Chapter Text
Shane genuinely never thought this would happen to him. Always thought that this was something you heard about in tv shows, heard about on the local news, read about online. He never thought it would be him.
Evidently, he thought wrong.
He had decided to go clubbing for once in his life, tired of all the ribbing and nudging from his teammates about how boring he was, about how he never went out with them, how he was kind of a killjoy.
(When Ilya said it, it was fond. So boring, Hollander. Like it was something to be cherished, a part of Shane to be celebrated, rather than a part of him he needed to change.
When his teammates said it, it was a part of him that they acknowledged but very obviously didn’t accept.)
They had won the game against Boston, Shane managing to score a goal during the last thirty seconds, resulting in locker room cheers and celebrations. He always loved the feeling of winning a game, and it was sweetened further by the fact that the win was against Ilya, who would be most certainly inviting him over to his home later to reward him for winning.
But before that, Shane had decided to go out. He was riding high off of his win, and the Boston nightlife only added to the energetic atmosphere.
It ended up being a lot. The music was loud, the lights were bright, the crowds of people celebrating in the club made everything feel uncomfortably warm and sweaty.
Shane was leaned up against a wall with a very questionable sticky texture, taking a moment to breathe as JJ ordered another round of shots, met with raucous cheering. He saw a few members of Boston on the other side of the club, luckily nice enough to keep to themselves and let Montreal have their fun.
Ilya wasn’t there, of course. Shane glanced down at his phone, scrolling through his message history with the other man.
Lily: 5226 is door code
Lily: for reward ;)
Shane: will probably come by later. Am out w the team right now
Lily: shane hollander?!? Out at club !??!?
Lily: who are you
Lily: who is this person texting me on phone
Shane: ha ha. Very funny. They managed to convince me to celebrate the win. I figured one night wouldn't hurt.
Lily: U should leave early
Lily: i can give you better celebration at my home
Lily: will be more fun than hanging out with boring lame montreal team
Shane: Asshole.
Shane: I’ll let you know when I’m on my way to yours.
With that, Shane glanced around anxiously before pocketing his phone. He watched with a rising sense of dread as Hayden walked over to him.
He loved Hayden, he really did, but the last thing he wanted to deal with was his tipsy friend getting on him for not dancing or drinking.
Hayden pat Shane on the shoulder. Shane barely managed to hold back a grimace at the way the sweaty hand pressed the texture of his own shirt further against his skin. He was already near shutting down from how overstimulating the club was. Physical contact made it so so much worse.
“Hollander! What are you doing, standing here in the corner all alone? C’mon, you should dance! I’m sure there are plenty of hot women here who would love to spend a night with the Shane Hollander.”
Hayden added a little wink at the end of his sentence. Shane fought back a wince, instead trying to muster up his most convincing smile.
“Nah, I’m really okay here. Feeling a little tired from the game. I did do most of the work, you know. Those goals didn’t score themselves.” Shane managed a little smirk towards Hayden.
It was easy to fall back into hockey when he got uncomfortable like this. He never knew the right thing to say, the right way to respond, how to tell your best friend that you were extremely gay and also in a relationship with the person everyone thought was your biggest rival.
Hockey he was confident in. He knew he skated well tonight. Knew it was expected for him to brag a little, because that's what captains did after winning against their rival team.
Hayden barked out a laugh.
“True, true. I know this isn’t exactly your scene. I’m shocked you agreed to come out with us. But you played super well tonight, man. If anyone deserves some rest it’s you.”
Shane’s smile slipped into something more genuine. Hayden might not always be the best with words, but he had been there for Shane more years than he could count. It was nice to have someone in his corner.
“Thanks, Hayden. I think I’m actually going to turn in for the night. I’m meeting up with a friend, so I’ll see you for team lunch tomorrow, yeah?”
Hayden waggled his eyebrows at Shane.
“Seeing your Boston girl, huh? Lily, right?”
Shane’s smile soured just a little bit. He glanced away awkwardly, trying to resist the urge to fidget with his hands.
