Chapter Text
It was a fucking hot day at Nelson Road Stadium. Roy Kent had been outside since four in the fucking morning, training up his little douchebag protege, Jamie Tartt, and for the first time since the previous summer, the sun had already been out by the time they were outside.
A drought had been going on for more than a week now- bloody climate crisis- and all the grass was going yellow and crunchy underfoot. The day had started with Jamie doing some stretches, going for a jog, and then practicing footwork around the stadium.
"Ah shite," Jamie muttered to himself, sweat dripping as he walked over to where Roy stood, watching him from near the entrance. It wasn't like him to sound so downcast. He'd nearly spat the words.
"What's wrong?" A little genuine care and worry had snuck into Roy's voice.
"I've forgotten me water bottle." Jamie whined. Roy let out a chuckle. Trust Jamie to act like that was the end of the world. That said, it was a very hot day outside, and they had two hours left before the rest of the team showed up.
"Take mine." Roy tossed his 1-liter bottle over to Jamie, who looked like he wanted to disagree, and claim that he didn't want maky old man germs, but was too thirsty and drank it anyway.
"Thanks." He went to hand the bottle back to Roy.
"Nah, keep it. You'll need it. Anyway, your left knee was dragging a bit on the- are you listening to me?"
Jamie had stooped down to get his sunscreen out of his bag and start applying it to his face and the back of his neck, about to start on an arm.
"What? It's sunny. I'm listening, go on."
Roy found that hard to believe. Stopping to apply his cosmetics when he'd been adamant that he wanted to be the best on the fucking team. Roy went on, slowing down his speech to make sure Jamie caught everything. At this moment, nothing would have annoyed him more than Jamie saying "wait, yer what?"
Jamie turned, got back on the pitch, and played perfectly.
By 2pm, all the other players had been on the pitch and training all together for hours. The sun was beating down, and they could practically smell the grass dying. The ground was so hard and dry, minute particles of dirt rocketed into the air every time someone made a pass. If only the dust could have blocked out the sun and made a little shade. Roy was in a foul mood.
"Watch where you're fucking going, Dani!" Roy barked across the pitch. Dani threw him a look which was as close to a glare as Dani was possible to make. It was really more of a glance, but the hurt feelings were clearly visible underneath. He was nowhere near anyone else, so he wasn't going to collide, and he was running in the right direction, so what was Roy talking about? He decided to shrug and move on.
The move rippled under Roy's skin. He nearly shivered with the anger. Why the fuck were they all being so bloody insubordinate today? They were trouncing up the pitch, whining about the sunshine, going to get their bottles every five minutes like a bunch of fucking babies. Roy clenched his jaw. He was going to have a serious word with all of them when they got back inside.
"Whoo! Yeah! Good job, Isaac!" Ted was cheering, as Isaac made the least mediocre pass they'd seen all day. Ted looked cool as a cucumber with his shades on and a little iced drink in his hand. He even had a sweater on. Must be like this every day in Wichita, Kansas, Roy supposed. He found himself staring into the middle distance, wondering if that was the 'sweet tea' he'd heard about that they've got over there- maybe that was how they handled the heat. He snapped out of it and looked back at the pitch just as Jamie scored. Hm. Not bad. Jamie turned around to look at him, arms in the air and yelling something celebratory. Roy didn't catch it. No bloody time for showboating anyway.
A few more seconds elapsed before he realised that someone- was that Jan Maas?- was streaking up the pitch again. When had they gotten into that position? They were all in completely different places. How did they get there so fast? He looked around to Ted and Beard, to see if they'd noticed anything, but they seemed to be having a nice pleasant afternoon, totally fixated on the game. He looked back at the pitch and somebody had scored again.
That was... fast? Who even in the fuck? He looked around for some indication, but found that they were all coming off the pitch again for a short water break. Roy acted natural, eyes darting between them to work it out. Again he looked over to Ted and Beard, but they were totally gone. What the fuck? Where were they? He looked over to the team, where he saw them chatting to the players. How the fuck hadn't he noticed them go over there? Why hadn't he heard them walk past him?
"Alright, alright! Back on the pitch!" He found himself yelling, trying to get some semblance of control back. The others stopped, looking puzzled, but didn't question it too much as they traipsed back on, wafting their shirts to let the sweat run down them, not to get sticky. They looked exhausted, heads bowing down to the floor and up to the sky, hands reaching to rub eyes.
"Oi! No more pissing about! Got to end this session as strong as we started!" The lads ruffled, but soon they were off again. Near instantly, Colin stumbled on something and sent the ball flying completely the wrong way.
"Bloody hell, what the fuck was that?!" Roy found his voice booming. It sounded wrong. Colin looked ashamed, sat down on the pitch. Sat down? He was clutching his ankle, but just dusted himself off and got up, blushing, rejecting about four helping hands. Roy cringed. Acting so weak. Ridiculous.
