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Later, when he’s calm, Shane will find it ironic that it’s happened to him.
He’s been telling Ilya for a decade that he needs to drive safely, stop speeding and stop showing off with his crazy cars.
But Ilya’s never been in an accident.
- - -
Shane’s on the complete opposite side of Ottawa from their house. Rolex wanted to shoot at this crazy retro office space designed by an artist. They’d offered to send a car, but Shane much prefers driving himself.
He’s still driving his Land Rover, as much as Ilya moans about it being ugly and boring. It was one of Shane’s first big purchases, and even though it’s old at this point, it’s comforting and familiar.
Shane suspects that if Ilya didn’t think it would seriously upset Shane, this car would’ve mysteriously disappeared around when they moved in together. Replaced by a Lamborghini, Maclaren or Spyder that Shane would hate but Ilya would love an excuse to buy.
But for now, he still has his trusty little SUV, safe with him.
- - -
Shane’s just finished merging onto the Queensway when it happens. He’s settling himself comfortably in the middle lane, because there’s a good thirty minutes of traffic between him and his exit.
There’s a semi-truck on his right, and a couple cars in front of him. He glances at the screen to change the song, regretting the day that he gave his husband access to his spotify account. He doesn’t hate Russian techno, it’s just not exactly “driving” music in his mind.
When he looks up, the semi is merging into his lane.
Not in front of him.
As if he’s not there.
Shane slams on the brake and swerves instinctively, but it’s too late. The side of the trailer slams into the back of his car and he loses control. The car does a full spin, and he clips the back of one of the vehicles in front of him before spinning away again. The concrete median comes rushing up alarmingly fast, and before Shane can even scream, the front of his car is crumpling against it and his airbag is exploding in his face.
He doesn’t pass out.
He kind of wishes he did, but he doesn’t. When the car stops moving, it feels like the world is silent, but Shane realizes it’s just his ear ringing. The airbag has left his face stinging and a weird taste in his mouth, and his entire body starts blooming with pain.
The ringing starts to subside and Shane can hear again. He hears honking, yelling, and Russian techno coming from his radio, somehow. He panics and frantically yanks the key out, making the music stop and the angry moan of the vehicle stop.
There’s a slam next to him, and he jumps, turning to look out the driver's side window, but it’s also blocked by the side airbag. It sounds like someone’s pulling on the handle, but the door isn’t moving. Shane hits the unlock button, but there’s no sound and the door stays jammed even when he pushes on it.
He realizes the other sound he hears is his breathing.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
Shane has always been a safe driver, since the moment he got his license at 16 and even before that when his dad would let him practice on the quiet roads near the cottage. He’s never had a speeding ticket or even a parking ticket. He can parallel park flawlessly on the busiest streets in downtown Ottawa.
This is wrong.
He feels wrong.
He wants Ilya.
Ilya makes things feel right.
There’s still the sounds of yanking on his door, coming from both sides of the vehicle now, but Shane can’t focus. He fumbles for his phone, which has flown out of its spot on the console and is on the floor near Shane’s feet. His ribs scream as he contorts down to reach it, but he manages.
The screen is cracked and it won’t recognize his face, so he fails at entering his passcode twice before getting it right. His hands are shaking almost uncontrollably, but he needs to call Ilya. He manages to hit the phone icon, which opens to his recent calls, and he thanks whoever is out there that Ilya is right there at the top.
Shane hits his husband's name and waits.
When it switches from “calling” to a timer, he knows the phone has connected but Ilya sounds small and far away. He realizes that he’s holding it away from himself, without the speaker turned on. He somehow manages to turn it on, interrupting his husband halfway through a sentence.
“Shane, baby, can you hear me?” Ilya says. He doesn’t sound worried, just fond, like he thinks Shane might have butt-dialed him.
“Yea.” Shane whispers, but it comes out completely inaudibly. His mouth is so dry. He clears his throat and tries again. “Yea.”
Ilya, amazing as he is, catches on immediately.
“What’s wrong?” He asks, voice concerned. “Where are you?”
Shane’s husband is not unfamiliar with behaviour like this from Shane. He’d even say Ilya is too familiar. Shane’s always had his moments. He refuses to call them meltdowns, hates that word, but knows they aren’t just panic attacks. Sometimes they’re caused by anxiety and stress, but sometimes they’re caused by days full of the lights being too bright, too many people to talk to and an itchy tag on his new shirt.
