Wires
By JACmRob
Disclaimer: I don't own LwD. The idea, though, is my own.
"It's JST up two to one against BS Tollgate, let's hear it folks for our home team! Number 12, Collins, takes the puck, and he's quickly flagged by their defense—oooh—bad move Sparrow Thompson…"
George scanned the rink for his son, spotting him flit above the offensive line and—
"39, Venturi, steals it back!"
George threw a fist in the air while the spectators erupted into applause. Besides him, Marti was jumping up and down with a red JST flag in her hand, blue-lipped and cheering wildly. On his other side Edwin was shivering and Nora distractedly running a hand through her hair, eyes on the rink. She was being taught how to use her new digital camera by a frustrated Lizzie who was taking orders from Casey. They all turned at the sound of Derek's name and applauded, forgetting the camera for a minute until Casey began lecturing in a no-nonsense tone on how to use the video-playback.
"Venturi's heading up the left shoulder, passes to Number 9, Delfino who sends it back and he's lining up the shot—he aims—he shoots—"
A groan rose from the audience. George sighed. On his left, Nora shoved the camera back to Lizzie and began yelling furiously at the match below while Marti shrieked "No fair!" over and over.
"A nice save by Tollgate goalie Dan Martin, bad luck there folks…"
Damn, he thought. It was their final play-off game. If they won, they would proceed to the championships. If they lost, well, the Venturi-MacDonald residence would face severe and utter destruction. Derek didn't take hockey lightly.
The timer was running down to the end of the second period when Tollgate scored again, tying the game. Frustrated moans came from George's side of the bleachers, and he too was shouting that the goal had been caused by an uncalled for foul. By the time the buzzer rang, even Casey's faced was screwed up in an expression that George had come to know all too well.
"And theeey're off for the third quarter, Venturi takes the puck—nice sweep check—passes to Morran, back to Venturi…"
George watched as Derek raced down the ice. Three Tollgate linemen were closing in from behind. Come on… he whispered, standing on edge. The offensive players gained ground, trapping him and—
Crash!
The three linemen collided with Derek, slamming him into the wall. A gasp rose from the crowd.
"Oh my God! That is definitely a penalty…"
The referee blew his whistle, and the other players circled around where Derek was lying on the ice, obscuring him from view. George sprinted down the aisle, his heart pounding.
"…Venturi's been boarded by three players, this will absolutely be a major penalty, let's hope he's not out of the game…"
He threw open the door to the team box, where Derek had been lifted off the ice, and ran over to support his son. His helmet had been thrown off during the accident—a bad sign—and he was only semi-conscious, breathing ragged. The coach removed his padded top while teammates gathered round and an on-rink medical professional began examining him.
"What wrong?" George persisted.
"I don't know," the medic answered truthfully. "Maybe nothing, but he banged his head pretty hard so I can't say for sure. Look, he's coming round…"
Derek blinked rapidly, squinting open his eyes.
"You okay, man?" Sam asked in a worried voice.
"Peachy…" Derek murmured, coughing.
"That was a shitty move they pulled on you," one of his teammates contributed. Derek started coughing again, and then winced as if he had just experienced a jolt of pain. George glanced at the medic, concerned.
"He should get an MRI," the medic announced, ringing his stethoscope back around his neck.
Derek sat up.
"I'm fine," he stated weakly. "Just hit my head. I—" he broke into a fit of coughing. "—I can play the rest of the game."
"I don't think so," George countered. The last thing he needed was for there to be an unfound complication. He was worried enough as it was. "You're going straight to the hospital."
"It's the playoffs!" He cleared his throat, and said insistently, "I'm fine." He looked up at them all. "Really."
"Derek, you're in no condition to go back out there," the coach argued. "You should get that injury checked out." Derek stood up and started pulling his gear back on, disregarding him.
"Look, what do I have to do to convince you people that all I did was acquire a huge bruise? Stuff like this happens all the time, it's no big deal. An MRI can wait 20 minutes for us to kick their asses."
"Derek…" George began warningly.
"C'mon, let's take our penalty," Derek said, pulling on his helmet and heading out back onto the ice.
"Shit," George muttered.
"Thirty seconds left and Venturi's positioned to win the game… twenty… he lines up the shot—come on—goal! Just as the timer sounds! JS Thompson High wins and will be going to the championships!"
An enormous wave of applause erupted from the stands. George distractedly clapped with the rest, pushing through the departing crowd with the rest of the family trailing behind. He was relieved that the rest of the game had proceeded without further complications. He found Derek exiting the locker room, with teammates slapping him on the back and pounding fists with him.
"Party at Gregg's, D," one of them reminded him.
He was grinning, but his smile seemed strained. George saw him raise a hand to massage his temple. Sam was talking, but Derek didn't seem to be hearing him.
"Smerek!"
Marti ran up to Derek and threw her arms around his waist, hugging him fervently. The rest of the family surrounded him and began to offer their congratulations.
"—awesome!"
"—great goal there – Just as the timer went off!"
"—how's your head though?"
"Except for a splitting headache, fine," Derek answered.
"You're still getting an MRI," George stated. Casey nodded in agreement, opening her mouth, probably to lecture.
"We won, though," Derek said slowly, cutting her off. He closed his eyes, savoring the moment.
"I know, that was some goal at the end!" Sam exclaimed, clapping a hand to Derek's shoulder and shaking him lightheartedly. George smiled, forgetting the accident. They had won, and Derek had saved the game… For a minute, everything was normal. Nora started trying to snap pictures of him with her camera while Derek laughed at her futile attempts. Lizzie was animatedly discussing the best plays of the game, and Edwin nodded, pretending he knew what she was talking about. Casey was joking with Sam about something.
"Smerek, you're bleeding," Marti said suddenly, pointing at the shoulder of his jersey. Derek raised a hand to his ear. When he pulled it away, his fingers were laced with deep crimson. Blood.
They all stared at him, horrified. Marti backed away, and Casey gasped. George felt his heart thumping wildly in his chest. Another bead of blood dripped onto Derek's shirt.
Derek blinked, and his eyes rolled up into his head, revealing bloodshot whites. His knees bucked and he collapsed.
For a minute they all stood there in shock.
"Someone call an ambulance!" George shouted, kneeling by his son. He felt Nora at his side. "NOW!"
A/N: *House theme music plays here* ...just kidding
Cliffhanger, though. I love dramatic storylines and wanted to write something...violent. Writing from George's point of view was exteremely difficult--I have no idea what he's thinking, but I tried. I'm going to write from everyone in the fam's point of view, so there might be a slight bit of dasey.
This'll probably end up as a two or three-shot... i'm working my way into chapter fics.
Thoughts? REVIEW! (I'll love you)
--JR