A/N: Okay, sorry about the wait, you guys...and apologies to lycanthrope in particular. (I love it, my own personal non-cheerleadery cheerleader. Katie, you're an inspiration.) Just one thing...I'm not entirely sure what Portman says when he finally shows up in D3 because I'm too damn lazy and impatient to wait until we go back to rent more videos. And it's been about half a month since they showed D3 on Disney, and I can't remember what I did yesterday, so...

I'm babbling. I'll shut up and get on with the fic again.

Disclaimer: I stole the wording for the scholarship from "D2point5: The Mighty Ducks" by ballisticbubble. Shoot me now. I also stole the Mighty Ducks from the Disney character vaults and burdened them with humanity...I think they're broken now. ::looks mock-repentant:: How will I ever /live/ with myself after doing such a terrible thing??

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

["Is this the real life/ Is this just fantasy/ Caught in a landslide/ No escape from reality/ Open your eyes/ Look up to the skies and see/ I'm just a poor boy, I need no sympathy/ Because I'm easy come, easy go/ A little high, little low/ Anyway the wind blows, doesn't really matter to me/ To me." --from "Bohemian Rhapsody" by Queen]

Three fifteen a.m. glowed in angry red on the alarm clock. Fulton had been staring at this number so intently that he was surprised when it changed to three sixteen a.m. It had become something of a ritual for him. Despite the fact that he had been playing hockey for four years, at one time against some of the best international players, Fulton was plagued by doubts before every big game. Nightmares about forgetting how to skate or ricocheting killer-slapshots blighted his sleep, and not even Queen could calm him down.

At least there was no one else in the dorm room to question the fact that Fulton was still awake. After chasing off three roommates--the first had been too scared to room with him, the second couldn't deal with his music, and the third had fallen ill with mono and gone home--Fulton had the place all to himself. He was free to sit on his bed in pitch-blackness and contemplate the worthlessness of his life. And he certainly did.

****

The whole team was despondent. Varsity was dominating the game, and while the JV Ducks still had a chance to make a comeback, their morale was so low that it looked unlikely to happen. Not for the first time, Fulton closed his eyes and wished that Dean, or Jesse, or even Tammy Duncan would come walking into the locker room and say that they reconsidered coming to Eden Hall.

Suddenly, the door was flung open, and a familiar voice recited, "Eden Hall Academy is honored to award this recipient, Dean Portman, a full athletic scholarship to the school for his excellence in the field of ice hockey."

'Okay, now I'm hallucinating.' Fulton thought, 'Perfect.'

"I had this lying around the house back home, my lawyer thought I should sign it, I agreed! It's official, boys, I'm /back/!"

'Enough of the wishful thinking already,' Fulton scolded himself, and opened his eyes. He jumped to his feet, completely shocked by what, or rather, who he saw.

****

Dean breathed deeply, striving to calm himself down before marching into the JV locker room. 'This is completely crazy,' he argued with himself, 'They won't hate you, stupid. Not if they really believe that Ducks fly together.'

"Are you going in or not?" Gordon asked. Dean shot him a glare and hissed,

"Yeah, I'm going in. Gimme a sec, dude."

Gordon shrugged, pulling his trenchcoat closer. "All right, if you say so. I can have you back to O'Hare in a few hours if you've changed your mind."

Dean rolled his eyes and flipped open the scholarship folder. "Fulton was right. Sometimes, you really are a moron, Coach," he snapped, and pushed open the door.

He hardly knew what he was saying, because he was looking for his best friend. When Fulton got to his feet and clasped his hand, Dean was relieved to see the joy in Fulton's eyes. He knew then that things would be all right.

****

It was eleven thirty-five p.m. when the Bash Brothers finally staggered back to Fulton's dorm room. Unlocking the door, Fulton pushed it open and groped for the lightswitch next to the doorframe. Behind him, Portman yawned and inquired sleepily,

"So, does Coach Orion take us out for pizza and a late-night movie every time we win, or is this some freakish occurance?"

"Freakish occurance," Fulton replied, pushing aside a large cardboard box held shut with duct tape and marked 'Dean Portman' with the Eden Hall address below it. The teacher in charge of the dorm had had Dean's things brought up during the game and after-victory celebration.

"So, what didja think of the movie?"

Fulton shrugged. "Meh." He pointed to the bed next to the window, "That's yours. I'm gonna go brush my teeth."

Dean finished pulling his shirt off over his head and began digging through his suitcase for the ratty Metallica tee he usually slept in. With a grin, he asked, "What's 'Meh.'?"

"A noncommittal sound of acknowledgement, to let you know that I heard your question but the answer is long and involved and it will have to wait until I get back." Fulton shot back over his shoulder as he went into the hall, tube of Aquafresh and blue toothbrush in hand. Dean shook his head, biting back laughter as he finished changing for bed.

"I liked 'Meh' better."

A few minutes later, Fulton padded back into the room and remarked, "Brandon Lee's acting could kick the shit out of Vincent Perez's...the sequel was just a cheap repackaging of the plot from 'The Crow,' too."

Dean looked up briefly from Fulton's stereo, which he was fiddling with to optimize the listening experience of 'Pyromania.' Hiding a smile, he asked, "You sure you didn't just like 'The Crow' better because we saw the movie by ourselves together?" A pillow suddenly sideswiped his head. "Oh, no you didn't!" Dean cried, snatching up his own pillow and taking a swat at Fulton.

Fulton avoided the hit, but his foot came down on a copy of 'Hamlet,' cauing him to slip and fall on his butt. Dean doubled over with laughter at the expression of mingled confusion and embarrassment on Fulton's face.

"Very funny!" Fulton yelled, once he'd recovered, and tackled Dean's legs.

They tumbled to the floor, and--after a brief struggle--Fulton managed to pin Dean by the shoulders. He beamed triumphantly at his best friend and asked in his best mock-innocent tone of voice, "Give?"

"NEVER!" Dean shouted, tickling Fulton's ribs. With a shriek that was half-laughter, half-outrage, Fulton rolled off of Dean and retaliated by giving him a noogie.

"You'll never win, Portman!"

"Fine, fine! Get off the hair, Reed!"

Fulton chuckled and relented, teasing, "Dude, you're as bad as Mendoza." Dean shot him a look of wounded dignity, causing a fresh spate of smothered snickers from Fulton. A small smile flickered over Dean's face.

"I am not /that/ obsessive over my hair."

"Says the guy who spent an average of one-and-a-half hours in the bathroom doing his hair during the Goodwill Games." Fulton broke in. Suddenly, they both started to laugh, collapsing against each other.

When the semi-hysterical laughter subsided, Fulton sighed and rested his head on Dean's shoulder. "I'm glad you're here, Dean."

"So'm I," Dean replied softly, enfolding Fulton in a gentle hug.

~~To Be Continued...~~

Edit: I got a quote of what Portman says upon his return from http://www.geocities.com/Hollywood/Lot/2658/duckmain.html. So it's pretty accurate now, I should think.