They got worse when they were outed. When the Voyageurs turned on him. When he left the only team he’d known for ten years and signed with Ottawa.
He and Ilya are working on it, learning how to deal with it. Weighted blankets are Shane’s new favourite thing, and Ilya has been learning increasingly absurd breathing and regulation exercises to try and help Shane ease out of it.
Ilya isn’t here.
Ilya’s on the phone.
Calling Shane’s name with increasing frenzy.
“Shane, Любимый, are you there?” Ilya asks as Shane starts listening again. “What’s going on?”
“I crashed.” Shane whispers, although it might be argued that it’s more of a whimper.
“You crashed what? Your car?” Ilya sounds really upset now, and it makes tears spill out of Shane’s eyes. He doesn’t want Ilya to be upset. He wants Ilya to tell him everything's okay and come get him out of this car. “Shane!”
“Yes.” Shane whimpers again, and then he’s sobbing into the phone. “There was a truck and I was trying to change the song and then I was spinning and—and”
He can’t breathe.
“Shh, shhhh, Shane.” Ilya insists. “Breathe, sweetheart, breathe.”
“Can you come get me?” Shane cries, trying to breathe but feeling like there’s an elephant on his chest. He doesn’t know if he’s panicking or actually injured, which isn’t helping.
“Deep breaths Shane, slow down please. Where are you?” Ilya asks.
“I don’t know!” Shane whines. “I got on the Queensway and then—”
“Okay, okay, it’s okay. I have your location, yes?” Ilya tells him. “I will look, hold on.”
The passenger side window on his car suddenly shatters and Shane yells. A hand rips at the deployed airbag until it’s cut out of the way to reveal a police officer.
“Are you alright, sir?” He asks. Shane stares at him, suddenly unable to form a single word. “Sir?”
“Shane!” Ilya’s voice breaks through again, making Shane look back at his phone. “Shane, who is that?”
“Police.” Shane manages.
“Sir, can you unbuckle your seatbelt?” The officer asks. Shane stares again. He hears the question, he understands it, but he can’t do it.
“Baby, can you?” Ilya repeats, and Shane just sobs again. “Please, you can try.”
He manages to reach down and find the button, hissing when a piece of glass from something slices his hand. He pushes on the latch, but it won’t budge. He pushes again and yanks on the belt across his chest, but it refuses to move. Like his door, it seems to be jammed.
“I can’t, Ilya.” He breathes, panic boiling over again. “I can’t, I can’t, I ca—”
“That’s okay, it’s okay.” His husband tries to assure him. “Is the car off?”
Shane looks at the dash again.
“Yes.”
“Is it smoking? Is there fire?”
Shane wrestles the airbag in front of him again.
“No—I mean, I don’t think so.”
“Okay, is good.” Ilya says. “The police are there, someone will get you out.”
Shane glances over at the passenger window again, finding the officer has taken a step back from the window and is speaking into this radio while looking at Shane. Shane feels like he’s being judged, for what he doesn’t know.
“Can you come get me out?” He whimpers into the phone. He hears Ilya sigh.
“I am trying, sweetheart.” Ilya says. “You are far away.”
“Are you driving?” Shane asks, suddenly paralyzed with fear that he’s distracting Ilya and could cause him to crash as well.
“No, no.” Ilya assures him. “Bood is. Remember? He and Hazy were coming over to watch the racing.”
“I hate racing.” Shane whispers. His breathing has slowed, but he still finds himself unable to process the world around him.
“I know, Любимый, I know.” Ilya says. “That is why we watch while you are at photoshoot.”
“They made me wear wool.” Shane mumbles, jumping when there’s another sound outside his driver's side door.
“Oh, Shane.” Ilya sighs. They’ve had too many conversations about Shane being unwilling to put his foot down when it comes to things making him uncomfortable while doing sponsorships. Ilya knows how much wearing wool overstimulates Shane, but Shane refuses to tell anyone else.
With an almighty groan, the door next to Shane is suddenly pried open and then right off its hinges. Shane freezes, coming face to face with a couple of firefighters.
“Well, would you look at that!” One of them says, “Someone said it was Shane Hollander’s car, but I guess you have to see it to believe it.”
Shane can’t breathe. He doesn’t want to be recognized right now. He doesn’t want it on the best of days, but he really doesn’t want it now, when he knows his face is covered in tears and he’s whimpering down the phone to his husband.
