Chapter Text
It was Troy Barrett who found him bloodied and bruised outside the arena, Shane Hollander, Hockey Star. Generational Talent. Captain of the Montreal Voyageurs. Beaten and battered and absolutely reeking of Distressed Omega.
Over an hour after the game, the Bell Centre had lost quite a bit of its crowd that had been full of gleeful Ottawa fans and angry Montreal loyalists. The Ottawa fans had likely vacated to party at nearby Montreal clubs, and the Montreal side was likely drinking their sorrows and disappointment away elsewhere.
It was mid-May, and the late night in Montreal still held a bit of bite. The walls of the arena were coated in shadows, and the steady muttering of the city could be heard all around.
Troy had stayed later than the rest of his team, celebrating their win in the empty away locker room with Harris. He had plans to continue celebrating with Harris at least until dawn. But Harris had a few admin things to figure out and announcements to post before he met the players at a nearby bar, and had told Troy to go ahead and spend time with his victorious teammates.
He hadn’t even had time to pull out his phone and call an Uber before the scent hit him. He wasn’t used to the scent of omegas in any hockey environment due to all of the blockers the players used (and the distinctly low number of omega players in general), but this omega’s body was pleading for help, calling out to anyone near enough to smell him.
Troy followed the scent around the corner and found a body slumped over against the dingy exterior wall of the arena. He was shocked at first, of course, but that shock more than doubled when he realized it was Shane Hollander. Clad in a worn-out Voyageurs sweatsuit and Reeboks was Shane Hollander, blood painting his face and exhaustion coating his limp frame. Shane Hollander was an omega. Shane Hollander, who he was pretty sure was dating his best friend, but somehow didn’t smell mated at all.
He would consider that detail later.
He ran towards the prone body and checked to make sure Hollander was still breathing. His scent was fresh in the air, and there was a slight warmth on the back of Troy’s hand when he held it up to Shane’s nose. He sighed with relief and immediately attempted to wake up Shane whilst simultaneously moving him as little as possible.
“Hollander,” he urged, shaking him lightly at the shoulders, “Hollander. Shane. Can you hear me?”
The Omega groaned, making small, unintelligible noises.
Troy was kind of (definitely) freaking out. The usually stoic and stony Troy Barrett was breaking down. The relief of knowing Hollander was alive lowered his adrenaline, giving his mind and body more space to freak the fuck out.
“Hollander, it’s okay, you’ll be fine,” Troy wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince Hollander or himself. “I’m gonna call Ilya and 911, and everything will be fine.”
He scrambled for his phone, almost dropping it from his sweating hands. He left one hand on Hollander’s shoulder, where he could help hold him up against the wall. Maybe he was trying to keep his head stable, maybe he was trying to keep him from falling over or passing out. Troy Barrett had no fucking clue what he was doing.
He called Ilya first. No matter how badly Shane needed paramedics, he needed his Alpha more. He waited through five rings before he heard “This is Ilya, I will not listen to your voicemail” and the telltale *beep* of the start of a voicemail recording.
“Fuck,” he cursed, and called again. After the third time, Troy actually did leave a voicemail, being as clear as possible. “Rozanov, this is an emergency, and you'd better answer right the fuck now.”
At the sound of his Alpha’s name, Hollander began mumbling again, “‘lya… need Ilya.”
“I know,” Troy assured, stroking his thumb over Hollander’s clavicle, hopefully soothing. “He’ll be here soon. Ilya’s gonna be here soon.”
He hoped he wasn’t lying.
He called the paramedics next and did his best to convey the urgency of the situation. An omega beaten within an inch of his life outside of the place where he worked, and who had previously sustained concussions. And was, until recently, the pride and joy of Montreal.
Once he verified that the paramedics were on their way, Troy called Harris. He really needed to calm down, and surely his boyfriend could help with that.
“Baby, I promise I’m almost finished up here-” Harris was interrupted by a relieved sob from Troy. He hadn’t even realized he’d started crying. Harris sobered up quickly and went into ‘PR mode’. “Troy, what’s wrong?”
Troy let out something between a sob, a sigh, and a laugh. “It’s Shane Hollander. Someone attacked him. He’s covered in blood and half-conscious right outside.”
Harris gasped, reminiscent of an old movie star. “Oh my god, stay right there, I’m coming.” Troy heard shuffling on the other line and the jingling of keys being picked up. He heard Harris huff as he ran outside, and Troy explained what had happened.
“I just came outside. I was going to call a car, and I smelled it. It was horrible, and it was rancid. It wasn’t only distress and pain; it was betrayal. I tried to call Ilya, but he didn’t answer. The Paramedics are on their way, but I didn’t know what else to do, and I don’t want to be alone right now.”
Neither Troy nor Harris brought up what the betrayalscent must mean.
Harris attempted to soothe his Alpha. “Shh, love. It’s okay. You did great, I’m almost there.” Troy heard a door slam open, both through the call and from a slight distance away.
“Right or left?” Harris asked.
“We’re over here!” Troy called out in lieu of responding. His voice echoed in the open night air. Harris appeared shortly after, panting and out of breath as the sound of an ambulance siren called out through the distance.
