Progressions
«And the dreams are still present?»
James fiddled with his hands. It had always helped whenever he was nervous, just occupying his hands, rubbing them and pulling at the skin, but this time it didn’t bring the relief he was looking for. It wasn’t supposed to be painful, but it wasn’t supposed to be this dull either.
Every now and then, he would change it up to fiddling with the armrests of dr. Salgado’s office chair. They were leather, and had this edge sewn into them.
«Well, I’m not sure I would call them dreams…» he said.
He knew he was being nitpicky, but it was an important distinction to him.
«And are they still present every night?» dr. Salgado asked, crossing her legs covered in grey trousers.
They had been over these same questions a million times, but James knew the drill. He just needed to start talking about it, starting with the superficial questions like how often they occur, if he’d wake up from them and in which state. It was the best way to get him talking.
«No. I mostly have dreams, but sometimes they do come.»
His feet were shuffling beneath him, surprisingly enough.
It was over a month since he’d had the accident, and the healing was agonisingly slow. He wished this was like a normal injury, one where he’d have to let it rest for maybe a week, and then start physical therapy to get it back to normal. He wished it was an injury he could participate in, one where he could have some control of the outcome, all relative to how much work he’s willing to put in, which is (spoiler) a lot.
This injury was different.
This time, he couldn’t really do much besides rest and trust his body to do its thing. His nerve damage was obviously getting better, now that he was able to do most of the normal stuff he would have been able to do (with limitations, of course, and that damn neck brace), but he still had issues with feeling. It seemed like the furthest thing away from his neck was the places with the least feeling. It was why he was still advised to use the wheelchair, his feet still gave out on him sometimes.
Although it took some time, he was getting better. Not just physically, but also mentally. The team had decided to drop by on a visit the other day after Sirius had returned to practices, and that meant ripping the band aid off to seeing Evan again.
Seeing his face somewhere other than his memories helped. This time it was happy and warm, covered with smiles and happy expressions, nothing like the terrified face that haunted him. James had noticed a healing cut on his chin, stretching from beside his lip and down to his jaw. He hoped that it had been from when Crouch toppled him, and not from some other fight.
The team was also great morale. When they told him that they all had decided that he should get to pick who was going to fill his role in his absence, his heart warmed. The way they all put it, it wasn’t a matter of honouring their old teammate, getting to pick his successor, but something more like respect. They thought he should get to pick because they wanted him to choose someone he trusted to help keep the ship sailing, warming up his place until his return, hopefully to the Frozen Four.
It wasn’t like he wasn’t surrounded by people having faith in him, looking for every positive, but James could feel that they weren’t as excited for him to get back on the ice. He couldn’t blame them though, they were just scared shitless from the entire situation. Although the Frozen Four was an ambitious goal, it settled something in him that they fully believed he would come back from this in full force.
He was, if James had any say in it.
«Could you tell me about the dreams?» dr. Salgado asked.
James’ face knitted in confusion. «The dreams?»
Dr. Salgado nodded.
It was a new question. Usually, she would immediately jump to asking him questions about the nightmares or memories, see how much she could get him to say.
«Well, they’re mostly just dreams.» he started. The only reason he remembered was because he had started making a dream journal a couple of years back. It was funny, and he and Lily would compare and tell eachother about them. Just a couple of days prior, he’d gotten a text saying ‘I dreamt that your father ran for president and instated the Mean Girls rules under the federal law. He got impeached after wearing a tank top three days in a row on vacation’.
He continued, trying to hold off the specifics. She didn’t have to know he had dreamt about her continuously trying to frame him for murder.
«You know, just stupid things like taking the wrong plane and ending up stuck in space because they can’t land or spider dummies chasing after you through a street market in Prague.»
Dr. Salgado nodded, though she didn’t take any notes. James hadn’t minded his former therapist doing so, but he found it easier opening up when she was just listening, not drawing any conclusions before she’d heard everything he had to say.
«Sometimes though, they are memories, but not exactly the bad kind.»
This looked like it interested her. «Did you usually dream about memories before the injury?»
He took some moments to think. Questions like these were hard because he wouldn’t have even thought to consider them if she hadn’t asked.
«I guess.» he said, but sounded unsure.
«Tell me about them.»
«Mostly it just starts as a memory. I’m in like a first person point of view of my younger self, acting like I would have, but I’m thinking like my current self. It makes for a weird narration.»
He hadn’t ever talked about those dreams with people because they weren’t important, nor funny. They were just dreams.
«At first it’s exactly like I remember it, but then there’s always something that’s changing. Either I take another turn, or one of the other people does something different, but either way, I change the memory.
«Then, the changes start to morph the memory into something different, like either another memory, usually a newer one, or just something happening in my current life. I remember after Regionals during my freshman year, I started dreaming that I was pulled out of the second period by my professor because of an assignment I had forgotten to turn in, although that was weeks later.»