“Lemme help you with that.” The other says, leaning forward. Shane flinches away, but he just uses a knife to slice Shane’s seat belt away. He backs up, and someone else approaches.
It’s an older woman, curly greying hair pulled into a bun. She has a stethoscope hanging around the collar of her paramedic uniform.
“Hi, Shane. My name is Viv.” She says, her voice warm. “Can you tell me if anything hurts?”
Shane just keeps staring. He doesn’t know these people. He doesn’t want to tell them he’s hurt. He wants Ilya.
“Shane! Shane!” The man in question's voice rings down the phone. “Tell her if it hurts.”
Viv glances down at the phone clutched in Shane’s hand.
“That’s your husband, I assume.” She says gently. “He’s worried.”
It’s like a jolt of electricity down Shane’s spine. He stares down at the phone again.
“Ilya, I’m sorry.” He whimpers.
“No, no, no, Shane,” Ilya insists. “You are not sorry, you’ve done nothing wrong.”
“You’re worried.”
“Yes, sweetheart, I am very worried. But that’s not your fault, you’re okay.”
“Okay.” Shane whispers.
“Please, tell her if it hurts, Любимый.”
Shane tries to take stock of his body, tries to ignore the fact that it feels like it doesn’t belong to him.
“My ribs.” He says finally. “And my ankle. I think I hit my head.”
“Okay, Shane.” Viv says. “That’s good, okay? You can feel your toes?”
Shane nods.
“Did you lose consciousness?”
Shane shakes his head.
“Great, that’s great.” She assures him. Someone in a similar uniform appears next to her and hands her a neck brace. “Okay, honey, I think you’re okay, but we need to check you out just in case. Can I put this on? Then we can help you move to a stretcher and take you to get checked out at the hospital?”
The weight on his chest is back.
Shane hates the hospital. It’s too bright, everything makes noise, and it’s full of people who touch him without asking. Last time he was there, after blocking a shot and requiring x-rays to make sure his foot wasn’t broken, they wouldn’t let Ilya back with him and he nearly had a “moment”.
“No.” Shane says. “No, I don’t want to go to the hospital. Ilya, I don’t want to. Come get me.”
“Baby, breathe, breathe, please.” Ilya insists. “You need to go, they need to make sure you’re okay.”
“No, no, no, no, please, no.” Shane is sobbing again. “Don’t make me, I want you, I want you to come and fix it.”
“I can’t fix this, Shane.” Ilya said. “There is too much traffic because of the accident. I am still very far away.”
“Please!” Shane sobbed.
“You will be okay, Shane. Let the paramedics help you, and I will come to you as fast as I can.”
“Ilya!”
“Shhhh, Любимый, shh. I know, I know.” Ilya soothed. “You are scared, that’s okay, but they will help you, keep you safe for me.”
“You can keep him on the phone the whole time, Shane.” Viv interrupted. “He won’t be really with you, but you can keep talking to him.”
Shane looks at her, still standing right outside his door, holding the neck brace. He looks back at his phone, at the stupid duck emoji Ilya had placed next to his contact name because there obviously wasn’t a loon emoji.
“You’re coming?” Shane asked. “Soon?”
“Yes, baby, as fast as I can.” Ilya assured him. “I will pay all of Bood’s speeding tickets.”
“Please be safe.”
“Of course, sweetheart.
Shane looked back at Viv, then at the neck brace, and finally nodded.
“Alright, honey, don’t move, okay?” Viv instructed. “Let us move you.”
She gently moved him forward, before reaching around to secure the neck brace, forcing Shane to stare forward. He hated it, but tried to keep his breathing calm and clutched his phone tight, listening to Ilya repeat that he was okay over and over again.
Once it was secure, Viv had him carefully turn and step out of the car, letting him hold onto the car so he didn’t have to put weight on the ankle now throbbing with pain.
She never touched him more than she needed to, which Shane appreciated. Her partner maneuvered the stretcher as close as possible, and Shane was able to twist himself around to lean on it. Viv then gently helped him sit down and move his limbs until he was in a semi-reclined position.
Shane clutched his phone to his chest the whole time, trying to focus on Ilya’s voice. He let Viv check his pupils with her flashlight, whining softly at its brightness and earning himself a whole new stream of assurances from his husband.
“Your pupils look fine.” She told him. “But we’re still going to take you to the hospital so they can double check, and to take a look at your ribs and ankle.”
