Chapter Text
Sochi was unexpectedly beautiful, and unexpectedly warm. Shane wanted to tug off his jacket, the fleece lining making him sweat under the sun as couples around him fanned themselves with makeshift programs and tilted their heads away from the sun until each new session started and they were forced to turn back towards the glare. Shane sat alone, the red maple leaves on his jacket standing out against the sea of dark blues and greens, the respective country colors of the finalists.
Skiing was an interesting sport. Shane liked it better than snowboarding, which he had watched yesterday. He was used to using his feet separately as assets, rather than having them strapped to one board, and he liked watching the athletes use the ski poles to guide their speed and path - kind of like his hockey stick, an extension of his arm.
He hadn’t asked anyone to come with him today. Yesterday he had joined his teammates and some of the American hockey team members as they watched snowboarding, but it had been loud and overwhelming. Too much shouting, too many accents, too many languages for Shane to follow, and every time he was asked a question, he realized he hadn’t been following the conversation and was forced to have them repeat themselves.
So he came alone today. He saw Scott Hunter in the crowd and had waved, but walked the opposite direction when Scott gestured for him to join his large group. Shane hid in the bathroom for too long, and only emerged when the first horn blared, finding a spot in the rafters away from anyone who spoke English.
It was nice to be alone, but also so damn hot. Shane wondered if he’d lose his seat if he went to go find water. But when he glanced around, no one made eye contact, and he didn’t feel like asking in broken phrases to ask someone to save it for him. Shane suffered through a few more rounds, admiring the speed of the specks of color flying down the mountainside, before he couldn’t stand it anymore. He apologized in mangled Russian as he squeezed past them, the shade of the food and beverage stands a sharp relief. He shook out his sweater and felt the breeze against his flushed skin. Yeah, this was much better.
The entrance to the stands was pressed against the forest, like the architects had tried to squeeze out every available surface before environmentalists could complain about damage to wildlife, and Shane found himself mesmerized by the cool air that filtered toward him from the heavy branches. God, it looked wonderful, like something out of a fantasy book. Shane didn’t watch too many movies or read too many books, especially when they were unrelated to hockey, but this is what he imagined when he thought of imaginary worlds.
He knew it was a bad idea, but Shane wanted to see more.
His water bottle hung loosely from his fingertips as he walked through the line of trees, watching his step as the ancient roots jutted from the dirt. Birds sang overhead, and the leaves rustled along with them, a familiar soundtrack. It sounded like his parents’ cabin, how he imagined his own would sound like once construction was finished. Shane closed his eyes, turning his head towards the skies, hidden by the soft canopy of leaves, and let the cool breeze calm him. This was what those meditation tapes wished they could replicate.
Shane was so lost in the moment he almost didn’t realize the birds had stopped chirping.
His eyes shot open when the realization hit him. That was never a good sign, and he was in the woods of a foreign country, one where he knew next to nothing about the wildlife and the predators and -
Snap.
“Oh shit,” Shane hissed, stumbling backwards before remembering how bad a reaction that could be to the wrong animal. He stood still, his water bottle held aloft as his only weapon, and waited.
He saw the eyes first, as green as the forest around them. They flashed through the foliage, staring right at Shane. His massive body followed - more bear than wolf, Shane’s mind frantically realized. What the fuck was Russia feeding these things? Shane was by no means short, yet he felt so incredibly small as the wolf pushed through the branches, its heavy paws thudding into the dirt audibly. Shane couldn’t remember if he was supposed to look away or stare them in the eyes - probably not the second option, right? - but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from those captivating green eyes narrowed in his direction.
“Please don’t hurt me,” he breathed out, and the wolf just stared at him. This was it - Shane Hollander, twenty-three year old Canadian hockey player, recent Olympic silver medalist, once Rookie of the Year recipient, was going to die from a disgustingly graphic wolf bite in the middle of the Russian forest like a goddamn idiot.
He wondered if anyone would find him, and if there would even be a body to send back to his parents.
“Oh god,” he gasped, feeling the onset of a panic attack. The wolf took a step forward and Shane winced for impact, but then he saw it. The wolf stepped gingerly and then whined, its head dropping to reach towards its back leg. The white fur was matted against its stomach, dark with what Shane had originally thought was dirt.