Dr. Salgado nodded again. «Is that what you usually dream of? Hockey?»
James chewed his bottom lip. «Well I dream about it often, though I’m not so sure if it’s always just because it’s hockey or just because so many of my memories involve it somehow.»
«What makes you not so sure?» she asked.
«Because I’m always focused on something, like my brain is trying to explain it to me. The last year, the memories has mostly been from England, and though it’s the people that’s important, hockey has just always been such a big part of my life that it’s usually involved.»
«What do you think your brain is trying to explain to you?»
James had to think about it. Mostly, he could never understand the morale of the story, it was just things happening.
«I don’t know, actually, but it’s just that I know it’s something. It’s always a situation I feel like I could compare with a current one. A lot of the memories are just me, my best friend and his little brother doing things because they were who I spent most of my time with. I never know if it’s them I should be focused on, or what they’re doing.»
She pursed her lips and nodded again. «And do these memories also transform during the dream?»
James swallowed. «Well, they always do, it’s never just a memory. Sometimes it’s stuff I make completely up, like one of us getting injured or something, but other times it sort of bleeds into another memory.
«In one of the dreams, for example, it was just Me, Reg, and Sirius climbing around in trees. I had to help Regulus cross over two branches because I went right before him, and he was still just a little too short to reach. After getting him past, I slipped and fell. I don’t think that actually happened, but I don’t think it’s the point either.
«They both came running down while I was stuck motionless on the ground. They were yelling my name, but their voices chanced. Then I realised it was just a replay from the injury, but more of a parallel of it, like I was dreaming about it without actually dreaming about it.»
Dr. Salgado smiled at this. «And this is usually your nightmares?» she asked.
And damn if that didn’t steal James’ breath away. He’d actually opened up about it, like properly opened up.
«Yeah.» he croaked, nodding and looking away from her.
For a few moments, it was just silence. James tried not to think about the memories, but mentioning them felt like opening up the drain of a bathtub. They flooded his head.
«Have you thought that maybe these nightmares are a way for your brain to deal with the trauma of the injury without facing them head on?»
Damn, was all James could think. He thought he was supposed to be smart, be in touch with his feelings and needs, but that possibility hadn’t even crossed his mind. Maybe the memory itself was too hard to deal with, so it manifested in other memories because you couldn’t just sweep something like that under the rug.
«I… I guess?» he answered.
Dr. Salgado looked much too pleased with herself. «I think that will be enough for today. Until next time, I want you to really try and dig into these memories, and properly think them through.»
Was this what real progress looked like?
A part of him wanted to continue to talk now that they’re finally getting somewhere, but he knew why healing was a long process. You needed to take it in baby steps. Most likely, you would have both bigger and smaller ‘victories’, but you would also have some steps back. If he went too fast with this, it might do him more harm than good.
It was a slow process, but he was making his way through the book.
It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy it, that it was hard for him to get through, but he just took his sweet time with it. Regulus’ observations kickstarted a few of his own, and he would build upon them on ripped paper sheets he would stick between the pages. His handwriting didn’t look nearly as put together as his, but he did put in an effort to make it passable.
Usually, the things Regulus wrote would instantly click in his mind, like he just understood exactly what he had meant, like he had just put words to something James’ thoughts was already working their way towards on their own. He was not only impressed with Regulus’ analysis, but also in agreement.
That was until one of them put his head in a spin.
He’d reached a part where Patroclus was observing Achilles from a far, with confusing thoughts in his head. James' immediate reaction to Patroclus’ admiration mixed with slight anger towards Achilles as just a boy experiencing a crush. It could be infuriating as hell when your body wasn’t quite listening to your head, the annoyed feeling you got when somebody could do the absolute bare minimum, but you were still going to get butterflies and a giddy feeling.
Jealousy is but an arm’s length away from love.
It had taken him a few moments to even understand what it meant. James wasn’t used to this delicate language that Regulus used, he mostly heard stuff like “That line’s looser than your mother!” or the rough and straightforward language of ancient sources. Regulus was more careful with the words, like every sentence was going to be the one he was remembered for.
When he did understand it, he still wasn’t too sure if he even had. Jealousy was almost the same as love? He could see where the argument came from, that one could easily confuse love for jealousy, with all the admiration both of them entailed.
James just happened to disagree.
Jealousy was this chafing feeling that wore you thin, made you compare yourself with the subject, build up resentment and anger towards them. Love was completely different. It was light, but even when it was not, it was warm and round, waking up the good feelings. Love wasn’t resenting someone else's success, it was feeling happy about it like it was your own.
He tore another piece away from the poor paper he had victimised for this. It had just happened to lie on his desk when he’d slumped down, and now it would forever be tainted with James’ attempt at being smart with a book.
