Chapter Text
Shane finds out that Ilya Rozanov is dead at the same time as the rest of the world.
He doesn't get a call ahead of time from a police officer or someone who works with the Centaurs. He actually doesn't find out until hours after it happens, when it's on the news for the world to watch. It wasn't until hours had passed since Ilya sent him those texts that Shane properly understood the reasoning behind them.
And why would they notify him? As far as anyone knew, he was just Ilya's friend.
The first thing Shane does when he gets to the hotel is call Ilya— and the whole way there, the existence of the texts sat in the back of his mind, causing his stomach to churn and his mind to spiral, because what did Ilya mean by whatever happens?— but it goes straight to voicemail. Then when he calls again he's greeted by the same voicemail. Over and over again, he calls, but there is no sweet hello on the other end of the line.
A sinking feeling settles in Shane's gut, his breathing picking up as his thoughts begin to escalate and become more foggy, harder to grasp and control. The romantic, out of the blue texts were one thing, but Ilya always answers when Shane calls— or at least texts when he can't. What's different now? What's going on?
Then his entire team starts messaging the group chat, his phone going off multiple times each second, and Shane learns exactly why those texts mattered. Everything that comes after feels as if it happens around him, not to him.
Shane reads every single news article that even vaguely talks about the crash, hoping for something different, hoping they stop repeating what he doesn't want to hear. But, no matter how much he reads, every sentence leads him to the same conclusion: that the Centaurs' plane crashed due to engine failure and there aren't any survivors.
All of those people, gone. His Ilya, gone.
When Shane finally forces himself to stop reading, his mind and body drift further apart. He thinks he's lying on the floor, but the texture pressing against his back feels sharp and uneven, so maybe it's the hotel wall, except his head is resting on something, so is he in bed?
Shane stops wondering after that.
His parents call. He's aware of his surroundings enough to process their names on the screen as his phone lights up and rings and buzzes over and over again until it makes him so nauseous that he has to lie on the cold tile of the bathroom floor to try and get rid of this heat beneath his skin.
Somebody knocks on his door at some point. His ears are ringing too loudly to clearly hear the voice, and right now, he can't remember anybody except Ilya ever existing, so he just sits in the corner of the bathroom and cries, hoping the stranger will leave.
The knocks eventually get louder, the sound of knuckle on wood bringing Shane back from the nothingness he had been floating in. He doesn't know how long he's been sitting here, remembering and grieving and dying in his own way. The voice starts up again. Shane still can't recognize it.
"Shane, bud, please tell me you're okay. Your parents said you haven't been answering their calls. We're all worried about you."
Shane stays silent, quietly dying alone in a hotel bathroom in Washington, hoping Ilya will call him back soon.
***
The season is postponed out of respect for the team. There will be funerals held by families and a large memorial service at the Centaurs' rink. Shane isn't sure he'll be able to get himself to go. He'd imagined it once or twice, sure, going to Ilya's funeral. But he imagined being old and wrinkly, maybe even buried with him. He imagined the end of the line for them was decades from now, after life had wrung them dry but left them the gift of crow's feet on their faces.
He imagined they'd face death together, just like they'd promised to face everything else.
His mom, dad, and the Pikes try their best to be there for him. Hayden even ends up staying with him a few nights out of the week after he and Jackie fail to convince Shane to stay with them. He appreciates it, but the idea of leaving this space where Ilya was alive and happy makes him physically ill.
His mom brings meals over every single day. They're always small portions, not enough to make Shane sick. They sit together sometimes, his mom holding his hand as the three of them sit around the table, his dad and her talking about anything but hockey and the larger elephant in the room.
Eventually, Shane cries again. In the early days, he'd felt too numb to even try for some form of catharsis, his chest hollowed out and constantly aching for hands that would never put his heart back.
In the end, it's Ilya's will that does him in.
Almost all of his money goes to the Irina Foundation, and then another large amount is set aside for his niece when she turns eighteen. Shane thinks of her for a brief moment and hopes that she's doing well, that she'll make it to eighteen, even though Ilya's family seems cursed at this point.
As for the rest, Ilya has left it to Shane.
Not his house in Ottawa and all of the memories it holds, nor an inordinate sum of money that Shane could never spend, but the thing held closest to his heart.