“Oh god,” Shane repeated, but this time it was tinged with horror. Not for himself, but for the creature standing before him hurt. “I don’t… what do I do?”
The wolf looked back at him, its eyes narrowing. “I mean, can I help you?” Shane asked, feeling stupid as he failed to remember any sort of training on this in that one wildlife camp week he participated in as a child, before hockey became his every reason to breathe. Should he call Animal Control? What was Animal Control in Russia even like? Would they come careening through the forest with tranquilizers and nets, or worse, guns? “Fuck, I doubt I even have service,” he muttered in frustration. “This is just nature, right? If you weren’t hurt, you’d probably have killed me by now, so I should just run while I can.”
Shane glanced up to find the wolf looking at him still, its head cocked. It was favoring its back leg, standing with the paw aloft as blood dripped down onto the dirt floor. Shane felt guilt pool in his stomach, and he knew he was making the stupidest decision in the goddamn world, but he knelt down slowly, carefully, until he was below eye-level with the terrifyingly large creature. “Can I look at it?” he asked, and the wolf didn’t move.
Of course it didn’t. Wolves don’t understand English -
The wolf took a step forward, and Shane couldn’t hold in his squeak of horror. The wolf stopped moving, his eyes locked on Shane. “Please don’t eat me,” Shane pleaded, and the wolf huffed. God, it was laughing at him, wasn’t it? Stupid Canadian human, stepping into foreign forests and kneeling down in front of wolves, begging for his life? Shane blushed against his will as the wolf stared at him. “Sorry, this is my first time,” he said, gesturing between them with his free hand. “You know, meeting a wolf.”
The wolf looked unimpressed. Perhaps Russians were introduced to creatures with big teeth at a young age.
“Maybe I can help you,” Shane repeated slowly. “If you promise not to eat me.”
With a slow blink, the wolf bent its head again, and Shane wondered if this was actually happening, or if he’d fallen into one of those storybooks he’d stopped reading when he was a pre-teen, the ones where creatures talked and humans didn’t meet their demise due to sheer stupidity. The wolf padded closer to him, staying just out of reach as it watched Shane. “I can clean it,” Shane offered, holding up the water bottle. “I’m sure that’ll help, right?”
It sounded right. When Shane got scraped up, cleaning it was first order of business. The wolf was thinking about it, or maybe it was thinking of which part of Shane would be tastiest, because it paused in front of him, its breath coming in sharp pants and making Shane’s outstretched hand become moist. Shane was close enough he could touch, could reach out his pinky and see if the fur was as soft as it looked, but instead he held his breath.
And then the wolf gave a short, jerky nod, and fell to an uncomfortable crouch in front of him. “Fuck,” Shane breathed out in awe. Its stomach fell and rose with each breath, the white fur in stark contrast to the matted bloody fur near its back leg, and Shane couldn’t help but admire how dog-like it was now that it wasn’t so terrifyingly large. Its tail thudded against the ground, and its head arched up to watch as Shane slowly uncapped the water bottle.
“This might hurt,” he warned, and then slowly poured the water over the wound.
The wolf cried out, and Shane jerked back immediately. It snapped its teeth at the ground, eyes furrowing up in pain, and Shane began apologizing immediately. “I’m sorry, I know it hurts, I’m so fucking sorry,” he said shakily, his free hand petting over the wolf’s soft neck. “Please don’t move, I’m almost done.”
He wished he hadn’t been so greedy with the water earlier, because the bottle had only been half-full when he started pouring it, and now it didn’t seem like enough. The fur ran dark red before turning watery-pink as he finished, and Shane could see the wound now, a gash against its belly that seemed shallow. “It’s not so bad,” he breathed out in relief, before glancing down at the wolf apologetically. “I mean, I’m sure it hurts loads, but it could’ve been a lot worse.”
He glanced back down, unsure what to do now. “If I had a first aid kit, maybe I could stitch it shut,” he mumbled. Shane’s hand was still absentmindedly petting over the wolf’s soft fur, and he could feel each grumble of breath beneath his fingertips, his hand rising and falling gently. “I could go find one,” he offered, and the wolf picked up its head. “I’ll come back!” Shane reassured it quickly, and the wolf’s eyes narrowed. “I promise, I just… I’m not a medic, you know? I’m not sure what to do next, but I’m pretty sure one of those first aid kits will have something helpful.”
