Fic: From Loss
Title: From Loss
Pairing: Kane/Toews
Rating: Nothing
Summary: The Blackhawks lose the series, and Patrick's world falls apart when Jonny does.
Another Kane/Toews! It's a thing recently.
When the final buzzer sounds in five minutes, they're going to have nothing.
The Phoenix fans are already cheering, and the Coyotes are going to be ecstatic, hugging each other and screaming, because they get to keep fighting, they get to play in the games every season is a push for, they can see beyond tonight. They're going to lace up their skates again, look at their hands and imagine how it might feel to lift the Cup in the air.
For the Hawks, this will be the end. They got close enough to really feel like they’d make it, close enough to taste it, but not close enough to feel like their hard work earned them anything. Patrick stares at the clock as it hits three minutes, just stands there on the ice, stick useless in his hand. He bites down on his lip hard, tries not to cry, not to think about how it hurts. He just- he thought they'd make it. He thought this would be their year, thought they'd be the last ones left on the ice, that Jonny would throw an arm around him and kiss his cheek and tell him we did it, the best words Patrick has ever heard.
Thinking about winning with Jonny is what makes it impossible to stop the tears. Patrick skates towards the bench as his shift ends, vision blurred by tears. He just wants to go home, forget that they got this far and nowhere at all. This - this was supposed to be theirs, but they have three minutes and no one can score that many times that fast.
"Shit," he hears as he climbs over the bench, looks back to see yet another goal rush get knocked aside.
"Goddamnit," Patrick hisses, and his stick's broken before he even realises he's smashed it against the boards. Beside him, Jonny's staring at his skates, jaw tight, and Patrick can feel his furious frustration, the kind of thing Jonny refuses to ever show. And that's not fair either, how the fuck could they do this to their captain, give him this kind of loss to carry?
"It's not fucking fair!" Patrick snaps out, brings his stick down against the boards again. This gets a glare from the ref, a game misconduct, and the ref spits "get him out of here" as Patrick throws down the remains of his splintered stick.
As he stalks down the bench, he sees the way Jonny shakes his head, scowling, and Patrick tries to slam every door from the bench to the locker room.
The locker room is dead silent, not the way this should be at all, and his helmet makes an echoing crack when he heaves it at his stall. It's just not fair, not any of this, how hard they can work just to lose this way. He sits down heavily before his stall, wants to throw of his gloves and gear and wants to break so much more, but then he looks at the empty bench beside him, and breaks down into tears. This is where the season ends, and every season that ends this way, he worries this will be the last one, this will be the year they don't bounce back. This could have been the last season he loves, and now it's ending early. And this - this shouldn't be the way it ended. This is wrong, that he's in here, he - he should be out there beside Jonny. He should have been beside Jonny at the end, because that's his place. It's how they start the season, and that's how it should end, them together.
He hears when the final buzzer goes off. He doesn't want to go back, doesn't want to face the arena again and see how happy the coyotes are. They're doubtlessly thrilled, this win that was supposed to be for the hawks, it belonged to them and now it's the coyotes'. Patrick doesn't want to go, but - but he's supposed to be out there. Jonny must be - oh, he must be ruined by this, what if Jonny needs him? Patrick already abandoned him in the final three minutes. He can't leave Jonny alone in the aftermath.
Patrick goes back out, is allowed onto the ice again. He looks around for Jonny among the mess of players, focuses just on that, finding Jonny, the most important thing.
"Hey," he hears, looks up to see Jonny. Jonny isn't crying, because he's stronger, and Patrick wants to sob in relief, because if Jonny can do it, If he can live through it, they both can. He gives Patrick a one-armed hug, and Patrick only barely resists grabbing onto him and clinging tight. This, though, this brief moment with Jonny, it saves him, gives him something to hold onto for the next few minutes so he doesn't get lost.
He sniffles and follows Jonny through the handshake line, keeps his gaze fixed on Jonny’s jersey, because this is familiar. Following Jonny, that's what he does, he can live through this loss if following Jonny is all he has to do.
He's grateful to leave the ice again, jolts in surprise when he feels a tug on his jersey sleeve. Jonny's reached behind to tow Patrick along by his sleeve, and Patrick stares at the way Jonny fists the jersey in his hand, doesn't know what to make of it.
Patrick showers and dresses as fast as possible, but it still takes far too long until they’re finally on the plane, leaving this fucking city that ruined them. He refuses to look out the window as they take off, turns towards Jonny instead, who nudges his knee gently.
“Maybe you should sleep,” he says quietly. Patrick bites his lip, sniffles.
“I don’t think I can,” he gets out, and then just breaks down into tears again. “This just sucks,” he mumbles angrily.
“I know,” Jonny says softly, but Patrick shakes his head, sob catching in his throat. “You played really well, though, and I know you gave it your all.”
“But - ” he can barely say it, this worst part, but Jonny’s looking at him and oh, God, Patrick just needs him so much. “What if they - next season, what if I’m not here? This could’ve - been it-” he’s working himself into hysterics, but Jonny reaches over, squeezes his wrist gently.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Jonny says, sounds so sure. “It’s gonna be okay, and we’ll still be together next season. And we’ll go all the way. We will.”
“Yeah,” Patrick agrees tearfully, just wants to - to bury his face in Jonny’s neck and hold onto him, make sure it feels like that’s the truth, like the feeling of Jonny’s arms around him could say everything he needs to hear.
Patrick leans against Jonny’s side, sniffling, blinks away tears until he finally falls asleep somewhere over the Midwest.
