I am a huge fan of both hockey and figure skating and become obsessed with crazy sports like luge and curling once every four years. So I thought I would combine my love of Supernatural, hockey and Olympics and write a fic with hockey player Dean and ice skater Cas. Plus, I was inspired by this photo of J2 in hockey jerseys and this edit of Dean as a hockey player. Disclaimer - I am not and never have been an Olympic athlete. I don't know what life is like at the athlete's village or the experience in general for the competitors. It's all from my imagination and all for fun. Enjoy!
Dean steps off the bus into the cold snowy air and shivers, as much from anticipation as from the weather. He looks around him and realizes, with no small amount of awe, that he is in the company of a few thousand of the best athletes in the world. This is it - the Olympics! There are two things he's dreamt about and worked for since… well as long as he can remember: holding up the Stanley Cup and wearing an Olympic gold medal.
His NHL team back home is well on their way to the Stanley Cup and the US Hockey team is projected to be a major contender here in Sochi. Not to mention, if he continues his current scoring streak he's practically a sure thing for the Art Ross Trophy this year. Dean has his life meticulously planned out and it all centers on hockey. Sure, dedicating so much of his life to the job doesn't really leave time for anything else, but he can live with that.
Dean glances behind him, searching out his little brother. He made sure they would be rooming together here in the Athlete's Village and he wants to find Sam and get settled in their room. He can really use the rest. He's exhausted and has a raging migraine from the flight here. Damn, he hates flying. Even back in the States, he prefers to drive to away games if he can get away with it. Back when he was a rookie, his teammates would tease him endlessly about it, but hockey players are a superstitious breed and if the man who is now their captain tells them it's 'cause he has a better scoring record when he drives his beloved '67 Impala, well they're more than happy to let his little oddity slide. So what if he keeps it to himself that he is terrified of the metal death traps?
He finds Sam, standing by the side of the bus already with his phone out taking pictures. The giant girl has an ear to ear grin pasted across his face.
"Dude, seriously, with the pictures already? We're gonna be here two weeks. Can this wait?" Dean grumbles at his brother.
"Dean, can't you gimme just a moment?" Sam huffs and turns the camera on his big brother, "Smile!"
Dean points at the phone growling, "Sammy, take that picture and it will be the last thing you do."
"Ha! You need me to feed you the puck. I'm untouchable. Suck it!" Sam smirks but doesn't take the picture anyway. Dean isn't above punching him and he knows it.
"Let's just get our shit and get to the room. I'm beat!"
Dean feels an arm sling around his shoulder and hears a Cajun drawl from beside him, "Aww, trouble in paradise? Now you do what your big brother says, Sammy." Benny, his longtime friend and current teammate here at the Olympics arrives just to antagonize Sam.
"It's Sam," the younger Winchester huffs.
"Fuck off, Lafitte," Dean says as he shrugs off his friend.
Sam gives the defenseman a glare before turning to find his bags. Sam has never really liked Benny, which is pretty rare because Sam likes everyone. But Dean knows his brother has a reason not to like the man.
It started the year Dean was drafted into the NHL. It was only a few months after their father had been killed in a car crash. Dean was grieving the father he worshiped and, for the first time in his life, he was away from the brother that had always kept him grounded.
Benny was also a rookie that year and the two men became fast friends. Maybe it was their shared rebellious streak, or their newfound freedom, or the big paychecks for the first time in their lives. It was probably a combination of all three but Dean and Benny found themselves in trouble repeatedly that year.
The two began a partying tear that included booze, drugs, women, fights, bad press, and finally an arrest. Dean was told in no uncertain terms that if there was one more incident he would be kicked off the team, first round draft pick or not. Dean forced himself to clean up and Benny opted for rehab during the off season. He had come back to training camp a changed man. He stayed clean and had a great year on the ice but he was traded just before the playoffs that season. Sam, having been added to the roster after Benny left, never really got to know Benny but continued to have a distrust of the man.