Or maybe he’s just slightly angry and in love. The two don't have to have a correlation.
He wasn’t as good with words as Regulus was, but he did his best. He didn’t exactly know whether or not he was supposed to even be responding to those things, but at least Regulus could just throw the sheets of paper away if he didn’t want them there. He couldn’t just hand him a book he’d written in without James getting curious.
Multiple times, he would contemplate calling him. He’d set this internal goal for himself to not call him until he’d finished the book, but it was getting harder. He had questions ranging from what this one thing meant to if he’d missed or chosen not to mention Patroclus’ excessive overthinking. It just felt important to him.
No matter how often the contact was opened, the green button was never pressed. He didn’t even know why he was being so weird about it either. Their last phone call clearly settled his internal discussion about whether the two of them were even friends, but he still hesitated.
Maybe Patroclus wasn’t the only overthinker.
He didn’t know what the hell he was doing anymore, didn’t know why he was doing this. James didn’t go around hiding things from people, but that was exactly what he was doing. He could try every excuse in the book, but the fact were that he hid the book in his desk drawers where Sirius wouldn’t be able to find it whenever he was home.
Maybe this was why his dreams kept involving the Black brothers. He just felt immeasurably guilty, and this was his head dealing with it. Maybe it didn’t have anything to do with the injury, just James’ stupidity.
He could have mentioned it to dr. Salgado, but he already knew that wouldn’t be happening. Talking to her would mean answering questions he didn’t know the answer to, and probably didn’t want to either. Why would this make him feel guilty? Was he not just helping Sirius connect with his brother again by doing it first himself?
James didn’t even know, but he did know that whatever the answers were, they were selfish. They were not the kind of answers he would feel proud to share with anybody.
No, he was 100% sure that right now, he did not need to talk to Regulus. He would just have to make do with some past version of him written out in the pages of a book.
Evan
Sirius had been back for weeks, but everything still felt wrong and different.
He’d thought that it was just the team playing all weird and stuff, that they just needed an alternate in place. Frank hadn’t been much of a captain since falling over the deep end with that journalist student of his, so the alternate was probably the closest thing they had to a real leader, beside Coach.
James had been great at the job, so when he had said Sirius would take the spot until he was back, he thought things would go back to normal. That the team would stop having this shadow looming over them, that his line would start gelling again.
When it didn’t, Evan was forced to face some harsh realities, one being that he was the issue.
For one, he couldn’t quite ignore the pain that continuously shot up from his ankles, setting his calves on fire. With everything happening, both Pomfrey and Remus had sort of forgotten about him. Well, Remus was the one in charge of him, but he was busy spending the entire practice watching over Sirius like a hawk.
At first, it had relieved him. He could keep doing his thing while praying as he’d never prayed before that the pain would pass, but he was starting to realise that God wasn’t just out here throwing miracles about.
The second one was a bit more psychological than he would have liked to get into, so he just blamed his ankles. Everything seemed to be their fault these days.
“Rose, Jackson, Bal!” Coach yelled out. “Get over here!”
Reluctantly, the three of them scared over to where Coach was waiting by the boards. He was as usual dressed as your standard glorified gym teacher with a whistle and a school jacket, but he somehow managed to make them look cool. Unlike his daughter, his hair completely lacked colour, making it all grey and dull.
“What the fuck are you doing out there?” he asked. None of them answered.
Since the game, they had all been completely off, barely even communicating out there. For being the third line, they had all been exceptional together. Their last season had been amazing, and they’d almost even made it to the Frozen four, but this time, things were looking different. It wasn’t even just their line struggling, but everyone, pulling in loss after loss since losing James.
But they had maybe sucked just a bit more than the rest.
“You’re a disaster out there. What happened to the third line I was boasting about to the coach over at Hufflepuff?”
Both Jackson and Bal kept their mouth’s shut, as usual. They had the same issue at the beginning of the season, but nothing that couldn’t be fixed with some good ol’ communication.
Apparently it was only a temporary solution.
“Jackson, Bal, you two have to stop relying on Rose to pull your weight and work together,” he instructed. At least Evan could relax with the knowledge that Coach thought he was the one trying to make it work. Maybe it wasn’t all Evan’s fault after all.
“I swear I’m going to give both of your line spots away to the transfers if you don’t pull yourself together.”
That caught all three of their attention. “Transfers?” Bal asked. “As in plural?”
“Twins.” Coach clarified.
Evan’s eyebrows shot up. He’d played against a set of twins before, and they had been absolute beasts. It was like they had a telepathic connection, just knowing exactly where each other were on the ice at all times. James and Sirius wouldn’t have even been able to keep up.
“Now get back there before I put you on equipment duty.”