Somehow, Ilya's crucifix survived the crash, and now it belongs to Shane. This alone isn't what causes his breakdown, though. Ilya also left Shane a letter.
He doesn't read it until he's home again, until the necklace settles underneath his shirt, against his chest and over his heart. Jewelry usually makes him uncomfortable— the cold metal always pressing on his skin, the constant tugging at it just for it to sit uncomfortably all over again, and how it makes him so aware of his body— but this necklace is an extension of Ilya. It was his mother's. Having it with him makes him feel more at ease, less alone in this world that suddenly grew too large for him.
The envelope only has Shane's name on it. Not Hollander, just Shane. It's not incriminating in the slightest. They were friends; it made sense for them to use each other's first names. They ran a charity together, so of course Ilya would have something to say to Shane in the event something happened. Those on the outside probably think it's something to do with Ilya's family. Shane was his closest friend, so maybe Ilya trusted him to handle things more personal than just physical possessions.
The first line, however, paints such a different picture.
моя любовьMy love,
Whatever happened, I did not mean for it to. I had so many dreams. I had you. There are some things I never told you. Things that I recently learned that I did not want to be true. Shane, I need you to know that whatever happened, I did not leave you by choice. I am like my mother, but I would have sooner lost you than leave you like that. I started going to therapy so I could be better for you, so I could stay with you. I love you so much. More than anything. I am sorry I never told you. I am sorry this is how you have to find out. I promise it was nothing you did. You were so good to me, my Shane. I did not want to make things harder on you than they already were. I know you worried about me. And I know you did not want me to, but I worried about you too. Me and Yuna were in cahoots about it. She also taught me that word. It is very cute for its evil meaning. A little like you, sweetheart.
Shane, мое солнышкоmy sunshine. I know how this will hurt you, and writing this makes me feel like I am giving up already, but I cannot stand the thought of something happening and you being alone. You saved me, Shane. Let me save you.
I think I have loved you since that day we met. Your freckles stole my heart, maybe. If only they could have stolen my hands, then maybe I would have been brave enough to touch you in the ways I wanted. I still dream of holding you in those ways. I want your hand in mine and I want the world to see. I want you to be that brave. Even if I am not there to encourage you, know it is what I want. Move forward with your life. Do great big things. I believe in you more than I have ever believed in anyone.
Shane, even though I am gone, there is so much more in the world just for you. I know it is selfish but I do not want one of those things to be love. You are mine, you have always been mine, and I do not think you mind anyway. Go live big, Shane. Be brave and be happy and know that every day, I love you. With every breath I do and do not take, I love you. You have my mother's necklace, yes? You have my love hanging around your neck and over your heart. Я тебя люблюI love you, Shane. Forever. Always.
My mother would always say something that I think makes sense now. She would say that time is like a circle. It always starts and ends the same. So Shane, please find me at the starting line.
Your forever love,
Илья Холландер-РозановIlya Hollander-Rozanov
Shane reads the letter over and over again, sitting on their bedroom floor as he stares at Ilya's handwriting. He can tell that Ilya put a lot of effort into it. The handwriting is the prettiest cursive he's ever seen. Each letter flows beautifully with the next, and Shane can see the care put into every press of lead. This isn't Ilya's usual handwriting. Ilya didn't really care for neatness the same way Shane did. He even said as much, once.
"We are hockey players, not pen people; we do not need it to be perfect."
Shane, unable to help himself, had laughed and said, "They're called calligraphers."
Ilya must have been working on this for weeks. Shane can imagine Ilya's hand cramping up from the amount of effort he put into keeping every letter, word, and line perfect. How frustrated he'd be trying to translate what he wanted to say into English and then having to figure out how to put it on the page.
He did all of that for Shane. So he could leave behind something nice for Shane.
Shane hates it. He hates that, as much as Ilya didn't want to die, he still wrote down his goodbye.
His goodbye as Ilya Hollander-Rozanov.
As if they were married. As if they had told the world and had a great, wonderful wedding despite what people would inevitably say, speculate, and ridicule—
Wait. They had, hadn't they?
In the Pikes' living room, dressed to the nines in ridiculous outfits as two of the most important people in their lives officiated their wedding, they had exchanged plastic rings and no vows.