But Dean knows he can trust Benny. He just isn't about to give his baby brother details as to why. As far as he's concerned, Sam will never know about all that happened that year. But, of course, that means that Sam has never has quite warmed up to his brother's friend, always watching the man with suspicion.
And now, all three of them are on the US Olympic Hockey Team which means this is the first time will be competing together. Benny, the bastard, knows that Sam doesn't like him and takes any opportunity to mess with the younger player. It's only Sam's second year in the NHL so, from Benny's point of view, the kid is still a rookie. And Benny is the one person who can get a rise out of Sam. Dean can just see him tense up and bristle under Benny's teasing. And Benny knows it, too, if that satisfied smirk is any indication.
Dean turns to his friend, "Dude, stop messing with him. He may look tall and wirey but trust me, you don't want to piss him off. He's lethal in a fight."
Benny chuckles, "What, and I'm just so cute and cuddly?"
Dean sighs, completely exasperated with this tension between his friend and his brother. "No, you're a fucking goon," he tells Benny teasingly.
"Aw, now that just hurts my feelings."
"Remind me again how many penalty minutes you've racked up this year." Dean says, rolling his eyes, "Just cool it with Sam, huh?"
"You got it, brother - one big happy family. Here comes baby bro now," Benny motions to Sam, who has returned with his bags and a scowl for Benny.
"See you later, man. We'll meet up for dinner?"
"Sure thing, Dean," Benny says and turns to find his own roommate.
"Dean, are you sure about Benny?" Sam asks as they walk into their building.
"Yeah, man. Just… trust me, I have my reasons. He's cool. Anyway, get used to him. He's covering your ass behind the blue line for the next two weeks."
"It's not what he does on the ice that's I'm concerned about."
Dean stops walking and grabs Sam's elbow, turning the man to face him. "Listen, he's clean now. And all that trouble I got into with him? I made my own choices, Sam… me. So if you want to blame someone for that shit I'm right here. But you need to stow your crap with Benny for now 'cause I want that fucking gold around my neck and it ain't happenin' with you two goin' at it like a couple of teenage girls. Got it?"
Sam thinks about this for a moment then nods, "Sure, Dean. We're good."
"Good," Dean grins, "'cause I already told him we'd meet him for dinner."
Sam sighs but agrees. Dean knows that Sam's animosity towards Benny is born out of a protective instinct. But he also knows that Sam is a damn smart hockey player. He knows how to put aside personal feelings to focus on the job. It's part of what has made him so successful in the NHL. The kid's a machine on the ice, focused on lethal. And Dean couldn't be prouder.
Dean gets to the room and walks straight to the nearest bed, dropping the bags on his way, and crashes face first into the soft pillow. He is asleep before Sam is done unpacking.
Later, they find a table in a pub in the athlete's village and Dean looks around at the eclectic crowd. There are athletes everywhere here speaking in languages Dean has never heard. There are pockets of people huddled together around tables, strategizing in hushed anxious tones, their nervousness palpable. There are the athletes who are here because they may be the best in their countries but know they don't have a chance of actually winning against this international competition. They are just honored to be here, drinking it all in, relaxed and eager. And there are the stars, the ones on commercials and front pages of the sports papers in their home countries.
Sam and Dean easily fall into this group. Dean squirms uncomfortably under the constant stares and whispers. A few have asked for autographs and pictures, which Dean reluctantly but pleasantly gives. He's certainly used to smiling for cameras and answering questions at interviews. He pastes on his famous smile and charms everyone who comes over to meet him.
He looks up from his beer and notices a pair of women approaching his table. One is a sexy brunette and the other a shorter, pretty blonde. The taller woman screams sophistication, dressed in a brown leather pencil skirt with matching high heel boots and a cream colored scoop neck cashmere sweater that hugs every one of the woman's curves. The blonde is definitely the more casual of the two. She has a warm smile and is dressed comfortably in tight blue jeans, tan suede boots with fur accents and a fitted blue flannel shirt.
The blonde smiles at Dean and asks, "Excuse me, aren't you Dean Winchester? And Sam Winchester?" she adds, turning towards the younger brother.
