Disclaimer: I own the idea, everything else belongs to NBC
Game Day
In Dillon, game day routine is like the gospel. Some players gather for breakfast at the Sandwich Shop (always free), while others squeeze in a workout before the coaching staff arrive at school and kick them off the weights. The most important thing is that it never changes. No matter what's going on at home or at school, on game day, you make damn sure everything stays the same or you risk jinxing yourself before the first whistle blows.
Then of course you could be Tim Riggins who had his game day routine all set before his best friend went and got himself paralyzed.
Tim tries to follow the routine as best he can, but with Jason not there to pick him up for school and Jason not there to eat protein (only protein) at lunch, it's hard to climb in his truck alone and pick through the emptiness of his wallet before settling on whatever is leftover from yesterday's lunch line.
He still works out when Coach is not looking, and if he closes his eyes he can't tell that Jay's not there spotting him.
He still climbs on the bus somewhere in the middle of the line, and takes his same seat, closing his eyes when Seven instead of Six slides in next to him.
By the time Coach Taylor climbs up the steps, the last man on board, Tim is halfway to nowhere in his mind but his ears perk up when Saracen stutters and stammers under his breath.
"W-W-Why would Coach bring an extra helmet?"
Tim's eyes open and he stares at the helmet hanging from Coach's hand. There's no number on it, no last name spray painted in Panther Blue across the back, but Tim knows who it belongs to.
When they pull into the hospital parking lot, he's not surprised, but his stomach drops just the same. He's been putting this off for weeks, and feeling guilty about it every time he started his truck, every time he put his lips on Jay's girl. He waits in his seat as every player files past. He's still sitting there when Coach walks back up the steps, helmet still in hand and stares at him.
The challenge is unspoken, but Tim hears it loud and clear. This is his duty, his responsibility as captain of the team, not to mention as Jay's best friend, even if lately he's felt like the worst friend possible. He stands, supporting all his weight with his hands and walks to the front of the bus.
Coach nods, gives him that silent, encouraging smile. But Tim can't take his eyes off the helmet. A silent idol, it's the icon they worship, the fallen teammate who they suit up and play their hearts out for at every game. He slips past the Coach and down the steps where he avoids the eyes of the whole team staring back at him.
He'll do this. He'll walk in there and stand beside the girl he's fucking and pretend that he's the best damn friend Jason Street could ever ask for.
The walk is long—a parade trailing down hospital corridors and in and out of elevators. Tim's always been good at hiding in a crowd, so keeping his place at the end of the line is easy. He steps in Jason's room, almost leaves, then forces one foot in front of the other until his eyes find the bed.
Jay looks like a posable figurine; propped up on a hard bed, his neck held rigid at an uncomfortable angle. Tim catches himself staring at Jay's legs, at the legs that will never work again, and thinks that if he stares hard enough he'll see them move.
But they don't. Instead Jason's face is crumpling as Tim pulls it together and takes his place where he's supposed to have been since that horrible night. There's nothing he can say to apologize or make things better so he just swallows hard and pushes out the only true thing he can think of.
"I miss you, Street."
And when Jay's fingers, curled around Tim's, squeeze just a little bit tighter, Tim knows that there's an ocean of forgiveness in Six's heart and that maybe, just maybe, if Tim can try like hell to be half the man Jay has always believed he could be, they'll survive this.
/fin/