Nothing except I do's, but the love had been what mattered. In their hearts, they were married, husbands until the ends of their intertwined lives.
That means Ilya must have written this letter afterwards, then. Maybe the wedding had prompted it. Or maybe it was his depression and the therapy Ilya was going to. God, Shane feels so awful. There was so much Ilya was hiding from him, all because he didn't want to be a bother. Shane had tried so hard to be a safe spot for Ilya to rest, to make it so he could lay all his fears and anxieties at Shane's feet and expect nothing but love in return.
Did Shane really fail him so severely?
No. No, he can't think like that. Ilya didn't want him to blame himself.
Shane tries not to, he really does, but all he can think about is their fight. How Ilya had asked Shane if he would choose him, and Shane was so offended and a little heartbroken that he'd fucking hesitated. How he asked Ilya the same thing, completely forgetting that Ilya already had. How he thought things were ruined, how he tried desperately to fix it all as soon as possible.
How they had promised to settle things the next time they saw each other.
And how, now, next time is further away than it's ever been before.
Shane stares at Ilya Hollander-Rozanov until his vision blurs, until he can't breathe, until the only thing keeping him here is the fact that this was Ilya's last-ditch effort to save Shane, and his husband wants him to be brave.
He thinks about the last line of the letter, of Ilya's final plea, and feels the sobs pulled from his chest like a puck had hit him there and forced them out.
"Why can't you just meet me here? Why do I have to wait until the end for us to start again?"
Naturally, the only thing that answers him is the silence of his empty apartment. But if he listens closely, the wind pressing against his windows almost sounds like a reason to be brave.
***
The months pass like days, going by far too quickly as Shane is constantly trying to grasp onto something solid and still. He tries to be brave every step of the way.
At the behest of literally everybody he knows, but mostly because of Ilya, he finds a therapist. His horrible days rarely lessen to just bad days— and he has yet to have a decent or good day— but she's given him ways to help with it all. Sometimes, Hayden goes with him and waits outside while Shane either talks around the real issue or doesn't talk at all. It helps more than he thought it would, having somebody there waiting for him, always ready to talk or just sit in silence.
These days, Shane is perfectly aware of why exactly Hayden was his best friend for so many years before Ilya swooped in and stole the title.
He talks to his parents nearly every day, whether it be through text or phone calls. None of them are ready to talk about Ilya yet, but they do talk about hockey, which, according to them, Shane has latched onto to a near-unhealthy degree.
He can tell that everybody in his life thinks the best thing for him now is to quit. Hockey is so intrinsically connected to Ilya that it's always been hard for Shane to separate the two. Even now, he looks for Ilya in almost every arena like he'll be there in the crowd, or waiting on the ice, ready to face off against Shane.
It doesn't take long for Shane to conclude that they're right. Without Ilya, there's really no point in hockey. Ilya drove him to be better, gave him someone to compete with, and someone who understood what it meant to be a generational talent.
Now, without Ilya— without Shane's other half— hockey is almost… dull.
He recognizes that part of the reason behind that is his grief. He doesn't find joy in a lot anymore, but the ice was always his and Ilya's space. It's where they thrived. It's where they fell in love and learned to love the game in a way they only could when playing against each other.
There is no hockey without Ilya.
But… Shane's not going to let it go so quickly. Ilya wanted him to do great big things, and Shane sure as hell isn't going to let him down.
Shane kisses the crucifix before every game. Never in front of his team, never where anybody can see, but one day Shane will be brave enough to wear it over his shirt. He'll be able to tell the world that he loves Ilya Rozanov and could have never possibly felt anything else.
But first, as his therapist encourages, he needs to grieve properly. Which he hasn't been doing, lately. He's put so much focus on hockey that he hasn't really acknowledged anything else.
Unbeknownst to him, he won't get the chance.
They're in the last few games before the playoffs. Montreal is in a tight spot, especially since its star player hasn't been at his best. If they want even a chance in the playoffs, then they have to rely on a wildcard spot.
Tonight, their game is on home ice against Las Vegas. Honestly, it'd be just embarrassing if they lost, and Shane needs this. Even if things have changed between him and his team recently (which is, admittedly, because of his own lagging captaincy), he's dragging them to another cup, kicking and screaming if he has to. He's winning this. For Ilya.