When they finally get back to Chicago, Patrick follows Jonny through the parking lot, because they always end up parked nearby, and he’s just not ready to let Jonny out of his sight yet. He mumbles goodbye to the few teammates they pass, keeps his gaze on the pavement so he doesn’t have to see the misery on his teammates’ faces. He and Jonny are parked only a few spaces apart, but when Patrick goes to continue towards his own car, Jonny says "wait," this quiet voice Patrick almost misses. “Are you going home?” Jonny asks. Patrick doesn't want to say yes, hates the thought of his silent, empty apartment.
"I don't have to," he says instead, and Jonny nods like this is a more definitive answer than it appears to Patrick.
“You can, then,” Jonny says vaguely, but Patrick nods. Driving to Jonny’s feels less desolate than driving to his own apartment would, and it’s a relief, to get out of his car at the building and walk in with Jonny instead of alone. Jonny is silent in the elevator, and for once, Patrick has nothing to say either.
There's something sad about walking through Jonny’s apartment, all the things he left lying around before the game, the tie he decided against and an empty water bottle and his other shoes, things from before he knew they would lose.
"Goin’ to bed?" Patrick asks, hears how hoarse his voice is. Jonny nods, shrugging off his jacket and dropping his keys on the hall table. Patrick has to bite back tears at this reminder of the ending season, how they won't need their suits for months.
"You okay with the guest room?" Jonny asks suddenly.
"Um. Yeah," Patrick says. He always sleeps there when he stays over, so often he has some clothes in the dresser. Jonny nods, eyes dark, and Patrick heads down the hall to the guest room before he bursts into tears at the way everything is so clearly wrong. This is a day they were never supposed to see.
He still isn't asleep at five AM, just lying awake in bed. The apartment is quiet, and he slips out of bed, goes to get water in the kitchen, because it's not like he can sleep. As he walks down the hallway, though, he sees that Jonny’s door is open. Jonny never does that, because he hates trying to sleep when it's even a little noisy, always closes his door against sound. Patrick peeks in when he gets to the doorway, and he can't see much in the dark, but Jonny is curled up in the middle of the bed.
And- Patrick can hear him crying. Jonny's sobbing into his pillow, muffled and quiet and that hurts, because Jonny’s not as strong as he pretends to be, and now he's alone with the hurt, because he didn't want anyone else to know.
Except- his doors open, and Patrick thinks of the way Jonny asked if he wanted the guest room, if he was going home, how Jonny pulled him along by the jersey into the locker room.
Jonny doesn't want to be alone with this, he's been asking for Patrick to be here.
Patrick doesn't think twice about it, just goes in and crawls onto Jonny’s bed, and maybe he shouldn't be surprised, that it feels like he's supposed to be here. As soon as he lies down, Jonny pushes the pillow away and buries his face in Patrick's chest instead, before Patrick can even reach for him. He wraps his arms around Jonny, holds him tight as he shakes with sobs.
"it'll be okay," he promises softly, "we tried so hard. And you were so good, Jonny, I wish we coulda won for you."
"I'm sorry," Jonny sobs out. He fists his hand in the back of Patrick's shirt, holds on do tight. "I should've- something," he whispers, somehow so forceful.
"no, you did perfect," Patrick hugs him tighter, and wishes they'd won just because of this, so Jonny wouldn't feel this way. "you did perfect, better than anyone else could have done." fuck, why isn't he better at this? He got himself thrown out of the game when Jonny needed him to be there, and he's just as useless now, panicky and on the verge of tears when Jonny needs him to be strong. That's all Jonny ever does, holds himself together when they all need him to, and Patrick can't manage to do that for him even for a night.
"I'm just so sorry," Jonny whimpers, and it breaks Patrick's heart. Jonny actually believes he's let them down, that it's even possible for him to be a disappointment. it's just so fucking painful, because he's the kind of perfect Patrick knows to appreciate while he's here, because someday, Jonny will realise that Patrick doesn't deserve to know him, let alone be his best friend.
"No," Patrick manages, begging and trying so hard not to cry, "don't think you did anything wrong, please, Jonny," he's frantic with the need for Jonny to understand this, just needs that, for Jonny to stop blaming himself; he gives so much of himself, Patrick wishes there was something Jonny wanted in exchange so he wouldn't be left like this, left with nothing.
"Please," Patrick says, so desperate, "please, you're perfect and I love you and I wish we could have won for you because you deserve it, more than anyone." Jonny sniffles, and his grip doesn't loosen but his sobs quiet to a miserable whimper. Patrick blinks away tears, feels a few trickle down his cheeks anyways. Jonny scoots up a little to turn his face against Patrick’s neck, and he’s already shaved his playoff beard, like he couldn’t stand to see any reminders at all. Patrick skims his thumb over Jonny’s smooth cheek, wants to kiss him there, because Jonny’s face is still wet from tears. Today’s made him cry and torn him apart from the inside out, but Patrick can at least be grateful he’s here for this, that he can be here right now, this most important moment. He needs to be here for this.
He stays awake until he feels Jonny go heavy in his arms and slump against him, hitching breaths fading into evenness. Patrick exhales, feels like he’s been holding his breath for a long, long time. He presses a kiss to Jonny’s hair and hugs him closer, finally falls asleep.
