Chapter Text
Quinn lived with it since he could remember, but he was seven when it became a big deal. He didn’t understand in the same way most kids didn’t understand most of what was going on around them. For Quinn, it just was.
Children had that ability, and Quinn as an adult always wished he could go back to that blissful reality that childhood ignorance gave him. Memories from that time are hazy to Quinn though, like a fod skewing his vision just enough that he is never really sure if what he was seeing was real or a figment of his imagination. At least that’s what his dad used to tell him.
Later in life, as he grew up, his dad apologized to him for being so dismissive of his fears. Quinn didn’t blame him, although he can’t pretend no resentment lingered for his parents and how they handled it. While they were two of the most important people to him, he also knew they did it out of fear for him. Out of fear it would happen to Jack and Luke. Their oldest saw some scary things, and he’s sure they knew how it affected him.
Before he was seven though, his parents were able to brush it off as him and his childish imagination. He doesn’t remember, but they spoke to specialists about what Quinn was seeing. They all said mostly the same thing. He’s only three, he should grow out of it. Oh, five? He might just be seeking attention with the new baby and all. Seven? If this continues we can suggest a child psychologist.
Of course, Quinn never got a psychologist.When he was seven, Ellen figured out what it was, and his fate was sealed from there. Nothing could help him now.
QUINN
Quinn woke up in the bed incredibly groggy. He wiped at his eyes, trying to see in the dark. The nightlight in the corner of the room helped him see, but it didn’t do much. Quinn looked at Jack, who was sleeping in the big bed with him, his head covered by the blanket.
Jack hated the nightlight and put up a fight when Quinn asked for it.
Quinn was seven now and shouldn’t need one, which is what Jack had said even though he was only 5. Jack kicked him a couple times in the night in retaliation, which Quinn responded with a slap on the arm. The fight continued until their Mom threatened to take away their hockey time tomorrow unless they behaved.
Quinn was angry at Jack, but he would be sadder to miss hockey.
Still, this was a new house. Quinn hadn't been here before. Mom told him it belonged to their Aunt, who Quinn has only met once and didn't remember. The funeral was in Texas where his mom grew up, and Quinn discovered a long time ago the people he saw changed whenever he went somewhere new.
Quinn didn’t like Texas that much. It was hot, and the city was weird and loud. The house smelled like an old person and Quinn thought the blanket was itchy. He’d told mom all this and she just started sighed loudly and left the room. Quinn didn’t know what he’d done wrong, until his Dad came up to him and told him to be extra nice to her this weekend.
Quinn knew Grandma died, and he didn’t get that it was his moms’s mom until his dad explained it. All he knew was that they had to leave their house immediately to get to the funeral.
He’d crawled into her lap an hour later and hugged her tightly. He felt her shaking, which made Quinn sad. Then she started laughing when Luke got jealous and used his little legs to try and climb on her too. Quinn had to help him, because Luke was still really little and didn’t know how to walk right yet. He looked dumb but Quinn didn’t want him to fall and start crying like his mom.
So Quinn was trying to be quiet as he tried to get comfortable and not wake up Jacky. The house felt so cold though, and it’s been getting colder. Every time he breathed it stung, like when you’re on the ice too long and your nose starts running. He saw Jacky shift as he brought the covers closer in on himself.
Quinn turned, and immediately stilled when he made eye contact with the woman suddenly beside his bed. Quinn froze as he stared at wide, wild eyes, a face old and worn. Her hand immediately gripped his arm so hard he felt her fingers were marking him.
Quinn wanted to scream, but something stopped him. They’ve never touched him before, only looked and sometimes said things, but it was always so small. This woman terrified him. He was frozen, breathing so hard his chest almost hurt.
But the woman just stared at him frantically, and she also looked afraid. She was old too, older than his parents. Quinn recognized her.
“Grandma?” Quinn managed, his voice quiet and shaking. He wasn’t convinced it was her, or that she wouldn’t hurt him. He was suddenly so afraid, his heart racing, the room no longer cold.
The woman’s eyes narrowed, and Quinn whimpered as her hold on his arm tightened. Her nails dug into his arm, hurting him. He tried to get away, but could barely muster the strength to even speak.
“Quinn?” she whispered, and her voice felt like an echo, cold and sharp, not real.
Then something in her face softened. She looked between his eyes, her pale skin was almost see through, her eyes still wild but not lively like Quinn knew them to be. Somehow as they looked at him, she looked sad.
“Oh, Quinny,” She said again, her voice still sharp, almost windy. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Qiuinn knew he was crying, but he didn’t care. He was so, so scared, and sad, and he hurt. The woman who was his grandma stared at him so sadly, like she felt bad for him. She sighed, her body jerking back causing Quinn to back up as well, trying to get away.
Then she let go of his arm, and disappeared like a mist. The room was no longer cold, and the chill down Quinn’s back disappeared. He looked around frantically, for her, for anyone. He was crying now, heaving heavily and unable to speak, he was having trouble breathing, and his arm hurt so much.
He screamed when he felt a hand on his shoulder, terrified it was her again. Instead, he met Jack, who was also crying now, and backed up when Quinn screamed.
“Quinn? Quinny!?”
Quinn felt bad he was scaring Jack, but he couldn’t stop crying. He was still terrified she would show up again. She was his grandma, but something about her felt unnatural, almost bad, and Quinn never wanted to be near it again.
The door to their bedroom opened frantically, and Quinn felt relieved when he realized it was his Mom and Dad. Light poured in the room, instinctively Quinn raised his arms as his mother immediately picked him up.
He was seven and didn’t need to be picked up anymore, but he was scared, and all he wanted was his mom.
“Sweetheart, what’s wrong. Quinny?” she said, petting his hair. “Quinn, was it a nightmare?”
Quinn couldn’t talk. He was crying still, hiccuping and unable to form words. He simply wrapped his legs and arms around his mom, digging his head into her neck knowing she’d keep the scary people away.
“Quinn,” she tried again. “Please talk to me.”
“Ellen.”
Quinn remembers his Dad was with them. He lifted his head finally, and saw he was sitting on the bed with his arm around Jack, who was looking at Quinn like he’d just gotten hurt on the ice. They don’t fight when that happens, just scared.
“What?”
His dad was looking at him with a similar face. “Look at his arm.”
His mom moved up his shirt sleeve, and that's when Quinn saw it. There was a bruise already on his arm in the shape of a handprint. Not only that, but there were red marks from her nails. His grandma always had long nails when she was alive, his mom used to call them claws. Quinn was bleeding a little.
“Oh my god” she said, pulling Quinn closer to her.
Quinn just held on just as tight, and couldn’t help but cry even harder.
ELLEN
Ellen eventually calmed down from the original panic of the fear of someone being in her son’s room and putting their hands on them. Thankfully, Jack was fine. Untouched and safe, and Luke had been with her and Jim in their bed.
Now, he was being put down by Jim with Jack, both boys tired from the day and sleeping soundly on the couch with the lights on. Quinn had begged them to leave them on, and it took all her willpower not to just lock him in her room where she knew he’d be safe. Jim convinced her otherwise, telling her they needed to talk to Quinn.
The weekend had taken an even more drastic turn. Already, Ellen was a bundle of stress and sadness. She's convinced her sister that Quinn was fine, and Kelly, grieving as well and tired in ways Ellen’s not seen from her in a while, resided to believe her and go back to bed with her husband. Her pregnancy was exhausting, let alone the funeral. Ellen refused to stress her out any more than necessary.
In their bedroom, Quinn was curled in on himself, leaning into Jim. God, he was so tiny.
“Quinn, did you see someone again?” Ellen asked, her hand on his knee, rubbing what she hoped was soothing circles on his leg.
Quinn sniffed, then nodded softly. Ellen shared a look with Jim, one that spoke a thousand words. Jim just looked tired, and squeezed Quinn’s arm, the one without the marks.
Ellen asked the question she’d been dreading since she saw them. “Are…are they the one who hurt you?”
Quinn didn’t move, then nodded, almost like he was ashamed. She didn't know how a seven-year-old could even feel that for this.
Ellen raised her hand to her mouth. Jim just looked angry, his arm wrapping tighter around their oldest son. He went quiet a long time ago, his eyes focused on nothing.
“Ellen…”
Ellen nodded her head, thinking she knew what this was, and afraid to admit it.
“Quinn,” She said, sitting closer to her son and husband. The bed dipped and Quinn moved with it. “Who was it? Did you know them?”
Again, Quinn nodded. Ellen was terrified of what he’d say next, because it would only confirm what she’d been fearing since Quinn learned how to talk.
“Who was it, honey?”
Quinn somehow dug himself deeper into Jim’s side. A tear ran down his face, and again, Ellen wondered when he'd learned to cry silently.
“Grandma.”
Ellen sucked in a sharp breath. She glanced at Jim, who looked like he had a thousand questions in his head. She didn’t blame him, but she’s already had to convince him not to call the police once they saw the marks and did a thorough check of the house themselves. She had to talk to him, and she had to tell him everything. She couldn’t avoid it any longer.
It took a while to convince Quinn to go to sleep. They compromised, and ended up letting Quinn fall asleep on the coach with Jack and Luke tucked in beside him. Quinn had his arm around Luke and Jack managed to drape nearly across both of his brothers. He managed to take up so much space for such a small child, with both body and words.
It was a darling image Ellen would have usually pulled out her camera for, but she had too many concerns running rampant in her head to do anything other than begin checking boxes off in her imaginary list. The first box was talking to Jim.
“What does he mean, ‘Grandma’?” Jim asked quietly, only a room away from their children. They stood in the hall, neither willing to let them out of their sight.
“He means my mother, Jim.”
“I know that, but are you saying that….does Quinn also…?”
Ellen knew Jim was afraid to say it, because it meant what she started fearing the first time they brought Quinn to the doctors four years ago. She’d explained to Jim how her mother was similar, saw things she couldn’t explain, something she was ostracized for when she spoke too much about it. Ellen told him how eventually, she had to stop or else she’d have been committed.
It took a while for Ellen to realize her mother wasn’t crazy. Just…different. Ellen knew how much she still had struggled, how it wasn’t easy being faced with all these scary, horrible things, but Quinn was only seven. Her baby was only seven.
“I think so.”
Jim dragged his hand across his face, familiar enough with the stories.. The last three years really tested their marriage, Ellen trying to convince Jim of what she now believed to be true, which also meant Jim and herself would need to learn how to live with the fact that their son is the same, and might be facing all kinds of horrors for the rest of his life.
It tested them, and perhaps made them stronger together. Still, the reality of it now being shoved in their faces is nothing anyone can prepare for.
“What are we going to do about this?”
Ellen looked up, a little surprised, but wondering the same. What were they going to do about this?
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “We’re not going to a child psychologist, or a…I don’t know, Synagogue or Church.”
“Why not?”
Ellen whipped her head up, her voice getting more agitated and she had to lower it so as not to wake her three sleeping boys.
“Because he’s a child, Jim, and I’m not going to make him the center of attention. He’s shy enough as is, can you imagine telling a freaking priest that our son sees ghosts.”
It’s the first time either have said it outloud. It must have been some kind of trigger word, because Quinn stirred and both Ellen and Jim went quiet. They waited, and thankfully Quinn didn’t wake up. She looked over, and Jack was still playing across both of them, and Luke was somehow being held even tighter by her oldest. She knew for a while the three boys would probably be sharing a bed, especially if it helped her already somewhat insomniatic seven-year-old sleep.
She took a breath a moment later, the blood in her ears pounding.
Jim signed too, softly grabbing her arms and rubbing her arms up and down.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and Ellen knew she forgave him before he even said it. “I’m just worried and genuinely don’t know what to do. You’re right, we shouldn’t bring this up to people.”
Ellen rubbed at the space between her eyes, feeling a headache coming on.
“Just…how do we protect him?”
Ellen didn’t have the answer either. In all the years Quinn’s been seeing ghosts, none have ever touched him. It’s one of the reasons Ellen has put off this conversation for so long; until today, she hadn’t thought her son was in any danger.
“I don’t know. My mother never said anything about them…hurting her.”
“Well, your mother didn’t talk about it ever.”
Ellen sighed. It was true, her mother’s…condition never left her house, and it was something of a taboo subject. Her father clearly had known about it, but never spoke more than a few words to Ellen and Kelly, wanting them to know their mother was different as kids, but never allowing for a full conversation. But her mother never wavered, never let it affect her or how she was their mother. It provided Ellen with the comfort that maybe Quinn would be okay too. He just needed to stay out of the spotlight.
“We need to explain this to Quinn. I don’t think he totally understands what’s happening. I don’t think he really even knows what death is.”
The elephant in the room didn’t go unnoticed. Ellen tried to prevent it, but the tears came very suddenly. She muffled it, not wanting to wake her kids. Jim pulled her into a tight hug that let her shove her face against his chest and use it as a muffler.
He let her cry herself out, and when the hurt felt just a little less overcoming, she leaned back. Jim wiped away her tears, smiling.
“Do you really think it was your mother?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think she’d ever hurt him.”
Jim squeezed her, pulling her close again. This time, they just stood there. “I’m sure she didn’t mean to.”
Ellen prayed he was right. That this was a one time thing, and maybe, just maybe. Her mother knew about Quinn.
“You noticed after we woke up the house felt less cold?”
It didn’t go unnoticed. It felt less cold, and maybe it was the lights, and three snoring bodies that told Ellen her whole world was alive and well, but she also had to admit it felt almost warmer.
“I’m going to protect him from this.”
She felt Jim shift and kiss her on the forehead. “I’m not sure that we can.”
Notes:
I took creative liberties. I have no clue if their grandma is dead, nor if they have an aunt named Kelly.
In good news, all other chapters will be longer because they got away from me + I hate writing from a child's perspective. idk what goes on in their heads.
Comments are appreciated 🫶🏼 I love to yap.
Chapter 2
Notes:
Some more Jack and Luke in this chapter (:
Same rules apply, please don't share outside of AO3 🫶🏼
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
QUINN
Colorado was especially cold that day. Quinn knew the lake would be perfect to skate on, and so did his brothers. With their parents gone picking up groceries for their week-long stay, Quinn, Jack, and Luke were left to entertain themselves.
He wished Luke were taller sometimes, because even though he was good at hockey for a kid, he was still too short and small to put up much of a fight against him and Jack. Eleven was a weird age, but Quinn knew he’d be getting taller soon.
Still, Luke had wanted to skate on the lake with them, so Quinn obliged.
All three of them ran out to the lake as fast as they could. They left their sticks in their parents' car, and sometimes, especially without a center line or any kind of make-shift net, they just wanted to race.
Quinn texted his mom to make sure the lake was safe, and when they got the go-ahead, he was already behind as Jack and Luke immediately began to race each other deeper in the lake. Quinn laughed, rushing to catch up to them. He was faster than both of them for now, but he knew Jack would catch up soon, and Luke was already taller than he and Jack were at eleven.
“Moosey! Slow down!” Quinn called ahead.
Luke ignored him, turning to try and skate backwards then immediately eating shit when he didn’t turn his feet right. He tripped over his own legs, making Jack cackle, tipping his head back as he coasted towards him. Quinn laughed too, taking his time to catch up. It was snowing again, soft flurries that fell close on his nose. He caught some in his glove, inspecting it to see if he could make out a shape. Someone once told him all snowflakes have a unique shape.
He wiped the glove on his pants, looking up to see if Jack was actually helping Luke up, or just laughing at him.
When Quinn looked up, he froze. Something in his heart dropped to his stomach, his blood running cold and a chill from more than just the weather washed over him like a water bucket dunked over his head.
Luke was still sitting on the ice as he yelled at Jack, who was laughing and trying to help him up.
Beside them, standing eerily still and staring at Quinn, was a boy, dripping wet and wearing skates of his own. He looked around Jack's age, his clothes heavy with water, his skin pale and blue, not matching the angry expression on his face. He was just standing right beside Jack and Luke, somehow so obvious and invisible at once.
Quinn saw ghosts during the day sometimes, usually passing by and confused for a moment why a teenager could see him, usually moving on a moment later as if they never saw him. They come out more at night, scared of everyone or themselves.
This one looked and felt angry.
Jack laughed louder, and the boy turned to look at him. He somehow looked even angrier, gripping his gloves, water falling from his jacket, and his face.
It took all of Quinn’s strength to speak.
“Guys,” he said. “Get off the ice.”
He could hear the shake in the voice, the fear as he spoke. Jack and Luke both looked at each other, confused. Quinn’s eyes were darting between the boy and his brothers, silently begging them to get away. Begging the boy to leave them all alone.
Please don’t hurt them.
Luke finally got up, looking between both of them. Jack just looked unconvinced.
“Why, we just got out here.”
Quinn didn’t want to argue, and he was silently begging Jack not to either. The boy still hadn’t moved, but he looked angrier the more they spoke. Quinn could feel it. The ice somehow felt colder, the tension in his shoulders tight, almost locked. He felt like he had something cold in his veins, and the anger was starting to drain him, making his bones feel heavy and iron-clad. He felt all this boy's anger. Not in himself, but he understood how angry he was. And it felt dangerous. Whatever had happened to him on this ice, he was still enraged by it.
“Get inside,” Quinn begged, and he didn’t beg often. “Please.”
It took a moment, but something in Jack seemed to click. His face completely fell, and he looked towards his left, where the ghost was, where Quinn was staring.
“Quinn,” he said, looking back at Quinn. “Are you…”
The ghost was suddenly in front of Quinn, his speed so fast Quinn almost missed him. It didn’t take even a second, but Quinn fell backwards, his back hitting the ice hard. The boy was on top of him, screaming in his face, mouth wider than it should be. His face was comply devoid of color, and Quinn couldn't get away.
Quinn covered his face with his arms, trying to avoid the boy. He shut his eyes tight and tried to imagine he was anywhere else, that this would be over soon.
There was a chill gust of wind, and the screaming stopped.
Quinn lay there for a while. He wasn’t sure how long. He was shaking; he knew that. Ghosts were not this violent, this quick to anger. Quinn didn't know what to do, and he couldn't stop shaking.
“Quinny!”
Luke skated up and slid next to him, and Quinn forgot about his fear from earlier. He grabbed Luke by the neck. Relief washed over him as he remembered why he’d been so scared in the first place. He looked him over, Luke very confused.
Quinn could have hugged him, but he didn’t know if he could move yet.
Jack skated up to them, stopping and staring at Quinn.
“Quinn,” he said, his voice laced with confusion. “What the hell was that?”
Quinn looked at Jack, not sure how to answer. He couldn't answer. They didn’t talk about it, and Quinn was delusional into thinking they had no clue, but he was still scared, his heart hadn’t slowed down, and it was freezing.
Quinn let go of Luke and got up. “Come on.”
He said those words and didn’t look back to see if they were following him. He knew they were based on the distant sound of 2 pairs of skates. He let himself release a shaky breath. He clutched his own hand. He was still shaking.
JACK
Jack was pacing, and he knew that, but Quinn had locked himself away in his room, and he couldn’t help but be a little worried, maybe a little irritated too. Quinn had looked as pale as a sheet of paper, and then he fell, screamed, and acted like Luke had died and come back to life. Jack almost wanted to ignore it, used to Quinn being a little aloof and tired, but Luke was worried. Honestly, so was Jack.
“Just knock,” Luke said, picking at his hoodie sleeves, a hoodie Jack was pretty sure was his, but decided to ignore it for the moment.
“It’s Quinn, he’ll get all pissy if I wake him up or something.”
Luke gave him a blank stare. “Okay.”
Luke walked right past him and started banging on the door. Jack rolled his eyes.
“Quinn!” Luke yelled. After another moment's silence, it became clear Quinn was just ignoring them. Quinn was a light sleeper. Luke started banging on the door again. “Quiiiiiiiiiiiiin!”
The door opened to a disgruntled Quinn with new bags under his eyes. He looked like he’d just woken up from a nap, or what was an attempted nap. His eyes were also red-rimmed, and Jack decided to do the decent thing for once and not point it out. He felt bad enough, and he had his suspicions about what the hell was going on with him.
Jack liked to think he was mature now, at the age of thirteen. He knew when his parents were lying to him, and when Quinn was, too. It pissed him off.
“I’m trying to sleep,” Quinn said, voice hoarse. “Shut up.”
“Yeah, trying,” Jack deadpanned. “You look like you haven't slept in days.”
Quinn sniffled, wiping his nose. “Well, I haven't.” He gestured around the room, “New place, you know how I am.”
Jack rolled his eyes at this.
Every hotel, every friend's house, every time they were away from home, Quinn rarely slept. Their parents told him it was just being in a new place, but Jack always assumed it was more than that. It took days, sometimes weeks, for Quinn to adjust, and it wasn’t normal.
“Uh-huh.”
Quinn rolled his eyes, too. “Just leave me alone, Jack.”
He went to close the door, but Jack stopped it with his foot in between the door and the wall. His patience wasn’t running thin; it was simply gone. He threw the door open and let himself inside.
The room Quinn was sleeping in at this lake house looked like an older person had decorated it, yet it was still messy like Quinn had lived there his whole life.
“What the fuck,” Quinn said. “Get out!”
“No,” Jack fought back. Luke had trailed behind him, quieter and staying on the outskirts of what was undoubtedly about to turn into a big argument between Quinn and Jack that would overtake everything.
Jack turned towards Quinn, and could see he was getting angry, but he also saw how tired he was. Jack wished he would just talk to him.
Back when he was a kid, Jack knew about Quinn’s nightmares and how sleep never came easily to his older brother. Jack used to climb into his bed when it got particularly bad, and they’d sleep a tangle of limbs. Jack would sometimes drag little Luke with him, because something about their younger brother made it all seem safe. There was something about Luke that made it seem impossible that anything bad could happen.
“Quinn,” Jack asked, trying to control the anger in his voice. “What the hell was that outside?”
Quinn went quiet, glancing between Jack and Luke. He was fidgeting with his fingernails.
“Nothing.”
“Oh my God,” Jack said, dragging his hand through his hair. He was exhausted with Quinn’s insistent need to lie to him. “Be both know that’s not true. Luke knows that’s not true.”
Luke nodded, taking on a kinder expression than Jack was capable of. “Just tell us what’s wrong.”
Quinn’s anger seemed to have disappeared, and for a moment, Jack thought (maybe just hoped) Luke’s ability to get them both to do what he wanted would work. Quinn looked like he wanted to say something, then shook his head as he looked down, away from both of them and putting up those walls again.
Jack lost it.
“Dude, why don't you just talk to us? To me?” Jack took a step forward, trying to force Quinn to look at him. “You were screaming, Quinn. It was fucking scary.”
Quinn was shaking his head again, and he did look like he was trying not to cry. Jack was too pissed to do the decent thing now, wishing desperately, and sadly that his brother would just talk to him.
“It’s nothing,” Quinn managed.
Any sympathy Jack held for his brother, at least the kind that stopped him from saying things he knew he’d regret, was gone. Now the feeling of distrust and anger from someone he tells everything too was hitting him stronger than he thought it could. He wanted Quinn to hurt, like he was hurting him. It was a scary thought, but it doesn’t stop him because Jack knows that he can say the most horrible things to Quinn, and he will eventually always forgive him.
“Nothing?” Jack asked. “Quinn, you know people think you’re a freak, right?”
“Jack,” Luke said, genuine surprise in his voice. It almost stopped Jack from what he said next.
“You’re always zoning and acting all weird, and you know our friends think it’s weird you don’t like spending the night. It’s weird, you’re fucking weird.”
“Shut up,” Quinn whispered.
“Sorry, what?” Just asked, tilting his head. “Speak up, Q.”
“Shut up!” he yelled, making Jack step back. “The ice wasn’t safe, okay? It’s not safe.”
Jack rolled his eyes. “What the hell does that even mean?”
“Just listen to me, Jack!”
“Why would I listen when my freak of a brother won’t even tell me why?!”