“Yeah, but we’re just friends.” Shane insisted. He knew it would be better for him if the team thought he had a girlfriend, knew that was the best way to stave off any potential rumors or chances of anyone finding out.
But it still left a sour taste in his mouth, even just pretending to be romantically interested in anyone other than Ilya. Even if Lily was just a nickname for Ilya.
“Sure, man. Sure. I’m gonna go grab another drink. Don’t knock anyone up, alright?” Hayden teased, punching Shane in the shoulder before going to walk back into the crowd.
Shane weakly nodded, not even bothering to respond to the comment when he knew Hayden wouldn’t hear it anyways.
He heaved out a sigh of relief once Hayden was fully away. He patted at his pockets, making sure he had his phone and wallet. Right as he was about to walk away from his spot against the wall, someone tapped at his shoulder.
Shane whirled around, a little startled. In front of him was a relatively attractive looking man, appearing to be a bit older than Shane, maybe early thirties. He was holding two drinks-they looked like beers..
“Hey! You’re Shane Hollander, right? Great game tonight!”
Shane allowed himself to relax a little, pasting on his media-approved smile. While he generally didn’t like speaking with fans, especially not when he was already this overwhelmed, he knew it would be rude to just ignore the man and walk away.
There was always the additional risk that any rude fan interaction would be posted online. Shane really couldn’t risk that type of gossip about him.
People found enough to criticize with his appearance and his race. The last thing he needed was for people to think he was rude, unapproachable, uncaring.
“Hey, yeah, I am. Thanks. Always happy to make our fans happy.” Shane recited. He tried his best to maintain a picture-ready smile, cheek muscles straining at the fake feeling.
“Oh, do you want a beer? Just as a congrats for the game! I got one for me and my friend but he wandered off, so I’m not really sure what to do with this…least I could do is offer it to one of my favorite athletes!”
Shane hesitated. The guy sounded genuine enough, looked normal enough, and was smiling earnestly at Shane like he really, truly admired Shane and his dedication to his sport.
“Are you sure?” Shane asked. The guy nodded, extending out a hand holding a pint of beer. Shane grabbed it from him. It was full, foamy, no cloudy color or anything like that.
He didn’t know why he was so anxious. It was just a drink, right?
The guy watched as he took a sip. It tasted like regular old beer, which was to say it tasted like stale gross wheat water.
“What do you think? Pretty good, right? I’m going to go see if I can find my friend-knowing him he probably went off with some girl. He’ll never believe me when I tell him I met the Shane Hollander. Could I get a picture before I go?” The guy asked.
Shane shifted his weight between his feet, nodding. His face was starting to hurt from holding this smile. The music felt louder somehow.
The guy pulled out his phone, leaning into Shane’s personal space so they could cheers glasses. The shutter of the phone camera went off.
“Do you mind if I send this to my friends?” The guy asked.
Shane just shrugged.
“Go for it. Thanks again for the beer. Have a nice night!” Shane tried to inject enthusiasm into his voice, hoping it would be enough to send the guy away.
He really, really just wanted to leave and go to Ilya.
Luckily, it had been enough of a goodbye. The guy yelled back “you too” before turning and leaving back into the crowd.
Shane sipped at the rest of his beer, finishing it before setting it down at a nearby empty table and walking towards the door that led to the back exit of the bar, hoping none of his team noticed him.
He felt a weird pit in his stomach. He figured it was just the beer-his diet didn’t accommodate alcohol, so it tended to settle oddly in his stomach.
Maybe something bad will happen. You’re too relaxed.
Shane told his brain to shut up. Pulling out his phone, he texted Ilya.
Shane: leaving bar now, will be at yours in twenty minutes
He didn’t bother waiting for a reply before pocketing his phone, pushing the door open and heading out into the back alley.
He could finally leave this overstimulating hellhole, could settle down with Ilya, safe from the weird sense of paranoia that seemed to follow him.
Nothing bad was going to happen tonight.
Right?
—--
Slumped on the ground against the dirty alleyway wall, Shane felt like he maybe a little bit wanted to die.