Patrick’s never woken up like this before, and it’s going to be the hardest thing he’s ever had to lose. He wants this, wants it for his own, because Jonny’s asleep on his chest, their legs tangled together, and Patrick’s never wanted anything the way he’s wanted things since last night, wanted Jonny not to be sad, wants to wake up with him every morning, this all he could ever ask for. Jonny wakes up slow and unwillingly, and Patrick’s always known that, but it’s different when he’s right here. He’s watched this hundreds of times, the way Jonny will growl and cling tighter to his pillow, burrow deeper under the covers, but this is all kinds of different. Jonny wraps an arm around Patrick and curls in closer against him, sighs out a breath when Patrick strokes a hand down his back and Patrick wants this forever, only gets it for five minutes before Jonny sits up, yawns and scoots away a little. Patrick was hoping forever would last longer than that, but he doesn’t say anything, just pushes himself up on one elbow.
“I’m, um,” Jonny mumbles out, slides over to the side of the bed. “Gonna take a shower.”
“Guess I’ll head home,” Patrick says reluctantly, even though he’d rather spend this morning here, put the loss farther from Jonny’s mind like that. He doesn’t even care that they lost anymore, only wishes they didn’t because he doesn’t want Jonny to be hurt, he doesn’t like this lingering misery in Jonny’s eyes. Jonny nods slowly, looks impossibly young as he bites his lip and looks at the floor.
“I, um,” Jonny says, looks up at him. He’s silent for a long moment, clearly wants to say something, just goes on with, “um, thanks.” Sometimes, Patrick wonders if Jonny has any idea how well Patrick knows him, if he’s aware right now that Patrick knows that wasn’t what he was going to say.
“Yeah, well.” Patrick shrugs a shoulder, doesn’t know how to convey I just don’t ever want you to be sad, and if Jonny doesn’t realize Patrick knows him so thoroughly, maybe Jonny can’t read him, either, doesn’t know that’s what Patrick is saying.
He doesn’t want to go home, isn’t ready to be without Jonny yet, and the heavy silence in Patrick’s apartment only confirms that. He doesn’t have anything to do today, doesn’t want to make plans or acknowledge that he has to move on past this morning. Being anywhere hurts, because he doesn’t want to be here, shouldn’t be without Jonny right now, and every minute he spends here alone is time he shouldn’t have seen like this. Patrick’s just - just not supposed to be without Jonny.
The day passes agonizingly slowly; he tries to go back to sleep for a while, spends most of the day being only half-heartedly violent in Grand Theft Auto, and refuses to ever look at his phone. He doesn’t want anyone’s apologies for the loss, because it’s just not the thing he cares about anymore. He wants to hear I’m sorry the loss made Jonny cry, because that’s the only thing that matters, but no one knows that but him, it’s his and Jonny’s alone, nothing like what he really wants to share.
Someone knocks on the door in the evening, and Patrick almost doesn’t answer it because there are very, very few people he wants to see right now, but then he realises no one but Jonny has the door code to even get up this far anyways, and goes to answer it. When he opens the door, Jonny doesn’t let him get in a single word.
“I decided I have to know,” Jonny says quickly, and Patrick blinks, already lost.
“Want to, uh, come in?” he steps back, tugs Jonny in by the wrist all the way to the living room, because Jonny’s the kind of single-minded that he’d have an entire conversation in the hallway because he just had to know right then. “So,” he prompts, sinking down on the couch and watching Jonny sit too.
“You on a GTA kick again?” Jonny asks, looking at the TV, suddenly the farthest thing from single-minded.
“Well, you know,” Patrick tries to keep up, “stealing police cars and shit is therapy for me.”
“That can’t be indicative of good things.”
“Of all the things I can do on this, stealing cars really isn’t so bad.”
“I guess,” Jonny muses. “You been inside the statue of liberty yet? It’s creepy as fuck.”
“No, not yet,” Patrick grabs the controller off the floor, unpauses the game. Jonny scoots closer to watch, apparently having forgotten what he came here for entirely. Patrick wants to ask - beg, really - to know what Jonny was going to say, but Jonny seems determined not to ask.
They fuck around on the game for a while, handing the controller back and forth, and it feels normal. They switch from GTA to the new Assassin’s Creed, because it’s Jonny’s favourite and Patrick loves watching him play it. Patrick laughs so hard he cries, because Jonny’s secretly even more destructive than he is, spends his time tripping everyone in sight and leaping off buildings and getting fed up with looking for a boat and just swimming across the river.
“That was mature,” Patrick says, when Jonny gets impatient with waiting and just shoves through the crowd of people.
“Dude, why be an assassin if you’re not allowed to push people? Plus, come on, they’re so slow - and dude, I have a broom,” Jonny exclaims, and Patrick laughs so hard he falls against Jonny’s side.
“You can’t leave me for the summer this year,” Patrick says, elbowing Jonny, “what the fuck would I do without you?” Last summer, Jonny went to celebrate his birthday in the fucking Great White North, leaving Patrick to do nothing but die of boredom and miss him, all summer long. Jonny shrugs a shoulder, fiddles with the controller, sets it down beside him.
“You survived last year,” he says, this odd tone that Patrick can’t figure out.
“Barely.” He nudges Jonny’s knee with his own, “so, no. No leaving.”
“Did you mean it?” Jonny blurts out suddenly, eyes suddenly so serious.
“Mean what?”
“Uh-” Jonny stammers out, and Patrick can see it, that he’s changed his mind, and Patrick just can’t handle the suspense.
“If you say ‘nothing’, I’m killing you.”
“You’d be a great therapist. Really encourage people to open up.”
“I’m warning you, Jonathan.” Patrick pokes him to emphasise the stern tone. “Did I mean what? If I said something dick-ish, okay, you know I didn’t mean it. Cut me some slack here.”