Jack didn’t see the puck fly at his face quick enough and barely deflected it before Quinn shoved Jack so far back he ran hip first into the dresser. Shocked, and his anger boiling, Jack ran at Quinn and wrapped his arms around his midriff, bringing them both tumbling to the bed, which they then fell off of a moment later.
“Stop!” Luke yelled.
Smartly, Luke didn’t get involved. Jack tried to get the upper hand as the two of them wrestled on the ground beside the bed. Faintely, he heard frantic footsteps as Luke ran from the room, but ignored it when he felt Quinn pull his hair really fucking hard.
“AH! Asshole!”
Their fighting match continued for a few moments, it mostly being Jack kicking widely and grasping at Quinn as he had his hand still in his hair. Jack knew he knocked Quinn hard in the stomach with a wayward elbow based on his gasp and the way he jerked Jack’s hair back.
The footsteps returned, and a moment later Jack yelped as he was doused in ice cold water.
Jack sat up quickly as he separated from Quinn, the water shocking him out of his fight. He opened his eyes and saw Luke standing above them with an empty bowl in his hand.
“Luke,” Jack sputtered, wiping his eyes. “What the hell?”
Luke ignored him. He dropped the bowl, jumped over Jack, fell to his knees and hugged Quinn.
Both of them paused immediately. None of them were big huggers, at least not since they were kids. They got along in other ways, all the physical affection coming from their parents. Still, Jack looked on feeling envious as Quinn, also shocked away from his aggression, wrapped his arm around Luke, his other hand holding himself up.
Jack wiped the water away from his face, looking at his two brothers and wondering when the hell Luke got smarter than both of them.
Luke leaned back, resting on the heels of his feet. Quinn only stared at him, shock and sadness and exhausted showing itself in his face now that they weren’t yelling at each other.
“Quinny,” Luke began. “Do you see ghosts?”
The only reason Jack was surprised was because Luke had the balls to ask Quinn before Jack could. Quinn went quiet again, yet somehow, didn’t seem shocked Luke asked. Only sad. He glanced at Jack, anger now gone.
Quinn didn’t even say yes, but his expression told Jack everything he suspected. He hadn’t wanted to say it, thinking how impossible it seemed and how Jack was afraid of sounding crazy. When Quinn nodded his head like he was ashamed, it just explained every weird thing about their childhood Jack always brushed off, and made him remember everything he did wrong. The way he hadn’t always defended Quinn to his friends as much as he should have, how he’d convinced himself that Quinn really just had trouble sleeping for no reason other than insomnia.
Jack felt like shit.
Jack didn’t know how long the three of them sat there, wet and cold and sad, but he did feel like for those few minutes, he knew Quinn better than he ever had before.
Knowing he was the dick here, Jack was the one who grabbed the towels for both him and Quinn after Luke apologized for tossing really fucking cold water on them. It worked and fizzled out the anger, but Jack was pretty cold. He’d get Luke back for that one later.
Quinn was quiet as he rubbed the towel over his hair. He sat against his bed, Luke across and Jack taking a seat beside him as he did the same. He and Luke shared a look.
“I’m sorry I called you a freak,” Jack said.
Again, apologies weren’t common among the three of them. If Jack wanted to be forgiven, all he had to do was ask one of them to play hockey with him, then it’s like they were never angry to begin with. For this though, Jack knew he had to say it. He hoped Quinn knew how much he meant it.
Quinn just shrugged. “I’m sorry I threw a puck at your face.”
Jack laughed a little, glad when a small smile tugged at Quinn’s mouth. They all went quiet again. Jack was starting to find it harder to have this conversation now that they weren’t yelling at each other. That was always easy, but sitting down like this meant he had to have a real conversation, and God knows Quinn wasn’t going to take the lead. Asshole.
Jack coughed into his hand, trying to form the words. “So, um…when we were kids did you..?”
He trailed off, but didn’t need to specify. Quinn was playing with his nails as he nodded his head, avoiding both his and Luke's eyes.
“Is that why you have trouble sleeping?” Luke asked.
Jack was extremely grateful for Luke in the moment. Maybe it was a slight maturity when it came to emotions that made Luke able to be so outright, or maybe it was just the lack of a filter. Jack leaned towards the latter, but either way he was grateful for it.
Quinn shook his head. “No. Well, kinda. I just…they don’t like, haunt my dreams or anything, I just get nightmares sometimes. Some of them are really freaky.”
“Is there a ghost in our house?” Luke asked, ignoring his last answer.
Quinn looked up at Luke, and fucking laughed. He reached out and ruffled Luke’s hair, which he swatted away immediately.
“Why?” Quinn asked. “Are you scared of them or something?”
“No!” Luke exclaimed quickly. “I just want to know.”
“Sounds like he’s scared,” Jack said, egging him on. “Moosey is scared of invisible people.”
“Shut up!” Luke yelled, starting to get annoyed. “You’re the one who was freaked on the Ice today.”
Jack bit back his laugh, enjoying how easy it was to rile Luke up. His face got all red and sometimes shook. It really made his day.
“Maybe Quinn can ask one to haunt you. Right, Quinny?”
Jack looked at Quinn and his face fell. Quinn wasn’t laughing anymore. He had the heels of his palms digging into his eyes, and his shoulders were shaking. He had his knees pulled up and he really didn’t look fourteen going on fifteen. Jack was at a loss, suddenly scared he’d said something wrong.
“Quinn?” He tried. Quinn just shook his head. “What’s wrong?”
Quinn shook his head, and after what felt like forever, he finally took them away. His eyes were red again, wet this time too. Jack suddenly felt very upset himself, his chest heavy with something he didn’t know how to label. He was sitting here, looking at his unshakeable brother suddenly feeling so shakeable himself.
Maybe Quinn was just really good at hiding it, or Jack was just good at ignoring it. Jack’s not sure which one made him hate himself more.
“Sorry guys,” he whispered, so quietly Jack almost didn't hear him. “I just…you two don’t hate me?”
Jack’s eyebrows shot up. “What? No, why would we hate you?”
Quinn shrugged. “Because I lied to you.”
“You didn’t lie to us,” Jack stated, no hesitation to his voice. He got on his feet, crouching in front of Quinn.
Jack had thought Quinn was unshakable when he was a kid. Taller, faster, older and in a way, his protector. Quinn would cry and beg when they were kids to not go to certain places, to avoid a certain area, dragging Jack and Luke away despite his parents trying to tell him it was perfectly safe. At the time, Jack didn’t understand what was happening, and he didn’t think Quinn wholeheartedly knew either.
It stopped around the time Quinn was seven or eight, but Jack never stopped thinking of Quinn as anything other than unshakable.
“You didn’t,” Jack continued. “But why didn’t you tell us?”
Quinn sniffled, looking at Jack finally.
“Don’t be mad at them.”
Jack felt he was going to be mad anyway.
“Mom and Dad thought it would be better if we just didn't mention it.”
Jack stared at Quinn. “What the fuck.”
“Don’t be mad!” Quinn repeated. “I agreed and it’s not like they don’t believe me.”
“Mom and Dad know?” Luke asked this time.
Quinn turned, and his expression softened. “Oh, Lukey.”
Jack turned and now Luke was sniffling, wiping at his nose with his whole arm, aggressively shoving at his eyes. Oh, Lukey.
Quinn raised his arm and immediately Luke tucked himself into his side. He leaned his head on his shoulder, eyes wet and nose red. Jack smiled fondly, again deciding not to point it out and call Luke a baby again. He’d do that later.
“Why are you crying?” Quinn asked, and he took on his Big Brother voice, and Jack was jealous how easily he could switch into it.
Luke shrugged, then said, “Cause you can't sleep at night, I guess.”
Quinn and Jack shared a look, and Jack’s heart broke a little for both his brothers. Quinn’s been living with this thing for so long, talking to no one about it, and he knows Luke wished he could do something for him. The reality is, neither of them really can. Fuck it if they didn’t try though.
“Well, now we know, right?” Jack sat on the other side of Quinn, leaning against the bed and giving his heels a break. “We can, like, fight the ghosts?”
Quinn snorted, tightening his grip on Luke and shaking him when he laughed too.
“You can’t fight them, Jack. They don’t bug me usually, just…exist, I guess.”
“Usually?” Jack asked.
Quinn didn’t respond to that. He looked up again, and a part of Jack didn’t want him to be specific. He knew there would be more conversations to come, but right now, he was content to just sit here and pretend they could wait as long as they wanted.
“I’m just glad you two know,” Quinn admitted. He sighed deeply, leaning his head against the bed. “Feels less like I’m doing this all myself.”
Jack paused, then, “I’m sorry, Quinn.”
Quinn turned to look at him. He didn’t say anything, just silently let Jack know he heard him. He nodded, then smiled softly. It’s only then that Jack believed, or at least allowed himself to hope, that his brother would be alright.
The front door opening then the sound of their mother calling each of their names one-by-one gathered all their attention. Jack remembered then that both of them knew.
“We should talk to them,” Quinn said. Ever the older brother, he helped both him and Luke up. He stared them both down, wiping his wet hands on his pants.
“You ready?” Jack asked.
Quinn sighed deeply. “No.”
Jack snorted. “Yeah. Come on.”
The three of them, Luke running down the stairs because he didn't know how to be still, and Quinn trailing behind, all walked towards their parents.
Jack decided to let Quinn take the lead. He couldn’t help but kick Quinn’s back when he got to the last step. Quinn glaired back.
Jack was glad for it. He worries for Quinn, sometimes more than he thinks he should. Now that he knows the truth, he’s not sure if it was better or worse.
Jack did know that Quinn wouldn't have to deal with this alone now. He’d bear what he could.
Notes:
The only thing worse than writing from a seven-year-old's perspective is a teenage boy.
Hope you all enjoy!
Chapter 3
Notes:
SWEET BABY JESUS BROCK IS STAYING A CANUCK!!!!
I am vibrating with excitement right now. Enjoy while I do some rewrites for the next chapter, because I convinced myself Brock was leaving, so I didn’t include him in the fic originally, lmao.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
ELIAS
Elias eventually learned that Quinn was a peculiar person.
Elias didn’t mind it all that much. Hell, he knew some people said the same thing about him, but Quinn was special in every way beyond just his skill on the ice.
Elias learned he also really liked Quinn. He didn’t seem to mind Elias’s bluntness, and it was nice to have another guy his age around while they both figured out where they fit on the team. He also liked that Quinn was a simple guy and straight to the point, and left Elias alone when he wanted to be (even when Elias didn’t give him the same courtesy). Quinn was also surprisingly funny. Elias didn’t know why that was so shocking, but Quinn, if anything, was quiet, even for a new rookie with the weight of something huge on his shoulders. His humor came in spurts, and he always acted like he was surprised himself when he made people laugh.
So Elias was happy when he took a chance and asked about being roommates post-rookie season, and Quinn said yes. He was even more excited when Quinn said he’d take care of the house visits when Elias couldn't (or didn't) want to.
The thing was, Elias wasn't expecting it to be so difficult. Elias thought he knew Quinn well, but one thing he was not expecting was that Quinn was picky, apparently. After Quinn denied another apartment that would have been perfect, Elias decided to go with him on the house visits. As much as he loved staying with Bo temporarily, he needed a new space, and his American counterpart was making that increasingly difficult.
“This place just went up on the market, beautiful view, newly renovated bathroom. Perfect, really.”
The real estate lade, Lily, was really selling the place, and honestly, Elias didn’t think she needed to work so hard. He loved it. The walls are high, the fridge big enough for two professional athletes, and the window facing the city is a view that made Elias understand why people liked huge windows so much.
He followed Lily blindley, Quinn wandering behind him, shoulders hunched and hands buried in his pockets. Elias pat Quinn on the back in something attempting comfort; Quinn seemed to always be uptight whenever in a new place. Elias never understood why, and never asked, just figured it was one of his quirks (God knows Elias has his own Quinn put up with). Quinn just gave him one of his tight smiles, and they moved on with the tour.
“It’s nice,” Elias said, not wanting to sound desperate. He was praying Quinn didn’t find anything wrong with the place. Elias might have to make an executive decision if he did.
“Nice is an understatement,” Lily said. Elais made a face and turned to glance at Quinn thinking he’d be amused as well by Lily’s attempt to seduce them into renting this apartament.
Quinn was not in fact making the face. He was looking over his shoulder, peaking into rooms like someone was about to jump out at him. Elias looked on oddly, about to shove Quinn’s shoulder to get his attention when Lily yelled from one of the bedrooms.
“This is the larger of the two bedrooms! Come check it out, the two people who lived here before treated this as the master bedroom. Moved out after their four-year-old started school.”
“Come on, Huggy,” Elias said, dragging Quinn into the room. He’d been peeking into the bathroom, inspecting it thoroughly.
The room was nice, with nearly floor to ceiling windows, large enough to comfortably house a king bed. The closet was large too, and the lights looked like they were just replaced. Elias might need to fight Quinn for this room.
“Damn,” Elias said, dropping the nonchalant act. Lily seemed to notice and chuckled.
“‘Damn’ is right.” She smiled, looked to Elias’s left, and furrowed her eyebrows. “Um, what does your friend think?”
With a smile on his face, Elias turned to Quinn to be in a similar state of awe. Instead, Quinn looked pale. Paler than usual. He was staring in the corner of the room, still and eyes unmoving. His breathing had become haggard too, and Elias was suddenly worried as he recognized that look.
“Quinn?”
Quinn didn’t respond. Elias knew it was one of his episodes, or, whatever this was. It happened then and now, very rarely, and usually Quinn shook out of it. Right now, it didn’t seem he was anywhere close to that. He looked at Lily apologetically before grabbing Quinn by the shoulders.
“Um, we love it,” Elias said, walking with Quinn out of the room. “We’ll let you know.”
“We can’t live there,” Quinn said. He was texting someone on his phone as Elias drove them back to their respective places.
Elias sighed deeply, trying not to be annoyed and failing miserably.
“Why not. What was wrong with that place? Actually, what was wrong with ANY of those places I found?”
Quinn was quiet, and Elias wished he wasn’t in the middle of driving so he could stare at Quinn and force him to tell him by making him uncomfortable. Usually it worked. He thinks that’s what Quinn chose to have this conversation now and not later.
“We just can’t.”
Elias groaned this time, no longer caring about protecting Quinn’s feelings.
“I’m gonna need more than that, Quinn.”
“Can’t you just trust me?”
“No, not really.”
“It’s just…” Quinn trailed off. Elias kept his eyes on the road but tilted his head to listen. “Bad vibes.”
Elias rolled his eyes. “Are you serious? ‘Bad vibes’?”
“Yes.”
They finally came to a red light, and Elais prayed it stayed. He looked at Quinn, and immediately felt bad for feeling mad. Quinn wasn’t looking at him. He was looking straight ahead with an empty gaze. He had stopped texting whoever he’d been talking to, and wrapped his arms around his stomach like it was the only thing keeping him together. He looked sad. It made Elias sad.
Elias decided to let go of his anger, and drives the rest of the way to Quinn’s temporary apartment in silence. When they arrived Quinn got out of the car with a quiet goodbye, and Elias watched as he walked into the place and away from his view.
Elias sat there a moment, running his hands through his hair tiredly.
Quinn was peculiar. Elias was starting to think it was a little more than that.
QUINN
Jack’s face showed up on his phone after Quinn was first graced with a view of his ceiling through the phone. “Q! How's the apartment search going?”
Quinn knew he was trying to casually lead into his actual question. Quinn threw him a bone and decided to get straight to it.
“Terrible,” Quinn said, flopping onto his bed. He laid his phone on his stomach so now Jack was the one with the view of his ceiling. “I never should have agreed to live with Petey.”
“Quinn.”
Lazily, Quinn took his phone and raised it so he could see his brother. Jack had his phone set up on something as he observed Quinn wallow, clearly hearing the tension in his tone. Sometimes Quinn wondered if he’d be as attentive if Jack were the one who was cursed.
“What’s up, man?” he asked in his concerned voice.
Quinn felt slightly warmer. “What else? Ghosts. Vancouver seems to have only ghost-infested apartments.”
“All of them?”
Quinn sat up, taking the phone with him. He ran a hand through his hair that was slowly and surely getting longer. He needed to cut it. “No. The first two actually did just suck. Petey can’t google worth shit.”
Jack snorted, and Quinn was afraid he was giving Jack a misleading view of his teammate who was probably his closest friend in Vancouver. Quinn wouldn’t lie and say there was no comfort in being around someone closer to his age, someone who was nearly as clueless as he was. There’s comfort in familiarity.
“But he’s definitely getting weirded out,” Quinn continued. “He insisted on coming with me today after I said no to the other apartment.”
“Well, did you give a good reason?”
Quinn stared at Jack, who raised his eyebrows as he waited for an answer.
“I said ‘bad vibes’.”
Jack groaned and threw his head back. “Well, yeah, I’d be fucking asking questions do if I got that weak ass answer.”
Quinn also groaned, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. He was fucking this up so quickly. It wasn’t this hard at Michigan, or when he left home. Sure, it was never easy, and leaving home at fifteen for the first time was probably the hardest thing he’d ever done, given the ghost in his billet family’s basement, but this was a whole different beast.
He was lucky that Bo’s house wasn’t haunted. Built new, the property didn’t have time for anyone to die and linger. He was extra lucky when the apartment he sublet for a while was also ghost-free. He was realizing now his luck was running out, and Petey was about to figure out he was a freak.
“Hey, stop that.” Jack’s face broke through his spiraling thoughts, and he looked up to see that terrible expression on his face that made Quinn forget he was the older brother.
In dark moments where Quinn had thoughts he always regretted, he sometimes wished it were one of his brothers who inherited it. When his sleep got really bad, and the ghosts were especially terrifying, he felt he couldn’t turn a corner without seeing a man holding his own murder weapon in his hand. Then he remembers how much it hurt him, and Quinn would hate himself for even thinking that.
“I’m just a bit freaked out, Jackey. What if Petey finds out? He doesn’t know when to shut up, he’d tell the whole team I’m the guy who stares at nothing and screams in the middle of the night.”
Jack’s eyebrows furrowed. “The dreams are bad right now?”
“What? No, I mean, yeah sometimes, but…Don’t worry about that.” Quinn said too much, which he tried to avoid with Jack. He worried more than he needed to. “I just mean I’m freaking out here. I can’t make things up forever, especially if we’re gonna be roommates. He’s gonna wonder why I’m, like, off.”
Jack stared at him. It was a stare Quinn hated being on the receiving end of, because he couldn’t read it.
“Gimme a sec.”
Jack hung up a second later. Quinn looked at his black screen, bewildered. “Dick.”
A new call began. It was a group facetime call, this time from their group chat with Luke.
“Shit.” Quinn had no choice but to answer, so he decided to just deal with whatever Luke and Jack were going to gang up on him with.
When he pressed the answer, Luke and Jack were already there, Luke looking like he was at home with their parents. It also looked like Jack’s already caught him up on everything, based on how he was staring at him with a vague vibe of annoyance.
“Q,” Luke began, that casual disappointment in his voice. “Stop overthinking everything.”
Quinn did the mature thing, he thinks. “What do you know? You’re like twelve.”
“I turn seventeen next week, asshole.”
“Guys.”
It was always bad when Jack was the voice of reason. Still, they stopped, and Luke and Jack shared a look that pissed Quinn off. Jack made a gesture, as if to tell Luke to ‘move it along.
“Okay. Quinn, you’re doing that thing you do where you think you’re impossible to get along with.”
“Well, I see ghosts, so–”
“Dude, how many times do we have to yell at you? You’re not in this alone.”
“Well, I am now!”
Quinn didn’t mean to yell, and he could tell neither did his brothers. They looked a little surprised, and Quinn rubbed his hands over his tired eyes. He could see the bags under them, and he knew they did too. He was grateful neither mentioned it.
“Sorry. I mean I really am on my own right now. You two are gone, and I’m here with no one to make excuses for me.”
They shared another look. Quinn wondered when they’d started doing that.
Luke coughed into his hand. “Well, have you considered telling Petey?”
Quinn looked at Luke like he grew a tail. He was honestly shocked he even suggested it. This thing has been a closely guarded secret for years. The only people who knew were his parents and brothers. He didn’t tell Brady or Josh, even though there was that one incident back in college when Josh almost found out due to a ghost lingering in their hallway. Back then, Quinn thought his world was ending when the idea of Josh knowing became a possibility. Thankfully, Josh never found out the whole truth, but Quinn still didn't know what he’d do if anyone outside of his family found out.
“No. I’m not telling Petey. I don’t even know him that well.”
Jack snorted. “That’s a fucking lie. I bet you two braid each other's hair at sleepovers.”
Quinn flipped him off.
“Seriously though. Why not?” Jack asked. “I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?”
“Uh, he could think I'm crazy?”
“How do you know that?” Luke asked. “You haven't actually ever told anyone, right?”
Quinn stilled, not wanting to prove Luke right, but they both knew the answer to that question.
Jack interrupted their silent staring contest. “Quinn, you dealt with this thing alone for most of your life. I’m still kind of pissed it took a fight for you to tell us yourself.”
Quinn thought back to that day on the ice. The boy who looked like he'd wanted to hurt his brothers. He had nightmares about him for weeks. Sometimes the boy wiggled his way into his nightmares now as an adult. As much as he hated that boy, Quinn couldn't help but be somewhat grateful. Quinn couldn’t deny his life has been easier by miles since his brothers found out.
“Imagine how much it wouldn’t suck if you had someone in Vancouver helping you out.”
Jack was right, Luke was right. They were both right, but the fear of being hated, or worse, believed and suddenly decided he was too much to handle terrified him the most. He didn't know if he'd survive that, because it just proved every ugly thought Quinn had about himself. He also didn’t want to be a burden to anyone, let alone Petey.
But it was Petey. Funny, honest, nice Petey who was Quinn’s fucking rock throughout his rookie season.
He thinks that’s why it made it even harder.
He looked over at his clock, cringing at what he saw. “Jack, it’s three am in Jersey.”
Jack shrugged. “Day off tomorrow. We’re going into the city, hitting the clubs.”
“You’re nineteen.”
“There's this place called Lebain in the West Village, Neeks says it’s sick and there's a pool in the middle of it.”
“Yo, that is sick,” Luke chimed in.
“I’m going to bed,” Quinn said, finding the opportunity to both end this conversation and avoid what he knows is inevitable. Thankfully, Jack and Luke both seemed to accept this and threw Quinn the avoidant bone.
“Alright, but Quinny,” Jack said. “Seriously. Be kind to yourself, or whatever.”
Quinn laughed softly. Jack hung up, Luke following a moment later. Quinn sighed, placing his phone on his bed and falling backwards again.
He knew trying to get a few hours of sleep was going to be futile.
The little girl in the apartment he and Petey visited couldn’t have been older than four. She was confused, scared and had asked Quinn for her parents in a scared voice Quinn never wanted to hear again. He’d gone cold and he understood then that the realtor had lied when she said the previous owner’s kid started kindergarten.
Children hurt Quinn the most. He was cursed with the knowledge some of them simply stayed, forever to be confused where they were and wanting nothing more than to be with their parents. He was glad Petey steered him out of there when he did. He’s not sure he would have been able to leave on his own.
ELIAS
The next day at practice, Elias kept an eye on Quinn. He was quiet, which was not unusual. It was the darker bags under his eyes that worried him. Clearly Quinn hadn’t slept, and it was shown by his poor performance on the ice. Slow to react, weaker take-off speeds, overall not there. Bo kicked him off the ice and sent him home with Coach’s permission. Even he saw how out of it Huggy was.
Quinn was quiet as he left, didn’t say anything to anyone as he forced himself off the ice like a kicked puppy. Petey could tell he was pissed at himself, saw it in his grimace and the way he walked. Quinn was quiet, but easy to read if you looked hard enough.
Elias’s been looking, which is how he knew something was up.