"Yep, and this here is our teammate Benny Lafitte." Dean smiles as he gestures towards his friend.
"Lafitte?" The shorter girl pauses for a moment, thinking before responding, "of course, Detroit Redwings, right? I knew you looked familiar," she says as she reaches to shake Benny's hand.
"Yes, ma'am," Benny says, nodding at the ladies.
"I'm Jo Harvelle, Canadian, snowboarding, and this is Bella Talbot. She's on the British Biathlon team."
"Snowboarding, that's cool," Sam says excitedly. "I definitely want to check out some half-pipe while I'm here."
"Oh, you should," Jo grins, "that's my best event!"
Bella chimes in, "We wanted to see if we could get a picture with you."
"Absolutely, c'm here." Dean signals for the girls to get closer as they start digging in their pockets for their phones. Jo and Bella stand on opposite sides of Dean, leaning in to pose for the picture. They then move around the table to pose with Benny and Sam as well.
Sam invites the women to sit and have a drink with them and, when they agree, Dean immediately gets up to go find two more chairs. The ladies sit on either side of him as he signals for a waiter to order a round of drinks.
Pretty soon, more pictures have been taken, more rounds ordered, and more people have pulled up chairs. Members of the US Hockey team have arrived along with NHL teammates from back home that are representing countries all over the world. Before long, their quiet dinner for three has become a rowdy party. The games don't officially start until after the opening ceremony tomorrow evening so no one at the table is has to worry about competing the following day. Dean is feeling the relaxing effects of the alcohol and the casual atmosphere. He is a bit afraid it's the calm before the storm of competition begins, but is able to put that thought in the back of his mind to have fun with his teammates tonight.
As more people arrive, Jo and Bella's chairs crowd closer to Dean's until he is sitting back with one arm wrapped around each girl. Bella is extremely sexy with her cupid's bow shaped lips and her soft accent. Dean could definitely see himself taking her back to his room. She has her hand on his thigh and is leaning into him as if she has the same idea. He starts talking to her about her sport, thinks shooting a rifle is pretty cool, but all she seems interested in talking about is how much she was going to make off of endorsement deals and appearances. Dean is bored with the conversation within minutes and is feigning interest in something she is talking about when Jo catches his attention.
"So, how'd you and Sam get into playing hockey?"
Glad for the distraction, he turns a little towards Jo, "My dad. He was a hockey player. Had us in skates practically the minute we took our first steps."
"Really? Well, that makes sense. I've seen you guys play. You're really great together."
Dean laughs, "Let's just say I can't remember a time in my life when Sam and I weren't in an ice rink by 4 AM each morning. My dad had us doing hockey drills for hours before most kids our age were even out of bed. Gave me and Sam a huge advantage, though. We can practically read each other's minds on the ice. It's probably why we both got picked for the Olympics."
Jo looks a little shocked, "Wow, that's some hard core training."
"Well, my dad played the minor leagues, never made it to the NHL. I think he wanted us trained so that we would make the pros. Guess it worked, right?"
Jo smiles and nods at Dean, genuinely interested in the conversation, "I guess it did. My dad played the minors too. Y'know, now that I think about it, I think they might have played together. Was your dad John Winchester - the one who played for the San Antonio Rampage for a while?"
Dean thinks back. Yeah, he was pretty sure they spent a season, maybe even two, in Texas. He remembers it being hot as hell. "Yeah, I think I was like twelve or thirteen when he was there. He got moved around a lot so it's hard to remember exactly when it was. Who's your dad?"
"Bill Harvelle. He was a third line left-winger, not exactly someone that was in the news much." She gave a small laugh, thinking of the hard life of a minor league athlete.
Dean turns to her and removes his left arm from Bella's shoulder, snaps his finger and exclaims, "Hey, wasn't that the year they went to the playoffs?" Bella, who is pretty absorbed in her cell phone barely notices he is no longer paying any attention to her.
"Yep," she nods, "made is all the way to the conference championship and got taken out by the Lake Erie Monsters."
