Edit: Some grammatical errors have been fixed.

A/N: Time for some Portman-centricness, since the last chapter was mostly Fulton feeling sorry for himself. Ends with a filler scene for when Bombay contacts Portman about the scholarship. (Oh, and is not this Simple Plan song the perfect P/F theme?

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"Might as Well, Part Two" (a mighty ducks fanfiction by SchizoAuthoress)

["I'd do anything/ Just to hold you in my arms/ To try to make you laugh/ Cause somehow I can't/ Put you in the past/ I'd do anything/ Just to fall asleep with you/ Will you remember me/ Cause I know I won't forget you/

Together we broke all the rules/ Dreamin' of droppin' out of school/ And leave this place/ And never come back/

So now, maybe after all these years/ If you miss me, have no fear/ I'll be here/ I'll be waitin'/

This could be the one last chance/ To make you understand/ And I just can't let you/ Leave me once again, yeah." --from "I'd Do Anything" by Simple Plan]

If Dean could have kicked the shit out of himself for being such a moron, he would have. As it was, he tormented himself by rereading every single one of Fulton's letters every day before he left for school. The whole lot of them were stuffed into the small cabinet built into Dean's large particle-board computer desk, and each one was neatly, carefully flattened of creases and stacked in order with the most recent one on the bottom.

The Portman family lived in a large, upscale Chicago apartment now, but this was only a recent development, much in the same way that Dean's new laptop and computer desk were additions to his room. For one thing, the bed was still without a box spring or a bed frame, because Dean stubbornly maintained that such things were useless and took up too much space. While his father refused to let him paint the walls a different color than the off-white they came as, it was hard to find a free, unadorned space on them. If hockey and wrestling posters weren't taking up the space, then it was deathmetal and punk rock posters. A few treasured photographs were thumbtacked to a corkboard above the bed, which was in the corner by the window. Dean had ripped up the carpet himself, pulled out the padding and nails, and put down some black-and-red checkerboard linoleum. ('It's easier to clean up spilled food on this,' he protested when his father yelled at him for it.)

The room was relatively clean and well-lit; this was because Mrs. Portman insisted on lots of lighting--so that Dean never needed glasses because of eye-strain--and because she would have gone in and cleaned his room if he didn't. Dean hated the thought that other people were in his room when he wasn't.

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"Dear Dean," the first letter read in clear, flowing print, "Eden Hall sucks. The place is full of snobs and jerks, especially the new coach, Coach Orion. I guess you're lucky that you decided not to come.

"But I still miss you. Maybe you could come out to visit sometime soon? That would be great. So...I guess I'll talk to you whenever. You can write me back, because I don't have a phone to hook up in the dorm.

"Yours, Fulton"

****

Once he got the letter, Dean begged his mother to give him the scholarship so that he could transfer to Eden Hall, but his father intervened. It was after dinner; Mrs. Portman was doing the dishes and Mr. Portman was calmly reading the paper, waiting for "Sixty Minutes" to come on.

"You had the opportunity to go to this school, but you didn't take it. I called Dean Buckley, and he told me that if you don't attend Eden Hall this year, you can enter next year; the scholarship will still be good." Mr. Portman said, neatly folding the Business section of his newspaper.

Dean stared at him in disbelief. He protested, "The scholarship is good /now./ Why can't I go?"

Mr. Portman shook his head. "You have to learn a lesson, Dean. You missed your opportunity this year. I had to explain matters to Dr. Buckley. He made an exception in your case, but that doesn't always happen."

Dean crossed his arms sulkily, feeling somewhat childish, but not caring. "Dad, please! Almost all my friends from the Goodwill Games are there, and they need me on the JV team."

Mr. Portman shook his head. "No, Dean. Next year."

"Fine! Whatever! I knew you wouldn't understand!" Dean yelled, turning around and storming out of the living room.

