Summary: SEQUEL TO FLYING TOGETHER…a continuation of the life and times of the mighty ducks…Focus on Dean, Charlie, Connie, Guy, Adam and Julie…again. What can I say, they're my 6 favorite characters!
Disclaimer: The Mighty Ducks and all its characters belong to Disney. I do not own any of it!
Grown-ups
By Rebecca
Prologue
Dean tore at the tissue in his hand, leaving it crumbled in several pieces on the floor as he tried to process what the Reverend had been saying for nearly 15 minutes. When he was out of tissue, he moved to his own handkerchief, wringing it in his hands between his knees like a washcloth as he went over and over again in his mind what…and how much he needed to say.
Seated on the end of his row, he looked across the isle. Chief Parker and Detective Stanton both turned and nodded, giving him two more in a long line of sympathy smiles as they turned back, unsure of what else they could do. Others of their unit had made it too, but remained focused on the service. He shook his head and wiped another tear from his eye.
Dean had cried only one other time in his life…senior year right after the accident. He and Banks had been heading to a party when they'd collided with a minivan down the interstate. Adam looked pretty banged up as the ambulance pulled him from that car. But now, that day seemed ages ago, and not nearly as crucial and final as this moment. After all, he thought glancing down his own row at the man seated two seats over from him, he'd survived. Adam Banks, sensing his eyes, turned and nodded, just as Parker and Stanton had as he held tightly the hand of his wife, Julie sitting between them. Dean looked away from the couple and tuned back into the Reverend.
"…we will all miss Fulton Reed," he said solemnly, "but can take comfort in the fact that he died a hero. In a way, died for all of us, sending a message of courage and heart to his comrades and friends. My God take his hand and lead him to eternal piece." The assembly responded in a meek amen as Dean pulled a piece of crumpled notebook paper from his coat pocket.
"There is one of us here who perhaps knew him best. Friends since childhood and partners in crime, I ask now that Dean Portman come forward to deliver the eulogy."
Dean gulped as he slowly rose from his chair, and then sat back down again. Julie reached over, placing her hand on his arm and gave it a squeeze. He closed his eyes, sighed and approached the podium, avoiding the stares of the men and women watching him with equal intensity. He stared at the picture of Fulton standing amidst the flowers and badges near the casket, turned to the crowd…and wept.
* * *
Chapter 1: Nightmares
He had two days left of his leave. Most of the men who had made it to the funeral had already gone back on duty, but he'd been Reed's partner, so the chief gave him a few more days off. As Dean returned to his apartment late that night however, after an exhausting plane ride and a nightmare of a subway experience, he really didn't see the point. All he wanted to do was go back to work. Without Fulton, there was nothing to do around here. On the other hand, the idea of going back to work and facing the force with a new hotshot rookie was almost too unbearable a thought to go back at all. So he concluded that a few more days off wouldn't…kill him.
On nights they were off duty, he and Reed usually went over to a small club in Lower Manhattan called Tibby's to shoot pool, darts, hit on beautiful women (Fulton had gotten good at that under Dean's tutelage.) But tonight…and every night after that, he was alone. Tibby's had lost all its appeal.
He walked into his bedroom and dropped his bag. The already bumpy flight was made worse by the traditional headache he'd always gotten on planes.
He bent over Garfield's cage and dropped in some food. As the lizard swallowed the already dead mouse, Dean couldn't help but chuckle. Only Fulton would name an iguana, Garfield. His chuckle turned to a laugh and pretty soon he was in full hysterics, gripping his stomach as he collapsed into the green-leather recliner…and then he cried again.
"Reed, come on dude, chief says let's go."
"Naw man, we can still get this guy."
"I'm not gonna say it again Reed. Let's go!"
"Portman, relax. I know what I'm doin'. Cover me ok?"
"Ful-" But he had leapt from behind the car and dove behind a trash bin. Quick with reflexes, Dean shot up from his spot behind the old dodge and aimed at the house. He fired two shots into the shower of bullets zooming past him until he was sure Reed had made it behind the bin. "Shit Fulton! Are you crazy?"
"Hold him off a few more seconds. If we don't take the shot, that kid upstairs is done for. Look at the kitchen window!"
Dean peered through the car doors and looked at the window. It had started burning. "Oh no," he said to himself.
He looked back to his partner and nodded. Fulton made a series of hand motions, taking every precaution that the bastards inside wouldn't hear them. At once, Dean shot up from his position and shot, running hard the opposite way Fulton had gone. He drew the fire enough for Fulton to sneak around another alley and back up the street. It was only a matter of minutes before Dean heard his cue- Reed kicking in the back door. Several screams followed as Dean rushed inside, taking out the guy who suddenly had lost control of his fort. "Fulton!" he yelled.
"Up…here!" a voice screamed back. Fulton tumbled down the stairs with the boy in hand and the three rushed out of the door just as their department came screeching down the road with back up.
Fulton laid the boy in the arms of a paramedic as Portman ran up behind him. "Wow, awesome work dude," he slapped him on the back.
But he didn't respond. Instead his partner toppled over, gripping his side. "Reed?" Dean asked bending over.
Fulton looked up at him, color drained from his face. "D…Dean," he whispered. Portman looked in horror as Fulton drew his hand away from his stomach…drenched in blood.
"Fulton! Let's get an ambulance over here!" he screamed as Fulton collapsed into his arms. "It's all right buddy. You're gonna be ok. Somebody help me!"
Dean hadn't realized how tired he'd been until he woke up with a start hours later still sitting in the recliner, from a dream that he'd had every night since the shootout. He rubbed his eyes furiously, trying to rid his mind of the final moments of the bash brother's life and dragged himself to the kitchen, wincing at the crick that had developed in his neck. Absently, he grabbed a Miller and then nearly dropped it when the phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Dean?"
He sighed, "Hey Jules."
"Oh good, we wanted to make sure you made it home ok."
Dean looked at his watch, "Shit, I'm sorry. I said I'd call didn't I?"
"Oh don't worry about it. We were just…you know, worried about you."
"Thanks. Listen, I should really go."
"Ok, I understand…give me a call…if you ever need to talk."
"I will. G'bye," he hung up before she could say anymore. He didn't need Julie Banks…or any other Banks for that matter, helping him "feel better." He didn't need anyone.
He flopped down on his bed and sighed, wanting nothing more than a nap free of nightmares and recollections. But as he turned on his side and his open closet came into view, something caught his eye—a brief glimmer of light hidden beneath piles of dirty laundry. Dean slid off the bed and up to the doorframe, eyeing Reed's old hockey skates.
He ran his forefinger across the shiny blade…still sharp. He closed his eyes and fought back more tears. Come on Fulton let's have some fun!…Party!…No curfew's gonna keep us down, dude…It's official boys, I'm back!…Portman come on, let's bash these dudes!
He opened his eyes again, the light reflecting off the blade even brighter than before. Hesitating only a minute more, he finally grabbed his skates and pads.
"All right Reed," he called to the ceiling, "Why not?"
10 minutes later, he was on the subway, heading for the ice rink.
* * *