Driving back home, Elias called his mom. It was late in Sweden, but he was starting to think she could help if she could put him in contact with his cousin.
“Mom?”
“Elias! How are you? Everything alright?”
“Yeah, yeah, I just had a question.” Elias wasn’t totally sure how to bring up a cousin no one talked about anymore, so he decided to get straight to the point. “You remember my cousin, the one who like…ran off to the woods?”
His mom went silent for a second, then, “Alyna?”
“Um, yeah. I know it’s been a while, but do you know what her deal was? Where is she even?”
Elias heard his mom sigh from the other side of the phone. She shuffled around, like she was sitting down. “She’s living alone, as you know. She moved north to be alone.”
Elias thought more about Alyna. He hadn’t seen her for years. She was her father’s niece, not related by blood but nonetheless grew up with him in their early childhood. Some of her reminded him of Quinn in ways he can’t shake. He hadn’t really made the connection until that day at the apartment, when his eyes had been vacant, and his skin ghostly pale.
“Can you tell me more about her? Like, everything?”
He heard his mom shuffle around some more, then sigh sadly. “Yes. Call me when you get home, I would like to video call you for this.”
QUINN
A knock on the door distracted Quinn from doom scrolling on instagram. Josh posted something with Brady down in Ottawa, and it hurt a part of Quinn he thought didn’t get hurt anymore. It sucked only a bit that he couldn’t play with both of them while they got the chance to. He took a look at his basically empty apartment, and that ache in his chest only got heavier.
When he heard the knock, Quinn dragged himself off his bed. Without thinking to check the peep-hole of his door, he opened to find Petey, hair falling over his face, staring at Quinn with slightly widened eyes. He looked like he ran up the stairs instead of taking the elevator
“Petey?”
“Ghosts.”
Quinn’s heart dropped. “What?”
Petey pointed at Quinn. He just noticed he was out of breath. “You. You see ghosts, yes?”
Shit. Quinn never should have opened that damn door.
Quinn was speechless. His heart was racing, and he was suddenly very hot. He forgot how to move, how to react.
“What are you talking about?” Quinn tried, and failed, so sound calm.
Petey waved him off and entered his apartment. If Quinn was taller, a bit stronger, he might have fought him on it. He was too tired for that though. After Bo sent him home, he did rest, but barely slept. He got maybe twenty minutes in a power nap before he saw that little girl's face in his dreams and woke up panting and drenched in sweat. He had laid there with the lights on after that, wanting nothing more than to call Jack or Luke, knowing they’d both be busy with their own shit. That, or maybe he simply didn’t think they deserve to be bothered with it.
Petey paced his apartment, catching his breath. He went to the kitchen and treated himself to a glass of water, already knowing where everything was. When he was done, he glared at Quinn.
“Tell me the truth. Do you see ghosts?” Petey raised a hand to stop Quinn from arguing. “Yes or no, just tell me. Please.”
Quinn was still again. He was going over a dozen scenarios in his head right now about where this could lead, all possibilities worse than the last. Petey was straight up, never tip-toeing around the truth. Quinn hated it, of course, but what the hell could he do about it? Petey had him in a corner, and he had no choice but to answer and attempt to get himself out of it.
So he did. “Yeah.”
Petey took a breath at the same time as Quinn. Quinn realized he’d held it as he waited for Petey to call him crazy, leave without another word, and tell their whole team. Anything. Quinn could almost cry the more he thought about it.
Instead, Petey did the most shocking thing Quinn could have expected. Petey closed the distance between them and pulled Quinn into a bone-crushing hug. Quinn’s arms hung limply at his side at first, confused and relieved all at once. He didn’t totally understand what was going on, but he also realized this was the first time he’d been hugged like this since he came to Vancouver.
Unfortunately, Quinn melted into it, and grasped at Petey like a lifeline. He exhaled, and felt like he could breathe again.
Quinn grabbed Petey a coke from the fridge, bringing it over as they sat on the coach. After the initial shock of Quinn finding out Petey knew, he composed himself and decided to have a real conversation, sort of like his brothers suggested, although he liked to think he was the one who made this decision.
“So, your cousin?”
Petey nodded as he took the drink from Quinn. “Yeah. She moved away when I was young, but I never really forgot her. She would get that same look in her eyes you do sometimes.”
Quinn nodded. He almost couldn’t believe that Petey had known someone who was probably like him. He thought he was the only one.
“What happened to her?”
Petey shrugged. “She’s fine, if that’s what you're wondering. She moved North and lives alone in the middle of nowhere. My Dad speaks with her brother sometimes, and she’s fine. Just…alone, I guess.”
Quinn nodded, not feeling really that comforted but the new information. It’s clear that Petey’s cousin solved her problem by isolating herself where there's no ghosts to haunt her. Unfortunately, Quinn chose a career that brought him to the most populated places in the world. It’s rare he went on a rodie and didn’t see at least a few ghosts.
“Sorry if that's not what you wanted to hear.”
Quinn lifted his head, and saw the sincerity in Petey’s eyes. He recognized the look in his brothers. It made him feel nearly sick.
“It’s alright,” Quinn said. “It’s just nice to tell someone.”
Petey furrowed his eyebrows. “Who have you told?”
Quinn snorted. “I can count the amount of people who know on one hand.”
“Jeez,” Petey said. “And you just, what, live with that? Alone?”
Quinn nodded. He had never prepared answers for this, never expecting he had too. This was so new to him, he couldn’t stop fidgeting with the sleeve of his sweater.
“Quinn.” Quinn looked up, never used to his teammates using his actual name. “Was there a ghost in the apartment?”
Flashes of the girl shocked his vision. Sad, alone, terrified and so little. She was nothing like that boy on the ice, who was filled with rage. She was just sad. It killed Quinn, because he felt it too. He felt her fear, and it made him want to throw up and cry.
Quinn nodded. “Yeah. A little girl. There are a lot more kids than you’d think. I guess they're just confused and scared, then can’t…move on, I guess.”
Petey hummed, and Quinn appreciated his silence. He liked the lack of questions. A part of him thought Petey understood, or at least recognized that if something like this was bad enough to drive his cousin into the middle of nowhere, then it must be a big deal.
“It’s too bad,” Petey said. “It was a great apartment.”
Quinn snorted. “Yeah. I’m sorry, but I can’t live in a place with a ghost like that. I, like, feel how off it is. It’s not just things I see. I understand if you want to live with someone else there.”
Petey made a face like he was shocked he even suggested it. “You think I want to live in a house with a creepy ghost kid?”
“She's not creepy,” Quinn defended for some reason. “Just scared.”
Petey sighed. He scrunched his eyes, thinking, and Quinn went back to playing with his sleeve.
“I still want to live with you. This doesn't change that.”
If Petey talked any more, Quinn might actually start crying. He had never predicted this outcome at all, and it made him feel so fucking happy he didn’t know what to do with it. Quinn looked at the ground, too embarrassed to look Petey in the eye.
“Question,” Petey said. “Have you ever tried talking to them?”
Quinn was a little surprised. He’s always tried to avoid them so Quinn never really stopped to consider he could try talking to them.
“Not really,” he said.
Petey hummed. “Okay, so what if you did? What if you tried talking to that little girl? You could, I don’t know, help her move on or something.”
The idea of seeing that little girl again made Quinn want to shrink away. Her pain was unimaginable, and Quinn was terrified to experience it again. Still, Petey had a point. He was just a little surprised he was the one to suggest it to him.
“I don’t know,” Quinn mumbled. “I’ve never tried.”
“Exactly.” Quinn wishes he had Petey’s confidence. “It can’t hurt.”
Quinn wasn't sure that was true. Sure, Quinn has not been hurt by a ghost since he was seven, but he's not looking to break that streak. He rubbed his arms uncomfortably, trying to imagine going back, the chills in his spine from walking into the apartment returning.
Then he imagined the girl. She was so small in her corner, staring at Quinn with desperate tear-stained eyes. His heart broke for her, for her sadness. He wasn’t sure if it was worse to remember her, or simply never return.
“Can you come with me?”
He was embarrassed to ask, but Petey didn’t give him any indication he thought it was dumb. Petey just smiled and nodded his head. “Yeah. Of course.” Petey stood and stretched his arms above his head. “I want to live there too.”
“Right now?” Quinn asked.
“Yes, Right now. Come on Huggy, we don’t have all day.”
Quinn scrambled to get up, not wholeheartedly prepared for what was, for the first time in his life, a goal to seek out a ghost.
Elias Petterson was a peculiar individual. Quinn was starting to feel a little less alone because of it.
ELIAS
Elias remembered the passcode to the door from when Lily punched it in earlier. First he knocked, of course, and then snuck into the apartment. It was 9:00pm, and he assumed Lily had no more open house visits.
The lights were off and all doors to rooms closed. Now that Elias knew there was a little ghost girl haunting the place, he did his best to try and notice any signs. He got nothing, and he wondered in the moment how many ghosts he’s been in the same room as and never knew.
Quinn explained in the car that most ghosts just leave well enough alone. They wonder, a little confused, not always aware they are dead. They don’t always move things, flicker lights, make the room cold. They just exist.
Then he told Elias some are different, depending on how they died or who they are. Quinn feels it all. He feels the chills, the warning signs, their emotions and how they died. Quinn has a theory people who claim to see ghosts maybe can feel some kind of presence, that they’re like Quinn in a way, but not on his level. He told Elias if anyone was actually like him, they wouldn’t go on tv telling everyone. Elias hadn't been so sure that was true until he saw just how much Quinn paled when he walked into the apartment, then he remembered his cousin, who left society simply to stay sane.
He wondered how the hell Quinn did it.
It’s like Quinn lost all the blood in his body when he entered the apartment, his face literally drained of it. He was shaking slightly, and immediately it looked like he was two seconds from passing out, like he had just done a five minute shift on the ice and hadn't had any water. Elias put a hand on his elbow, worried he’d topple over.
“You alright?”
Quinn looked at Elias, nodding his head. “Yeah. Yes, I’m just aware of her. She’s really scared. I don’t think she likes the dark.”
Elias frowned, sad for Quinn and the girl. He was starting to think bringing Quinn here was a mistake, but before he could tell him to turn around, Quinn stood up straight and walked right towards the master bedroom. Elias followed, impressed. He wasn't sure he was that brave.
Quinn took a breath as he stood at the door. Elias watched, both scared and entranced. He couldn’t take his eyes off Quinn, wondering how this felt. The second Quinn put his hand on the door, he flinched.
“S’cold,” he muttered.
Quinn opened the door. It was dark, and neither of them really knew where the light was. It was a full moon and clear night though, and the large windows gave Elias a clear view into the eerily empty room. Maybe it’s because Elias knew now, but something about the room felt off. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and Quinn’s thousand yard stare in the corner of the room didn’t help.
Elias looked between him and the corner he was locked in on. “Is she there?”
Slowly, Quinn nodded. He was breathing heavily, hand fisted tightly. Elias put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, hoping it provided some kind of comfort to his friend. He really didn’t know what else to do. Quinn smiled though, small, but it was there. He nodded his head and took a step forward.
Elias stayed a few feet back, but followed. He watched intently as Quinn crouched slowly, like approaching a spooked cat. His eyes were focused, going back and forth on nothing. At least, nothing Elias could see.
“Hi,” he said, softly, like he was speaking with a child–
Elias shook his head, looking behind him. He was getting the creeps.
“...I’m Quinn. This is my friend. His name is Petey.”
Elias turned his head. Quinn was on the ground, crouched and still shaking, but it was less obvious, more like he had a slight chill to him. Elias came beside him, crouching around two feet away Quinn. Quinn didn’t move at his approach, or even register him in the first palace. He stared forward, and Elias watched.
Quinn nodded his head, then smiled softly. His eyes crinkled just a bit. “Bella is a nice name.”
Elias was too afraid to say anything, just watched Quinn’s face as he spoke with the girl.
“Bella. I’m sorry but…no, no they're okay. They’re gone, they don't live here anymore. I’m sorry.”
Elias watched intently. Quinn waited silently, looking down like trying to get someone's attention. Suddenly, Quinn gasped. It was soft and stable, but clearly something changed. Elias almost lurched forward to put a hand on his shoulder, but Quinn got on his knees, somehow getting himself even lower on this girl's level.
“Wait, wait, no, I’m sorry I don't want to upset you. They love you, I promise. But, they’re okay, I promise.” He paused again, listening to something. He waited for what was probably only a minute, but it felt longer.
“Me too, Bella.”
Elias wondered what she was saying to him, what made Quinn sound so soft and quiet and vulnerable. Elias doesn’t think he’s ever seen him like this. It was a side to Quinn Elias felt he shouldn’t be here to witness.
He stayed quiet, afraid to ruin any progress Quinn was making with Bella. Bella. She was only four.
“Bella. Can you tell me why you’re here?”
This went on for a little while. Elias sat and listened, watching Quinn’s expressions, seeing how he changed, how slowly his eyes became more sad. Less burdened with fear but nonetheless burdened. It broke Elias’s heart a little.
“Can I tell you something, Bella? I’ve never talked to a ghost before.” Quinn smiled, then chuckled softly. She must have said something to him. “No, I promise, you're the first.”
Even Elias smiled. He didn’t know when, but Elias found himself sitting more relaxed than before, his forearms resting on his knees.
“And I know it’s scary, but it's where you’re supposed to go. Not here. You’ll see your parents again, I promise.”
Quinn smiled. HIs face softened a moment later. He looked at something in front of him, then back up. Elias leaned up, trying to read Quinn’s face. He just looked surprised. Then Quinn raised his hand forward like he was reaching out for something. Elias waited with baited breath, then jumped when Quinn gasped. His face went pale, his eyes wide, then nothing. Absolutely nothing. Elias looked between the spaces, then Quinn.
Then Quinn’s eyes rolled backwards, and he collapsed like a puppet whose strings were cut.
QUINN
When Quinn came to, he was being slapped. On the face. Hard.
Quinn’s back hurt too. When he opened his eyes, he was faced with a very worried looking Swede towering over him.
“Holy shit, Huggy. Holy SHIT, are you possessed?”
Quinn stared up at Petey. “What? No.”
Then Quinn’s eyes widened. He bolted upright, regretting it when his head pounded from blood rushing to his head. When the beating became dull and manageable, he looked around for Bella. She wasn’t there though. Not only could Quinn not see her, but he couldn’t sense her either. It’s like she was never there in the first place.
He did it. He got her to pass. He spoke to her and everything. She wasn't scared anymore. He fucking did it.
He barely registered what Petey was saying to him. He was asking Quinn a dozen questions, and he only just realized that Petey was holding the back of his head tightly with his other hand resting on his shoulder, helping hold him up. Did Petey stop him from hitting his head?
He focused on Petey, finally acknowledging his friend. He was staring at Quinn with a terrified expression. Quinn could only smile though. As he looked at Petey, it dawned on him that he might have just changed his life.
Quinn did not hug all that often, but nothing could have stopped him from pulling Petey into a bone-crushing hug. He hung onto his shoulders, breathing heavy as the realization sunk in that he had helped someone move on. He exhaled, almost sobbing out a cry of relief. He couldn’t believe it. Could’t fucking beleive it.
He couldn't wait to tell Luke and Jack.
“Q,” Petey said, pulling back. He looked at him still a little scared, like he wasn’t sure whether to smile along with him or call a doctor. “Are you alright?”
“Dude,” Quinn exclaimed. “I’m so alright.”
Petey’s mouth finally turned to a smile. He laughed, looking around the room and finally let his hands fall from Quinn’s head and shoulder. Petey rested on his hands, tipping his head back and sighing deeply. Quinn wondered if Petey felt how much lighter the room was now.
They both sat there for a few minutes in silence. Quinn basked in the moonlight that cascaded in the room, relishing in the knowledge that this was something he could do. Bella hadn’t been scary, just a victim of something terrifying. Quinn saw that, he felt it, and now he felt lighter. So much lighter, like he wasn't completely alone in this.
He glanced at Petey, who was still looking up at the ceiling with his eyes closed. He was so scared when Petey came over and immediately guessed Quinn’s secret. Quinn never would have thought Petey would actually help him. He didn’t think he had the words to tell Petey what it meant to him.
After another minute or two, Petey finally broke the silence. “Hey, Quinn? Do you want to move into this apartment with me?”
Quinn smiled. “Yeah.” He paused. “Thanks Pete.”
Petey threw him a thumbs up. “Anytime.”
Quinn smiled again, really believing him. He fell backwards, lying on his back and decided to stay there for a moment. He’d get up in a minute. He was tired and could fall asleep here. If he did, he didn’t worry. Petey would wake him up.
Notes:
Hope you enjoyed 🫶🏼
Chapter 4
Notes:
I’m going to be honest, I had no intention of making Trevor a part of this fic at first, nor do I really know that much about him. He's only been on my radar since the trade happened (Very happy for the Duck Duo girlies, congrats on the reunion 🫶🏼). However, ironically enough, this is probably one of my favorite chapters of this story.
This came about because while I’m not super familiar with Zegras, I am incredibly entertained by the twitter jokes before the trade about Quinn crashing out due to the rumors that the Canucks had been looking at acquiring Zegras . It was originally gonna be another Canuck, but I felt inspired by the (probably) fake beef between Quinn and Trevor. So, this chapter exists.
EDIT: If you're reading this after 9/10/25, then you may know that Zegras recently made it abundantly clear how he leans politically and posted something I can't ignore or pretend does not say a lot about his views on people like me or any marginalized group. I'm not gonna change this chapter, but want to say I don't condone him, nor am I a fan, or will ever be a fan of his at this point. That being said, this is also a work of fiction and contains fictionalized versions of these people, so because of that separation, I will not be changing this chapter. If you can't separate real him from my fictional version, that's alright too (:
Same rules apply (:
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
TREVOR
Trevor loved the Hughes’s lake house.
Jackey and Q really went all out with the layout. Between the shooting room and the pool table, it was every 20-something hockey year old's fucking dream.
Trevor fucking loved it. What he loved even more right now, was his friendship with Jack, because it meant he was invited over to for a week (or two, Trevor didn’t have shit going on) and could just fuck around (even if Jack did make sure they all did practice in the off-season).
Tevor was planning on going to the Hughes' actual house in Michigan later on in the summer to train with Jimmy and the boys. Apparently, their Jim had been riding Luke hard since he decided next year he’d finish his sophomore year at Michigan before officially joining the Devils in their season rather than following Big Brother Jack’s footsteps and going straight to the big leagues.
He took after Quinn in that regard. Quinn. Short-ish, quiet-ish, and sometimes emo-ish Quinn.
Trevor was pretty sure Quinn hated him.
Trevor began to understand a long time ago that his personality wasn’t made for everyone. Some people didn’t like his insistent yapping, or what he lovingly referred to as his bright (loud) disposition. For a quiet guy like Quinn, Trevor didn’t really expect him to overjoyed or anything by his company, but it didn’t mean he had to dislike him.
The thing is, he knows Quinn did like him at one point, or at the very least tolerated him. Trevor has known Jack since they were teenagers, and he was no way unfamiliar with the Hughes family or how they operate. Jack was the cool one, Luke the fun one, and Quinn was the quiet one. Really, those descriptions could be applied to each brother, but some parts of themselves were just louder than others. Hell, Trevor’s been an honorary Hughes for years now (Ellen made sure of that). So, Trevor, in good conscience, knew Quinn liked him at least a little. He’s played with him, both hockey and golf, and gotten along just fine before. Sure, Trevor didn't miss the occasional groan or eye-roll as a result of something he said, but he got that from a lot of people. Even during games, Trevor would chirp the guy and he'd respond and match him. It’s how they operated, Trevor and the Hughes brothers.
He didn’t know what the hell had changed this summer, but the oldest Hughes brother was avoiding him like the plague, and it was freaking him out.
A chill ran down Trevor’s spine as he approached the lake house door beside Jack. He thinks he was coming down with a cold or something, or maybe it was just the overall vibe he was getting from the house now that he knew Quinn apparently hated him.
“Home sweet home,” Jack muttered, clearly tired from their time at the local rink. It wouldn’t be Jack Hughes unless he was skating at least once every couple of days.
“Yeah, you must be tired from getting your ass handed to you.”
Jack gave Trevor an unimpressed look and opened the door. Trevor looked around, and thankfully, Quinn was nowhere in sight. Instead, he found Luke sitting in the living room eating what looked like an omelet. It smelled good.
“Quinn made omelets,” Luke said between mouthfuls. “They’re really fucking good. I think he put, like, ham and spinach and shit in it.”
“That’s not that impressive,” Jack said as he took some tater tots off of Luke’s plate, the latter swatting his hand away. “You really need to learn to cook, Lukey.”
Luke groaned. “Why would I when I have you two?”
“I’m not cooking for you during the season. ”
“Why not? I’m a growing boy. Don’t stunt my growth, Jack.”
Quinn came wandering around then, stumbling down the stairs while texting someone. “I made omelets,” he said without looking up.
“We heard,” Jack said through a mouth full of said omelet.
Trevor stared at Quinn, trying with his brain to get him to look at him, or maybe make him explode. Trevor wasn’t sure where he sat on his Quinn Hughes opinions right now.
Quinn did look at Trevor, but quickly glanced away. “Hey Trev,” He muttered quietly.
Trevor didn’t really know how to respond to that. “Hey.”
Trevor walked over to Jack and took food off his plate, much to his displeasure. He gave Trevor a death glare but still allowed him to take some food. Quinn had gone to the fridge, rooting around for something. Luke and Jack were both eating quietly now, Luke distracted by his food while Jack scrolled on his phone. It was a kind of quiet Trevor had come to realize is common among the Hughes bros. They tended to fall into these bouts of silence when they weren't either playing some kind of game, arguing about something dumb, or planning things.
Usually, Trevor would try to fill the silence, but he was laser-focused on not pissing off Quinn, who was one of his best friends' older brothers. Jack and Quinn were really close too. Trevor knew but would never admit out loud that a part of him was afraid if Quinn did actually hate him, Jack would choose his brother over Trevor. He wouldn’t expect Jack not to, but the thought still scared him off from bringing anything up to Jack.
Trevor felt another chill go down his spine. God, they needed to fix the AC in this place. Trevor should not be this freaked out over something not that serious.
Suddenly, Quinn flinched violently. Trevor jumped when Quinn dropped the drink he had in his hand, causing glass to shatter all across the countertop of the island. Luke and Jack whipped their heads up too, all attention now on Quinn.
Trevor also looked at him – he looked pale (Well, paler than usual) and his hands were shaking. There was painfully awkward silence for a second too long.
“Quinn, are you sick or something?” Trevor asked.
Quinn looked up from where he dropped his glass. His hands were gripping the edge of the island, holding himself up. When he looked at Trevor, his face blanched. Maybe he stood up too fast? Either way, he looked like he was two seconds from passing out.
“I need to lie down,” Quinn said to no one in particular. He left quickly, stumbling upstairs in a way that worried Trevor that he would fall down.
That awkward silence returned, and Trevor stood totally unfamiliar to the look Jack and Luke passed to one another. They seemed to make the same conclusion without saying any words, and Trevor only continued to stand there, baffled as to what had just happened.
“I’m gonna check on him,” Luke stated. He left his food unfinished and followed Quinn upstairs.
Trevor looked at Jack, asking for answers silently. Jack didn’t seem to pick up on that, or simply ignored Trevor, and went to clean the counter, picking up the larger pieces of glass with his hands. “Careful walking, Trev.”
Trevor came out of his confused daze. He looked at Jack, who was now focused on wiping up the spilled juice and smaller pieces of glass with a paper towel.
“Dude. Is your brother okay?”
Jack nodded without looking at him. “Yeah, he’s good.” He paused. “Gets low iron sometimes, you know?”
Trevor stared at him. “He’s iron deficient?”
Jack seemed to think about it for a second. “Yeah. Why do you think he’s so pale?”