He smiled weakly at the wolf, trying to show as much sincerity in his eyes as possible. “I’ll be right back,” he said, and then stood up slowly. The wolf huffed as it watched him move, and then it laid its head back down. “Before you know it,” Shane reiterated, and then turned on his heel.
He picked up a rock and marked his path back, being a little too liberal with the little marks he made against the soft ground as he followed the faint sound of the crowd. The stadium came out of nowhere - one step through dense foliage and bam, a blinding facade of white plaster. Shane followed the universal first aid icon arrows and stepped into the quiet room a little too hastily. Everyone glanced up in concern.
“Hi,” he said awkwardly, slipping the rock he’d forgotten to drop in his pocket. “I need a first aid kit.”
“Did you hurt yourself?” Someone asked, standing up to glance him over.
“Oh, not for me! Um… my friend nicked their leg, just need to clean out the wound and maybe use some of those suture band-aids?” Oh no, now they looked alarmed. Shane took a step back, smiling a bit too forcefully. “Actually, this will do!” He picked up one of the pre-packaged first aid kits by the door. “It’s not that bad, swear!”
This kit had a suture band-aid in it, Shane knew from prior experience when a teammate took a nasty gash to his thigh. But they didn’t need to know he knew that. He ignored their attempts to call after him as he rushed back towards the woods, suddenly worried about finding his way back. Would it even be possible?
Shane sighed in relief when he found the first marker against a familiar tree. “Please still be there,” he muttered, tracing the line of imprints he had made against the wet earth. He felt stupid for wishing it, felt even stupider for wandering back into an unknown forest to potentially come face-to-face again with a predator, but there was something important about this. Shane didn’t know what, but he felt like he had to at least try.
The wolf was right where he left it, breathing heavily as it watched Shane approach. “I don’t know if this will work,” he said quickly, kneeling down to tug open the kit. “But it doesn’t hurt to try.”
He picked up the alcohol wipe and winced. “Well, this might hurt.”
The wolf gazed at him, and then sighed and looked upwards, in a strangely human depiction of annoyed acceptance. Shane watched it for a second, taken aback by how natural the gesture had seemed, and then went to work. He peeled open the alcohol wipe packet with his teeth while he held the suture bandaid aloft. Did wolves even need an alcohol wipe? Was he actually doing more harm by introducing human-needed antiseptic to a wolf?
It was too late. Shane wiped it over the wound, watching as it came back with dark spots. Most of the blood seemed to have stopped pouring out, which was definitely a good sign. He didn’t know if the bandaid would be enough, but he bit his lip as he tugged the packaging open and gently pushed back the wolf’s fur. “I’m sorry I couldn’t find stitches,” he said as a final (useless) comment, and peeled the bandage tight over the wound, tugging the skin back together.
“There,” he said proudly, sitting back on his haunches. The wolf looked at him, then at the bandage, and then back at him. “Look, it’s not pretty,” Shane said defensively, and the wolf rolled its eyes. What was with this one? Had Shane happened to stumble upon some radioactive human who could transform into a wolf? He frowned at it. “It’s better than it was before,” he said.
The wolf sighed and remained on the ground, and Shane fell back against a tree trunk with a grumble. “Try to help a - what are you, a guy or girl?” He peeked a glance between its legs before pulling back with a blush. It reminded him too much of the locker room, when he tried so hard to ignore the instinct to check out his teammates. “Try to help a guy,” he mumbled, and the wolf huffed out some sort of wolf-like laugh.
“Is your home nearby?” Shane asked, staring through the trees. “How far did you manage to get?”
No response, but he wasn’t exactly expecting one. However, the wolf did suddenly move, and Shane held back a gasp as it stumbled to its feet, turning to Shane once it was stationary. “Is it a good idea to move so soon?” Shane whispered, scrambling back against the tree trunk. He had nowhere to go, no chance of escape if the wolf surged forward.
It took a step, and then another, and Shane held his breath and squeezed his eyes shut as the wolf leaned down. Shane couldn’t look at its teeth, couldn’t allow that to be the last thing he saw before -
Shane felt something wet touch his neck, and his eyes shot open.
Nope, he was definitely seeing things correctly, even though his brain couldn’t translate why the wolf was licking him. “Oh my god,” he breathed out, eye to eye with the magnificent creature. “Are you just, like… a big dog?”
