down his spine from behind his eyes. He squeezes them shut, suddenly aware of the collar still around his neck. “Relax,” the doctor tells him. “Take some deep breaths.”
- Language:
- English
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- 1,691
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- AO3:
- #76284796