Shane still wanted to cry about it, but he tried to focus on breathing and seeing Ilya soon.
“What hospital?” Came Ilya’s voice from Shane’s phone.
“The Ottawa Hospital.” Viv told him. “Shouldn’t take us more than ten minutes.”
Shane could hear Ilya talking to someone else, probably Bood.
“We are fifteen minutes away, Shane.” Ilya said after a moment. “You will beat us there, but I will come find you as soon as I arrive.”
“I don’t want to be alone.” Shane whimpered. He hated how you were often shoved in a room and forgotten about at hospitals, he didn’t want that without Ilya.
“You will not be alone for long, sweetheart. I will come find you.” Ilya assured him again. The stretcher started moving, Viv not leaving Shane’s side while her partner pushed it towards the ambulance.
“Promise?” Shane asked.
“Я никогда не оставлю тебя, моя любовь.” Ilya said. Shane was hopelessly unable to translate any of it besides “my love”, but it felt reassuring.
The stretcher shook violently as it was lifted into the ambulance. Once Shane was inside, Viv climbed in and sat in the seat next to him.
“Quick trip.” She said, smiling softly at Shane.
- - -
It probably was a quick trip, in the grand scheme of things, but with a pounding headache and nausea building from facing backwards, the ambulance ride felt an hour long. He was shaken violently again as they got him out of the ambulance, and then pushed through sliding doors into the chaos of a hospital emergency room.
Instantly, his nerves spiked again. It was loud, bright and full of people. Basically a recipe for Shane’s nightmare. Viv and her partner pushed him towards awaiting medical staff.
“Mr.Hollander.” A woman in green scrubs addressed him. “Doctor Nguyen. Mr.Hayes called ahead, we have a room waiting.”
Shane was stunned.
“Ilya.” He said into his phone.
“I had Wyatt call, sweetheart, so I could keep talking to you.” Ilya told him. “Warn them you were coming, so you would not stay in the big room.”
Shane starts crying again, but not out of fear. His husband loves him so much. He takes care of him so well.
They have to move him from the paramedics stretcher to one of the hospitals, but clearly Ilya had Wyatt brief them well, because nobody tries to touch Shane more than necessary.
Viv wishes him well before leaving with her partner, and the medical staff whisk Shane away to a dim room at the back of the space, away from the noise and light.
“Ilya.” Shane says.
“Five minutes, Shane. I am almost there.”
“You’ll come find me?”
“They know I’m coming as well, sweetheart.” Ilya says. Shane’s doctor smiles at him gently.
“We have people at the entrance waiting for him, Mr.Hollander.” She says. “He’ll be brought right to you.”
For the first time in what feels like hours, the knot in Shane’s chest loosens the tiniest bit.
- - -
It gets bad again, fast.
There’s more traffic, and instead of five minutes, it takes Ilya another twenty minutes to get to the hospital.
In that time, Shane’s doctor is called away and a nurse appears he hasn’t seen yet. She’s professional, but to the point of being harsh. She turns the overhead lights on and starts sticking the terrible monitor pads to Shane’s chest after cutting his shirt away without asking.
Shane tries to protest, but his ability to form words escapes him quickly, and the woman pays no attention to Ilya trying to speak to her through the phone.
When she comes at him with a needle for bloodwork, Shane loses it completely and practically falls off the bed trying to get away.
He’s crying again, and he can’t breathe properly. His ribs hurt so much and Ilya isn’t here and he thinks Ilya’s probably talking to him but it all sounds like mush. The nurse grabs his arm and forces it straight, grabbing the needle again.
At that moment, the door flies open, and Shane’s husband is here.
He looks pissed.
Momentarily, Shane’s stupid confusing brain thinks Ilya’s mad at him, but he quickly realizes he’s glaring at the woman about to forcefully stab Shane with a needle.
“Hands off.” Ilya orders, simultaneously hitting a button on his phone and shoving it into his pocket.
“Sir—” The nurse starts, but she’s cut off by Shane’s doctor, who is dimming the lights again.
“Mary, you were informed the room had special protocols.” She says.
“He does not need any special protocols.” The nurse, Mary, almost scoffs. Shane can almost see the steam rising from Ilya’s ears.
“Get out.” He orders.
“Sir, you do not—” She tries.
“You are dismissed, Nurse Bellemare.”
She stares at them for a moment longer, before huffing and storming out of the room.
Ilya takes a deep breath as he watches her leave, before turning back to Shane.