He said it with a smile, and he was so close to convincing Trevor he wasn’t lying out of his ass. Whatever, he thought. Quinn could be weird and standoffish with him all he wanted to. Trevor just wanted to fuck around for a week if he’s being honest.
Hanging out with Jack at his awesome lake house was a good distraction from…well, everything.
“Can we go on your boat later?”
Jack grinned. “Hell yeah we can.”
Trevor beamed. Quinn hadn’t turned Jack against him yet.
LUKE
Luke hurried to Quinn’s room. He paused outside the door, deciding that bursting in would not be the best course of action – Quinn got grumpy when a ghost stressed him out.
At least, Luke was assuming it was a ghost. Based on the way his face blanched and the vagueness with Trevor's presence, Luke thinks he was guessing correctly that there was a ghost on the premises.
Which really, really confused him, because Quinn told Luke that when he and Jack bought the place, he checked it top to bottom to make sure no lingering spirits decided to make the house their home. As far as Luke knew, no one has died there since they finished furnishing the place.
God, Luke couldn’t wait for his Devil’s paycheck. Right now, he was chill with basically being his brother's sugar baby. Sugar brother? Whatever.
Luke knocked quietly on the door. “Quinny?”
Luke heard a quick grunt through the door. Luke took that as his go-ahead to walk in since an annoyed “go away” didn’t precede said grunt.
Luke walked in and Quinn was lying on the bed, his forearm draped over his eyes. He looked like he was fighting off a headache or trying to manage a current one. Luke looked behind him as he closed the door, making sure Trevor wasn’t around. Luke was also pretty sure Trevor had no clue about Quinn’s thing, although Luke only got here the night before. He had no idea what Trevor knew.
“You alright?” he asked.
Quinn sighed deeply, then sat up. He stretched his neck, and Luke will admit he looked less pale than earlier. He’s learned how to manage being around ghosts a lot more since they were teenagers, and a lot of it had to do with the fact he wasn’t hiding it from everyone anymore.
“Yeah,” he said. Luke did believe him this time. Didn’t stop the worrying, though.
“Ghost?”
Quinn nodded his head.
“Dude, I thought you said there weren’t any here?”
“There weren't,” Quinn said, now standing up, less wobbly and far more in control of himself. Still, Luke resisted the urge to put a hand on his elbow or something. “Until two days ago.”
Luke stared at him. Quinn wasn’t giving him more than that, so he knew he had to push. Talking about ghosts with Quinn sometimes felt like pulling teeth on a very skittish cat.
“Okay? So, what changed?”
Luke was praying Quinn wasn’t about to say he and Jack, like, killed someone. Less likely option, but still, Luke was rotating crazy scenarios in his head right now.
“Trevor happened.”
Luke’s eyes widened. “Trevor killed someone?”
Quinn whipped his head up, eyes narrowed like Luke was dumb. “What? No, he didn’t kill someone, no one’s died, as far as I know.”
“Okay, then why the fuck is there ghost here.”
Quinn sighed, pushing hair back from his face. Luke just noticed he must have been sweating a lot, which is another thing that happens when he’s really disturbed by a ghost.
“Trevor has a ghost attached to him,” Quinn said plainly. “And I’m pretty sure the ghost hates me, too.”
TREVOR
Trevor was staring at Jack as he sat reading some book on the boat. Both Luke and Quinn declined to go when Jack had extended the invitation to them, something Trevor was happy about but would never say out loud. He’s pretty sure Quinn wouldn’t want to be in a boat with him in the first place.
While out, Jack had wanted to read some book, but Trevor wasn’t complaining about lounging around either. It was nice, the water calm. The silence, however, meant Trevor could not stop thinking about earlier, and about Quinn, and about if the rest of his stay would be him avoiding Quinn and getting a stink eye. Jack had to know something.
Trevor got over his fear and just asked. “Does Quinn hate me or something?”
Jack looked up from his book. He squinted when he looked up, which Trevor thought was funny because he fully had Quinn’s shadow hat on, just backwards.
“No. Why would he hate you?”
Jack had set his book on his chest, a gesture Trevor appreciated.
“Have you seriously not noticed?” Jack shook his head. “Bro, your brother, like, literally looks sick whenever he sees me. We haven't talked once since I got here, and when we do interact he avoids me like I personally killed his dog or something.”
Jack’s nose twitched, and he rubbed it at. Trevor stared at him, praying for an answer. He knew Jack knew something, he just wished he’d man up and tell him.
“He’s probably just sick or something.”
Trevor waved his hand, leaning back. “Yeah, yeah iron deficient or whatever.”
“I’m serious, dude,” Jack said, closing his book. He sounded defensive all the sudden, and it made Trevor feel suddenly very open out on this boat with just him and Jack. “Just ignore it. He’s probably just in a mood or something.” He paused again. “It has nothing to do with you.”
The way he said it made Trevor believe him. Still, Trevor was not totally convinced. Maybe if this was his first time meeting Quinn, he'd brush it off, but he’s known him for years. He’d considered them friends. Quinn was barely older than Jack, and he’d spent enough time with him to think they’d at least be friendly acquaintances.
Trevor had racked his brain to think back to the few times they’ve played this last season. Trevor never hit him with something dirty, or went too far with a chirp. He, honest to god, was baffled by this.
Still, the way Jack was suddenly so defensive over his brother was both not a surprise and somewhat expected. Hell, Trevor got it, he was defensive over his own brother, but he couldn’t help but be a bit hurt.
He loved this house, and he loved the Hughess’. He didn’t want to fuck it up.
“Okay, I’ll drop it,” Trevor said. He went back to his phone after Jack nodded somewhat sympathetically. It didn’t mean much to Trevor in the moment, who was starting to wish he’d just stayed at the damn house,
The boat rocked, and Trevor was starting to feel sick.
Back at the house, Trevor was starting to understand it was really the Hughes brothers palace, and he was just a guest.
He and Jack docked the boat and awkwardly made their way back to the house. Clearly, both parties were still a bit tense over this somewhat-not-really-an-argument-argument. Getting in the house had been fine, and they'd flopped onto the couch, turning some shitty reality tv show now that the season had ended for the playoffs too.
Then Luke had come down, asking for Jack to come upstairs. Just Jack. It was so obviously a means to get rid of Trevor, that it made Trevor want to know what they were talking about even more.
Jack had looked awkwardly at Trevor before going upstairs to talk with Quinn, obviously. Luke had given him a tight, sympathetic smile before following his brother.
Trevor thinks he managed to sit still for a while. He rested his calf on his other leg, not really watching the show but letting his eyes glaze over as his knee bumped up and down. Somehow, he felt hot and cold at once, cold because he’d been perpetually that way for a while, and hot because he knew they were talking about him and it burned somehow, like something pulling for him to just go upstairs and listen in.
He stayed there maybe for thirty more seconds before jumping up and quietly ascending the steps towards Quinn's room.
JACK
“He alright?” Jack asked once they were out of earshot from Trevor.
Luke shrugged. “I mean, yeah, but he needs to talk to you about something.”
“Is it Trev?” Jack asked, probably a little harsher than intended. “What the fuck us up with that by the way? Quinn’s being a dick.”
Luke just shrugged, far too casual and calm that Jack felt. “Just talk to him, man.”
Luke didn’t knock and just opened the door to Quinn’s room. Of course, it was a mess, because when wasn't it, and Quinn was sitting on the edge of the bed with his head tilted back.
Jack found himself looking Quinn over, worried he’d find him very pale and shaky again, glad when he looked his normal sickly self. Jack always found himself wondering if Quinn was that way because of the ghosts, and if he’d look and act differently if he couldn’t.
He pushed the thought back and asked his question. “What's wrong with you, dude?”
Quinn groaned. “Yeah, I’m fine, thanks for asking.”
Jack felt bad for a millisecond, then remembered the pained expression on Trevor’s face when Jack had basically bit his head off on the boat. He couldn’t exactly tell Trevor Quinn’s secret, or explain the random bouts of sickly-ness without exposing him. It fucking sucked.
“Explain, like, everything, please,” Jack said.
Jack took Quinn’s desk chair and turned it around facing Quinn while Luke stayed near the door. He’d stuffed his hands in his hoodie and was leaning backwards against the wall. It made him look taller, which pissed Jack off.
“You’re showing all the signs of ghosts being around, but you said there weren't any when we moved in,” Jack said.
“There’s a ghost attached to Trev.”
Jack blinked at Quinn. “What?”
“There’s a ghost attached to–”
“–Yeah, I heard you, but…I didn’t know that was fucking possible.”
“Me neither,” Quinn said. He rubbed a tired hand over his face. “But he follows Trevor around and is, like, very protective over him.”
“Protective?” Jack asked.
“Yeah,” Quinn said. “He’s an old guy, more off than most ghosts. He really doesn’t like that I can see him, and he’s always yelling at me, or, like, trying to get rid of me.”
“Sorry, what?” Jack asked, suddenly very worried about an evil, Quinn-hating ghost.
“Not that he wants to kill me.” Quinn stared at the ceiling. “I think. I don’t know, he just really doesn’t like that I can see him. So I've been avoiding Trevor.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
It was a dumb question. Jack already really knew the answer too, but he was thinking irrationally. Firstly, his brother was forced to be around a ghost that apparently was out to get him, and said ghost was haunting his friend.
“Well, you and Trev have been attached at the hip,” Luke said matter of factly. “So…”
“Okay, yes, but you could have told me earlier?” Jack said, turning back to Quinn.
“It’s not that big of a deal,” Quinn said.
“It kind of is!”
“Don’t freak out over it.”
“Quinn,” Jack said, hoping it would get through his thick, dumb skull. “There is a ghost haunting Trevor. The ghost doesn't like you. The laws of ghosts are not being followed by this guy. What if he actually does hurt you?”
Quinn was barely looking Jack in the eye, then, “Ghosts can’t touch me.”
There. Jack saw it. Quinn was fucking lying to him, he knew it. He’d always been able to tell, especially when it mattered. They lied all the time to each other, but this was one time Quinn actually wanted Jack and Luke to believe him.
“Oh my God,” Jack said. “They can, can’t they?”
Luke finally stopped leaning on the wall, looming over the two of them. Quinn just stared at Jack with that hundred yard look Jack sees all the time during broadcasts, like he could kill him with just a look. He knew a dozen other things were brewing under that gaze, and luckily, Jack learned a long time ago how to go unfazed by it.
“Quinny,” Luke tried this time. His voice was laced with desperation, nothing like Jack’s anger.
Quinn got up quickly, making his way towards the door. “It doesn’t matter, okay? I’ll just avoid the ghost for now and hopefully–”
Quinn paused mid-sentence when he opened the door, and Trevor was standing not an inch away, clearly once listening in on the conversation. His mouth was slightly open, and the blood left Jack’s face.
There was an oppressive silence between them all, only made worse by the fact they didn’t really know what he knew.
Trevor was the one who broke the silence. “There’s a fucking ghost haunting me?”
TREVOR
Trevor was pacing Quinn’s room, muttering to himself. Jack was trying to get him to chill out while Luke and Quinn looked onward from a corner. They were talking in hushed voices while Trevor was coming to terms with the fact that Ghosts were fucking real.
Trevor’s always been a believer in the sense he’d get freaked out in a haunted house, or he never totally didn’t think they were real. Maybe he just thought it would funny, but now that he knew there was apparently a ghost attached to him, he was freaking the fuck out.
The silver lining is that Quinn didn’t hate him. Great.
“Trev, you need to chill out,” Jack said, which really didn’t have the intended effect.
“Do not tell me to chill out right now.” Trevor did stop pacing, and another chill went down his spine.
Quinn looked up. “Stop doing that.”
Trevor didn’t know what he was talking about, but Quinn wasn’t looking at him, more like something that was over his shoulder. Oh, Jesus Christ.
Trevor shivered again and walked deeper into the room. He shook his hands, dragging them over his arms. He felt like he had bugs crawling all over him.
“Jesus, what’s it doing?” Trevor asked. He looked around, still seeing nothing, but that freaked him out more.
“He’s not doing anything bad,” Quinn said, voice tired. He looked pale again. “He just keeps putting his hand on your shoulder, but I told him that’s not safe, but he won’t listen to me.”
Quinn squinted his eyebrows, like he was listening. Suddenly, he backed up, and keeled over, like he was going to be sick. Luke but a hand between his shoulder blades, rubbing his back as he looked worriedly over at Jack.
“What the hell is this ghost doing to you?” Jack asked. He looked around too, like he was ready to fight someone, almost like when he was on the ice and someone dealt a dirty hit.
Quinn waved his hand and leaned back up. “He doesn’t like me. I can feel it. It just makes me lose balance for a sec.”
“Why aren't we feeling it,” Trevor asked. A lot of things about Quinn were starting to make sense.
“Because you can’t see him,” Quinn replied. “Or, you’re not sensitive to this, I don’t know, Trev. All I know is this guy is attached to you and wants to help you.”
Trevor was starting to freak out, and he wasn't totally sure why. “With what?!”
Quinn keeled over again. Shit, was this thing killing him?.
After a moment of deep breathing and Luke now using both his hands to rub Quinn’s back, Quinn sat up again. God, he looked like shit.
“Dude,” Jack said, but there was worry in his voice, in his expression. Trevor’s never seen him so spooked. “This isn’t normal.”
“I know,” Quinn replied. He took steps towards Trevor, who was now sitting on the bed. When did he get there?
Quinn paused and raised his hands as if to surrender as he looked at something to Trevor’s left. Slowly, he approached Trevor. He looked from his left, to Trevor.
“Trevor, please don’t freak out. When you freak out, he freaks out, and then I feel like I got hit by a truck. Can you please relax?”
Trevor took a deep breath, then nodded his head. He could be chill. He was so chill.
Quinn took a breath and stepped back again. None of them said a thing as he paced, his fingers locked together and resting on the back of his neck. He closed his eyes, looking up. After a few moments of what looked like a weird lock-in ritual, he turned to all of them.
“Okay, I have a plan, and it involves all of you.”
LUKE
Luke looked on worriedly. Quinn explained the situation, and it seemed better than nothing.
“Wait, so for you to help them move on, they gotta, like, touch you?”
Quinn nodded as he threw back the rest of the energy shot. The ghost was really draining the life out of him, which Quinn explained was normal. Well, usually he got only a little tired, and it wasn’t bad, but this ghost was a bitch apparently.
“Remember when I told you I helped that little girl move on at our apartment?”
“The one with Petey?” Jack asked. He was still pacing the room, stressed. Luke thought it wasn’t really helping with Trevor, who was nearly as pale at Quinn usually was. Guess he still hasn’t warmed up to the idea of ghosts yet.
Quinn nodded again. “Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly tell you two the whole truth.”
Luke glared at him.
“I talked to her for a bit, and won her trust I guess. But for her to move on she needed, like, someone alive. Someone to act as a kind of barrier.”
“Barrier?” Luke asked.
“Well, more like bridge,” Quinn explained. “I don’t know, but it’s how it felt. She took my hand and next thing I knew she was passing, then I got kind of sick, I guess.”
“Jesus Christ, Quinn,” Jack said, rubbing his hands down his face. Honestly, Jack always took the ghost stuff worse than Quinn or Luke. “That’s not comforting.”
“I was totally fine,” Quinn defended. “What I’m trying to get at is that I can probably help Trev’s ghost move on.”
Trevor looked up from where he’d been sitting. His head had been in between his knees as he sat with his back against the wall. He’d been pretty dejected, and Luke felt bad for him, but also that he might be being a little dramatic.
Then again, he’s not the one who’s known ghosts were real since he was eleven years old.
“Really?” he said, and he sounded hopeful.
“Yeah,” Quinn replied. “But I gotta ask you questions. And him. It might take a while.”
Trevor finally looked like he had some life in him. He stood up pretty quickly. “Please, I’m like, freaked dude.”
“Don’t be,” Quinn said. “Really, don’t.”
Quinn gave him a pointed look and Trevor relaxed a bit. Luke will say, since discovering they’re real, Quinn’s been less sickly looking. Something about it seemed to have calmed Quinn down, or maybe Trevor’s ghost. Luke couldn’t tell. He was just here for emotional support for Quinn since Jack had his hands full with Trevor.
Trevor took a seat on the chair they'd placed at the foot of the bed. Quinn sat on the edge of said bed, looking at Trevor, his eyes periodically glancing to his left. That’s where Luke assumed Trevor’s ghost was. It was always weird being in a room with Quinn and a ghost, but he’d learned to adapt to it.
Quinn asked his questions. Mostly to Trevor, occasionally to the ghost. They figured out the basics – No, Trevor didn’t have a grandfather die recently, no, Trevor didn’t witness a death, no, Trevor didn’t summon a ghost for fun.
“I did move recently,” he said at last. Thankfully, Trevor looked less like he was on the verge of a panic. The talking helped. “New apartment, some old guy lived there before me.”
Quinn looked at the ghost. He then raised his eyebrows, then groaned. “Seriously? You could have just said–”
Then he cut off. He looked at the empty space again, concerned, a bit like he was figuring out some puzzle.
This went on for a while, and Luke hadn’t realized he’d been chewing his fingernail until he hissed from biting too far. He glanced at Jack, who didn’t look any less on edge.
“Oh,” Quinn said. He sounded almost sad. “Um, guys, this might take longer than I thought.”
“What? Why?” Jack asked.
“I think Trevor's ghost thinks he’s his son. He…oh, no, I don’t mean…okay, yeah.”
He was talking to the ghost. Luke will admit, at the start of this he was pretty relaxed, but as the day went on he worried this ghost would never leave. But now that Trevor knew, and that Quinn knew what he could help, Luke knew they wouldn’t stop until the ghost moved on.
Quinn sighed. “Guys, I’m gonna need your help on this one.”
“Great,” Jack said. “Since when did we become the ghostbusters?”
Quinn glared at Jack, and he shut up. Luke guessed this was where this was heading, and decided to just listen to whatever Quinn told him to do. It was kind of fun, if he’s being honest. Of course he wasn’t about to say that out loud – Quinn would kill him.
Quinn gave them their homework, which mostly involved researching some guy named Bill Harolds. That name, of course, took Quinn around half an hour to get from the ghost. After that Quinn was forced by Luke and Jack to take a nap since he looked pretty much dead on his feat. With every question, the ghost – Bill – seemed to get more agitated based on Quinn's wince and an attempt to hide it that Luke saw straight through.
When Quinn was passed out, they’d dragged Trevor downstairs and looked up more about Bill. They found his obituary, which was somewhat helpful. They found out he died in Anaheim around a week ago (closer) then, discovering he had three grandsons, nearly all around Trevor’s age (less helpful). God bless LinkedIn, because thankfully they did find who they thought Bill thought Trever was.
“Damn,” Jack said, and Luke thought it pretty much summed up what he thought.
John Harold looked a lot like Trevor. Same hair, similar nose, same age, familiar enough if Luke passed him he might do a double take, but the longer he looked at his profile, the more differences he saw. His jaw was all wrong, eyes too close together, hair just a shade too bright. Still, Luke assumed a ghost, who was confused and sad and scared, probably didn't see a difference at all.
“This is definitely who he thinks you are, dude,” Luke said.
At that moment, Trevor shivered. “Ooooh Christ,” he said, shoulders hunched.
Trevor laughed, but it was clearly forced and trying to cover up just how nervous he was. “So that explains the random chills this week.”
“It also explains why he won’t leave you alone,” Jack said, looking at the picture of John, to Trevor. “I don’t know why he hates Quinn though.”
“He doesn’t like that I can see him.”
All three of them whipped their heads to the stairs, where Quinn stood with his hand white-knuckled around the banister, body barely holding itself up.
“He knows I can get him to pass,” he said, glancing right next to Luke. “Don't you?”
It took a moment for Luke to realize the ghost must have been right next to him. He took a big, awkward step to his right. He was really glad he couldn't see ghosts.
At that moment Trevor shivered again, and Quinn winced.
Jack rose from where he’d been sitting across from Trev. “Okay, we need to deal with this. Now.”
TREVOR
Trever felt like he was in the middle of a seance, even if technically that’s the exact opposite of what he'd been doing.
It was getting dark now, the sun beginning to set over the lake. For some reason, that made Trevor think they really needed to hurry this up before it got dark. There was no reasoning behind it beyond a childish fear of the dark.
Trevor was fine, he was safe, and apparently this ghost just wanted to spend time with him, mistaking him for his grandson. If Trevor thought enough about it, he might even think it was sweet. Maybe he would, if it was literally anyone else.
They’d moved around the couch and chairs in the living room, letting Quinn sit somewhat across from Trevor. There was an empty space beside him which Trevor realized was meant for Bill. Currently, they are speaking. At least, Quinn was speaking, and had been for the past forty minutes. Most of that was spent apparently convincing Bill to sit down, the other half was an almost comedic scene of Jack showing the image of John to mid-air. If Trevor was less nervous, he would have chirped him to hell for it.
The conversation had calmed down. Quinn was relaxed, speaking and nodding. He’d taken on a much more sympathetic expression, almost sad.
Jack and Luke had been pacing at one point, which Quinn had to yell at them to stop and told them to sit on the couch and chill out. They had, but now Jack was tapping his leg up and down while Luke was fidgeting with his fingers.
“Trev,” Quinn said, finally looking at him. Trevor was almost startled by it – Quinn hadn’t addressed any of them for nearly half an hour. “Tell him who you are.”
“Oh, um…” Trevor didn’t know where to look, so he spoke into the empty space beside him. “My name is Trevor. Trevor Zegras. I’m not, uh, I’m not your grandson. I’m not John. I’m sorry.
He really wasn’t sure what to say beside that. He’d hoped it was enough, but a second later the lights in the house actually flickered. Like, fully flickered. Trever looked at Quinn to see if that was normal, but even he looked surprised.
“Hey, hey,” Quinn said, scooting forward. “I know, it’s scary. I’m sorry, this sucks, but it will be alright.”
He sounded so genuine. Trever has never heard Quinn like this, ever. Quinn was such a quiet and low-key guy in everything, even his emotions. Especially his emotions.
But the lights stopped flickering, and Trever took a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
Quinn stared at nothing, but reached out his hand. “I can help you. Let me help you.”
Trever held his breath again. It felt like minutes passed when really it was only a few seconds. Luke and Jack were leaning forward now, Jack practically on the floor already.
Suddenly, Quinn gasped, eyes going wide, then nothing. He leaned backwards, catching himself with his arms.
And Trever felt lighter. He didn’t realize how heavy he’d felt until just then. He blinked rapidly a couple times and stretched his shoulders. It’s like a tight string pulling him together was cut, giving him room to move around again. God, he felt great. He laughed, thinking how unbelievable this all was.
“Holy shit, Q. I think it worked,” he explained.
“Yeah,” Quinn rasped, blinking slowly. “That’s great, Z.”
Then Quinn’s eyes rolled back, and he fell backwards, passed out. Jack was immediately by Quinn’s side, saying his name a few times as Luke jumped up and did the same.
“Oh, shit,” Trevor said. “He’s not dead, is he?”
Luke felt his pulse, taking a deep breath. “He’s fine.”
“How is this fine?” Jack said. “He just passed out. What if it’s like a coma or something?”
Trevor looked at Quinn, who wasn’t moving, then his two brothers who were arguing and fussing over him. Luke had yet to let go of his wrist and Jack was now slapping his face softly. “Quinny, please wake up.”
Trever had a thought. “Have you two tried this?”
Before either could stop him, Trevor leaned over Quinn and rubbed his sternum with his knuckles. He’s seen it down once on a player who’d passed out on the ice, and the guy woke up that time.
Sure enough, Quinn groaned and his hand came up to swat Trevor away. Trevor grinned, pleased with himself as both Jack and Luke let out a huge sigh of relief. Quinn tried to sit up but Jack pushed him down with a hand on his chest, his other hand moving some hair out of his face. “Woah, slow down, bud. You just lost consciousness.”