It happens just as Hayden passes him the puck. Las Vegas has been on his ass all night. He's been checked into the boards multiple times, and some asshole even slashed him, getting him right in the shin and knocking him onto the ice.
After he got checked over by the team doctor and returned to his line, Hayden grinned at him and knocked their shoulders together. "Hah, not much can keep our star player down, right?"
Shane had smiled back weakly, appreciative of all the effort Hayden gave, especially when he didn't expect anything in return.
Now, they're back on the ice, nearing the end of the second period, and somehow winning 2-1. They're about to get their third goal. Shane has a near-clear shot after Hayden passes him the puck, he just has to speed up so he can lose the players that suddenly flank him from behind.
But, instead of the play he has planned in his head, he's checked into the boards so hard that his helmet goes flying, and he doesn't even have time to feel how hard his head hits the ice before everything goes dark.
***
Shane wakes up in what he immediately knows is a hotel bed. He's slept in enough of them throughout his life to know the feeling of those kinds of mattresses and how some sheets make his skin itch.
The first thing he feels is confusion. He was just in the middle of a game, took a pretty bad hit if memory serves, so he should be in the hospital, right? Actually, shouldn't he be high out of his mind? That hit felt worse than the one he took back in 2017, and he distinctly remembers being on a crazy amount of painkillers then.
He looks around the room, towards the window, and sees that it's actively snowing outside. Not that snow is out of place in Montreal, but it's springtime, now. Snow doesn't usually get this heavy unless it's winter.
Shane sits up slowly, testing each limb to see if anything fails on him, but he feels… completely fine?
Even weirder, he actually feels better. His muscles don't ache or feel stiff like usual. He's been playing harder lately, too, so his body kind of hates him more than usual for not taking the time to rest.
He feels none of that now, though.
He reaches for his phone on the nightstand, hoping it provides some sort of clarity, but… it just makes him more confused. The phone he's holding is old. Like, it has a built-in keyboard old. He hasn't used a phone like this in well over a decade.
What the hell is going on?
He turns the phone on, dread pooling in his stomach, and feels his heart stop at the text that he finds displayed on his screen.
December, 2008.
No fucking way.
***
Shane is convinced that this is a dream.
There is just no possible way that he time traveled. How does that even make any sense? It was just early 2021, he was in the eleventh season of his career at the age of twenty-nine, and had the aching bones to prove it.
Now, it's supposedly 2008, he's supposedly seventeen, and he somehow has the body to prove it.
When he goes on a run to try to clear his head, this becomes painfully clear. After eleven years of being a professional hockey player, his body wasn't horribly ruined, but he could feel old injuries whenever he moved, felt each pull of his muscles as he stretched. After eleven years of hockey, it made sense for his body to ache in those ways, to deteriorate the way it does from growing old while constantly playing in a contact-heavy sport.
He feels none of it now. All he feels is the burning in his lungs and the way his legs ache after basically sprinting for twenty minutes straight, just because he can.
He's thought a lot about the situation over the past twenty minutes.
So, maybe, this is time travel. He got hit during the game and, what, died? Yeah, sure, whatever. He died and got sent back in time nearly thirteen fucking years.
Or, the possibility that makes way more sense, he's having some sort of crazy drug-induced dream. He's currently in the hospital, possibly in some kind of coma, and he misses Ilya so much that his brain decided to send him back to when they were young.
But, he's never had a dream that's felt this real.
Maybe it's because of the concussion and the drugs and whatever the hell else is wrong with him.
Yeah. Yeah, that makes more sense.
***
Shane first tests his theories by meeting up with his parents for breakfast.
Back in the real 2008, seventeen year old Shane had woken up, gone on a run, taken a shower, then met up with his parents in the hotel dining room for breakfast as they'd agreed to. So Shane is just following the script.
His parents wave him over when they see him, and Shane tries not to let the shock show on his face.
They look so much younger than when he last saw them.
But this doesn't mean anything. He's seen them like this before, so his brain could easily recall the minute details of their faces from twelve years ago.
The moment Shane sits down, his mom begins to fuss.