“Not that,” Jonny says, looks decidedly uneasy now. Patrick frowns a little, tries to think; he really can’t think of anything. Jonny always catches him when he lies about shit anyways, so he’s even been honest when Jonny asks about the healthiness of his grocery list. He even switched to whole wheat pasta because it seemed like Jonny was proud of him when he found it in the kitchen.
“Okay, so, what then?” Patrick tilts his head back to look up at Jonny, shocked at how worried Jonny looks. “Fuck, Jonny, what is it?”
“I - I shouldn’t-” Jonny stammers, moves as if to get up. Patrick grabs onto his sleeve before he can get up.
“Come on, please? Did I mean what? I mean, I’m sure I did, because I always mean everything I say to you? But, um. What thing? Are you talking about?” Sometimes Jonny just - makes Patrick mix up words and stammer, because when he turns that serious look on Patrick, it makes Patrick forget things, unnerved and this side of worried. At the same time, though, he’s never seen Jonny look so worried, like he needs to say something he’s terrified of, and oh, God, Patrick’s never been this scared, he just needs to know what Jonny’s going to say.
“Right, but,” Jonny says, just looking at Patrick’s hand on his arm.
“Should I be scared?” Patrick asks, because he just can’t take the waiting, “are you mad at me?” He only barely stops himself before he starts begging don’t be mad at me please please.
“Mad?” Jonny stares at him for a second, shaken out of whatever he was thinking for a moment, “Fuck, no, Patrick, I’m not mad, not - not at all.” This makes his voice shake a little, but he sounds so earnest, like he just needs Patrick to know this.
At least now Patrick can breathe, because Jonny’s not mad, he’s not, and that’s the most important thing. He smiles up at Jonny, wants to - hug him, maybe, just make sure he knows that it’s okay.
“Okay, then, there’s nothing that can be wrong,” he says, runs his hand down Jonny’s arm lightly. Jonny frowns, looks away.
“Does that mean you don’t wanna hear, then?” Jonny asks quietly. “I don’t - mind. That’s cool.”
“Tell me, okay, please? Please.” Patrick squeezes his wrist, looks up at him imploringly.
“You,” Jonny still doesn’t look at him, jaw tight, “last night, you said. Um. Fuck, I took it out of context, I’m sure. Okay, yeah-” He’s starting to work himself up, so Patrick does the only logical thing, and tackles him back onto the couch and tickling him. Jonny yelps and squirms as Patrick climbs on top of him, “okay, okay,” he gasps out, because Patrick’s merciless and always gets what he wants.
“I’ll throw you on the floor and tickle you there, don’t test me, man.” Patrick grins down at him, waggling his fingers at Jonny. Jonny catches Patrick’s wrists in one big hand, makes a face at him.
“You said last night that you love me and I really need to know if you meant it,” Jonny says suddenly, the words a tumbling rush. Patrick can only stare at him for a second, and oh, God, Jonny’s wide-eyed and looks mortified.
“Would it be bad if I meant it?” Patrick asks, hears how his voice trembles, but Jonny shakes his head, looking up at him like he’s the only thing in the world.
“No- no, that wouldn’t - wouldn’t be bad.” Jonny swallows, bites his lip. “It wouldn’t.”
“Yeah.” Patrick can suddenly breathe again, smiles, “I meant it. I’m in love with you, Jonny.” He loves the way Jonny smiles at him, shy and hopeful.
“I’m. In love with you too. So much, a lot,” Jonny says, tugs on Patrick’s shirt like he’s asking for something and he’s - Jonny’s in love with him, he’s actually, somehow, how -
“Why?” Patrick can’t help but ask. Jonny gives him a slow smile.
“Because - because you’re you, Patrick. You were nice to me when you didn’t even know me, and you keep me from freaking out about things and the smallest things make you happy, and - and you’re an egomaniac but you can do anything cos you think you can and I - just fucking love you.” Patrick’s open-mouthed in shock for a moment, because - because the way Jonny describes him, he sounds perfect, it sounds like Jonny loves him like nothing else, and that’s what Patrick’s always wanted.
“Kiss me,” he grins, then leans down to kiss Jonny anyways because he’s waited long enough and he really wants to. And kissing Jonny - it’s the way he hoped it would be, and it’s still more than he ever thought it would be. Jonny kisses him hard and insistent, single-minded like he does everything else, with a gentleness that Patrick knows now has always been just for him.
“Um,” Jonny says when they part for a breath, “why? How could you - love me?”
“How could I not?” Patrick asks. “You’re just - incredible, okay? This blend of hard-working, dependable fuckin… nobility, and dorky douchetasticness, and you’re everything I’m not, you always do the right thing and say the right thing, and - and even though I’m a fuck-up sometimes, you defend me and support me and make me do better, and you just - inspire me to be better. I want to do that, for you. You’re just - perfect, Jonny. All over and inside and out.”
The way Jonny smiles, this is it, is everything. He’s Patrick’s, he’s who Patrick wins games for, and he’s the reason Patrick hates every loss, just for the way it hurts him.
“Getting you is worth losing the Cup,” he says, and Jonny smiles.
“Maybe it makes me a bad captain, but fuck, I’d take you over the Cup every time.” Jonny pulls him down to kiss him again, and Patrick doesn’t know how this is his now, but oh, he loves this, loves Jonny, the way they’ve always fit together, always will. Jonny’s who he wins games for, but this, this is more - he’d lose games for Jonny, too, suddenly so grateful they lost this series because it gave him Jonny. He never thought he could hope for this, because it would be asking for the sky, for all the stars, for things that are too amazing to call his own, but here they are, together the day after the loss, winning the whole world.