The wolf grunted and continued licking him, pushing between Shane’s legs until they were spread apart around its magnificent hind. It sat on its haunches, hot breath fanning over Shane’s jacket, his snout pushing into his collar and burrowing against his shoulder. “Jesus,” Shane muttered, tentatively patting the wolf’s head and receiving a lick in return. “You’re welcome, I guess.”
They stayed in this position for at least thirty minutes, until Shane couldn’t stand the trunk digging into his spine and the roots pressing uncomfortably against his thighs. “I gotta get going,” he sighed, rubbing down the wolf’s spine and feeling it rumble against him. “Seriously, someone is going to notice I’ve gone missing.”
Or maybe not - Shane had waved everyone off with vague excuses that morning, and it wasn’t like he still had a game to play. He’d already begrudgingly congratulated Scott on his gold medal, and well… silver wasn’t what Shane had wanted, but it was pretty fucking good. All that was left was to enjoy a couple more days and then the closing ceremonies, and then he’d be on a flight back home to worse weather.
“Come on, big guy,” Shane laughed when the wolf snuggled closer. “You probably have a family to get home to, right? Go and tell them you survived, that a kind human saved you.”
The wolf huffed, but pulled back, its bright green eyes watchful as Shane slowly shook the sleep from his legs and stood up. “You take care of yourself, alright?” Shane said, suddenly wishing he didn’t have to leave. And not just now, but the thought drifted towards forever, this wild idea of living beside this wolf in this magnificent forest like some sort of grown-up Mowgli. “I hope…”
To what, ‘see you again’? Shane shook his head and smiled. “I hope I did a good job,” he said, pointing to the bandaged wound. “I hope you don’t get hurt again.”
The wolf watched him inch back, never turning because the animal was still a predator and you weren’t supposed to turn your back on predators, and then Shane couldn’t see him through the leaves. The wolf disappeared as the forest swallowed him up again, and Shane trudged back through the trees carefully, his mind still in that clearing with the wolf pressed against him.
Shane dreamt of the wolf that night, green eyes watching him through shadowed branches, lips parted over sharp teeth.
—
Two weeks after the team returned to Montreal for practice, Shane’s coach paused their drills. “We have a new member of our team,” he said, and everyone began to speak at once.
“This late?” Hayden asked incredulously, and Shane turned back to their coach for confirmation. He shrugged, but gave no further details.
“Welcome to the team, Rozanov,” Coach said, gesturing for the man standing behind him to come forward. Shane stared at the man’s golden curls and high cheekbones, cupid’s bow dusky pink lips set in a firm line, and those eyes. Piercing green and staring right at Shane.
Shane looked down quickly, the eye contact too intense to hold. It wasn’t a good look, not when he was the captain and was supposed to welcome new teammates. He forced himself to look back up and smile.
It wasn’t returned. Rozanov just continued to stare, shoulders set back like an army stance, even as he lazily held a practice stick in his hand. “Welcome,” Shane managed to choke out. “We look forward to playing with you.”
“Really?” Rozanov asked, his voice surprisingly deep and thick from an accent Shane had become all-too familiar with this past month in Russia. “You want to play with me, Hollander?”
Shane forced out a laugh as Hayden bristled beside him, already defensive. “Sure, if you’re any good,” he said back, trying his hardest to keep Rozanov’s gaze. He had been playing this game his entire life, he was used to some weak attempts at trash-talk and machismo.
“Oh, I am good,” Rozanov grinned, his smile as sharp as his unnerving stare. “This will be fun, yes?”
“Yeah,” Shane mumbled, chickening out and turning back to his team so he didn’t have to keep holding Rozanov’s gaze. “Come on, let’s get back to work.”
He felt the weight of Rozanov’s eyes on him the entire practice. “Weird guy,” Hayden whispered too loudly as they unloaded their gear and made for the showers.
“Be nice,” Shane muttered back, glancing around to see who might have heard. Rozanov was too far away, multiple bulky bodies between them, but Shane felt his heart stutter when their gaze caught again. It was like Rozanov hadn’t looked away, not since he stepped onto the ice.
It was unnerving. Shane turned away from Rozanov again, and had the strange feeling he was turning his back on a predator.