Jack’s hand was still in Quinn’s hair as Quinn blinked rapidly for a few moments, like he was still waking up. After a minute, Quinn did sit up with Jack and Luke’s help. He groaned, resting his forearms on his knees as he looked round. He smiled softly. “It worked.”
“Yeah,” Luke said. “But you passed out, dude. Should we take you to the ER or something?”
Quinn waved his hand. “Nah. This happened last time, I just thought I’d be used to it by now.”
Jack gaped at him. “I thought you said everything was fine last time!”
“It was.”
“Bro,” Luke started. “You need a new definition of fine.”
“I’m breathing, aren't I?”
They continued to argue, and Trevor was pretty sure they’d forgotten he was here. He didn’t totally care, mind still reeling from…well, everything that’s happened the last 24 hours. He looked between the arguing family in front of him, in awe of how normal that had seemed to them (considering), and how they’d rallied to get rid of Trevor’s ghost. Especially Quinn. He’d had thought Quinn would let him stay with the ghost, if he was being honest with himself.
Trevor was a bit surprised when Quinn was the one to first address him. “How do you feel, Trev?”
Maybe it was because he was the big brother, but it effectively shut the other two up, and they shifted their focus back to Trevor.
“Um…I’m fine. Like, better than fine, actually,” Trevor smiled brightly. “Thanks, Quinn.”
Quinn nodded, smiling almost. “Yeah.”
There was a somewhat awkward silence as their crisis was solved. Trevor really wasn’t sure what to say after this, how to proceed now that he knew this crazy thing. It was Jack who spoke up first.
“Listen, Z”. Trevor wasn’t sure he liked that tone. “There are, like, very few people who know about Quinn’s thing.”
Trever realized he was looking for an answer. “Okay.”
“And I know you like, just found out by accident but–”
“–I’ll keep my mouth shut, Jack.”
Jack stopped talking, and smiled kindly. “Thanks, Z.”
Trever smiles too. “Yeah, I'm not gonna like, out Quinn as a ghost hunter–”
“–Don’t call me ghost hunter,” Quinn interrupted. “I just see them.”
There was a pause. “Like, your whole life?”
Quinn nodded his head, yawning a moment later.
“Do you alway go around exercising ghosts from your buddies?”
“I think I’m gonna nap,” Quinn said through another yawn. “I’m wiped.”
With the help of Luke and Jack, Quinn successfully got up. He really was dead on his feet (ha) and basically wobbled towards the stairs which were not wide enough to accommodate all three Hughes brothers. Luke ended up being the one to stay behind Quinn, hand on his back as he guided him up the stair.
“Alright, one foot at a time, bud.”
Quinn flipping Luke off was the last thing Trevor saw being they completely ascended the stairs, leaving him alone with Jack.
Jack rubbed at his neck. Trevor stuffed his hands in his pockets and waited for someone to say something (it was going to be Trevor, they both knew it).
“Sorry I was eavesdropping earlier,” Trevor blurted. “And for like, being annoying about this whole thing.”
Jack shook his head. “It’s fine, Z. You were in the right, I was just being protective, I guess.”
Trevor frowned, thinking back to the past few hours of Quinn talking to a ghost and Jack and Luke looking on like they were waiting for something horrible to happen. It made him think.
“He’s really seen ghosts his whole life?” Jack nodded. “That sounds tough.”
“It is,” Jack stated. It was so matter of fact, Trever believed him. He also believed Jack would do anything to make sure no one else, without Quinn’s permission, found out.
So, Trever also knew then, Jack wouldn’t hesitate dropping Trever forever if he did. It was almost a comforting thought, knowing this big secret Trevor had no desire to expose. It’s like some kind of special piece of knowledge between them that connected them all.
“So just to like, confirm, Quinn doesn't hate me?”
Jack rolled his eyes, slapping Trevor on the shoulder and jumped back on the couch. “Come on, man. We still gotta finish that episode”
Trevor smiled to himself, purposefully crawling over Jack so he softly kneed him in the face. Jack whacked his side and got comfortable on his side of the couch. He settled down, thinking about tomorrow. He’d ask Quinn if he wanted to go golf or something. Maybe convince Luke to take the boat out with him so he could drive it – He thinks he could convince Luke.
Trever settled into a comfortable silence, feeling his body get heavier with exhaust. It was a good kind of tired, the type that hit you slowly and spread over you like a warm blanket. It was nothing like the heaviness he felt this past week, which has been suffocating and dark.
He was good and content to just sit there on the couch with a buddie, and it made him feel like he was a kid again. Like when you were getting off the ice after skating for hours before falling asleep in the back of his mom’s car to the sound of her voice and the soft noise from the radio.
Notes:
The rules of ghosts in this world are pretty loosey-goosey, but I did decide ghosts can move around if they attach themselves to something (location, person, etc.) In addition, some are more aware they're dead than others, and depending on how aware, it's easier for Quinn to help them move on.
I feel like this is a sillier chapter. Hope you all enjoyed!
Chapter 5
Notes:
Fun fact the bar in NY they go to in this chapter is a real bar me and my friends frequent in the East Village. I read a fic once where the NJD's went to Mr. Purple (A bar in the EAST VILLAGE, even though the fic said West Village and I got irrationally angry (i love the fic sm but this small detail irritated me)) so that combined with me wanting to write something incredibly self-indulgent make me end up making them go to my favorite bar in Manhattan (:
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
BROCK
Brock remembers well when he first met Quinn, and just how different he had been from the young man he was now. Then, he was nineteen and nervous as all hell, still had acne and hair he didn’t know what to do with. It was endearing, which was why he thinks Thatcher called Quinn cute during that one interview (They had chirped him like hell, of course, and totally worth it when Brock saw how embarrassed Quinn had been).
They’d formed a friendship that Brock considered one of his strongest. Brock remembers fondly when they’d gotten Quinn wasted on his 21st birthday after they’d convinced him to celebrate like he was in America. A twenty-first is a twenty-first, even if in Canada. At the end of an eventful night of bad decisions, Brock had to practically carry him and Petey into their apartment with some help from Thatch. Quinn was also there for Brock in rather darker times in his life, and Brock had been impressed with not just his maturity, but how much he’d cared.
So, Brock couldn’t really understand why Quinn was hiding things from him, even after five years of friendship. He'd ask, but the thing was, Brock thought he’d been going crazy for the past five years, and he was afraid to prove himself right.
That night in the summer, right before the season started, reminded Brock of Quinn’s twenty-first birthday. They were congratulating Quinn on becoming captain, and a small group of them decided to go out and celebrate right before training camp started.
Petey was arguably the least responsible and egged Quinn on the entire night, convincing him he had to drink and be irresponsible one last time before officially taking over.
“You act like he’s getting married tomorrow,” Thatcher said as Petey pushed another shot of something into Quinn’s hand.
“Same difference,” Petey said, clapping Quinn on the shoulder. “Now he’s going to be the face of the franchise!”
“God,” Quinn groaned, tipping back the shot impressively. He made a face in response. “I hate vodka.”
“Four more and it will taste like water,” Brock said, pushing yet another shot into his hand.
Quinn smiled sheepishly, and Brock knew if he really didn’t want to, he wouldn't. Quinn just shrugged, maybe understanding in a way, they were right to want to let Quinn let loose for the night before camp and training picked up. Quinn was only 23-going-on-24, making him the youngest captain in the league currently. It was a lot of pressure, the kind Brock definitely understood to an extent, and was not at all jealous of because of that.
Brock wanted Quinn to let loose, and he could here. They were at a local bar, the patrons recognizing them one or twice throughout the night. The thing about Vancouver was that they were left alone most of the time, especially by the locals. They knew who they were, saw them in the grocery stores on Saturday mornings.
So, they spent a night well in Brock's opinion. Petey and Demmer had been using this as an excuse to celebrate and drink too, although much more responsibly. It wasn’t every day you convinced Quinn Hughes to drink his weight in alcohol. That may have been an exaggeration, but nonetheless their young captain-to-be was stumbling out by the end of the night while Brock, who agreed to drive everyone, pushed a glass of water into his hands.
They’d said goodnight to Demmer and Petey, who were both Ubering to their respective places. Brock would have shoved Quinn in an uber, but realized how much he drank was probably worth driving him with someone he knew. He was aware enough to say his goodbyes with big hugs Sober Quinn usually didn’t give out, which is how Brock knew he was wasted. Quinn became touchy when he was drunk.
Brock maneuvered his drunk captain-to-be into his own car, successfully buckling Quinn in, who has lost some motor function. In the car, Quinn was gone. His head lolled on the edge of the door, and he was mumbling to himself what were probably the words to the song playing softly from Brock's playlist. Brock huffed out a laugh as he drove towards Quinn’s apartment, memorizing it from those times he’d been invited over.
He pulled up to the guest parking, not trusting Quinn would get into his apartment on his own. He was afraid he’d pass out on the stairs, and the image of their captain falling and injuring himself before actually being captain made Brock shiver.
Yeah, if he could get a drunk twenty-one-year-old Quinn and Petey inside their then-shared apartment, he could do it with just one.
“Alright, up you go,” Brock said, pulling Quinn out of the passenger's side of the car.
Quinn stumbled out, his weight shifting all the way to the left as Brock latched onto his arm, catching him before he could tumble. Quinn found his balance, and drunkenly smiled widely at him. “Thanks, Boesey.”
Brock laughed. “Yeah, just don’t die on your way up the stairs.”
Brock walked him through the parking lot, to the entrance of his building. When they reached the door, Brock held out his hand toward Quinn as he leaned his head against the wall. “Wallet.”
Quinn fished out his wallet from his pocket, the task proving more difficult than anticipated. Brock bit the inside of his cheek so he wouldn't laugh at how stressed Quinn seemed when he didn't do it on the first try. Eventually, he passed it off to Brock, who looked for his key card as Quinn went back to leaning his head on the wall of the building.
Brock found the card when Quinn said hi to somebody behind them.
Brock turned, ready to maneuver Quinn out of the way for whoever needed to get into the building, only to find no one behind them. He paused, looking round the corner and still finding no one.
Quinn’s eyes were open.
“Who are you talking to, Bud?”
Quinn shrugged, then vaguely pointed to the direction behind him. “Ms. Adams. She’s nice, but has always creeped me out a bit. She’s asking if I’m okay.”
Brock was suddenly worried they’d pushed Quinn to drink too much and that he didn’t know his stopping point as well as they thought he did. Brock looked behind again, only to be met with empty air.
“Okay, let's get you some water and food.”
Brock got the door open, dragging Quinn inside. Quinn waved at no one behind him, and allowed Brock to manhandle him inside.
The journey to his unit proved less difficult thanks to the elevator. Inside, Brock dumped Quinn on the couch as he walked towards the kitchen. Immediately, Quinn grabbed a pillow and pulled it against his chest, hugging it tightly as he laid on his side ready to go to sleep.
This is why we call you Huggy Bear, Brock thought.
Brock quickly got over his initial endearment, and went over to snatch the pillow from his arms. “Nuh-uh, not yet,” Brock said, forcing a water glass into an irritated Quinn’s hands instead. “Drink that.”
Quinn thankfully wasn’t an argumentative drunk, or a runner, so he took it and drank while Brock rooted around in his kitchen for some food that would, hopefully, help with the nausea in the morning.
“You’re so nice, Boesey.”
“Mhm,” Brock replied as he rooted around for something for Huggy to eat. He settled on a banana and lathered it in peanut butter. He doubted he could get him to eat anything actually substantial, so he settled for this.
“Thanks, Huggy,” he said, taking a seat beside Quinn, replacing his glass with the banana.
Quinn smiled again, knocking his head on Brock’s shoulder as well. “So nice.”
Quinn bit into the banana, thankfully not fighting Brock on it. Brock sighed softly, his own exhaustion creeping up on him. He needed to get home too, ready to call Quinn in the morning to make sure he was alright again.
When Quinn was finished with the banana, Brock decided to direct him to his bedroom. “Bed?”
Quinn nodded. As he stood up he was already taking off his shirt, albeit very clumsily, but threw it in Brock's direction, somehow aiming it so it landed on his face.
“Thanks,” Brock said, bundling it up and throwing it on the couch. He followed Quinn, mostly out of fear that he’d knock his head on his dresser trying to take off his shoes.
Inside, Quinn was struggling with his shoes. Brock laughed at his five-year-old dexterity, eventually going in and helping him out of his shoes. Quinn sat on the edge of his bed like a kid as Brock got his left shoe off, throwing it in the corner of the room.
“Thanks, Brock,” Quinn muttered again. He flopped backwards, spreading like a starfish on his bed. “You're much nicer than the ghost.”
Brock looked up quickly. Quinn's eyes were closed, his breathing so deep Brock would have thought he was asleep if he hadn’t spoken just a moment earlier.
“What did you say?”
Quinn waved his hand in the air, turning his head as he grieved. “Ms Adams. That’s her name, I think.” Quinn suddenly sat up with less grace than usual, meeting Brock eye-line. “Her eyes are like this.”
Quinn widened his eyes, almost comically. Brock looked at him with some concern starting to bubble up. Quinn was starting to talk about ghosts, which he wasn’t sure was drunk Quinn behavior. In fact, Brock was starting to worry that he hit his head without Brock knowing, or really was hallucinating. Can you hallucinate from drinking too much?
“Are you okay, Quinn?”
Brock grabbed Quinn’s head, trying to get him to be still so he could look in his eye, but his eyes weren’t crazy dilated or anything. Just the normal blown out from being wasted.
Either way, Quinn swatted his hand away, annoyed. “I’m fine,” he grumbled.
Quinn less than gracefully flipped himself so he was now settling into his bed. At the same time, he kicked off his pants with more speed than Brock expected from someone who couldn't get out of a car earlier. He pulled his sheets up, and laid down as if he didn’t just freak Brock.
Brock wasn’t entirely sure what to do. Clearly, Quinn was moments from passing out. Brock forced himself to push away his concern and went to the kitchen to refill the water glass instead. As the glass filled with water, he kept thinking back to Quinn’s earlier comment. He tried not to look over his shoulder as a shiver ran up his spine.
In Quinn’s room, he put the water on his desk, but Quinn was already snoring softly, his mouth slightly open. Brock rubbed his face and went to look through Quinn’s jeans, now thrown on the floor, finding his phone and plugging it into the charger right by his desk.
“Night, Huggy.”
Brock left his room, closing the door and turning off the light. The journey downstairs was suddenly pretty eerie, the darkness of the parking lot putting Brock on edge. He looked at the spot Quinn had waved at, finding nothing.
Brock got into his car and drove away, unable to stop thinking about what Quinn said.
He really needed to sleep.
The morning after, Brock sent Quinn a text checking up on him. Quinn woke up with a headache – no surprise there – and very grateful for Brock for helping him get into his apartment unharmed, although he partially blamed Brock for needing the help in the first palace.
Brock just laughed and replied with two thumbs up, leaving it at that.
Quinn didn’t mention what he said last night, and Brock was sympathetic enough not to bring it up while he nursed a hangover. As long as it was just a hangover giving Quinn a headache, Brock wasn’t worried.
It could wait.
With training camp starting up, it was mostly a lot of reunions, stories from the summer, proper introductions to players who were traded during the offseason, while at the same time talking about those traded away. It was always an odd scenario, and Brock found himself incredibly lucky to have been with the same team for as long as he had. He knew Quinn got that, and knew moving forward, Quinn would watch players come and go for the rest of his career. Well, the rest of his career if Vancouver had anything to say about it, but Brock couldn't imagine the best defender in the league – in his totally unbiased opinion– slipping through their fingers.
It was after a practice game when Brock skated up to Quinn and the game came to a satisfying end. It always felt good being back on the ice with the team after a break, a fresh start with no season’s stressors about to hit. Just the possibility to do something great.
Brock nudged Quinn with his glove. “Good day, Captain.”
Quinn laughed, his smile genuine. “I hope the others don't call me that all season. It’s embarrassing.”
“What, do you prefer they all call you Huggy Bear.”
Quinn seemed to think about it. “Captain is fine.”
Brock threw his head back, laughing out loud. “We're sticking with Huggy.”
Quinn laughed again and shrugged his shoulders.
They walked into the locker room, the boys getting out of their gear slowly, happy to shoot the shit before Coach gave some kind of speech to kick off training camp.
Brock ended up near Quinn as he removed his shoulder pads, Brock already out of most of his gear. Quinn had been talking to some of the newbies, already in Captain mode and welcoming them. As he watched hom from his place on the bench, Brock couldn’t get teenage Quinn out of his head.
He let Quinn finish his conversation before approaching him. Brock hasn’t forgotten about the other night, and now that Quinn was supposedly healthy, he decided now was a better time than ever.
“Yo, Huggy,” Brock said, lowering his voice so as not to alert the entire locker room. “I wanted to ask about the other night. Are you good?”
Quinn gave him a confused look as he removed the rest of his gear. “Yeah, why wouldn't I be?”
“The other night at your apartment.” Quinn didn’t seem to get what he was trying to get at. “You were saying some weird things about…ghosts?” Brock felt silly saying it, but he wanted Quinn to remember. “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t hit your head too hard when I wasn’t looking.”
Brock said the last part as a joke, but Quinn didn’t seem to take it that way. He went quiet, seemed to have forgotten how to respond as he looked at Brock with a slightly open mouth, like the words were lost on him.
“Oh, um…” he trailed off for a moment. “I’m fine. Just really drunk, I guess.”
Brock almost argued back. Quinn was never a good liar. “Are you sure because–”
“–Huggy!”
Petey chose that moment to join their conversation. He threw an arm around Quinn’s shoulder, startling them both. He smiled widely between the two of them.
”Management is looking for you.”
Quinn, after the initial shock, seemed to lock-in as soon as he heard the word ‘management’.
“What about?”
Petey shrugged, arm still around Quinn. “I don’t know. I’m just the messenger, probably Captain stuff.”
Quinn shoved Petey’s arm off his shoulder, gathering his stuff as he glared at Petey “You could have had a smoother approach.”
Petey shrugged. “It’s part of my charm.”
“Sure it is.”
Brock looked between them, about to hold Quinn to stay for their conversation when Quinn did it for him. He looked at Brock and took a step closer so he could lower his voice.
“Thanks for the concern, but I’m fine. Really.”
Quinn gave him a forced smile, then wandered off. Brock watched as he walked out with Petey, who leaned into his ear and said something out of earshot. Quinn just shook his head as the two left the locker room together.
Brock wondered if Petey knew something he didn’t – those two have always been close, closer than most two people on the team. They came around the same time, both young guys with a lot of expectations on their shoulders. Brock noticed they sometimes seemed to speak a language together that no one else would ever understand. He saw that, and understood it.
So, he shoved away his concerns and focused on getting the rest of his gear off. If a thought poked at the back of his head the entire time, he ignored it.
They’re first game in New York was the end of a roadie, and thankfully, also a win.
The team were ecstatic about it, most of them deciding to go out to a bar that night in the city. Brock didn’t always enjoy New York – he didn't like the restlessness of the big city, or the tightness of traffic. That could also just be the Northern boy in him talking. However, that night he, Petey, Quinn, and DeBrusk, and a few other guys on the team were taken into the city by the gaggle of Hughes themselves.
Jack and Luke took them all to a bar in the East Village, somewhere that was probably too small to house nearly a dozen professional hockey players, but it was not as hectic as nearly every other part of Manhattan Brock had ever visited.
He liked it. It was much smaller, less crazy, and the bar had a pool table, so really, he couldn’t complain.
“You know, there's a bar near here where you can only whisper when you talk,” Jack said over the players who considered the table. Jack, Quinn, Petey and Brock, and DeBrusk were all in the booth while the boys played pool, Luke wiping the floor with them. Brock caught on how both Quinn and Jack laughed and smiled each time he proceeded to piss off one of their teammates.
It was also a Tuesday night, so after their afternoon game there was barely anyone in the bar. It was nice.
“That’s the dumbest thing I've ever heard,” was Petey’s response to the bar Jack was speaking about.
Jack just shrugged, taking a swing of his beer. “That’s the East Village for you: Stupid bars with stupid themes and they still stay open.”
Quinn snorted as he drank his lime and coke – he really was serious about this diet of his, and thankfully, the bartender didn’t charge him for the drink. The rule is, no booze, no pay.
Brock looked at the TV in the corner, pointing to a replay from the very game earlier. “Look, Huggy’s point got the highlight real against the Rangers.”
They all glanced at the tv, and sure enough they were playing the game. Jack wolf-whistled and slapped Quinn on the back. “Way to get em’, Killer.”
Quinn laughed, taking his drink to his mouth. “I honestly thought I was gonna whiff it. I couldn’t see through all those bodies, and Fox was on my ass the whole night.”
DeBrusk tsked. “You’re faster than Fox.”
“And a better playmaker,” Jack added.
Quinn, clearly not wanting all the attention on him anymore, forced the conversation on Brock. “You had a sick assist, too.”
It worked, and at some point, Luke joined them after apparently hearing the tail end of their conversation. He held a pool stick in his hand, ready to swap with someone. He ended up handing it off to DeBrusk, who happily took it and went over to the table.
“Finally lost?” Jack asked.
Luke shook his head. “Nah. Got bored.”
“He lost,” Quinn said. “Luck had to run out eventually.”
“Luck has nothing to do with it.” Luke slapped his bicep. “This is pure talent, baby.”
“Dude, don’t lie,” Quinn said, but there was a fondness to his tone.
Brock thought it was interesting how different he was around his brothers. With the team, he was slightly more serious, especially since becoming captain, private in the sense that he didn’t make himself the center of attention, ever. Brock saw it in his goal celebrations, and how he interacted with everyone. With Jack and Luke, it’s like a guard was down.
Brock got a hint of this lowered guard before, but it was far and in between, usually only when in celebration, sort of like tonight.
Luke replaced DeBrusk at the chair at the end of the table. He then tapped Jack for his drink. He wordlessly gave him his beer.
“Wait,” Brock said. “Aren't you like twenty?”
Luke smiled around the rim of the beer bottle. “Yeah, but usually I go out with Jack and the others and they don’t usually card me.”
“America’s laws on drinking are so backwards,” Petey said. “You can join the army, but can't buy a beer?”
“Preach,” Luke said.
“Wasn’t a problem for Quinn,” Brock said. “Did we ever tell you about Huggy’s first night out with the team?”
When Brock looked over at Quinn he expected him to be red from embarrassment, as he usually was when Brock brought up any story that made Quinn seem any less than the competent captain he is.
But, Quinn was pale. Pale like he was about to throw up pale. He was looking at something near the bar, and his hand was gripping his drink so hard his knuckles turned white.
It was a scary sight, and everyone went quiet all the sudden. Brock tried to get Quinn to look at him, trying to put himself in his line of sight.
“Huggy? You alright–”
“–He’s probably sick,” Jack said quickly. “Quinny?” He put his hand on Quinn’s neck, but Quinn didn’t seem to register it. His stare stayed vacant, at nothing. Brock turned to make sure, and there was nothing happening at the bar rather than the four or so patrons sitting on the stools.
He turned back, and Quinn’s expression was the same. Jack shared a look with Luke, one that was obviously telling Brock something wasn’t right that he actually got concerned.
“Um, should we get him out of here?”
“We’ll take him home,” Luke said, getting up and grabbing Quinn’s jacket nearly on autopilot. Both of them took Quinn by his arms, practically dragging him out of the booth.
“The hotel’s closer,” Petey said, also grabbing his jacket. Brock had almost forgotten he was there, and they were moving so quickly that Brock didn’t have time to register that he should follow them until they were all standing up and walking out.
The rest of their team hadn't seemed to notice them leaving, and Brock was choosing between yelling at them for running out so fast, or letting them know their captain was…incapacitated.
Brock managed to grab Petey’s arm before he was out of reach. He stopped in step, jacket halfway on his arm as he met Brock's eye.
“Petey,” Brock said, maybe a little desperately. “Is he okay?”
