Work Text:
2016.
The Boston Bruins had a home game against the Montréal Canadiens tonight. Ilya sat at home on the couch scrolling on Twitter. He didn’t need to leave for another hour. His phone buzzed from a text.
Cliff Marleau: LMAO some idiot bus just got storrowed
Attached was a link to a tweet. “Just now: a coach bus has become wedged under a bridge on Storrow Drive.” Ilya clicked on the video. A man was videoing the bus approaching the bridge, narrating in a thick Boston accent. “This fuckin moron’s driving a bus on Storrow!” Another man laughed off camera. “Oh! Oh it’s coming in! Oh my god!” The bus crashed into the bridge with a crunch, its roof crumpling as it screeched to a stop. “Ohh!” The men in the video were cracking up, the camera shakily zooming in on the damage.
Ilya chuckled. One of Boston’s many charms. On Twitter, people were posting pictures and videos from their cars behind the bus. Another video showed the doors opening and a group of people piling out, awkwardly jogging to the side of the road. Wait. They looked familiar. He zoomed in on one of the men, the last one off the bus. Holy shit. In grainy, shaky video, captured like footage of bigfoot, was Shane Hollander. He’d know that serious, sweet face anywhere.
Ilya burst out laughing, sending it to Marleau. “IT’S THE FUCKING CANADIENS BUS”
Cliff Marleau: NO FUCKING WAY
The group chat for the whole Bruins team buzzed.
Cliff Marleau: (Sent An Attachment) THE FUCKING CANADIENS BUS GOT STORROWED
Noel Acciari: NO WAY
Tommy Cross: HAHAHAHA
Ilya’s phone was blowing up, players swapping pictures, videos, and the just-breaking news articles on the crash and the team. Maybe they wouldn’t make it to the game tonight. Shane was probably freaking out. He could imagine that look in his eyes when he was focused or panicked, his adorable furrowed brow.
He should call him. Why not? If he picked up it would be hilarious, not to mention a great excuse to talk to Shane more outside of their rendezvous. If he was busy he could just decline the call and they could talk about it later.
Ilya scrolled to Jane in his contacts and hit call.
20 minutes earlier
Shane sat towards the front of the Montréal Canadiens team bus as it drove down the highway in Boston. They had a game against the Bruins tonight at TD Garden. He was looking over what he was going to say to the press, before and after the game, win or lose. It was the same as always, some generic platitudes about fighting their hardest and working together even through tough times.
He glanced out the window for a moment, watching the Charles River go by. Red and white boats floated off in the distance, manned by squads of rowing athletes. Joggers ran through the park that bordered the highway. Historic brick buildings lined the other side of the river. Through the bus’ windows across the aisle, towering glass skyscrapers grew larger on the horizon as they drove closer into the heart of the city.
Shane let out a sigh, mentally fortifying himself for the night ahead, both the game and seeing Ilya. The thought of being in his arms again sent a wave of calm through Shane, closing his eyes.
His moment of brief tranquility was halted by a sudden loud crash. He heard metal grinding and crunching above his head. He was thrown forward out of his seat from the sudden stop, and heard his teammates around him yelling as they all were knocked to the floor.
Shane got to his feet, looking back at the rest of the bus. “Is everyone okay? Nobody’s hurt?” he yelled. People murmured back “yeahs,” disoriented but unscathed. The bus was now stationary, creaking dangerously.
“What the FUCK was that?” exclaimed JJ, who was standing across from Shane. Shane looked out the window, where he could hear cars honking. They were still on the road, but a shadow hung over the front of the bus. They were halfway under a bridge, stopped in the middle of the highway. Shane felt a slight breeze through his hair that he hadn’t felt during the ride. He looked up at the bus ceiling and to his horror, saw a hole of jagged metal above the door. Other parts of the ceiling were crumpled and damaged. The carnage was confined just to the front of the bus, but there was no way it was safe to stay here.
“Hey! Ok everybody listen! We gotta get off, it’s not safe to be on here,” Shane yelled. “There’s a sidewalk close by, and some stairs going to the main street. Once we’re up there and out of the road, I’ll call Coach Therrien and try to sort this out.”