His head hurt. His whole body ached. He could feel blood drying on his nose and lip, could feel the bruises starting to form around his throat, could feel spit and blood and another bodily substance that Shane really didn’t want to think about sticking to his ass,
Shane felt humiliated. He felt disgusting, he felt dizzy and nauseous and sore and bruised but most of all he felt mortified.
He’d had sex with a man who wasn’t his boyfriend.
(This wasn’t sex, part of him thought. With the way he felt the guy he talked to had put something in his drink. It wasn’t sex, because Shane had been crying and asking him to stop and eventually just checked out-)
Shane barely had enough energy to turn his head to the side and vomit. Barely anything came up, but it burned his throat nonetheless.
He didn’t even know what to do. No one ever tells you what to do after something like this. He knew that maybe there was something about going to the hospital, gathering evidence, filing a report, but that was for normal people.
Shane felt like his circumstances were maybe a little different.
He had to get up. Anyone could walk by, could see star hockey player Shane Hollander laying in his own blood and vomit, take pictures and post them online, maybe take his unbuckled pants as an invitation-
Shane vaguely registered the ringing of his phone. It had somehow managed to survive the assault (it wasn’t assault, it wasn’t, because sure he had asked the guy to stop but he never really said no did he?), having been flung to the ground. The screen was cracked but the phone wasn’t totally broken.
Shane blearily managed to lift his phone up to his ear, accepting the call. His limbs felt like lead. His vision was spotty, and he felt like if he tried to stand up he would either vomit again or fully pass out.
“H’llo?” Shane slurred out. He hadn’t even had the wherewithal to check who was calling. He hoped it wasn’t his parents. He equally hoped it wasn’t Hayden or his manager.
“Hollander? Are you okay? You were meant to get to my house ten minutes ago. Did you get wasted at club? You are a-what do they call it-lightweight?”
Pure relief filled Shane’s veins at Ilya’s voice. The Russian accent felt like a balm on his soul. Shane allowed his shoulders to relax, head thumping against the alley wall.
Safe. Ilya was safe.
To his horror, Shane sniffled.
“Ilya. M’sorry. So-so sorry.” Shane warbled the words out before full blown tears started trailing down his face. He stared down at the bruising on his stomach and thighs. It made him want to claw his skin off.
“Shane? Are you okay? Where are you. I will get you. Are you hurt? What is happening. Come on, моя любовь, talk to me.” Ilya sounded a little frantic. Well-to anyone who didn’t know him, he sounded level headed and calm. But Shane could hear the tinge of urgency to his voice, could hear the background sounds of him getting his shoes and jacket on.
“M’on the ground. Someone put something in my drink. Maybe. I feel-” Shane momentarily rolled his tongue around in his mouth, swallowing multiple times. The nausea had all of a sudden been replaced with a dryness that made talking difficult. “feel bad. Feel really, really bad. M’sorry.” Shane whined.
Ilya cursed in Russian. Shane heard the sound of the door closing on the other end of the phone.
“Do not be sorry. Tell me where you are. And then I will kill whoever did this.”
With the way Ilya sounded genuinely furious, Shane didn’t even think he was really exaggerating.
“In um-in n’alley. Near the club. Think Marleau was there too. Think I-think I cheated on you. B’cause he-and I didn’t-I didn’t say no. Sorry.” Shane slurred out. He felt so upset with himself.
He hated cheating, in every context. Whether it was relationships or sports. And him and Ilya had only very recently made things exclusive. It killed Shane to think that he would be the reason their newly established official relationship dissolved.
All because Shane was a stupid fucking idiot who took drinks from strangers and was too naive and too trusting.
There was silence on the phone for a moment.
Shane held his breath. He knew it was coming-I want to break up with you, how could you do this to us, to me-
“моя любовь. I am few minutes away, please stay on phone with me. You did not cheat. Someone did evil thing to hurt you, not your fault.” Ilya sounded genuinely gutted at the thought that Shane was blaming himself.
Shane exhaled. Breathing felt hard with the way his chest felt weighted down. If he had to guess he had a cracked rib or two. More than anything, he just felt tired. Being alive in this moment felt like so much work, like something sapping up energy Shane didn’t even have anymore.