Roy jumped nearly foot in the air when he felt a cold hand suddenly land on his upper arm. "-tting a mite fired up there, Roy." God, Ted's accent was so thick. He stared at his mouth to try and catch the words. "Be a little easier on 'em.... Jamie and all... being m...Colin's gotta... tryin' their b..." Ted was going quieter and louder.
"Speak up." Roy's grumble was hoarse. This made Ted stop and really stare at Roy, and he felt a shiver pass through him. God, Ted's hand was so cold on him, like it was sucking all his heat away. He looked at it on his arm. It looked so pale in comparison. He was so red. When the fuck did that happen? And when did it geet so cold outside? Finally some fucking cloud cover? He looked up at the sky, vageuly registering that a few others had appeared- Trent and Beard, he guessed- when he saw that, nope, the sun was the only thing left up in the sky. He went to look back at Ted, but saw only his feet, and registered the feeling of grass under his hands and the sound he'd made when he'd fallen back onto the grass was only now being processed in his brain.
Why was it so fucking cold? He was freezing. Maybe he could ask Ted, who was stooped over him, alongside Beard and Trent, and whose mouth was moving, but Roy couldn't hear it over the annoying grunty wheezing coming from somewhere nearby him. Ted was doing that puppydog face that he made whenever he was trying to reassure someone, clutching onto a hand which felt a million miles away from Roy, and drier than a... fucking... dry thing? It was like his palm had been evicted from the rest of his body but still wanted to keep in touch.
Roy shivered again as something splashed over him, feeling some of the water gather in his ears and up his nostrils, and some of it pool beside him, making mud like a grimey halo. He tried to look around, finding Jamie near tears with an empty water bottle. Was that Roy's own water bottle? Oh yeah, he'd lent it to him. Jamie said something, before bursting into tears and hiding his face behind his hands.
Jamie couldn't bare how bemused Roy looked. It was just the faint air of curious surprise he held on his face, unrecognisable from his usual brooding self, which freaked him out most. This was all his fault, forgetting his water bottle that morning, not offering Roy sunscreen. The man was fucking red all over. How had none of them noticed.
Roy shivered again- a big one this time- and wrapped his arms around himself. How was he so cold? Somebody shook his arm- when had he clenched his eyes shut?- and brought something way too close to his face. He jerked away, and his head pounded worse than ever. When had that started? He could even hear his own pulse. Again, the object shifted into view. It was a bottle of water.
Soon, he was moving? somehow. He saw football boots appear either side of him, and felt that he was being lifted up, then place back against a cold, beating chest. Somebody had sat him up and leaned him against them, and somebody else was holding the bottle up, prompting him to drink. He really fucking didn't want to- he knew it would make his head pound. The got some in his mouth but he turned away and spat it out again.
The shivers were wracking his body now, and he felt sleepy and cold. He just wanted to curl back into that chest and drift off. But now, somebody else was shaking him, slapping his face. Who in the FUCK?! thought that was an okay thing to do? His eyes flashed open, just briefly, before he felt them closing of their own volition, and those grunty wheezes had turned to dry whines. Again the bottle was in his face, and he drank automatically. Immediately, his throat rejected it, and he coughed and spluttered, gasping for air as his head thundered. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. He wished he were an actual sack of shit, and not just something that felt like one, so he didn't have to be aware of how fucking terrible he felt. He gulped for air, and a lot of hands were on him, and he flinched away, not sure which way was up.
Soon the bottle had returned, and he decided to jump in with both feet and just drink the fucking thing. He began to chug, his head pounding, oxygen deprivation already getting to his head and making him dizzy. Soon the bottle was pulled away, to which he simply turned to one side and coughed up most of what he'd just drank. He was, however, feeling a little better, listening to the pounding recede, and his breaths sounded deeper and whole.
The bottle was back again- make your fucking mind up- and he drank a bit more normally. A hand was running circles around his back, and he opened his eyes to see Trent fucking Crimm, smooth-talker and turd-polisher extrordinaire, trying to mutter something. He wasn't sure if it was directed at him, or somebody else, or the team at large, who all seemed to be gathered now. He followed Trent's gaze to Rebecca and Keeley. When the fuck did they get here? Keeley wasn't even paying attention- she was on the phone to someone. Fair play to her, she was a busy woman, but did she have to do that on the pitch?
Ted's hand was back on Roy's face, directing him to share his gaze. He was explaining something, slowly, and Roy wasn't catching a word of it. A few strong pairs of hands wrapped around his still-shivering biceps, and he felt them pull up a little. It was a tentative question of a movement- do you think you can stand up? Roy looked down to his feet, and dragged them across the ground to get them to feel something, pulling them up to meet his body. He couldn't feel his legs, but he could move them, and his feet were somewhat responsive. The hands pulled harder, and he didn't need to push that hard with his legs to get himself upright. His head swam, and his arms found themselves around the shoulders of Beard and Jamie, going back through the tunnel like they were off to see the fucking Wizard of Oz.