He’s sure whatever was going on with Quinn, Petey knew. If anyone knew, it would be Petey. Petey opened his mouth as if to say something, but closed it a second later. Brock knew he wouldn't get anything out of him.
“I’ll text you updates,” Petey said instead. “ Just let the team know we left. Please.”
Brock thinks it was Petey’s genuine plea that made Brock just nod his head instead of fighting him on it. Quinn was his friend too, and he couldn’t help but feel like he was being purposely left out of something. Still, he let go of Petey and he was gone a moment later. When they were gone, Brock leaned back, and down the rest of his beer.
He worried about Quinn. Especially now, with the weight of Captaincy on his shoulders. For years he always worried he wasn’t sleeping enough, or overworking himself, only to be reassured he was fine. Brock left it alone because he knew how capable Quinn was, and how amazing of a player he is.
It was probably better if Brock just left it alone.
Brock tried to ignore it for a while after that, and he was successful. After that night, Petey had texted him that he brought them back to the hotel, and that he had just gotten sick. Something bad, probably the bar food.
Brock, of course, didn't believe him. He left well enough alone and decided that as long as Quinn was playing well, it was nothing to worry about.
Sure enough, that season they were doing well. Thatcher got a shutout against Boston and they recorded their fourth straight win. It was great, and the team was fired up. It was only right before Christmas that they ended on a roadie that things weren’t so good. Petey was not there for the end of the trip. He was put on IR after a bad hit on the boards. He was sent home early, the assumption he wasn’t going to be finishing the roadie with them, so they sent him home to their team doctors for a wrist injury that everyone knew would heal fine.
There were worse times in the season for him to be injured, and right before Christmas was a pretty good deal with the longer break that gave Petey more time to rest.
The Boston game was a good one, but everyone was tired, ready to go home as soon as possible. It was always a weird time right before their break when everyone seemed extra out of it, Brock included. Back at the hotel, Brock nearly dropped all his stuff immediately, content to collapse on the bed and not move for another few years.
He did close his eyes, meaning to just rest a bit. The noises outside were nice, the city noise far enough away and repetitive enough that it made Brock's mind go blank.
When he woke up, he groaned. He’d fallen asleep filled with most of his clothes on, not in a particularly comfortable position. He looked at the clock on his phone, and cringed when it said 2:34AM. He was gonna have to be up in a few hours to catch the plane. The second thing he noticed was that his stomach hurt. He was hungry as shit.
Brock groaned as he sat up, finally taking off his unbuttoned dress shirt. He quickly changed into a normal t-shirt and some old basketball shorts, stretching and groaning at the creak in his back. God, he was not that old but sure felt it.
He knew his best bet with food was the vending machine in the hotel. He’d probably just buy like five things and push away the nutritionist's voice in the back of his head telling him to just wait to eat something in the morning.
Brock left his room, looking round at the eerily empty hallway. He turned a few corners, remembering where it was from the last time they stayed in this hotel.
When he turned a corner during his search, he paused when he saw a figure sitting on the ground, his back against the wall with his hand covering his ears. It took a second longer to realize that figure was Quinn.
He was looking down at the ground between his knees, said knees pulled up as he pushed his hands against his ears. His face was focused, and every few seconds his eyes would twitch, almost like he was wincing in pain. Brock was suddenly, very worried.
“Quinn?” Brock said, walking over to his teammates who didn't register him at all. He was still making that face as he covered his ears. “Quinn, what’s wrong?”
Brock squatted in front of Quinn, and he still didn’t notice Brock was there. He was muttering to himself, eyes shut tightly. From here, Brock could also see just how hard he was breathing. Instinctively, Brock put his hand on Quinn’s knee. He regretted it when Quinn flinched so bad Brock thought he’d hurt him.
Brock quickly removed his hand as Quinn looked at him. He looked tired, really tired, and somewhat panicked. His eyes were also red, but it didn't look like from crying. More like from pure exhaustion. Brock wondered when the last time he slept was.
“You okay? " he asked, although in hindsight, he knew it was a dumb question. He very clearly wasn’t. Maybe he wanted Quinn to have the chance to lie. Brock knew he hated being anything other than composed, especially recently.
“I’m fine,” Quinn said. His eyes were darting up, then down, until they stayed on the ground.
Brock frowned, looking around. There was no one. Brock played the game over in his head, trying to figure out if Quinn got hit hard at any point. Brock knew he wasn’t though – there would have been a full-blown scrum if that had happened.
“Are you sure?” he asked. Quinn just nodded his head, which was incredibly unconvincing. He sighed deeply. “Allright, how about you go to your room–”
“–No,” Quinn interrupted quickly. Brock looked at him and saw desperation in Quinn’s expression. Quinn quickly stood up, Brock following as he got out of his crouch. “I just…I can’t be in there.”
Brock wanted to shake Quinn like a rag doll, maybe that would put him to sleep. Instead, he just sighed again, wishing Petey was here. If he was here, he’d know what to do. Brock had no evidence, but based on Quinn’s weariness in Boston and the fact whenever he was off, Petey was who he seemed to gear towards, it made him think Quinn would be in a certain Swedes room right now if he could.
Brock was no Swede, but he was blonde, so close enough.
“Do you want to sleep in my room?”
Quinn seemed genuinely shocked by the suggestion. He also didn't immediately turn Brock down, which was a sign he at least had peaked his interest. It was just up to him to reel him in before his “I’m a captain and can take care of my own damn self" logic took over.
“It’s really nice. AC and everything, king bed, a captain's dream, really.”
This managed to pull a small smile from Quinn. Brock had him. “If the room’s a problem, I don’t mind switching.”
Quinn seemed to panic a moment. “Don’t.”
Brock would address that if he wasn’t so tired, or if Quinn didn’t look like he was three seconds from dropping. In all honesty, Brock was really worried about him. He’d take to captaincy well, but at the expense of his own sleep schedule, and Quinn could pretend, but Brock knew him well, which meant he could tell when he was running himself thin.
He was a great captain and gave it his all, but Brock worried he’d have nothing left for himself.
“Alright,” Brock agreed. He took Quinn by the shoulder, swinging his arm around his tired frame as he led him towards his room. Quinn didn’t fight it, and seemed to sink into his side instead.
In the room, Quinn peered in behind Brock and scanned the place. He seemed to be observing it, and after a moment he took a deep, relieving breath and walked in. Brock didn’t think about it too hard, or tried not too. Whatever Quinn was looking for in his room, wasn’t here.
Jesus, Brock was freaking himself out now.
Both were in T-shirts and basketball shorts, Quinn’s shirt a size too large, like all his clothes seemed to be except his suits. Brock assumed Quinn had showered and brushed his teeth, and he personally was ready to collapse as well.
Quinn granted. “I can sleep on the floor if–”
“–Dude,” Brock interrupted, staring at him. “I’ve dragged you to bed passed out before. Shit, I see you naked, like, all the time. I think we’re close enough to sleep in a king bed together.”
Quinn's smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, and he probably would have laughed too if he hadn’t been so exhausted. Still, Brock took that as a win as he walked the right side of the bed, Quinn following to the left.
Quinn pulled back the covers and got into the bed. “That’s not really something I want to think about when we’re about to sleep together.”
“Quinton, are you flirting with me?”
This got an eye-role out of Quinn and a shove to the shoulder. Brock smiled and laughed, mostly out of joy of getting a reaction out of Quinn that was separate from whatever this was. He decided to relish in it as he waited for Quinn to get situated. Once he was, Brock turned off the light and got comfortable.
He couldn’t see Quinn, but he felt the bed shift a couple times until it stilled.
“Night, Huggy.”
“Night Boes.”
Brock woke up because the bed was being jerked around. For a moment, Brock forgot he wasn’t alone and panicked, then remembering Quinn was with him. Then he became worried for an entirely different reason.
The rising sun made the sky a dark blue, so some light peeked through the curtain, allowing Brock to see what was happening on the left side of the bed.
Quinn was thrashing his head around, his legs having kicked off the blanket a while ago. He was taking deep, rapid breaths and his face was sweaty, his dark hair sticking to his forehead and side of his face.
He was also muttering to himself. Brock caught a little bit of it.
“You're dead.” If that didn’t plant some deep fear inside Brock. “You’re dead…dead.”
Brock stared at him, but got over the initial panic of whatever the fuck Quinn was saying.
“Q,” Brock said, jumping to his knees as his hands hovered around Quinn’s shaking frame. He was about to shake him awake, then remembering once someone telling him you shouldn’t wake people up having nightmares.
Instead, Brock put his hand on his sweaty forehead, getting low without being at risk of a wayward hand. Even with just a fluttering touch, Quinn seemed to relax a bit.
“Quinn, you’re alright,” Brock said, his voice softer than he knew he was capable of. “You’re safe.”
He stroked his forehead with his thumb, and slowly but surely, Quinn relaxed. His jagged motions stopped as his head relaxed to the side, his neck exposed to Brock as he stopped moving, his breathing evening out.
He looked so young all of a sudden. The features of his face relaxed, reminding Brock of that kid he met five years ago. It made him want to protect him from whatever was plaguing his thoughts all the time, whatever had caused this tonight.
Again, Brock couldn’t help but think if Petey was here, it would be the one comforting Quinn.
Maybe Brock should wake Quinn up, but he also wanted him to sleep, knowing he needed it. Instead, he decided to just stay there with him and risk his own sleep schedule. Luckily, Quinn stayed still with the occasional flinch on his face, which is when Brock would rub his forehead again, relaxing him once more. Brock stayed like this, beside Quinn and unable to sleep himself until he saw the sun begin to rise in the corner of the blinds in the hotel room. When the clock read 5:59am and he knew it was about to go off, he removed his hand and got up. When the alarm did go off Brock did his best to pretend he did sleep and not just stare at Quinn all night when he did wake up.
Neither said a thing other than the tired "mornings" as Quinn left to go to his room where all his things still were. When he left, Borck sagged against the bathroom sink, exhaustion creeping up on him as he stared himself in the mirror. He almost laughed at the irony of the bags under his eyes, but he was still pretty terrified of whatever had just happened.
What Quinn had said a few months ago, the constant staring, the bar, the overall sense of there being something wrong.
Petey knew. He had to know. It pissed Brock off that he didn’t.
Petey’s door was annoyingly fancy. The button on the doorbell was always confusing, as was the thumb scanner on the door knob that Brock had put his thumbprint in a long time ago. He always felt like he was sneaking into a high-tech factory every time he came over.
When he’d texted Petey about coming over, he’d been given the go-ahead that he could just stop in whenever. A day off, and Petty's girlfriend was off visiting her family, so the pair were left alone. Brock feels bad because he didn’t exactly tell Petey why he wanted to come over and realized that as he walked in and Petey was cooking something that smelled unfairly delicious.
“Hey,” Petey said when Brock walked in.
Brock nodded his hello, removing his shoes and going over to the tabletop that was Petey’s island. God, Brock did love this apartment.
“Wanna play smashbros?” Petey asked as he stirred what looked like some kind of chili. “I just need to let this simmer but I can stop in a moment. I also have this new wine I want to try.”
“Yeah, um…” Best to get right to the point. “Listen, I want to talk to you about something.”
Petey looked over his shoulder, eyebrows narrowed. He looked concerned, but not necessarily nervous. He just turned off the stove stop and leaned on the counter, facing Brock.
“Okay, about what?”
Brock was expecting Petey to be a bit harder to break though, but then again, he wasn’t Quinn. He was everything Quinn wasn’t, actually.
And speaking of their captain. “Quinn.”
Petey narrowed his eyes again. “Okay…what about Quinn?”
Brock through this would be easier. After all his concern, all the signs, the very small and a stupid research Brock felt silly typing into google, and even his slight anger towards both of them for not saying anything, he thought this would be a walk in the park.
“Does he…” Brock rubbed his hand over his eyes. “Okay, I’m going to just say it, but something is wrong with him. Like, deeply wrong with him.”
Petey stared at him. “That’s kind of a dick thing to say.”
“Not like that!” Brock said, standing up from the chair. He felt less like he was under Petey’s scrutiny this way. “I just mean I think there’s something up that keeps him from being totally there with us, sometimes. And I’m pretty sure you know what’s up too.”
Petey was dangerously good at keeping a straight face, but Brock also knew him well enough to decipher that meant he was right. Petey’s poker face was good, but only when playing poker.
“So what do you think is up?”
Brock wishes Petey would just say it for him, because Brock isn’t going to feel like a reasonable person if he does.
Brock believed in…the supernatural as a kid, which he stopped as an adult. At least in the way some adults did when they realized no, there isn't a scary demon in your closet. Brock was still freaked out by dark rooms, thought haunted houses were creepy, and did not enjoy horror movies the way others did. He thinks it was some childhood fear he had of ghosts, or maybe even a real fear he had he never put a label on because he’s a grown man, thank you very much..
Then he got to know Quinn Hughes, and that kid could be creepy as hell sometimes.
“Quinn isn’t schizophrenic, I know that.”
Petey held back a laugh. Brock wanted to slap him on his head.
“But can he, like…see stuff the rest of us can't?"
Petey stared at Brock, and he felt locked into this weird contest of who will make a face first. Brock would not back down, and just stood strong, not willing to let Petey of all people give him the creeps.
“Like ghosts?”
Brock sighed, hearing the words and fearing he was still the crazy one. Still, if Petey wouldn’t give him a yes or no answer, he might actually go insane.
“Can Quinn see ghosts, Petey?”
It was eerily quiet for a moment. Brock was suddenly really afraid he said something so ridiculouse Petey was second guessing their entire friendship, a friendship Brock’s come to really value in his life.
But then, “Yeah, he can.”
A weight lifted off Brock’s chest. He leaned backward, interlacing his fingers behind his head as he thought about what Petey just said. Huggy see’s ghosts is what kept repeating in his head as he began pacing, followed by Holy shit, ghosts are real.
“I hope you don’t freak out or anything,” Petey said as Brock paced behind the island. “That would make the next five minutes really awkward.”
Brock stopped pacing. “Why?”
Like it was timed, the noise of the door being unlocked dragged both of their attentions. Then Quinn was there, walking inside with a bag of what looked like Gatorades. He paused when he saw both of them staring at him, putting on a confused smile.
“Um, what's up?”
Brock turned to Petey. “You invited him over?!”
Petey shrugged. “You didn’t say WHY you were coming over.”
“What is it bad I’m here?"
“Its not,” Petey said, then paused. “Um, but Brock knows.”
Quinn’s face fell. “Brock, knows? Like, he knows.”
Petey nodded his head, and Brock wanted to hit him again. Quinn just looked between the two of them, making a face Brock has never seen him make before. A thousand things seemed to race though his mind, and Brock couldn't say he wasn’t experiencing something similar.
Eventually, Quinn closed the door and rubbed a tired hand down his face. “I’m gonna need more than a gatorade if we’re going to have this conversation.”
Quinn didn’t end up getting a drink due to his new diet he really did stick too, but he did relent and scarfed down what food Petey was making for himself. Brock thinks he felt bad about being the one who technically did spill the beans about Quinns…thing.
The three of them were sitting on Petey’s couch set-up, Petey and Quinn beside each other on the couch while Brock took the ottoman.
“So, you see ghosts?”
Quinn nodded his head. He wasn’t making direct eye-contact with Brock while they spoke, instead shifting between looking at Brock and his hands. Petey was staying eerily quiet next to Quinn. He kept looking between Brock and Quinn like one of them was about to explode.
“So that night at the hotel?” Brock asked.
Quinn took a deep breath as Petey looked away.
“Sometimes management puts me in rooms that have ghosts,” Quinn said like that was a normal thing to say. “They don’t know it’s a problem because they don't know. Sometimes, especially in old, populated cities like Boston, ghosts are everywhere.”
Petey nodded his head, pitching in. “Me and Huggy have a system.”
“If it’s really bad I just sleep in Petey’s room,” Quinn continued. He looked back down at his hands, lowering his voice like he was embarrassed. “That’s why I was in the hallway that night.”
It made a little more sense now. Seeing Quinn on the floor was because he hadn’t had his normal escape. Brock noticed the way Petey looked almost disappointed in himself, but also sad for Quinn. God, this was normal for them, and Brock had no idea.
“What if there's a ghost in his room?” Brock asked, seeing the error in their plan.
Quinn just shrugged, and said quietly, “I just don’t sleep, then.”
The obvious sadness on Petey’s face made Brock himself upset. They shared a look as Quinn stared at his hands again, and something passed between them. Brock knew then how much Petey must have tried to help Quinn since whenever he found out, but he could tell Petey’s best probably wasn’t always enough.
“Is Petey the only person on the team who knows?” Brock asked, somewhat praying he was wrong.
Petey smiled. “Well, not anymore.”
Brock huffed out a laugh, appreciating the attempt to lighten the mood that overcame Petey’s apartment. Brock was taking this better than he thought he would, but he still had a dozen more questions. Quinn was starting to look tired though, and Brock wasn’t sure if it was his normal state of exhaustion, or something more.
“And the bar in New York?" Brock asked, unable to stop himself.
“Same thing,” Quinn sighed. “Sometimes, I can’t tell they’re ghosts because they wander around like normal people. But that night there was a ghost with a….he, um, had a glass bottle in his neck.”
The image, even just being described, sent a shiver down Brock’s spine. Quinn looked like he was trying not to relieve a memory, and quickly spoke again.
“Um, sometimes they’re angry, and he was staring me down.” Quinn rubbed a hand down his face. “Sometimes when they’re like that, I can feel it. Like, I freeze. I was lucky I was with the three of them that night.”
Brock remembered the nightmare Quinn had. After listening to this, he was pretty sure it had nothing to do with actual ghosts, and simply the memory of them.
“So, the staring?”
Petey chuckled a bit. “Oh, that’s all Huggy. He just locks in.”
Thank god for Petey, because Quinn also laughed softly. “On the ice, yeah, but sometimes it’s more than that. Like the bar.”
The bar. There's that word again. How many times had Quinn had A Bar moments and not told anyone about it? Brock knew Quinn well, and even on non-ghost business, he refused to ask for help from his teammates if he could help it. He was constantly taking care of everyone except himself. Brock wondered if it was an older brother thing, a captain thing, or simply a Quinn Hughes thing.
Brock thought about it, and surely something could help. He wanted to help if he could, and he just prayed Quinn let him
“Have you ever tried sleeping medication?”
Quinn looked up like he was surprised Brock suggested it. He furrowed his eyebrows, staring at him “No. Why would I do that?”
“Bro,” Brock said in disbelief. “You barely sleep because of this.”
“Yeah, not because I'm an insomniac,” Quinn replied, suddenly prickly.
“You kind of are,” Brock replied.
“Okay, well.” Quinn waved his hand, dismissing the idea. “I’m not going to a doctor so they can diagnose me with something I don’t have.”
Brock sighed tiredly, and stared at Petey for some help. He just shook his head as if to say Trust me, I’ve tried. “Quinn, how many people know?”
Quinn thought for a moment. “Counting you both? Seven. My parents, Jack and Luke, and Trevor Zegras.”
“Trevor Zegras?”
“Not my choice, trust me.”
Brock sighed, mulling things over in his head. Seven was not a lot for a thing Quinn’s lived with his whole life. Shit, no wonder the kid refused help – no one knew he needed it.
“Why don't you tell more people?” Brock tried again, and when Quinn shook his head, he doubled down. “We can help you out, man.”
Quinn shook his head adamantly. “No. No, it’s something I deal with.”
Brock was getting frustrated, and he could tell that Quinn was too. “Come on, just, like, talk to someone at least.
“It’s my business, Brock.”
“Quinn,” Petey said this time, far quieter than Brock liked.
Quinn was tapping his foot now, staring at the ground.
Brock tried once more, knowing he was poking a bear. He didn’t know why he didn’t just leave it alone. “I know you're the captain and you think you have to be this super independent guy, but you can’t just do this alone.”
“I do!” Quinn said, facing Brock fully now. “It’s my curse, I deal with it!”
They all went quiet, Brock never used to Quinn raising his voice unless he’s asking for the puck on the ice. Quinn even seemed surprised by himself.
“A curse?” Brock repeated.
Quinn was silent, like he knew he’d messed up. They all knew he did, because Brock then understood Quinn did want help. He wanted to not be burdened by this alone, and although others knew, Brock, and he’s sure Petey did too, knew it wasn’t enough. All he needed to do was ask.
“I think I’m gonna go home,” is what he said instead. He was quick to grab his shoes and keys from the coffee table.
“Quinn, stay,” Petey tried, only to be effectively ignored by their captain.
“I’m tired,” is all he replied with. “I’ll see you two at practice.”
A moment later, Quinn was gone, leaving Brock and Petey alone again. Brock leaned back against the couch and groaned, knowing he’d pushed a notoriously reclusive person too far. He felt like shit, and wished he had just been quiet instead of trying to fix everything immediately.
“I’ve been trying to get him to tell you guys for years.”
Brock looked at Petey, who was staring at the spot Quinn had sat in moments earlier.
“Not because I don’t want to be there for him,” Petey specified, looking at Brock. “I just know it would be good for him. He’s a stubborn, short little bastard."
Brock managed to smile. He went quiet for a second, and thought about it, feeling bad for both of his friends. He felt bad for Petey as the only person who’d known for this long, and wondered how hard that must have been for him. He felt even worse for Quinn.
Brock showed up at Quinn's the next day before their afternoon skate. It gave him time to cool off and remember Quinn, while not hot-heated, is still fiercely independent and averse to people being worried about him. At the same time, he hoped Quinn realized he was being kind of a dick too. He was stubborn, but not an asshole.
When he knocked on the door, Quinn opened it and didn’t seem too surprised to see Brock standing there with Lipton iced tea, Quinn’s favorite drink as a private offering.
Brock gave a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry if I overstepped.”
Brock held up the bag, which Quinn took happily. “Sorry I snapped at you.”
Quinn lets Brock in and both take an unspoken seat on his couch. Brock always liked this place, but was always curious why he chose it compared to another apartment that seemed way better. He’s starting to think a ghost had been involved in the decision process.
Probably knowing what Brock was here to talk about, Quinn got straight to the point.
“What I want you to understand is that I have dealt with this on my own for so long.” Quinn was back to playing with his hands, but was looking at Brock this time. “ When Petey found out, it was better, but I still don’t tell him half of what I see, and I also am really terrified of, God forbid management finding out. Can you imagine?”
“No one is saying you need to tell the press you can see ghosts,” Brock said.
“I know, I know,” Quinn replied, thankfully sounding less defensive than he had yesterday. “And it’s not that I don’t trust you, or other guys on the team, it’s just that…It’s hard when I’m supposed to be captain.”
Brock remembered that nineteen year old kid again. Quinn has grown into himself since then, finally found out how to cut his hair, how to lead, how to play a game in a way that left Brock wondering what business he had on the blue line when Quinn Hughes was right there. If Quinn was afraid of seeming less than why they made him Captain, then he really didn't know how Brock and the others saw hin
It made him sad to know Quinn didn't think he was worthy of what Brock would offer him, what he knew the entire team would offer him. That, or he was scared of asking for it. As if it would make anyone on this team less impressed by him.
“You had a nightmare that night, you know?”
Quinn stopped playing with his hands. By his silence, Brock knew he was remembering the hotel incident too. “I didn’t know.”
“It was really scary, Quinn. Like, seeing dead people scary.” The irony dawned on him, but he didn't know how else to describe the genuine fear he’d had for Quinn in the moment. “I’m just saying, it’s not a burden you need to carry alone. And you’re not less of a captain if you ask for help.”
Quinn was quiet, seeming to mull over what Brock was saying. Brock was willing to be patient, understanding that after twenty-four years, change was hard.
“What would telling even do?” Quinn asked, and something resembling hope bloomed in Brock’s chest.
“Well, for one, we can let you in our rooms when there's a weird hotel demon haunting you.”