“Pl’se don’t break up with me. Don’t leave.” Shane whined. He was barely aware of the delirium in his voice. Could taste the salt of his tears as they trailed down his face. He knew he sounded and looked pathetic.
Shane felt like he was going to drown here in this alley. If he listened hard enough he could hear the sounds of music blasting, could hear cop cars going off, could hear a dog barking, people yelling.
It wasn’t like he was suicidal, or anything. It was just that while laying here, with bruised hips and blood on his face and his skin dirty and disgusting, he felt…indifferent. Didn’t even have the energy to be nervous about someone finding him, killing him, overdosing from whatever was put into his drink.
He just didn’t care. Couldn’t care. Not when he had been stripped away like this, laid bare literally and metaphorically. He didn’t want anyone to see him.
He didn’t even want to look at himself. It would be easier, maybe, if he just fell asleep here forever.
“Shane? Shane, stay awake. I will not leave, not ever. I will wrap you in blanket and keep you in my home forever, like princess. You just need to stay awake. Hollander, I swear to fucking god, if you don’t stay awake. ” Ilya’s voice sounded more and more frantic as he spoke.
Shane forced himself to blink. His eyes burned.
“M’up.” He slurred. He knew that wouldn’t be true for much longer though. He heard a loud sigh of relief from the other end of the phone line.
Shane didn’t process whatever Ilya had said next. He slumped forwards, arm holding his phone going limp. He allowed his eyes to flutter shut. Just a few minutes would be okay, right? Maybe then he could wake up and pretend this was all one big nightmare, just something his stupid brain imagined up and not something that actually happened to him, could pretend that maybe that mans hands had never been on his hips and on his throat and that maybe he was still clean instead of this gross disgusting thing-
His eyes were closed for all of maybe two minutes before he heard the sound of running. Heavy footfalls echoed through the alley as someone approached his slumped over form.
Barely opening his eyes, Shane caught the smell of nicotine and Russian cologne and winter pine, and managed a smile.
“Ilya.” He breathed out, before finally allowing himself to succumb to unconsciousness.
—-
Ilya did not think he had ever been this scared in his fucking life. He had thought he knew what fear was, every time his father yelled at him, every time someone walked by while he hooked up with his coach's son.
None of that compared to this experience.
He had been worried at first, when Shane didn’t show up after texting him that he was leaving the club. He knew Shane, knew how much the other man liked to be on time and maintain a routine.
He also was familiar with the club the team had gone to. It was a very popular place in Boston, not nearly as fun as the clubs in Moscow, but fun enough. He’d been a little surprised that Shane had agreed to go out with his team, but he figured Hollander deserved it after the great game he played.
At first, Ilya tried to reassure himself. Maybe Shane just drank a little too much and had gone back with Pike. Maybe Shane had hit some traffic in his Uber. Maybe Shane was busy helping a drunk teammate like the good boring guy he is.
But then five minutes after Shane’s expected eta passed. And then ten minutes. Ilya routinely checked his texts-he had sent multiple asking Shane where he was. Starting with light teasing about how he was maybe wasted before devolving into genuine worry.
Because Shane didn’t do stuff like this. He didn’t tell Ilya he was going to come by just to no-show, and Ilya sincerely doubted this was some sort of attempt at manipulation or ghosting.
So he called. Once, then twice, then three times, each going to voicemail. Ilya was convinced he was pacing a hole into his floor.
Then, on the fourth call, Shane answered.
Ilya almost didn’t want him to. Because with the way Shane had sounded over the phone-something bad happened tonight. Something really, really bad.
He had, unfortunately been in this situation before. Not this severely, and it hadn’t gone as far as Ilya suspected it had gone with Shane tonight, but still. He remembered a few years ago when him, Svetlana, and Sasha had gone out clubbing together like always. Someone had snuck something into Svetlana’s drink.
Luckily Ilya had figured it out before anything could happen. Svetlana had slept it off on his couch, while Ilya nursed bruised knuckles and a sense of burning rage.