Pairing: Kane/Toews
Rating: Nothing
Summary: The Blackhawks lose the series, and Patrick's world falls apart when Jonny does.
Another Kane/Toews! It's a thing recently.
When the final buzzer sounds in five minutes, they're going to have nothing.
The Phoenix fans are already cheering, and the Coyotes are going to be ecstatic, hugging each other and screaming, because they get to keep fighting, they get to play in the games every season is a push for, they can see beyond tonight. They're going to lace up their skates again, look at their hands and imagine how it might feel to lift the Cup in the air.
For the Hawks, this will be the end. They got close enough to really feel like they’d make it, close enough to taste it, but not close enough to feel like their hard work earned them anything. Patrick stares at the clock as it hits three minutes, just stands there on the ice, stick useless in his hand. He bites down on his lip hard, tries not to cry, not to think about how it hurts. He just- he thought they'd make it. He thought this would be their year, thought they'd be the last ones left on the ice, that Jonny would throw an arm around him and kiss his cheek and tell him we did it, the best words Patrick has ever heard.
Thinking about winning with Jonny is what makes it impossible to stop the tears. Patrick skates towards the bench as his shift ends, vision blurred by tears. He just wants to go home, forget that they got this far and nowhere at all. This - this was supposed to be theirs, but they have three minutes and no one can score that many times that fast.
"Shit," he hears as he climbs over the bench, looks back to see yet another goal rush get knocked aside.
"Goddamnit," Patrick hisses, and his stick's broken before he even realises he's smashed it against the boards. Beside him, Jonny's staring at his skates, jaw tight, and Patrick can feel his furious frustration, the kind of thing Jonny refuses to ever show. And that's not fair either, how the fuck could they do this to their captain, give him this kind of loss to carry?
"It's not fucking fair!" Patrick snaps out, brings his stick down against the boards again. This gets a glare from the ref, a game misconduct, and the ref spits "get him out of here" as Patrick throws down the remains of his splintered stick.
As he stalks down the bench, he sees the way Jonny shakes his head, scowling, and Patrick tries to slam every door from the bench to the locker room.
The locker room is dead silent, not the way this should be at all, and his helmet makes an echoing crack when he heaves it at his stall. It's just not fair, not any of this, how hard they can work just to lose this way. He sits down heavily before his stall, wants to throw of his gloves and gear and wants to break so much more, but then he looks at the empty bench beside him, and breaks down into tears. This is where the season ends, and every season that ends this way, he worries this will be the last one, this will be the year they don't bounce back. This could have been the last season he loves, and now it's ending early. And this - this shouldn't be the way it ended. This is wrong, that he's in here, he - he should be out there beside Jonny. He should have been beside Jonny at the end, because that's his place. It's how they start the season, and that's how it should end, them together.
He hears when the final buzzer goes off. He doesn't want to go back, doesn't want to face the arena again and see how happy the coyotes are. They're doubtlessly thrilled, this win that was supposed to be for the hawks, it belonged to them and now it's the coyotes'. Patrick doesn't want to go, but - but he's supposed to be out there. Jonny must be - oh, he must be ruined by this, what if Jonny needs him? Patrick already abandoned him in the final three minutes. He can't leave Jonny alone in the aftermath.
Patrick goes back out, is allowed onto the ice again. He looks around for Jonny among the mess of players, focuses just on that, finding Jonny, the most important thing.
"Hey," he hears, looks up to see Jonny. Jonny isn't crying, because he's stronger, and Patrick wants to sob in relief, because if Jonny can do it, If he can live through it, they both can. He gives Patrick a one-armed hug, and Patrick only barely resists grabbing onto him and clinging tight. This, though, this brief moment with Jonny, it saves him, gives him something to hold onto for the next few minutes so he doesn't get lost.
He sniffles and follows Jonny through the handshake line, keeps his gaze fixed on Jonny’s jersey, because this is familiar. Following Jonny, that's what he does, he can live through this loss if following Jonny is all he has to do.
He's grateful to leave the ice again, jolts in surprise when he feels a tug on his jersey sleeve. Jonny's reached behind to tow Patrick along by his sleeve, and Patrick stares at the way Jonny fists the jersey in his hand, doesn't know what to make of it.
Patrick showers and dresses as fast as possible, but it still takes far too long until they’re finally on the plane, leaving this fucking city that ruined them. He refuses to look out the window as they take off, turns towards Jonny instead, who nudges his knee gently.
“Maybe you should sleep,” he says quietly. Patrick bites his lip, sniffles.
“I don’t think I can,” he gets out, and then just breaks down into tears again. “This just sucks,” he mumbles angrily.
“I know,” Jonny says softly, but Patrick shakes his head, sob catching in his throat. “You played really well, though, and I know you gave it your all.”
“But - ” he can barely say it, this worst part, but Jonny’s looking at him and oh, God, Patrick just needs him so much. “What if they - next season, what if I’m not here? This could’ve - been it-” he’s working himself into hysterics, but Jonny reaches over, squeezes his wrist gently.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Jonny says, sounds so sure. “It’s gonna be okay, and we’ll still be together next season. And we’ll go all the way. We will.”
“Yeah,” Patrick agrees tearfully, just wants to - to bury his face in Jonny’s neck and hold onto him, make sure it feels like that’s the truth, like the feeling of Jonny’s arms around him could say everything he needs to hear.
Patrick leans against Jonny’s side, sniffling, blinks away tears until he finally falls asleep somewhere over the Midwest.