Quinn smiled as he laughed, the kind that showed his teeth, and Brock knew he’d be alright.
“It’s never a demon, Boes.”
“Oh, thank god,” Brock replied, making him chuckle even more. He was glad he could do that still.
They transitioned into a comfortable silence as some tension that had erupted between them disappeared with the conversation. Brock watches Quinn as he rubbed a tired hand over his face.
“Hey.” Brock nudged Quinn’s shin with his foot. “You alright?”
“Yeah,” Quinn said, and Brock believed him this time. “Yeah, it’s just…I didn’t really thank you. For letting me sleep in your room when you had no idea what was going on. That was, like, far too understanding of you. Thanks.”
Brock smiled a bit sadly. He wished Quinn realized it was not a big deal to Brock, thinking if Quinn came calling practically anyone on their team would come running. Not out of blind loyalty either. Quinn had earned it.
As long as Quinn was his captain, and Brock stayed in Vancouver, he’d be there for him when he asked. Not because he was his captain, but because he couldn’t imagine his life anymore without Quinn playing alongside him.
“Here's to at least another decade of sharing hotel rooms, eh?”
Notes:
Brock Boeser, YOU are a Vancouver Canuck
Chapter 6
Notes:
This chapter went through a lot of drafts because I had no idea what the hell to make it about tbh. I knew I wanted it to be about Kiefer given he's one of the newer Canucks and also my current favorite player besides Quinn.
The more I think about it, this came about because of that video of Quinn interacting with the baby and not knowing what to do, as well as the picture Garland posted with his son (his son is very cute).
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
KIEFER
Kiefer was not afraid of Quinn Hughes, but maybe just a little bit intimidated by him.
Not on the Ice, that’s where Kiefer knew his worth. While Quinn can absolutely outskate him, possibly embarrass him in a way that at one point in his life would have really hurt his pride, Kiefer also knew he could match him with his size, his aggression.
Kiefer learned a long time ago that’s what made him stand out. He was twenty-nine and in the NHL, and what he had to show for himself was leading the league in hits. While not glamorous like Quinn’s records, he knew at the very least it meant something, at least to Vancouver.
When he’d been traded Kiefer had not been surprised – He knew what his skills earned him, what his situation would look like for the next decade or so. Here one day, and then some random day in July he’d be shipped off across the country, across the continent.
Vancouver had not been a horrible place to go. Kiefer liked the weather, and he always loved the ocean, and playing Canada had been interesting, in a city that eats, lives, and breathes Hockey. He approached the trade with his head held high, first calling his Mom and Dad, letting Kole know through a text knowing his brother never picked up the phone, and told Ariel somewhat nervously when she got home.
Thank god for her, because while obviously not elated to move again, she just nodded, made a list of things to do, and told Kiefer to get off his ass and help her start packing.
Kiefer was suddenly never as sure as anything as the ring hidden in his sock drawer.
Getting to know the guys has been easy enough, as it usually is when joining a new team where so many of the guys knew how it went. Garland was the first to introduce himself, and while small for a hockey player, Kiefer was at first overwhelmed by how open he was. He had the attitude of someone who was 6’4, and the confidence of a guy who knew he had to be nasty to be known.
Brock was as Kiefer would have guessed. The guy really was nice. The prince charming persona, Kiefer came to realize, was not just a nickname because of his looks. The guy was a delight, and it was clear, the team loved him. Peterson had that same vibe that Kiefer found most Swedish stars did – humbleness with a brand of confidence they knew made them stand out from others. He was nice though, which is what Kiefer appreciated. Everyone was pleasant enough, Dak was funny as hell, and Hoggy was kind enough to explain the quirks of the locker room. Everyone else he met in spurts, quick introductions Kiefer knew he'd forget. He’d studied the roster, but God, everyone looked different outside of their headshot. Of course, there was one player Kiefer had known immediately.
When he met Quinn for the first time off the ice, he was immediately impressed.
Kiefer almost forgot he was the vet among them, because Quinn was someone who acted older than he was. He’d brought it up to Petey once, who’d told him the attitude was something new, especially since a successful season as a captain. What had impressed Kiefer the most was everything else.
Quinn’s raw talent, his persistence, the way he spoke to the team with this calmness Kiefer hadn’t seen from any of his past captains before. Quinn was quiet, and if Kiefer wasn’t afraid to say it to a teammate as the new guy, he’d even call him shy. Even then, he held so much respect and power in that locker room, and it showed in his playmaking.
Kiefer was loud and aggressive on the ice where Quinn was quick and calculated. He’d proved himself at twenty-four while Kiefer was still looking for a permanent space for himself. So yeah, Kiefer was a little intimidated by Quinn. Finding out Quinn was a part of the reason Kiefer was in Vancouver in the first place didn’t really help. Suddenly, he felt like he had no choice but to prove to Quinn he belonged there.
Kiefer hated that he was intimidated by a captain for the first time in his life.
Right before Four Nations, Kiefer found himself in his apartment eating chinese food out of a take-out box while watching a pre-recorded game because Ariel didn’t let him watch their shows without her. He was watching a Devils game he’d recorded, partially mostly out of interest in watching Jack and Luke play, and somewhat due to a new appreciation for Devil’s games.
Every time they were at Quinn’s apartment for any reason, there was always a game on. Their captain truly personified Hockey with his two tv set-up where typically, there were two games on. Often, at least one of these games was a Devil’s game. Kiefer had caught himself watching his brothers play, catching how Quinn smiled quietly to himself whenever one of his brothers scored or had an assist. It was a bigger celebration than when Quinn scored himself.
So, Kiefer, out of pure association, watched more of their games. He watched Kole’s AHL games when he could, and Kiefer knew there was a pride in watching someone you love excel at something.
It’s why he was a little creeped out when during the game, he got a call from Quinn. It wasn’t like he wasn’t used to getting calls or texts from teammates, but it was nearly 7:00PM the night before most people were either flying home or ignoring how the season was going before the Four Nations break. He knew Quinn was supposed to fly out in a couple days to go home, considering he wasn't able to play. It was a result of forcing himself to play through injuries that Kiefer regrets he and the team couldn’t prevent.
Kiefer shook his head, trying not to think about how they’d failed their captain and instead answered the phone somewhat hesitantly.
“Cap?”
“Kief! Hey, so I have a quick question?”
Kiefer raised his eyebrows at how frantic his captain sounded, considering how calm and collected he usually was.
Then he heard a loud, winey cry on the other end, which sounded an awful lot like a baby.
“Are you with a baby?”
Quinn laughed on the other end of the line, although it sounded forced, like he was laughing through the pain.
“Yeah,” he said. “It’s Quinton.”
Garly’s kid. Kiefer also noted how Quinn very much said Quinton rather than the nickname most of the team referred to their son as, although it was more of chirp that both parties received and leaned into when Connor told them all what they decided to name their son.
While somewhat wanting to chirp Quinn himself, he decided to ignore it for now. “What’s your question?”
There was silence on the other line mixed with some shuffling and desperate shushing. This did not help, and instead the crying got even louder.
“Are you any good with babies?”
Kiefer went silent for a second. “Um…?”
“I’m sorry, it’s just that their babysitter called out last minute and it’s their first night out together since Quinton was born so Garly asked me to fill in and I said yes, but I also, like, completely overestimated my baby skills, dude.” Kiefer almost laughed at Quinn’s expense, but he was already grabbing his keys and putting away his food as Quinn rambled.
“You lived the closest and you mentioned your niece once. I’m sorry, I just, like, need some help and I’m not calling Garly and pulling him away from his night out with Meghan.”
Kiefer was out the door before he got the chance to respond. “I’m on my way, Cap. Just, like, don’t kill him.”
”Oh my god, please don’t say that.”
Yeah, probably not the best thing to say to his currently freaking out captain. Kiefer apologized before hanging up and heading over.
Quinn was right about Kiefer being close, and he arrived pretty quickly considering the lack of late-night traffic. Once there, he knocked on the door and almost immediately, Quinn opened it with baby Quinton on his hip. He looked a bit frantic, but Kiefer was used to him looking far from put-together, in a certain way. This time, his hair was going in every direction that seemed possible, and his eyes were wide in a small panic. It was a very different look than what Kiefer was used to. His calm and collected captain, reduced to what could only be described as a 25-year-old bachelor put in charge of a baby who’s never actually taken care of one.
“I can’t find his bottle,” Quinn said, tweaking his hip so he had a better hold on the baby. “He was crying like five minutes ago but decided to stop the second you knocked. He also won’t stop pulling my hair.”
Kiefer broke into a smile. “Oh, the boys are gonna love to hear about this.”
Quinn rolled his eyes. “I can’t even be worried about that right now, just…just get your ass in here.”
Kiefer laughed as he was ushered inside. Quinn closed the door with his free hand, then immediately started bouncing Quinton when he started crying again. He groaned, clearly having been dealing with this for a while.
“I haven't been able to find his bottle because he won’t stop crying and I don’t want to put him down.”
Kiefer looked at his captain in a new light. Along the way of bearing witness to just how exceptional he was, Kiefer had forgotten Quinn was also just a person, not just a talent with the expectations of something unimaginable on his shoulders. Seeing him with a baby he was clueless about made Kiefer feel slightly less like he was less himself.
“Do you want me to take him?”
Quinn seemed hesitant at first, then Kiefer assumed he remembered the reason he called Kiefer in the first place. He handed Quinton off and was incredibly slow and deliberate. Kiefer thought it was sweet by how careful Quinn was, not letting go fully until Kiefer had a clear hold on the baby.
Kiefer immediately started shushing Quinton, bouncing him softly. He was reminded of his cousin's kid, his niece. Her name was Aya, a little baby with tufts of black hair not unlike Quinton’s. She was very cute, and Kiefer had been roped into babysitting her one summer a few years ago when his cousin and her husband went out. He learned real quick babies were a bit insane, but also very much worth it.
Luckily, Quinton seemed to calm down a bit and Kiefer smiled down at him. He was tiny, only a few months old at this point. He still sniffled and was fussy, so Kiefer assumed he really was just hungry.
He glanced at Quinn who was looking at Kiefer like he’d just performed the most insane trickshot known to man.
“What?” Kiefer asked.
“How do you do that?” Quinn replied, hands on his hips.
Kiefer just laughed. “I’m just calm, I guess? You know they say babies can sense when someone’s stressed.”
Quinn ran his hand, the uninjured on, through his hair. “Yeah, well, I’m always stressed, so.”
Kiefer gave him a tight smile. No one mentioned it to Quinn, but he wouldn't be surprised if he knew – they were all really glad he wasn’t paying in Four Nations. Between what had happened with Miller, the injuries he was playing through, and the overall pressure on him, they all knew he’d needed the break more than any of them.
Kiefer of course hadn’t said anything to him directly, knowing he really hadn't earned the right. Hell, Kiefer hadn’t even plucked up the courage to call him Huggy yet. Kiefer wasn’t about to tell Quinn how to take care of himself. He’d hoped Brock or one of the others who’s known him since his rookie season had spoken to him about how he’s doing.
So, if Kiefer could help out one night with a baby, he would.
“Well, I think you’re right. Quinton is hungry,” Kiefer said, his attempt to change the subject from what was sure to lead to their downward spiral of a season.
Quinn nodded his head. He went to get the bottle from the fridge which Kiefer took from him. Kiefer couldn’t help but smile and coo at Quinton as he held him, urging him to take the bottle. He was happy too, getting quiet nearly immediately as he took the milk. Kiefer went to sit on the couch as he fed Quinton, starting to feel like possibly, he wasn’t opposed to having kids of his own one day.
“I’m gonna go, like, fold some of his laundry Connor put in before he left,” Quinn said, scratching the back of his head awkwardly.
Kiefer nodded at him, feeling a bit awkward for taking Quinn’s job from him. Quinn just nodded and left down the hall while Kiefer held a baby-Quinn.
“We’re gonna call you Quinn for the rest of your life, you know?” Kiefer whispered.
He knows logically the baby didn’t understand him, but Kiefer liked to think Quinton’s giggle was because he did.
QUINN
Quinn knocked his head against the wall outside the laundry room as soon as he was out of Kiefer’s line-of-sight. Actually, he banged his head softly against the wall a couple times, willing himself to pull it together because he can’t even take care of his own godson.
Times like this, he wondered how the hell Connor and Meghan did it. How Meghan managed to handle this on her own when they were on the road. He couldn’t even last an hour before he was calling the first person he could think of that was still in town because he’d convinced himself he was going to somehow hurt Quinton when left alone. Quinn said he’d help, he said he could do it, and then he botched it nearly immediately.
He debated calling his mom, who somehow did it with three boys all under five, then felt like somehow it would turn into a lecture. He then almost called his dad, but knew that would turn into just talking about Four Nations, the thought of which made Quinn cringe. That meant he definitely wasn’t calling Jack, and he doesn’t ever think he’s actually seen Luke interact with a baby before.
Calling Kiefer had been a split second decision fueled by induced panic and the knowledge he had a whole entire life in his hands.
The thing about Kiefer was that Quinn also trusted him to an extent he didn’t trust others so quickly. That’s something Quinn has been working on for himself, as he’d spent most of his life avoiding trusting people with things. Delegate and trust is what his therapist told him.
Still, there was this ache in Quinn’s chest that came from not being able to perform a task he clearly told Garly he could, added on with the knowledge he called for help from someone he’d known only a few months. He thinks he was so quick to call him because there was something about Kiefer and the way he defended everyone on the ice that made Quinn remember why he fought to get him onto the Canucks in the first place.
That, or maybe Quinn is just truly desperate.
He’d banged his head on the wall one more time to good measure, then walked into the laundry room.
As soon as he did, he knew something was wrong. The sickness he felt when a ghost was nearby has lessened over the years, but he still felt the pit that formed in his stomach every time. He felt a chill too, and was sure something was in the room with him.
He nearly screamed from shock when a woman appeared in front of him – she was old, white hair and pale skin that was translucent. She was staring at him with an intensity that told Quinn she knew where she was, and what she was.
Quinn backed up until he hit the wall, mostly out of shock by how close the woman was less than pure fear. He’s seen scarier things than her in his life.
“Get out,” she said harshly. “Get them all out!”
Quinn felt it then, that hurt in his stomach from an angry spirit that made him throw up when he was a kid. He pushed down the feeling, forcing himself to stay upright. He’d experienced this enough that he knew how to ignore it.
Then like that, she was gone. Well, not gone. She was in the house somewhere. Quinn felt her presence now that he’d met her.
Once Quinn gathered his bearings and got over the initial shock of meeting a new, angry ghost, he remembered where he was. He remembered whose house he was in, and who lived there.
The ghost has been old, angry, and obviously left with some unfinished business. Quinn grabbed his arm, the memory from when he was seven resurfacing.
He barely remembered that night. He remembered being scared, an old woman, his parents and their panic, and the hand on his arm. It was the first and last time he’d ever been hurt by a ghost, and the thought of it happening to anyone in this house, to Quinton, filled him with a fear he hadn’t felt since he was a child.
He made a decision in his head at that moment that twenty-year-old him would have kicked him in the face for, that sixteen-year-old him would have never believed he’d do.
Quinn rushed out of the laundry room, forgetting why he’d gone there in the first palace.
KIEFER
Quinton had calmed down, and with his calmness returned the guilt Kiefer felt for doing Quinn’s job. It was more the look on his face when Quinton stopped crying after Kiefer took him.
It was a weird fear for Kiefer to have. While illogical, he suddenly thought maybe this is what would solidify Quinn’s opinion on him even though he was the one who called Kiefer in the first place. Kiefer was doing well in Vancouver, he knew he was, but with their season falling short and all these injuries and other locker-room issues he had prayed would be resolved with the trade, he was panicking again.
But clearly, he wasn’t panicking enough, because Quinn came back from the laundry room with one; no laundry, and two; looking far worse and frantic than he had earlier.
“Whoah, whoah, is everything alright?” Kiefer said, standing with Quinton.
Quinn came to a stop. “Yeah, it is, but, um…” Quinn trailed off, glancing at Kiefer, then the baby, back to Kiefer. It was only a little worrying.
Quinn seemed to be having a very intense internal debate with himself. Kiefer was patient, and allowed him to be, even though Kiefer was starting to get worried.
“I need to tell you something and I need you to keep an open mind. Like, really open,” Quinn said.
Kiefer narrowed his eyes, but decided not to say anything immediately. He could not for the life of him guess what Quinn was about to say next. This was not the captain he’s come to know but what someone looked like they were going through something intense. It was interesting, if not concerning.
Kiefer adjusted Quinton in his arms. “Alright. Wanna tell me what?”
Quinn ran his hand through his hair, looking behind him, then back to Kiefer. “Yeah, um, so, do you believe in ghosts?”
Kiefer raised his eyebrows. Not what he was expecting.
“Yeah.”
“Okay, so–Wait, what? You do?”
“Dude, you’re the one who asked.”
“Right, sorry.” Quinn was looking behind him again, then back to Kiefer. “Okay, so, that will make this easier.”
Kiefer was getting more and more confused the more Quinn spoke. He looked like he was having an intense fight within his head, wringing out his hand. Suddenly he glanced up and around the ceiling, following something with his eyes Kiefer couldn't see, or hear. Kiefer groaned, only now getting impatient.
“Cap!”
Quinn looked back down, eyes wide. He had something on his mind.
“What’s going on?”
Quinn looked so intensely at Kiefer it nearly made him want to squirm away from his gaze.
Then, “There’s a ghost in this house.”
Kiefer stared at Quinn for a moment, unsure if he was being pranked or not.
“I…I can see ghosts, Keif.”
They must have stared at each other for a while, because Kiefer was deciding if he heard him right. When Quinn didn’t falter and he just stared at Kiefer like he was terrified, Kiefer decided then and there that Quinn wasn’t crazy, because Christ, it was Quinn. Then Kiefer decided something he thought was even crazier.
He decided to believe him.
QUINN
Kiefer had put Quinton down in his crib after he’d stopped crying and he ate. He finally seemed to be trying to get some sleep. Kiefer then tried to get Quinn to leave so they could talk outside of the room. Quinn, of course, refused to leave. He wasn’t going to let Quinton out of his sight, especially now that he knew what was lingering in the house. Kiefer had a lot more patience than Quinn gave him credit for, because he let Quinn be neurotic and overbearing without much judgment. At least, any judgment Quinn could read.
“Okay, so there's a ghost in this house?” Kiefer confirmed for probably the 5th time, trying to keep his voice down as Quinton slept.
Quinn nodded his head. “Yeah. An angry one.”
Kiefer looked from him, to the baby, then back to Quinn. He had his arms crossed and his game face on, something Quinn appreciated more than he thought he would. Kiefer really did believe him, easily too. That’s not something that he was used to.
Garly hadn’t believed him at first, and it took both Petey and Brock to convince him he wasn’t crazy.
So, Quinn could text Garly and ask him to come back, but he also wanted to figure this out. He’s helped ghosts move on before, and he wasn’t about to stress Garly out with this. Funnily enough, Connor was really afraid of ghosts.
“So, how do we fix it?”
“Uh, well, I can…get rid of her, kinda.”
“What does that mean?”
Quinn wasn’t prepared for Kiefer to be so normal about this and approach it like it was your everyday issue. “I can help her move on. Like, she’s a ghost with unfinished business. I just need to talk to her.”
Kiefer didn’t look very convinced. In fact, he looked the opposite. Quinn didn’t blame him, this was a lot to take in, and considering he just found out, he was taking it pretty well.
“Okay, so, how about we go–”
“–No,” Quinn quickly said, maybe too quickly, because Kiefer looked taken back by it. “Sorry. I just mean you should stay here with Quinton. I need to find her first and then I need to talk to her. I told you because I need someone here to be with him while I take care of this.”
Kiefer seemed to think, and Quinn was learning he was really bad at hiding his emotions on his face. It’s clear Kiefer was having his doubts about Quinn’s plan, which only annoyed him a little. Quinn’s been dealing with those for years, and Kiefer only found, like, half an hour ago.
“Is that why you told me?”
Quinn nodded his head.
“Okay, so why didn’t you just wait for me to leave?”
Of course Kiefer was the kind of guy to try and figure this out. Quinn thinks if Kiefer was younger and more willing to turn the other cheek like lots of rookies do, he might just let Quinn get away with being aloof.
“Because I might pass out and I didn't want Quinton to be left alone.”
Kiefer eyes widened and immediately looked concerned, which is always why Quinn doesn't really tell people that part about helping ghosts pass. It’s not that big of a deal, even though Petey tells him every time that it is.
Now Kiefer was pacing a pit, dragging his hand in his hair the same way Quinn did. He paused, looking at Quinn again.
“I don’t like the idea of you interacting with a ghost alone.”
Quinn rolled his eyes, which really wasn’t something he intended to do. In any other situation, Quinn might have been touched by his concern, but right now, he was just desperate to get the ghost out of this home. A home with a child, his godson. He wanted to get rid of this ghost before Connor came home. If he could, it would make Quinn feel like he didn’t make a mistake giving him this role in his son’s life.
“Listen, the concern is nice and all, but I’ve done this before. I just need you to stay with him for like, an hour.”
“Quinn,” Kiefer said. Quinn did shut up, because it wasn’t often people called him his actual name, not unless they meant business. ”Just, humor me for a moment. This is all very new to me. I want to help if I can, and if you’re going to pass out, at least let me be there to make sure you don’t hurt yourself.”
Then, Quinn realized something. Kiefer was treating him the same way he treated him on the ice, like someone to protect.
One of the most valuable things about Kiefer as a hockey player was his willingness to defend his teammates. After Quinn hurt himself and still played, the league knew this, obviously, and while it wasn't said exactly how he was injured, it never stopped him from being a target. It’s really the main reason Quinn was sometimes self-conscious about his size – he wasn’t able to defend himself as easily as someone like Mysie or Boeser. Quinn wasn’t a fighter, never really was, but then he saw people like Kiefer on his side of the center line, and felt like someone always had his back.
He was getting that feeling now, which is why he decided he’s put his trust in Kiefer beyond just what he gave him on the ice.
KIEFER
Kiefer, for a while, just followed Quinn around while he looked around the house like a kid looking for their mom. It was kind of funny, but Kiefer also was on edge himself.
If it had been anyone else who told him that ghosts were in fact real, he might have not believed them. If it had been DeBrusk, he definitely would have thought he was being pranked. It’s why when Quinn came in all startled and nervous, Kiefer knew then whatever he’d been so worried about, he’d believe him.
Quinn was Quinn. He didn’t joke like that. He didn’t lie to people, he was pretty serious as a person, so Kiefer had no clue why he’d tell him something like that and it not be true.
Thatcher once told him Quinn wasn’t always like that. He used to be even quieter and stayed in his own lane. He was fun to be around and an all-around solid guy, but as a teenager and young adult, he’d been different. He also told him something that stuck with him – Thatcher apparently used to need to poke at Quinn to get him to be as open as he is now. Now, he was honest, kind in his compliments, more smiley than most people, but also quiet and reserved.
He wasn’t the kind of guy to humiliate you with a prank as crazy as getting you to believe in ghosts.
So, Kiefer kept an open mind, just like his captain asked. At the moment, he had the baby monitor clutched in his hand, another thing that worked to convince Quinn that Quinton would be fine if Kiefer tagged along.
It hadn’t been a lie – as soon as Kiefer heard that Quinn might pass out, he immediately knew he was downplaying things. Quinn did this with injuries too: not downplay them, but refuse to talk about them. He would play on a broken leg if he could. Hell, any of them would, but as their captain, and yes, best player, Kiefer knew Quinn felt that sentiment more than anyone.
Kiefer trusted his captain, but he didn’t trust him to totally be honest with him when it came to his well-being.
It’s only when Quinn came to an abrupt stop that Kiefer stopped thinking about that fact. He was staring in the master bedroom, where, Kiefer realized, there was a dip on the edge of the bed with no one sitting there.