"Oh, that's right," Dean shakes his head, remembering his dad after that loss. It was a tough one and afterward, he had gone on a drinking binge that spanned the whole off season. "Damn, that sucked. I thought they had it in the bag that year."
"They should have. I remember they were up three games to none in the series. It looked like a sure thing then out of nowhere the Monsters came on with a major attack, got in a few lucky goals and just like that took the series." Jo's expression changes, Dean senses a bit of sadness there. "My dad was injured in that game, never played again."
"Aw, man, sorry," Dean gave Jo a gentle squeeze.
She immediately covers for her brief moment of vulnerability by shrugging casually, "It's alright. Actually, it worked out OK. I always hated it when he was gone so much. We barely saw him at all during the regular season. Now he's selling cars up in Quebec. No travel, no worrying about him getting injured every game, get to see him whenever I want. It's nice." She takes another swig of her drink and huffs a little laugh, "Fate's kind of a psycho bitch, right? You never know when she's gonna throw in a crazy bounce of the puck that'll change your life."
Dean just nods and smiles. He wants to empathize but he doesn't believe in leaving anything in his life up to chance. He's got every step of his life planned out. No room for bitches like fate to come in and mess things up. He thinks about the firm grasp he keeps on everything in his life. He's captain of his team and he sees it as his job to make sure they are successful, using wins as lessons and carrying the burden of losses squarely on his own shoulders. He's done everything to keep Sammy close too, making sure they were on the same team so he could keep an eye on his kid brother. Yeah, sometimes his control is tenuous and he feels like he is hanging on by the skin of his teeth but he's gonna white knuckle it if he has to because he's got not time for fate's curve balls.
Speaking of Sam, he looks across the table and notices that he's got a brunette named Ruby sitting on his lap feeding him a shot. Jo said to watch out for her, she is a puck bunny whose been making the rounds since athletes started showing up. This girl is trouble with a capital T and Dean is ready to get his brother out of here.
Dean finishes his drink and puts the glass down on the table. Untangling himself from the women, he gets up and excuses himself, "Excuse me, ladies, gotta hit the head."
As he stands up he realizes just how drunk he is. Shit, he's got practice in the morning. He can still function but he's going to feel like crap when he wakes up. He stumbles his way through the crowded pub, stopped a few times by admirers, before finally making it to the bathroom.
After washing his hands, he splashes a little water on his face in a vain attempt to clear his head. Damn, he didn't realize how drunk he was until he stood up. He can't remember the last time he felt like this. Maybe the alcohol is stronger here is Russia? Looking up into the mirror, he sees that his reflection is blurred. That can't be a good sign. He leans in toward the mirror and focuses on the bruise on the left side of his chin, now barely noticeable. He smiles, thinking about the fight he was in with that douchebag defenseman from the Flyers during Saturday night's game. He rubs his chin remembering how much fun that was but damn, that guy could hit like a fucking Mac truck.
"Hmph," a gruff voice comes from behind Dean, "and I thought figure skaters spent a lot of time in front of mirrors. Are you going to stand there all day?"
Startled, Dean spins around and realizes immediately that it was a bad idea. He's pretty sure he stopped moving but for some reason the room hasn't. He stumbles forward hands going up haphazardly and runs right into the guy, inadvertently shoving him up against the wall, falling into him until his body is pressed up against the stranger's and their faces are just inches apart.
Dean has just a second to take in the man's startled face and is caught by his blue eyes. He's seen plenty of blue eyes in his time but they are usually lighter, sky blue. This guy's eyes are dark and stormy, a deep, rich, sapphire and for the briefest moment all he can think is beautiful, before he hears the man's voice.
"W-what?!" The man narrows his eyes at Dean.
"Huh?" Dean freezes, did he say that out loud?
"Get off!" The man pushes Dean backward with both hands.
Dean manages to find his balance and puts his hands up in a surrendering gesture, "Dude, sorry. You surprised me… and, I'm… definitely a little drunk."