“моя любовь” He sighs, and Shane bursts into tears again.
Ilya is across the room in seconds, standing at Shane’s bedside and gathering him in his arms.
Shane’s husband shushes him, rubbing a hand across his back while the other strokes his hair. Shane clutches at the soft fabric of his hoodie, shivering against the cold hospital air without a shirt on.
He feels Ilya’s hand leave his back, and then it’s back, carefully tucking a soft blanket around Shane. It’s unlike any hospital linens he’s felt before, but Shane doesn’t care. It doesn’t make him want to tear his skin off. He tucks his wet face in Ilya’s neck and lets himself be rocked gently where he sits, even though it makes his ribs ache.
“I’ll send in another nurse, Penny, she’s lovely.” Shane’s doctor says. “If he’s okay with it, she’ll do his bloodwork and get him prepped for an MRI to check on those ribs and ankle. You can stay with him the whole time.”
“Thank you.” Ilya says.
“Of course.” She says. “It’s the least we can do.”
Shane hears footsteps walking away, and the door closing behind her.
“Ilya?” Shane whispers.
“Yes, sweetheart.” Ilya says, and then Shane feels a kiss pressed to the side of his head.
“It hurts.”
“I know.” Ilya says.
“I was so scared.”
“I know.”
“I think I freaked out.”
“You did.”
“I don’t want to try right now.”
“You don’t have to.”
Shane lets himself be rocked for a few more minutes.
“Can I lay down?” He finally asks.
“Of course, моя любовь” Ilya says. He helps Shane lie back on the bed, Shane barely doing any work at all. His husband climbs on carefully after Shane reclines, squeezing himself onto the edge of the bed with messing up any of the monitors. Shane lets himself be tucked right up against his side again as Ilya fixes the blanket to cover him fully.
“Can I sleep?” Shane mumbles, already halfway there. The sound of Ilya’s heart beating is rhythmic and soothing.
“Of course, I will wake you if necessary.”
“Okay.”
“You’re alright, sweetheart.” Ilya tells him again, as he’s drifting off. “I am here.
- - -
Shane has to be woken up to have his blood drawn, but Ilya is allowed to hold him through it. They bring him apple juice after.
He’s awoken again for the MRI, which Ilya can’t stay with him for. It’s another small “moment” but he’s allowed to take Ilya’s hoodie in with him, and they let Ilya talk to him through the microphone the whole time.
Shane still cries through the whole thing, but they’re able to get a good scan despite this, and he’s tucked back into bed with Ilya as soon as it’s over.
His ribs are badly bruised, his ankles badly sprained and he’s covered in a variety of small cuts and bruises. One he hadn’t even noticed on his arm needs a few stitches. He’s got a minor concussion and whiplash, but it could’ve been worse. He’ll need crutches for a few days and will be benched for the foreseeable future, which he’s not pleased about.
The terrible nurse never comes back, and the only people he has to see are Nurse Penny, his doctor and his husband. They determine he doesn’t need to stay overnight, and his discharge is so fast he doesn’t even know it’s happening.
He has to sit in a wheelchair to leave, but he’s been carefully wrangled into Ilya’s hoodie and wrapped in the mysterious blanket. When they make it outside, Bood’s car is waiting right there, and Shane barely has time to blink before his husband is carefully lifting him out of the chair. Wyatt appears from the passenger seat and opens the back door. Ilya carefully deposits Shane in the backseat and then closes the door. Shane doesn’t even have time to whine before the other door is opening and Ilya is climbing in. He scoots into the middle seat, where his legs definitely don’t fit, and helps Shane buckle his seatbelt before his own. Once secure, he carefully tucks Shane into his side as Bood and Wyatt climb back into the front seat and the car is started.
“Home?” Shane mumbles.
“Mhmm” Ilya hums, pressing another kiss to the top of Shane’s head.
He doesn’t have time to panic about being in a vehicle again before he’s asleep, tucked safely in his husband's arms.
- - -
Shane spends the next few weeks getting spoiled rotten by his husband, and also their teammates.
They come home one day to a beautiful new black BMW SUV in their driveway, and Ilya acts like he has no idea where it came from.
It takes Shane a week to sit in the driver’s seat.
It takes him three to actually drive it, with Ilya sitting next to him and murmuring encouragement the whole time.
He can’t say he gets back to normal, because he’s come to realize that's kind of a made up concept.
But he’s better.