"Good morning, honey. You were a little late, so I already ordered for you. I'm sorry, I know you're growing up, but we have to be at the arena soon."
Shane can do nothing but stare at her.
That's not what she said last time.
Well— if there even was a last time. This isn't time travel. Time travel is impossible, it's from those weird movies Rose acts in and Ilya loves.
Shane's parents stare back at him, and he belatedly realizes he's not actually watching his past play out in front of him.
The script, just follow the script.
"Uh, that's fine. Sorry, I got distracted during my run." Shane fidgets in his seat, looking between his parents and hoping they just accept the lie.
However, unfortunately for Shane in this moment, his mom has always known him well.
"Distracted? By what?" she says, her eyes narrowing in that way that means she won't let this go if she thinks it's a bigger problem than Shane is letting on.
Shane wants to evaporate.
He completely forgot how intense his mom had been at the start of his career. It's one of the reasons Shane had gotten a separate hotel room from his parents. He wanted a little independence at his big old seventeen years of age, and when he proposed it to his mom as him just getting used to being responsible for himself on trips, she thought it was a great idea, so Shane had just taken the win and run with it.
Now, though, he feels so off-kilter. Which makes sense, really, because either this isn't fucking real or he fucking time traveled.
Actually, forget it, none of this makes any sense.
He can't even come up with a decent lie for his mom he's losing it so bad.
"Uh, nothing." Shane shrugs. "Was just thinking about practice and the upcoming games."
His mom immediately backs down and smiles at him, waving her hand in the air like she thinks he's being silly. "Oh, honey, you have nothing to worry about. You've got this thing in the bag."
Shane's dad nods in agreement, his smile more disarming than his mom's, which helps Shane actually relax. "You're captain for a reason, kiddo, remember that."
Shane, under the pretense of being stressed for the WJHC, lets out a breath as he attempts to wrestle the tension out of his own shoulders.
Fuck, he's so lucky he hasn't had a panic attack yet.
***
Shane's about to start his final test. The one that will actually, genuinely confirm whatever is happening to him.
It's cold here in Regina, Saskatchewan, so he's wearing the same outfit he wore the last time this happened. If it's even happening again at all.
He pauses before turning the corner, takes a few deep breaths to try and get ahead of the inevitable frantic beating of his heart. Deep down, he knows it's useless. If he turns this corner and sees what he thinks (and really, really hopes) he'll see, he's not going to be able to handle it in a normal way. At all.
But he's already (supposedly, if this is even happening) seen this man from a distance, when he watched him from the stands. Either way, it's all moving forward. Shane has a script to follow, so he follows it.
When Shane peeks his head around the corner, he sees him. Standing a few yards away from him, Ilya Rozanov holds a cigarette in his mouth and a lighter in his hand, looking completely unaware as to what is about to happen— or, what would be happening, if Shane wasn't freaking the fuck out.
Shane's legs buckle underneath him and he slides down the wall, trying to stave off a panic attack at the sight of his dead boyfriend twelve years younger.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
If this is a dream, Shane never wants to wake up. He wants to run to Ilya right now, to hold him in his arms and apologize and whisper his love into his skin over and over again. He wants to call every single news outlet and tell them that he loves Ilya and won't let them be pitted against each other ever again. Fuck the rivalry, fuck their careers, Shane just wants Ilya back with him.
He would give anything just to hold his hand.
Suddenly, his mind clears, and he realizes that he can hold Ilya's hand.
The thing is, now that Shane has actually seen Ilya, he doesn't want this to be some drug-induced coma dream. He doesn't want there to be even the slightest possibility that he'll wake up in a hospital bed and be told that none of this was real.
Waking up in a world where Ilya is dead has been Shane's unimaginable reality every day for months. He doesn't want it again. He won't have it again.
He takes a breath and stands up, pressing his fingers into his palms a few times, trying to alleviate some of the tension in his body.
So, if this isn't a dream, then it has to be the other thing. Time travel. Which…
Well, Shane will believe in anything if it means Ilya isn't dead.
So, yeah, time travel. World Juniors, 2008. Meeting Ilya for the first time ever. Again. For the second time.
Ugh.
Well, here he goes. It can't possibly be as awkward as the first time, right?