"Yes, I noticed. You and the rest of the Neanderthals in your group have been making a nuisance of yourselves all evening." The man straightens out his white button down shirt and tie, although no matter how much he tries, he can't seem to keep it straight. It's kind of funny and Dean almost laughs but the stink-eye the man is fixing on him stops him.
"Man, who pissed in your Wheaties? We're just havin' a little fun before the games start. Y'know, goodwill and all that shit?"
"I'm sorry, these Olympics may be just a joke to someone who, in two weeks, will be going back to their ridiculously overpaid life of chasing balls with sticks. For the rest of us, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity and we're taking it very seriously."
Dean is too drunk to be offended by this guy's attitude; he actually kind of likes the way he is getting under this guy's skin. Never let it be said that Dean can't antagonize with the best of them. He can see a slight blush building on the guy's cheeks and can't help grinning every time he does that little squint thing with his eyes. He is pretty sure this man would be shooting lasers out his eyes if he could.
"OK, so you know I'm here to play hockey - and it's a puck, by the way, not a ball. How 'bout you? Wait… let me guess… bobsled. No! Curling, definitely curling," Dean laughs at his own joke.
The man rolls his eyes and turns to the sink to wash his hands, completely ignoring Dean.
Dean waits a moment to see if he is going to get an answer. When it's pretty obvious the conversation is over he shrugs and turns toward the door. With his hand on the door handle he hesitates. Something makes him turn back to the man and say, "Well, see y' around… and… good luck."
He makes his way back to the table where is brother sits still tangled up with that Ruby chick. Dean doesn't like the look of her, but is quickly distracted by Bela, who grabs his arm and pulls him back down onto the seat the moment he is close enough. Suddenly, she doesn't seem quite as pretty as she had before. Her perfume is a little too strong and her lipstick too red and he feels claustrophobic crowded in the small seat.
He reaches across the table to shake Sam's shoulder to get his attention. "Sam, man, we gotta get out of here. I've got ice time scheduled in the morning and I'll never make it if we don't stop drinking now."
"Don't worry, Dean, I'll get him back OK," Ruby coos at Dean.
"No deal, party's over Cinderella."
Benny laughs from the other side of the table and gets up to help Dean drag his moose of a brother out of the bar. Sam grumbles all the way back to the room, drunkenly telling Dean he isn't a kid and can't be ordered around by him anymore. Dean walks his brother to his bed until he falls, fully dressed, onto the mattress. Dean takes his brother's shoes off and checks the alarm on his cell phone before stripping down to his boxers and getting into his bed.
Sleep doesn't come quickly. He lays in his bed and for some reason the man with the blue eyes keeps coming to mind. He shouldn't be bothered that this one pretentious jerk hates him but it's eating at him anyway. Why should he care? There are plenty of people who don't like him, probably a few hundred thousand fans in Philly alone that are pretty pissed off this week after the shutout he handed to the Flyers last weekend. He tells himself it doesn't matter; that he probably won't even run into the guy again, didn't even get his name.
He wonders about the guy's accent. He spoke perfect English but definitely with a hint of an accent, rounding out his Os and clipping his Rs. And that voice, all whisky and gravel, wow, it had really taken him by surprise. He's curious about the man - what country he's representing, what sport he is competing in. But why should he care? The dude was an asshole, no sense of humor at all. And he really can't stand Dean. Dean hopes he never runs into the guy again… sort of.
OK, so, hockey is pretty much my favorite sport. If you don't watch it, seriously, try going to a game some time - it's a fantastic sport (don't try to become a fan by watching on TV - its NOT the same). Anyway, hockey has a very colorful and unique vocabulary all it's own (its part of the sport's charm) so whenever I use hockey lingo in the text of a chapter, I will try to put a little definition of what that term means in the end notes for anyone not familiar with hockey terms. Hope it helps.
Chapter title is Faceoff - this is where two players wait for the ref to drop the puck to start the play
Dean calls Benny a goon - a goon is an enforcer, someone who gets in a lot of fights on the ice, often to protect the goal scorers and make a statement. It is often meant as an insult meaning the person is more of a fighter than an talented skater and puck handler, although in Dean's case he is using it teasingly.