They tried some plays together, and although Jackson and Bal seemingly tried working together, they still kind of sucked. They would overshoot the puck, undershoot it, misunderstand each other and just generally create havoc.
It didn’t take long for Evan to retreat in the showers that time. He said he had a headache, but the truth was just that he wanted to get home before anyone could see him limp around.
The cold shower only helped momentarily, but the pain was back the very second he stepped out.
Wrapping his towel around himself, he stepped back into the locker room only to nearly piss himself.
“Jesus Christ!” he yelled, jumping back from where a Remus was leaning against one of the cubbies. “What the… what on earth, Remus?”
The PT laughed at his reaction. “Sorry, didn’t know you were so jumpy.”
Evan scowled at him. “I’m not jumpy.”
Remus’ eyebrows raised, unimpressed. “Yeah, I can see that.” He gestured to how evan was still standing like he might take off running at any minute.
“What do you want?” he asked instead. Remus had no business knowing whether or not he was jumpy. That was between a man and his God.
Remus’ grin melted off his face, and Evan just knew what was about to come out of that mouth.
“I swear, it’s actually a headache this time.” he tried saying, though he didn’t know if his light tone was really selling it.
Remus looked sceptical, though he always looked like that to some degree. It was hard being that much around Sirius without always being a little concerned and sceptical. “You sure?” he asked.
Evan couldn’t believe his ears. Had he actually done it? Had he actually convinced Remus that he wasn’t lying?
“Yep.” he said witch a much to pleased grin on his face.
Then Remus had to go and ruin it all. “Ok.” he said.
“Ok?” Evan asked, confused.
“Yeah.” the older boy responded.
Evan watched him carefully. The conversation was done, yet he didn’t make a single move to leave. Evan looked at him awkwardly. He was becoming increasingly aware of how he was only wearing a towel because of the goosebumps caused by the cold. He wanted to get to his cubby at the other side of Remus and get in his warm and nice clothes, but that would mean walking in front of him, and he wasn’t sure he was going to be able to do it without…
“Oh, you bastard.” he groaned when realisation dawned on him.
“Go on,” Remus urged. “Just walk over if everything’s so fine.”
Evan fixed him the meanest stare he could possibly muster. “You know, we have a special word for people like you in Sweden.”
Remus pushed off the cubby. “You can tell me all about it when I check you.”
Much to Evan’s displeasure, he was back in Pomfrey’s office. She had to leave early, so he had a one day grace period until she started giving him smack for trying to hide the pain.
“I don’t get you jocks, why wouldn’t you just tell me?” Remus asked as he lightly touched Evan’s sore and inflamed ankles. He wouldn’t have been surprised if they were swollen as well.
“Maybe because you keep threatening to keep me away from games?” he suggested.
Remus looked up at him like he was the most annoying thing he’d seen in forever. “And don’t you think that maybe I’m doing it so that you don’t permanently fuck them up?”
Evan rolled his eyes even though he had a point. He knew better than to be acting like this.
Remus snorted. “You know, I don’t get why people keep comparing you to James,” he said.
He let a snort escape. “Why? Because he wouldn’t have been irresponsible enough to let it get this bad? He wouldn’t have beat Crouch bloody?”
Remus shifted his fingers to feel by his achilles tendon, and he had to bite his tongue to keep from showing the pain, because why start being honest now?
“I won’t deny any of those things to be true, but I was just talking in general.” he said.
“Enlighten me.”
“I don’t know, actually.” Was Remus’ response. Evan only grew more curious. “You’re just very different, just the way you talk and everything.”
Evan guessed that had to be true. James was more reserved with his words, a kind of a quality over quantity kind of guy (though that was just comparatively, he was definitely a talker), while Evan just liked to babble. People would tell him that it was narcissistic how much he loved his own voice. “Well yeah, he’s british.”
That made Remus chuckle. “You kind of sound British sometimes when you talk.”
Evan gasped. “You take that back.” When he was taught English back in the first grade, he remembered his teacher speaking british-english. Actually, that was what he was taught until high school when he’d forced himself into an American accent. It was a Scandinavian thing, making fun of people for speaking british. You didn’t want to be that kid.
Remus held up his hands like he was surrendering. “I said sometimes.”
“Best for you.”
“Also, James is way less threatening.”
“Get back to work or something, I don't have all day.”
Apparently, Remus took that to heart. When he got back to his ankles, he pressed just a bit to hard in the wrong spot, and Evan let out a yelp.
“Å, helvet…” he started under himself, but managed to cut himself off before the profanity was let out into the world.
Remus’ fingers were quick to pull away. “Jesus, Evan, I’m sorry.”
He tried shooting him a grin through gritted teeth, but he might have just looked cannibalistic. “No worries, just a little sore…”
“Don’t even try it, I’m calling Pomfrey.”