This would not be so simple.
So he’d thrown his shoes on frantically, talking about anything and everything trying to keep Shane awake over the phone. He’d paid an ungodly amount for an Uber to speed through the streets of Boston.
And finally, as he ran over to the alley behind the club, he caught sight of Shane.
It was not pretty. It made Ilya want to cry, throw up, punch whoever did this until their skull caved in.
Ilya knelt down in front of Shane. One of his shoes was off, lost somewhere. His pants were unbuckled, sitting below his hips. His boxers were ripped, exposing a cluster of dark bruises and handprints and bite marks. The rest of his body didn’t look much better, and Ilya could see the visible print of a boot on Shane’s ribs.
And his face…
Ilya leaned forwards, cupping Shane’s face gently in his hands. One of his eyes was swollen, and he had blood trailing from his nose, mixing with the blood from what looked like a split lip. His eyes were shut.
“Shane?” Ilya spoke softly, gently shaking Shane’s head with his hand. Shane’s eyelids fluttered.
“Wake up for me, please?” Ilya tried not to panic, tried to remain patient as Shane’s eyes slowly but surely opened again. He had no idea if Shane had a concussion or not, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to tell due to the roofie in Shane’s system.
They were going to have to go to the hospital. It would not be a fun experience for either of them, Shane especially, but in that moment Ilya didn’t care about what the world would think or say.
“M’up.” Shane mumbled. Ilya sighed in relief.
“Okay. Good. Need you to stay awake. We have to go to hospital, ok? And tell your parents.”
That seemed to really wake Shane up. He bolted upright, eyes all of a sudden wide and filled with tears. His breathing quickened.
“No. Please. I don’t-don’t want them to know. They’ll know how gross I am-m’weak. Someone w’ll tell. They’ll think I asked for it. I didn’t. I didn’t. Pl’se believe me.” Shane was working himself up into a panic attack.
Ilya wanted to scream. Wanted to yell at the universe because no one deserved this. The strongest man he’d ever met thinking he was weak and disgusting because someone wanted the power trip that came with taking advantage of another person.
“You are not gross. I will make sure hospital know to sign NDA. I will make sure they know Yuna Hollander will destroy them if anything gets out. But I do not know what that asshole put in your drink, and I also do not know if you have concussion. And also-” Ilya hesitated before his next sentence, unsure of how it would be received. “if you want to…report. They have to collect…evidence.”
Shane just stared at Ilya for a long moment. Tears slowly dripped down his face. He sniffled. Ilya kept his hand caressing Shane’s face, using his thumb to gently wipe away the tears.
“I’m scared.” Shane whispered. The words were quiet, but they were strong. Ilya’s face crumbled at the confession.
“I know. But I will be here with you. Every step. I will not leave.” Ilya promised.
“I just want to feel okay.” The words were raw and unfiltered and agonizing for both parties present. Ilya felt himself tearing up, and he forced himself to look away, blinking away the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes.
“This is step one to feeling ok. Let people help. Let me help. Sometimes we have to be scared to feel okay again. After…after my mother died, I was always scared. I still am. Scared I will be like her, scared I will be like my father. But then I met you. And you convinced me to do stupid talking about stupid emotions and come to you and your parents when brain is being too loud. And then I feel okay again. Now is my turn to help you feel okay again. You trust me, ok?”
Ilya was startled at the feeling of a finger brushing against his face. He hadn’t noticed that he was lightly crying until Shane had wiped away a stray tear. He locked eyes with Ilya, still looking glassy and not all there, still looking afraid and paranoid, but there was an undercurrent of affection and tentative hope.
“I trust you. We can…we c’n go to the hospital. Just don’t leave. Please.” Shane felt like he had repeated himself so many times that night, but he couldn’t help it. The fear of being alone lingered, weighing down Shane’s shoulders. He didn’t think he could handle it.
“I will be here the whole time.” Ilya murmured, helping Shane slowly stand up.
Shane leaned into Ilya.
Step one. It wasn’t recovery, it wasn’t safety, not yet, but it was moving forward. And that would have to be enough for now.