Mrs. Portman came in from the kitchen, soapsuds up to her elbows and a drippy sponge in one hand. "What's going on?"

"Dean is having a teenage tantrum," Mr. Portman informed his wife with a superior sort of smile. Dean shouted,

"Like hell! /He's/ not letting me go to Eden Hall like /you/ wanted!" and slammed his bedroom door with enough force to shake the picture frames hanging in the hall.

****

The letters seesawed in tone from disparaging to playful to depressed, and Dean replied supportively, trying to keep Fulton's spirits up. But then came the letter that made him entertain homocidal thoughts and very violent murder fantasies.

"Dear Dean," this one read, in a considerably shakier script, "Coach Orion is making this place hell, or at least more of a hell than it is all on its own. Not even hockey is fun anymore, and that's the only thing keeping me here. I told you about the JV-Varsity prank war in my last letter. We were challenged to a hockey match 'at dawn,' if you can beieve that stupid cliche."

"Not only did the Varsity goons cheat and try to annihilate the smaller players (I tried to keep them safe, but I'm only one person!) but Orion showed up and chewed us all out. He acted like we were morons for accepting that challenge...and even though I thought it wasn't very smart myself, his behavior was uncalled for.

And Dean, he said that the Ducks were dead. Next to you, the Ducks are the most important thing in my life. They treated me like normal when everyone was scared of me, and joining up with District Five led to me meeting you. You are my best friend. I don't want to think what would have happened if we hadn't met. I'd probably be majorly depressed, an alcoholic like my dad, or worse. Shit. I can't even think about it without almost crying. (If you ever tell anyone that, I'll kick your ass, Dean Aaron Portman.)"

****

There were more arguments and even a couple of actual fights between Dean and his father. Dean closed himself off, becoming harsh and unpleasant. His schoolwork was neglected, causing his C average to slip toward D minuses. This caused even more conflict, and Dean's prospects of /ever/ accepting the scholarship looked bleak.

It was lucky that Gordon Bombay had been a lawyer earlier in his adult life, because it took all his skill and persuasive powers to dissuade Mr. Portman from his hardline stance. When Dean came home and was told that he would indeed be going back to Minnesota with Gordon, well, his response was enthusiastic, to say the least.

****

"Portman, calm down," Gordon said for the millionth time.

Dean glanced at his old coach, muttered, "Sorry," and went right back to jiggling his leg like he had a nervous twitch in it. Gordon rolled his eyes helplessly and picked up the John Grisham book he'd bought in the gift shop.

They were sitting in the waiting area at gate A12 for the flight to Minneapolis, which was delayed because of mechanical problems. Actually, Gordon was sitting. Dean was leaning against the window, staring out at the plane and playing with his carry-on bag, which held his hockey gear.

"Coach," Dean spoke up suddenly, "Do you think that the Ducks will be mad at me?"

Gordon sighed and slid a bookmark into his paperback. Only an hour ago, Dean had been babbling about how happy he was to be going to Eden Hall. But apparently, he was having second thoughts concerning how happy his former teammates would be to see him. "Why would they be mad at you, Portman?" Gordon countered.

Dean shrugged. "Dude, I dunno. Maybe 'cause they think I bailed on 'em, not coming earlier. Maybe they think I'm just coming back for some glory."

"Are you?"

"Hell, no!" Dean exclaimed, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. "Man, I'm so stupid. I should have /asked/ Fulton whether he got a scholarship to Eden Hall, too, when he called me."

Gordon smiled. "I'm sure Fulton forgave you already. He's not exactly the type to hold a grudge against his friends."

"Guess not," Dean replied softly, and fell silent. But he was still worried.

~~To Be Continued...~~

A/N: Sorry, kids, I have to rent D3 before I continue this...I would have done it today, but the damn Blockbuster that we went to only had the first Mighty Ducks movie (of course I rented it, what do you take me for?!). So it may be a few days before I can get this little bastard rolling again.