His face fell when he saw Troy and Hollander, exhausted and bloody, respectively. Harris ran forward and held Troy for a moment, pressing his nose up against his scent gland.
“Everything’s fine, you did so well,” he assured. He pulled away and cradled his lover’s face, wiping away his tears. “I’m gonna check on Shane, okay? Try calling Hazy, he might be able to get a hold of Ilya.”
Harris shuffled over, and Troy watched him wince as he assessed Shane’s condition. Blood dripped over his pale face from a cut on his forehead, his lip was split, and his nose was bleeding. His arm was draped over his torso, certainly nursing bruised ribs. Harris reached up and used his jacket sleeve to wipe away some of the blood on Shane’s face, lifting his chin and trying to look into his droopy brown eyes.
“I need you to stay awake, Shane, okay?” he asked. “Can you hear me?” Harris did his best to push out soothing omega pheromones as Troy went through the phone numbers of everyone on the team. Harris, friendly and sunshiney Harris, his sweet omega, was in business mode, seriousness taking over his features.
“‘lya, ‘lya… Alpha,” Shane kept repeating. “Il-a…”
Harris brushed the long, dark hair off Shane’s forehead and continued to clean the dripping blood from around his eyes. He turned to his boyfriend. “Troy, any news?”
Troy held up a finger, the universal gesture for ‘one second’. After three rings, someone finally answered.
“Barrett! Where are ya? Not skipping out on us to hide away with Harris, are you?” Through the speaker, Troy Barrett could hear the voice of an already tipsy Luca Haas, surrounded by the muffled voices of the rest of his team and the clinking of beer bottles.
“No, no Haasy,” Troy interrupted. “I need to talk to Ilya, it’s an emergency.”
Haas scoffed, “Sure, an emergency.” He made sure to emphasize ‘emergency’, letting Troy know he thought he was lying.
“No,” Troy responded, suddenly far more serious. “It’s a real emergency, and his Omega’s hurt. I need to speak to Ilya, so give him the phone, Haas.”
That shut Luca up. Half the team didn’t even know Ilya had an omega, even though they all suspected. There was shouting on the other end, shuffling about, and suddenly, Ilya’s thick accent reached Troy’s ears.
“You had better not be fucking with me, Barrett.” He was deadly serious, venom dripping from his tone.
“You know I wouldn’t joke about this, Roz,” he answered. Ilya stayed silent. Troy took a deep breath. “It’s Shane, he’s hurt.”
Just as he finished speaking, the ambulance pulled into the dark and cold parking lot.
“Listen, Ilya,” he began, “The ambulance is here, I’ll find out what hospital they're taking him to, but he’s asking for you. And it’s not looking good.”
Ilya took an audible breath. “Okay,” he responded, accent thick. “But you do not leave him. Not for a second. That’s an order.”
Troy gasped and tried to keep his voice steady as he felt the command slide in place with his pack bonds. His Alpha needed him to protect his Omega, and so he would. “Okay. I’ll see you soon,” he promised, and hung up the phone.
As the paramedics got to work, they addressed Troy and Harris with the lukewarm attitude of professionals.
“About how long ago did you find him?” one asked as they put his neck in a brace. Twenty minutes.
“Do you have any extensive knowledge of his injuries?” from another, while they placed him on a stretcher. Only what we can see.
“Do either of you know his medical history?” As they move towards the ambulance. He’s had a concussion once before.
“Has anyone contacted his Alpha?” Yes, but they’re not mated.
It was all so clinical and efficient, until it wasn’t.
“We’ll take it from here, boys,” The paramedics stated, holding out a hand as Troy reached up to follow them into the back. He immediately growled, protective of his Pack Alpha’s Omega, and remembering the promise he made.
“We’re coming with him,” Troy stated, eerily calm. He was standing still and stone-faced in the flashing lights of the emergency vehicle.
“I’m afraid we can’t let you do that,” a beta cut in, interrupting Troy’s staring contest with the other paramedic. “You’re not family or an emergency contact; it’s against policy. I’m sorry.”
Troy saw red. He wanted to rip the throats out of these incompetent bed nurses, and he wanted to tear the limbs off of whoever attacked Shane. He growled, loud and domineering.
He stalked forward, adrenaline and alpha hormones flowing through his veins, the scent of powerthreatprotect pouring off of him. He was inches away from tearing off the closing ambulance door when a high-pitched whine came from inside, and Troy’s entire body zeroed in on the innocent and helpless noise. It was as if a chasm opened up in his heart, right next to his love for Harris Drover. Suddenly, Troy Barrett could feel the whispers of Shane Hollander’s pain, the echoes of his dizziness and bruises. His yearning for his Alpha. As their scents shifted, the paramedics looked between alpha and omega, making the connection.
Harris finally caught up to Troy, catching his arm and hugging it close. He looked up at his Alpha as understanding dawned, and the paramedics opened the door and held a hand out to help them into the vehicle. The scent in the air and the look in his eyes made it abundantly clear.
Troy Barrett had Imprinted on Shane Hollander.