When they finally get back to Chicago, Patrick follows Jonny through the parking lot, because they always end up parked nearby, and he’s just not ready to let Jonny out of his sight yet. He mumbles goodbye to the few teammates they pass, keeps his gaze on the pavement so he doesn’t have to see the misery on his teammates’ faces. He and Jonny are parked only a few spaces apart, but when Patrick goes to continue towards his own car, Jonny says "wait," this quiet voice Patrick almost misses. “Are you going home?” Jonny asks. Patrick doesn't want to say yes, hates the thought of his silent, empty apartment.
"I don't have to," he says instead, and Jonny nods like this is a more definitive answer than it appears to Patrick.
“You can, then,” Jonny says vaguely, but Patrick nods. Driving to Jonny’s feels less desolate than driving to his own apartment would, and it’s a relief, to get out of his car at the building and walk in with Jonny instead of alone. Jonny is silent in the elevator, and for once, Patrick has nothing to say either.
There's something sad about walking through Jonny’s apartment, all the things he left lying around before the game, the tie he decided against and an empty water bottle and his other shoes, things from before he knew they would lose.
"Goin’ to bed?" Patrick asks, hears how hoarse his voice is. Jonny nods, shrugging off his jacket and dropping his keys on the hall table. Patrick has to bite back tears at this reminder of the ending season, how they won't need their suits for months.
"You okay with the guest room?" Jonny asks suddenly.
"Um. Yeah," Patrick says. He always sleeps there when he stays over, so often he has some clothes in the dresser. Jonny nods, eyes dark, and Patrick heads down the hall to the guest room before he bursts into tears at the way everything is so clearly wrong. This is a day they were never supposed to see.
He still isn't asleep at five AM, just lying awake in bed. The apartment is quiet, and he slips out of bed, goes to get water in the kitchen, because it's not like he can sleep. As he walks down the hallway, though, he sees that Jonny’s door is open. Jonny never does that, because he hates trying to sleep when it's even a little noisy, always closes his door against sound. Patrick peeks in when he gets to the doorway, and he can't see much in the dark, but Jonny is curled up in the middle of the bed.
And- Patrick can hear him crying. Jonny's sobbing into his pillow, muffled and quiet and that hurts, because Jonny’s not as strong as he pretends to be, and now he's alone with the hurt, because he didn't want anyone else to know.
Except- his doors open, and Patrick thinks of the way Jonny asked if he wanted the guest room, if he was going home, how Jonny pulled him along by the jersey into the locker room.
Jonny doesn't want to be alone with this, he's been asking for Patrick to be here.
Patrick doesn't think twice about it, just goes in and crawls onto Jonny’s bed, and maybe he shouldn't be surprised, that it feels like he's supposed to be here. As soon as he lies down, Jonny pushes the pillow away and buries his face in Patrick's chest instead, before Patrick can even reach for him. He wraps his arms around Jonny, holds him tight as he shakes with sobs.
"it'll be okay," he promises softly, "we tried so hard. And you were so good, Jonny, I wish we coulda won for you."
"I'm sorry," Jonny sobs out. He fists his hand in the back of Patrick's shirt, holds on do tight. "I should've- something," he whispers, somehow so forceful.
"no, you did perfect," Patrick hugs him tighter, and wishes they'd won just because of this, so Jonny wouldn't feel this way. "you did perfect, better than anyone else could have done." fuck, why isn't he better at this? He got himself thrown out of the game when Jonny needed him to be there, and he's just as useless now, panicky and on the verge of tears when Jonny needs him to be strong. That's all Jonny ever does, holds himself together when they all need him to, and Patrick can't manage to do that for him even for a night.
"I'm just so sorry," Jonny whimpers, and it breaks Patrick's heart. Jonny actually believes he's let them down, that it's even possible for him to be a disappointment. it's just so fucking painful, because he's the kind of perfect Patrick knows to appreciate while he's here, because someday, Jonny will realise that Patrick doesn't deserve to know him, let alone be his best friend.
"No," Patrick manages, begging and trying so hard not to cry, "don't think you did anything wrong, please, Jonny," he's frantic with the need for Jonny to understand this, just needs that, for Jonny to stop blaming himself; he gives so much of himself, Patrick wishes there was something Jonny wanted in exchange so he wouldn't be left like this, left with nothing.
"Please," Patrick says, so desperate, "please, you're perfect and I love you and I wish we could have won for you because you deserve it, more than anyone." Jonny sniffles, and his grip doesn't loosen but his sobs quiet to a miserable whimper. Patrick blinks away tears, feels a few trickle down his cheeks anyways. Jonny scoots up a little to turn his face against Patrick’s neck, and he’s already shaved his playoff beard, like he couldn’t stand to see any reminders at all. Patrick skims his thumb over Jonny’s smooth cheek, wants to kiss him there, because Jonny’s face is still wet from tears. Today’s made him cry and torn him apart from the inside out, but Patrick can at least be grateful he’s here for this, that he can be here right now, this most important moment. He needs to be here for this.
He stays awake until he feels Jonny go heavy in his arms and slump against him, hitching breaths fading into evenness. Patrick exhales, feels like he’s been holding his breath for a long, long time. He presses a kiss to Jonny’s hair and hugs him closer, finally falls asleep.