Oh fuck. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.
Now that he knew what was there, his heart began to race and he could feel the way his body began to heat up from the adrenaline. It was different knowing something was sitting there, something that wasn’t supposed to be on this side of…whatever separated the living and the dead.
It was his moms voice in his head that was convincing him to run the other way out of the room. His brother once told him “ghost hunting is white people activity,” which Kiefer thought was funny at the time.
Now he was fully agreeing with his brother, but also, he made Quinn a promise, and his word was more important to him than his fear.
Quinn’s expression also took on a darker look. Kiefer was surprised how he didn’t seem to show any fear. He also saw how he reacted, without saying anything, and Kiefer remembered him saying this ghost was angry. It made Kiefer more worried, but also more convinced he needed him here.
“You need to leave,” Quinn said into the room.
He walked in as if there wasn’t a ghost in there, and Kiefer had to remember to follow. On the edge of the bed near the nightstand, was a framed photo of Meghan and Quinton. He clutched the baby monitor just a little bit tighter.
He stayed back while Quinn spoke to the bed. He was trying very hard not to run out of the room and instead let Quinn do his thing.
Quinn’s words are quick and sharp. It sounded like the way he spoke when he was clearly upset at a game not going their way, doing his best to maintain his anger while also convincing the team to do better. Quinn was not quick to anger, again, a trait Kiefer did not see in most captains. Right now, he was sharp, anger fueled by fear.
“A family lives here now,” Quinn said again. “They have a son. I’m sorry, truly, but it’s there home now, you don’t have a right too–”
Quinn was cut off. The dip disappeared, and Quinn lifted his head as he took a step back. Then Quinn quickly stood in front of Kiefer’s line of sight, putting his hand out quickly.
“Leave him alone,” he said. “Look at me. I’m the only one who can help you.”
A chill ran down Kiefer’s spine. The ghost knew he was here. Of course she did, but it didn’t help that Kiefer was still terrified. He was nearly regretting coming in here now, but he knew that it was just the fear talking.
Quinn took a step forward, and Kiefer stayed where he was. It was intensely quiet for a moment, and it took Kiefer a while to notice that Quinn’s outstretched hand was shaking badly.
“Quinn–”
“–Shut up, Kief.”
Kiefer did, because he heard the intensity in his tone. Whatever was happening, it was up to Quinn to handle, and Kiefer stayed out of pure, maybe a bit of blind, loyalty to his captain.
QUINN
Quinn’s entire body was freezing. He felt like someone actually injected ice into his veins, and it traveled from the bridge of his brow, to the heels of his feet. He’s surprised he was still standing at all. He also felt sick. He wanted to throw up all the contents in his stomach. He hadn’t eaten in a while so he thinks that’s the only reason he didn’t puke on the ground in front of him.
This is the angriest ghost he’d ever come across. Quinn thinks maybe he was angry too. This was not her home anymore. This was a family’s home, one where Quinton was supposed to grow up happily, not with an enraged woman making their lives harder.
Hauntings were real, Quinn knew that. He did not trust this woman not to leave them alone. Her anger was too consuming, too violent. Quinn felt it in his chest and the tips of his fingers.
“Please,” Quinn said again. She’d taken an angry step backward after Quinn stood between her and Kiefer. He didn’t think she’d take Quinn’s quiet threat lightly. He thinks they both knew Quinn could make her pass with a touch of his hand. “There’s a baby here.”
The woman’s face darkened again, if that was possible. “It’s my home!” she roared, and somehow it echoed in the room.
Quinn doubted Kiefer could hear her. He doubted he could feel her anger and the way Quinn nearly crumbled at her rage. She was a loud ghost, the kind that made Quinn walk the other direction. In any other situation, in any other house, Quinn might have walked away.
Not this house. Not this family. Not his godson.
“You need to leave,” Quinn said, somehow finding the will to keep his voice steady, sounding somewhat like the captain he was. "It's not a question.”
The woman was suddenly in front of him, and somehow, Quinn didn’t flinch. He didn’t even back away, just stared down her eyes, knowing for the next couple months, she’d be who he saw in his nightmares. He didn’t care. He’d risk a bit of sleep to get rid of her.
“They’re the ones who need to leave,” she hissed, her voice icy. “All of you.”
Quinn knew she wasn’t leaving on her own volition. She wasn’t like other ghosts – she knew she was dead, she knew she wasn’t supposed to be here, and she was anyway.
Quinn’s hand twitched as he looked at her. If he could just touch her, maybe he could get rid of her forcefully. It was odd, having a stare down with a ghost, to be this close to one on purpose and not crumble where he stood. Maybe that showed resilience, or just stupidity.
Either way, having Kiefer with him was also a plus– he knew Kiefer couldn’t see her, but something about him having his back was comforting.
Quinn gasped loudly, and his arm felt like it was suddenly being ripped off. He nearly fell to his knees as the woman had a strong grasp on his wrist, the bruising kind.
God, it hurts. A kind of pain he couldn’t describe other than when he’d hurt his ankle in college, but ten times more painful. He hissed as the woman’s grip tightened, and her smile darkened.
“Leave,” she said again, and it definitely was a threat.
Quinn could vaguely make out Kiefer saying his name over and over again, panic in his voice, but Quinn could only focus on one thing. Only this woman.
Quinn knew this was going to happen the second he made the decision on what to do next. He raised his free hand, fighting through the pain, and prayed to Christ Kiefer was as quick on solid ground as he was on the ice.
KEIFER
Kiefer was now, officially, freaking the fuck out.
Quinn had nearly taken a tumble, and Kiefer was saying his name over and over again, only to be ignored.
Then, Quinn had reached his hand out to nothing, screamed in a way that Kiefer only heard on the ice after someone snapped a bone, and fell backwards.
Kiefer was barely fast enough to catch him before he hit the ground with a thud, his body completely limp.
Kiefer had dropped the baby monitor at some point, instead holding Quinn who was completely passed out. He lowered him onto the ground slowly, doing his best to be careful due to his hurt ribs and the weird hand contraption. He held the back of his head as he lowered him to the ground, suddenly completely terrified of what to do.
Quinn said this would happen, so maybe he should just wait? Waiting didn’t seem timely. He could call someone?
He had no idea who knew about this, but if anyone did, it had to be his family.
With his mind racing a mile a minute, Kiefer looked through Quinn's pockets and found his phone. He pressed siri, and prayed Quinn didn’t have a dumb nickname in his phone for his brothers like Kiefer did.
“Call Luke.”
A sigh of relief left Kiefer when the phone dialed “Lukey”, and was even more relieved when Luke picked up on the second ring. Thank god his brothers were nothing like Kole.
”What’s up?” Luke said, and he didn't seem too surprised by the random call on a Tuesday night at 8:00PM.
“Luke?”
There was silence on the other end for a second. Then, ”Yeah? Who’s this?”
“Kiefer. Kiefer Sherwood, I’m your brother's teammate.”
“Yeah, I know that. What’s wrong, where’s Quinn?”
He sounded worried now, and Kiefer wondered if it had anything to do with his voice, or maybe that Luke might already know what’s going on.
“He’s here,” Kiefer confirmed. “But he’s, uh, passed out…From a ghost.”
He was like 98% sure Luke would know, but still was terrified to maybe accidentally tell someone Quinn didn’t want to know. However, Luke sighing in a way that meant this was a common occurrence quickly dissipated that fear.
“Okay,” Luke said. “So he told you about the ghost thing?”
Kiefer looked at Quinn on the ground, who was now very pale, and a little sweaty. Maybe that was normal?
“Yes,” Kiefer said. “He passed out and now I’m with him in Garland’s house. There was a ghost here and Quinn seemed pretty intent on getting rid of it. I just don't know what to do, and like, if this is normal.”
“It is,” Luke said. He sighed tiredly, and Kiefer could hear some shuffling. “You can try rubbing his sternum and he should wake up. He's gonna be noisious, so maybe try and get him to eat something before he goes back to sleep.”
Kiefer put Luke on speaker and set the phone down on the ground. He looked at Quinn, who was, like, really pale. Way paler than usually, which was saying a lot. Kiefer tried rubbing his sternum, expecting him to groan and wake up. When Quinn was completely unresponsive, that’s when Kiefer panicked again.
“It’s not working, Luke.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“I mean it’s not working. He’s still asleep, and really pale and shaky. I’m not going to pretend I know how this works, but he seemed to be in a lot of pain a few minutes ago too."
There was a pause that made something drop in Kiefer's stomach. Then some more shuffling, and Luke's voice now much clearer, like he’d been on speaker before.
“Call 9-1-1.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes!” Luke yelled, and that’s when Kiefer began to worry something was very, very wrong.
“What do I tell them?” Kiefer asked, trying again to rub Quinn’s sternum, only to meet with nothing. That’s also when Quinn’s breathing became shallow and ragged.
“I don’t care, just get him to a hospital,” Luke said, voice rushing in and out. “And text me which one as soon as you know.”
With that, Luke hung up. Kiefer picked up the phone, hand on Quinn’s wrist like he would float away from him if he wasn’t. When he dialed 9-1-1 and told them the address, he was quick to hang up and just make sure Quinn was still breathing. He was, but shaky and pale.
“Please fucking be okay, Quinn,” Kiefer muttered, keeping a hand on Quinns wrist, the other on his chest, making sure he could feel the rise and fall of it with each ragged breath.
He didn’t know how long he stayed like that until the ambulance arrived.
QUINN
Quinn woke up in a hospital.
It was the first time that's happened to him since he was twelve and he got knocked out by a guy about twice his size while playing hockey back in Toronto. It was probably because of that that his first thought was he got hit on the ice.
He quickly tried to feel for an injury, broken leg, sprained wrist, concussion, sliced ligament, anything. After a moment, he realized there was nothing physically wrong with him that didn’t already exist prior.
Then he saw something that surprised him more than waking up in a hospital bed – Luke asleep in a chair next to him.
Then, to his surprise again, Kiefer Sherwood, walking in with what looked like coffee in his hand. When he saw Quinn was awake, he paused.
Then, “Holy shit.” His eyes widened, then he walked over and nudged Luke with his hand. “Luke, wake up.”
Luke did wake up, and Quinn almost startled at how he jumped like he just heard a gun shot.
As soon as Luke was awake, and he saw Quinn, he jumped off his chair and was suddenly at Quinn’s side. Quinn didn’t remember when that happened, why Luke was in Vancouver, and why he was in a hospital bed, so he only looked at both people, one being his brother, the other his teammate he’d known for like four months, and was even more confused.
“Does your head hurt?” Luke asked. “Do you know where you are?”
This was new. Luke being worried, that is. He stared up at Luke, realizing he was clutching Quinn’s hand like a life-line. When Quinn remembered he was waiting for an answer, he spoke.
“Um, Vancouver?”
Luke sighed. “Yeah, and do you remember what happened?”
Quinn looked from Luke, then to Kiefer, who looked also pretty worried, which made him suddenly remember what happened. The memories came back in a rush.
The house, Quinton, calling Kiefer, the ghost.
Quinn could hear how his heart rate monitor spiked as he leaned up, and he could feel the slight headache as well. “Quinton?”
“He’s fine," Kiefer said, walking forward but still maintaining some distance. “After I called 9-1-1 I called Connor. He and Meghan came home immediately and Quinton was fine. Connor was here a couple hours ago but he left to take care of some things.”
Quinn relaxed, but was still somewhat panicked by the apparent time he’d missed. “How long was I out?”
Kiefer was the one to answer even though he’d asked Luke. “A day and a half, maybe?”
Quinn’s eyebrows shot up. “A day and a half? What the…when did you get here?”
Luke had yet to let go of Quinn’s hand, and was still sitting on the bed, taking up most of the space with his much too large body. Luke, of course, didn’t seem to care, and Quinn wasn’t keen on making him move either.
“Yesterday,” he said. “Sherwood called me while I was in Michigan, and I got the next flight over.”
Quinn wasn’t sure what to say to that. He looked at Luke, a little upset he’d left, especially since Quinn knew how much he missed his college buddies and what this break meant to him.
“You didn’t need to fly over,” Quinn said. “I’m fine.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” Luke replied. “You’ve never seen yourself when you're like…that.” Quinn felt only a little guilty at that. “And you wouldn’t wake up this time, Quinny.”
Quinn’s heart squeezed inside his chest. The way Luke looked down like he was afraid to show his emotion on the matter made Quinn realize how much he really must have freaked him out for him to cancel plans with his best friends just to come to Vancouver for Quinn.
“We didn’t tell the doctors exactly what happened,” Kiefer explained, which put to rest a fear Quinn didn’t realize he had until he said it. “I just told them what happened that night, excluding the ghost stuff. When they found out who you were, they boiled it down to intense exhaustion from the season. Plus a lack of sleep and food.”
Quinn looked at Luke, back to Kiefer, both of which looked far too concerned for his liking.
He hated that he scared them both like that, but he didn’t regret what he did. The ghost was gone. Quinn knew it because he’d felt it when he forced her to leave. He thinks that’s why it affected him the way it did – it wasn’t mutual, she wasn’t okay with moving on, and she’d made sure to put up a fight. A fight Quinn won but at the risk of his own body.
Quinn squeezed Luke's hand, and he hoped it conveyed just how bad he felt about the whole situation, and how thankful he was that Luke came running.
“I’m fine, Moosey.” He put on one of his rare smiles he reserved for Big Brother moments. “I promise. Like, actually this time.”
Luke thankfully seemed to believe him, and honestly, Quinn believed himself. He felt tired of course, but he thinks that came from being asleep for over twenty-four hours.
“I’m gonna get something from the vending machine then tell the doctor you’re awake,” Luke said, squeezing Quinn’s arm. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
Luke stood up, giving Quinn his room back because Jesus Christ, when did Luke get so fucking giant.
Now it was just him and Kiefer, and Quinn felt somewhat awkward that he’d put him in that position. If he freaked Luke out, who’d known about this for years, he wondered how Kiefer felt.
“Wanna sit?” Quinn said, inviting him to ask the questions he knew he had. Everyone had them after he told them.
Kiefer gave him a tight smile and sat in the chair previously occupied by Luke. He leaned forward, his hand on his knees. He looked tired and had some scruff on his face, and Quinn wondered how long he'd been there.
“Sorry I didn’t call your parents,” Kiefer said. “I called Luke because I know Jack's busy with Four Nations, and you three are pretty close, so…”
Quinn smiled at his sincerity. “It’s fine. Honestly, it's better you called one of them rather than my parents.”
Kiefer snorted. “Yeah, that’s what he said too.”
Quinn suddenly worried Kiefer might be getting the wrong idea about his parents, so he clarified. “It's not that they are bad parents or anything,” Quinn said, feeling like he had to say it. “It’s just that this ghost thing has always been mostly between me and my brothers. My parents, like, know, but they don’t know about the passing and stuff.”
Kiefer seemed genuinely surprised by that. “Really?”
Quinn nodded. “That surprise you?”
Kiefer shrugged, leaning back on his chair. “I mean, yeah. You call your dad every game and your mom, like, taught you guys to skate, right. You all seem pretty close.”
Quinn smiled at the memories of what was the normal part of his childhood. It’s the memories his parents chose to focus on, and how Quinn thinks they viewed him. His parents never really talk about the ghosts with Quinn, nor do they ask about it. It’s something Quinn was both grateful and upset about. He thinks that’s why both his brothers were always so concerned, because they knew no one else would be.
His parents weren't bad parents, but they weren’t perfect either.
He explained this to Kiefer who listened intently. He didn't push about the issue, which Quinn was grateful for.
“Who else on the team knows?” Kiefer asked.
“Petey, Brock, Mysie, Thatch, and Garly. Now you too, I guess.”
Kiefer huffed out a laugh. “Is it like a special club?”
Quinn laughed too. “Nah, I told Petey years ago. Well, he cornered me and found out, same with Brock.” Quinn smiled to himself, thinking about that conversation with Brock. “I definitely wouldn’t have told the others if it hadn't been for Brock.”
“Hm,” Kiefer said. He was a pretty good listener, Quinn will give him that. “And the others?”
“I told Mysie because Brock said I probably should, and he’s like, old and wise.”
“Careful, I’m nearly thirty.”
Quinn laughed, a real laugh this time. Kiefer did as well.
“Sorry,” Quinn said. “I told Mysie because I trust him and Brock thought it would help to have another teammate know. I guess I told Demmer for similar reasons. I don’t, like, tell people just because. It's still something I keep pretty quiet."
Kiefer nodded his head as he spoke. “What about Garly?”
Quinn rubbed his wrist. “I told Connor when he asked me to be Quinton’s Godfather.”
Kiefer raised his eyebrows at that. Quinn continued, feeling like especially now, he deserved the whole story. “After he asked me to have that role, he deserved to know the whole truth. I always felt like I was hiding something from my friends, and when he asked me, I guess I told him because I felt I'd be lying to him otherwise. Like, he’d think he’d made a mistake if he found out later on.”
Kiefer was watching him, and it seemed to Quinn like he was scrutinizing him. Or studying him. Either way, it made him squirm a bit.
“So you want me to keep this quiet?”
Quinn kept being impressed by how well Kiefer read a situation. “Yeah. Just, don’t announce it to the world. And you can tell Ariel if you want.”
Kiefer huffed out a laugh. “Yeah?”
Quinn shrugged. “I know it’s a bad idea to keep things from girlfriends. Just, make sure she doesn’t tell anyone either.”
Kiefer nodded, and Quinn in that moment felt very connected to his teammate. He was glad he fought for him when he did. Kiefer was someone he was slowly learning to trust more and more, and he was great for the team. They needed someone like him with them, especially now.
Then Kiefer got a bit quiet, and for a moment, Quinn felt like he was going to be at the tail end of a talk like he got from Jack whenever he freaked out over Ghost Stuff.
“I don’t want to like, overstep or anything,” Kiefer began, notably trying to approach this kindly. “But what happened the other night was not normal. I’m worried you’re going to seriously get yourself hurt if you try to do that again.”
Instead of getting annoyed like he usually would, like had earlier at Kiefer’s concern, Quinn agreed. That hadn’t been normal. He’d never felt that kind of pain before. He remembered, and looked at his wrist. There was a handshaped bruise there. That hadn’t happened since he was a kid, and although he hadn’t remembered what the ghost looked like, how he’d known, he remembered the bruise clear as day.
Kiefer seemed to notice it too, and Quinn covered it with his other hand. His hair fell over his face, and he didn’t bother moving it.
“I know,” Quinn said instead. “Trust me. I'm not gonna do that for a while.” He paused, rubbing his wrist. “Maybe ever again.”
Kiefer gave him one of his lopsided smiles. Quinn could tell it was sympathetic if not veiling something awkward. “Well, thanks for trusting me enough to tell me.”
Quinn was somewhat still reeling over the fact he’d told Kiefer, and so easily at that. It hasn’t been something he’d had to linger on like with Tyler, or forced himself to like with Connor. He’d just trusted him.
Quinn knew he had issues with that before, so yeah, he gave himself a pat on the back for it this time.
“Yeah,” Quinn replied instead. “I’m glad you’re here, Kief.”
By here, Quinn meant Vancouver. Maybe he also meant here in this hospital too. With Petey off at Four Nations, when everyone else was already taking advantage of their break, it meant more to Quinn then he was able to put into words. Based on Keifer's expression and the smile on his face, Quinn was pretty sure he understood what he meant either too.
“Me too, Huggy.”
Notes:
The end! This was very fun to write and I hope you all enjoyed (:
cjmasim on Chapter 1 Tue 24 Jun 2025 06:57AM UTC
Comment Actions
Veristol on Chapter 1 Tue 24 Jun 2025 01:27PM UTC
Comment Actions
lillymeowoon on Chapter 1 Tue 24 Jun 2025 07:16AM UTC
Comment Actions
Veristol on Chapter 1 Tue 24 Jun 2025 02:19PM UTC
Comment Actions
lillymeowoon on Chapter 1 Tue 24 Jun 2025 07:39PM UTC
Comment Actions
Veristol on Chapter 1 Fri 27 Jun 2025 03:05AM UTC
Comment Actions
PigeonsChest on Chapter 2 Mon 30 Jun 2025 05:24AM UTC
Comment Actions
Veristol on Chapter 2 Mon 30 Jun 2025 01:30PM UTC
Comment Actions
Nature_is_my_escape on Chapter 2 Mon 30 Jun 2025 12:25PM UTC
Comment Actions
Veristol on Chapter 2 Mon 30 Jun 2025 01:29PM UTC
Comment Actions
lillymeowoon on Chapter 2 Tue 01 Jul 2025 08:45AM UTC
Last Edited Tue 01 Jul 2025 10:52AM UTC
Comment Actions
Veristol on Chapter 2 Wed 02 Jul 2025 03:41AM UTC
Comment Actions
roxxyrae on Chapter 2 Tue 15 Jul 2025 01:19PM UTC
Comment Actions
Veristol on Chapter 2 Tue 15 Jul 2025 04:07PM UTC
Comment Actions
PigeonsChest on Chapter 3 Tue 08 Jul 2025 01:55AM UTC
Comment Actions
Veristol on Chapter 3 Tue 08 Jul 2025 06:05PM UTC
Comment Actions
Cow_A_Bummer_Dude on Chapter 3 Tue 08 Jul 2025 02:15AM UTC
Comment Actions
Veristol on Chapter 3 Tue 08 Jul 2025 06:06PM UTC
Comment Actions
lillymeowoon on Chapter 3 Wed 09 Jul 2025 04:17AM UTC
Comment Actions
Veristol on Chapter 3 Wed 09 Jul 2025 02:33PM UTC
Comment Actions
cjmasim on Chapter 3 Fri 11 Jul 2025 08:11AM UTC
Comment Actions
Veristol on Chapter 3 Fri 11 Jul 2025 02:55PM UTC
Comment Actions
doobeedoobeedoo on Chapter 4 Mon 14 Jul 2025 06:43PM UTC
Comment Actions
Veristol on Chapter 4 Tue 15 Jul 2025 04:03PM UTC
Comment Actions
lillymeowoon on Chapter 4 Tue 15 Jul 2025 07:09AM UTC
Comment Actions
Veristol on Chapter 4 Tue 15 Jul 2025 04:10PM UTC
Comment Actions
cjmasim on Chapter 4 Sun 20 Jul 2025 08:54PM UTC
Comment Actions
Veristol on Chapter 4 Mon 21 Jul 2025 01:30AM UTC
Comment Actions
Cow_A_Bummer_Dude on Chapter 5 Tue 22 Jul 2025 06:39AM UTC
Comment Actions
Veristol on Chapter 5 Tue 22 Jul 2025 01:44PM UTC
Comment Actions
lillymeowoon on Chapter 5 Tue 22 Jul 2025 10:19AM UTC
Comment Actions
Veristol on Chapter 5 Tue 22 Jul 2025 01:47PM UTC
Comment Actions
lillymeowoon on Chapter 5 Wed 23 Jul 2025 04:19AM UTC
Comment Actions
Cow_A_Bummer_Dude on Chapter 6 Mon 28 Jul 2025 04:53AM UTC
Comment Actions
Veristol on Chapter 6 Mon 28 Jul 2025 01:35PM UTC
Comment Actions
doobeedoobeedoo on Chapter 6 Mon 28 Jul 2025 06:49AM UTC
Comment Actions
Veristol on Chapter 6 Mon 28 Jul 2025 01:36PM UTC
Comment Actions
Sunshine_on_a_cloudy_day on Chapter 6 Wed 30 Jul 2025 06:04PM UTC
Comment Actions
Veristol on Chapter 6 Fri 01 Aug 2025 01:29AM UTC
Comment Actions
lillymeowoon on Chapter 6 Mon 11 Aug 2025 02:23AM UTC
Comment Actions
Veristol on Chapter 6 Wed 13 Aug 2025 04:05PM UTC
Comment Actions