Patrick’s never woken up like this before, and it’s going to be the hardest thing he’s ever had to lose. He wants this, wants it for his own, because Jonny’s asleep on his chest, their legs tangled together, and Patrick’s never wanted anything the way he’s wanted things since last night, wanted Jonny not to be sad, wants to wake up with him every morning, this all he could ever ask for. Jonny wakes up slow and unwillingly, and Patrick’s always known that, but it’s different when he’s right here. He’s watched this hundreds of times, the way Jonny will growl and cling tighter to his pillow, burrow deeper under the covers, but this is all kinds of different. Jonny wraps an arm around Patrick and curls in closer against him, sighs out a breath when Patrick strokes a hand down his back and Patrick wants this forever, only gets it for five minutes before Jonny sits up, yawns and scoots away a little. Patrick was hoping forever would last longer than that, but he doesn’t say anything, just pushes himself up on one elbow.
“I’m, um,” Jonny mumbles out, slides over to the side of the bed. “Gonna take a shower.”
“Guess I’ll head home,” Patrick says reluctantly, even though he’d rather spend this morning here, put the loss farther from Jonny’s mind like that. He doesn’t even care that they lost anymore, only wishes they didn’t because he doesn’t want Jonny to be hurt, he doesn’t like this lingering misery in Jonny’s eyes. Jonny nods slowly, looks impossibly young as he bites his lip and looks at the floor.
“I, um,” Jonny says, looks up at him. He’s silent for a long moment, clearly wants to say something, just goes on with, “um, thanks.” Sometimes, Patrick wonders if Jonny has any idea how well Patrick knows him, if he’s aware right now that Patrick knows that wasn’t what he was going to say.
“Yeah, well.” Patrick shrugs a shoulder, doesn’t know how to convey I just don’t ever want you to be sad, and if Jonny doesn’t realize Patrick knows him so thoroughly, maybe Jonny can’t read him, either, doesn’t know that’s what Patrick is saying.
He doesn’t want to go home, isn’t ready to be without Jonny yet, and the heavy silence in Patrick’s apartment only confirms that. He doesn’t have anything to do today, doesn’t want to make plans or acknowledge that he has to move on past this morning. Being anywhere hurts, because he doesn’t want to be here, shouldn’t be without Jonny right now, and every minute he spends here alone is time he shouldn’t have seen like this. Patrick’s just - just not supposed to be without Jonny.
The day passes agonizingly slowly; he tries to go back to sleep for a while, spends most of the day being only half-heartedly violent in Grand Theft Auto, and refuses to ever look at his phone. He doesn’t want anyone’s apologies for the loss, because it’s just not the thing he cares about anymore. He wants to hear I’m sorry the loss made Jonny cry, because that’s the only thing that matters, but no one knows that but him, it’s his and Jonny’s alone, nothing like what he really wants to share.
Someone knocks on the door in the evening, and Patrick almost doesn’t answer it because there are very, very few people he wants to see right now, but then he realises no one but Jonny has the door code to even get up this far anyways, and goes to answer it. When he opens the door, Jonny doesn’t let him get in a single word.
“I decided I have to know,” Jonny says quickly, and Patrick blinks, already lost.
“Want to, uh, come in?” he steps back, tugs Jonny in by the wrist all the way to the living room, because Jonny’s the kind of single-minded that he’d have an entire conversation in the hallway because he just had to know right then. “So,” he prompts, sinking down on the couch and watching Jonny sit too.
“You on a GTA kick again?” Jonny asks, looking at the TV, suddenly the farthest thing from single-minded.
“Well, you know,” Patrick tries to keep up, “stealing police cars and shit is therapy for me.”
“That can’t be indicative of good things.”
“Of all the things I can do on this, stealing cars really isn’t so bad.”
“I guess,” Jonny muses. “You been inside the statue of liberty yet? It’s creepy as fuck.”
“No, not yet,” Patrick grabs the controller off the floor, unpauses the game. Jonny scoots closer to watch, apparently having forgotten what he came here for entirely. Patrick wants to ask - beg, really - to know what Jonny was going to say, but Jonny seems determined not to ask.
They fuck around on the game for a while, handing the controller back and forth, and it feels normal. They switch from GTA to the new Assassin’s Creed, because it’s Jonny’s favourite and Patrick loves watching him play it. Patrick laughs so hard he cries, because Jonny’s secretly even more destructive than he is, spends his time tripping everyone in sight and leaping off buildings and getting fed up with looking for a boat and just swimming across the river.
“That was mature,” Patrick says, when Jonny gets impatient with waiting and just shoves through the crowd of people.
“Dude, why be an assassin if you’re not allowed to push people? Plus, come on, they’re so slow - and dude, I have a broom,” Jonny exclaims, and Patrick laughs so hard he falls against Jonny’s side.
“You can’t leave me for the summer this year,” Patrick says, elbowing Jonny, “what the fuck would I do without you?” Last summer, Jonny went to celebrate his birthday in the fucking Great White North, leaving Patrick to do nothing but die of boredom and miss him, all summer long. Jonny shrugs a shoulder, fiddles with the controller, sets it down beside him.
“You survived last year,” he says, this odd tone that Patrick can’t figure out.
“Barely.” He nudges Jonny’s knee with his own, “so, no. No leaving.”
“Did you mean it?” Jonny blurts out suddenly, eyes suddenly so serious.
“Mean what?”
“Uh-” Jonny stammers out, and Patrick can see it, that he’s changed his mind, and Patrick just can’t handle the suspense.
“If you say ‘nothing’, I’m killing you.”
“You’d be a great therapist. Really encourage people to open up.”
“I’m warning you, Jonathan.” Patrick pokes him to emphasise the stern tone. “Did I mean what? If I said something dick-ish, okay, you know I didn’t mean it. Cut me some slack here.”
“Not that,” Jonny says, looks decidedly uneasy now. Patrick frowns a little, tries to think; he really can’t think of anything. Jonny always catches him when he lies about shit anyways, so he’s even been honest when Jonny asks about the healthiness of his grocery list. He even switched to whole wheat pasta because it seemed like Jonny was proud of him when he found it in the kitchen.
“Okay, so, what then?” Patrick tilts his head back to look up at Jonny, shocked at how worried Jonny looks. “Fuck, Jonny, what is it?”
“I - I shouldn’t-” Jonny stammers, moves as if to get up. Patrick grabs onto his sleeve before he can get up.
“Come on, please? Did I mean what? I mean, I’m sure I did, because I always mean everything I say to you? But, um. What thing? Are you talking about?” Sometimes Jonny just - makes Patrick mix up words and stammer, because when he turns that serious look on Patrick, it makes Patrick forget things, unnerved and this side of worried. At the same time, though, he’s never seen Jonny look so worried, like he needs to say something he’s terrified of, and oh, God, Patrick’s never been this scared, he just needs to know what Jonny’s going to say.
“Right, but,” Jonny says, just looking at Patrick’s hand on his arm.
“Should I be scared?” Patrick asks, because he just can’t take the waiting, “are you mad at me?” He only barely stops himself before he starts begging don’t be mad at me please please.
“Mad?” Jonny stares at him for a second, shaken out of whatever he was thinking for a moment, “Fuck, no, Patrick, I’m not mad, not - not at all.” This makes his voice shake a little, but he sounds so earnest, like he just needs Patrick to know this.
At least now Patrick can breathe, because Jonny’s not mad, he’s not, and that’s the most important thing. He smiles up at Jonny, wants to - hug him, maybe, just make sure he knows that it’s okay.
“Okay, then, there’s nothing that can be wrong,” he says, runs his hand down Jonny’s arm lightly. Jonny frowns, looks away.
“Does that mean you don’t wanna hear, then?” Jonny asks quietly. “I don’t - mind. That’s cool.”
“Tell me, okay, please? Please.” Patrick squeezes his wrist, looks up at him imploringly.
“You,” Jonny still doesn’t look at him, jaw tight, “last night, you said. Um. Fuck, I took it out of context, I’m sure. Okay, yeah-” He’s starting to work himself up, so Patrick does the only logical thing, and tackles him back onto the couch and tickling him. Jonny yelps and squirms as Patrick climbs on top of him, “okay, okay,” he gasps out, because Patrick’s merciless and always gets what he wants.
“I’ll throw you on the floor and tickle you there, don’t test me, man.” Patrick grins down at him, waggling his fingers at Jonny. Jonny catches Patrick’s wrists in one big hand, makes a face at him.
“You said last night that you love me and I really need to know if you meant it,” Jonny says suddenly, the words a tumbling rush. Patrick can only stare at him for a second, and oh, God, Jonny’s wide-eyed and looks mortified.
“Would it be bad if I meant it?” Patrick asks, hears how his voice trembles, but Jonny shakes his head, looking up at him like he’s the only thing in the world.
“No- no, that wouldn’t - wouldn’t be bad.” Jonny swallows, bites his lip. “It wouldn’t.”
“Yeah.” Patrick can suddenly breathe again, smiles, “I meant it. I’m in love with you, Jonny.” He loves the way Jonny smiles at him, shy and hopeful.
“I’m. In love with you too. So much, a lot,” Jonny says, tugs on Patrick’s shirt like he’s asking for something and he’s - Jonny’s in love with him, he’s actually, somehow, how -
“Why?” Patrick can’t help but ask. Jonny gives him a slow smile.
“Because - because you’re you, Patrick. You were nice to me when you didn’t even know me, and you keep me from freaking out about things and the smallest things make you happy, and - and you’re an egomaniac but you can do anything cos you think you can and I - just fucking love you.” Patrick’s open-mouthed in shock for a moment, because - because the way Jonny describes him, he sounds perfect, it sounds like Jonny loves him like nothing else, and that’s what Patrick’s always wanted.
“Kiss me,” he grins, then leans down to kiss Jonny anyways because he’s waited long enough and he really wants to. And kissing Jonny - it’s the way he hoped it would be, and it’s still more than he ever thought it would be. Jonny kisses him hard and insistent, single-minded like he does everything else, with a gentleness that Patrick knows now has always been just for him.
“Um,” Jonny says when they part for a breath, “why? How could you - love me?”
“How could I not?” Patrick asks. “You’re just - incredible, okay? This blend of hard-working, dependable fuckin… nobility, and dorky douchetasticness, and you’re everything I’m not, you always do the right thing and say the right thing, and - and even though I’m a fuck-up sometimes, you defend me and support me and make me do better, and you just - inspire me to be better. I want to do that, for you. You’re just - perfect, Jonny. All over and inside and out.”
The way Jonny smiles, this is it, is everything. He’s Patrick’s, he’s who Patrick wins games for, and he’s the reason Patrick hates every loss, just for the way it hurts him.
“Getting you is worth losing the Cup,” he says, and Jonny smiles.
“Maybe it makes me a bad captain, but fuck, I’d take you over the Cup every time.” Jonny pulls him down to kiss him again, and Patrick doesn’t know how this is his now, but oh, he loves this, loves Jonny, the way they’ve always fit together, always will. Jonny’s who he wins games for, but this, this is more - he’d lose games for Jonny, too, suddenly so grateful they lost this series because it gave him Jonny. He never thought he could hope for this, because it would be asking for the sky, for all the stars, for things that are too amazing to call his own, but here they are, together the day after the loss, winning the whole world.