Shane motioned for the bus driver to open the doors and ushered him out first, in an attempt to shield him from his teams’ ire. The last thing he needed was some kind of fight breaking out. He poked his head out of the bus and waved at the oncoming cars, all still honking up a storm. He gestured for them to stop, pointing at himself and the sidewalk. “Come on, we gotta be fast about this, go!” Shane pushed his teammates out the door until the last one was out and followed them across the road to the side.
As they made their way up the stairs to the nearby T stop, Shane looked back at the accident, and couldn’t believe what he saw. The bus was wedged under a bridge, too tall to drive underneath. The roof was torn off at the front. Part of the bridge was scratched and coming apart a little at the point of impact. “Fuck me, man,” Shane sighed before starting up the stairs.
Now on the sidewalk of the bridge they’d crashed into, Shane saw a large brick building with a white tower ahead on the other side, where some of the team was already headed.
A massive green statue of a T-Rex guarded the building. This must be the Museum of Science. Some players were taking selfies with the dinosaur. “Just what we fucking need today, huh,” Hayden said, slapping him on the shoulder. “I hate this city,” Shane said, exhausted.
“I think I hit my head on the seat in the crash,” Hayden continued. “Good thing there’s nothing in there to get damaged!” yelled JJ, angling his phone to get a picture with the T-Rex.
“I’ll call Therrien,” Shane said, taking out his phone and dialing. He picked up immediately. “Shane! You guys ok? I saw it on the news.”
“Yeah, we’re all fine, just caught off guard,” Shane said. “The bus is still down there, we’re off the road waiting at the Museum of Science.”
“I’ll call Marc, then I’ll get you up to speed,” said Therrien. “Glad you’re all ok.” He hung up.
Shane put his hands in his pockets and looked back at his team. There were still hours until the game, but he worried this could throw them off. His stream of thoughts was interrupted by his phone buzzing. To his shock, his screen read Lily. Why the fuck was Rozanov calling him? They never called. Shane looked nervously at his teammates in the distance. They were still preoccupied with calling friends and family members and taking pictures of the crash. Walking away, he picked up the call.
“You got fucking storrowed?” Ilya laughed. “Why are you calling me?” Shane whispered through gritted teeth. “Hollander, relax. I’m at home, no one’s around,” Ilya said. “You are ok, yes?”
“Yes, I’m fine. How do you even know about this?”
“You are all over Twitter. Here, look.”
Shane’s phone buzzed a moment later. Ilya had sent an article about the crash, and photos and videos people had tweeted, including of him evacuating the bus. Hockey fans had identified them and were laughing at their expense.
“I really hate this city.”
“I can’t believe you got storrowed!” Ilya said. Shane could hear his smile through the phone.
“You keep saying that word 'storrowed,' what does that mean?”
“Storrowing is when idiot college students from out of town rent a moving truck and drive it down Storrow Drive because they don’t know about the bridges being too low and crash into one.”
“That’s what we get for chartering a primarily Canadian bus company,” Shane said, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Shane Hollander?” a voice said from a car in the museum circle. “I have to go,” Shane hung up the phone.
A woman got out and walked towards him. “Tara Sullivan, Boston Globe. Would you be able to do a short interview?”
“Yeah, of course.”
Shane gave her a rundown of what he had already told Therrien and Ilya, and had texted to his parents. The experience of the crash, everyone was okay, and they were still going to crush the Bruins tonight.
“And are you familiar with the term ‘storrowing,’ Mr. Hollander?”
Shane chuckled. “I am now, yes.”
A photographer corralled the team in front of the T-Rex to get a photo. The journalist had moved onto interviewing Hayden as a pink boat-tank rolled into the museum lot. It pulled up to the curb, and tourists started getting on. A smiling cartoon duck adorned the vehicle, next to “Boston Duck Tours” block letters.
A second blue boat drove past the first, coming to a stop in front of the dinosaur. It honked loudly. “Looks like you gentlemen are in need of a ride!” a voice said on its intercom.
The team laughed and cheered. Shane smiled to himself and felt his phone buzz again. It was Marc.
“Shane! Hey, glad you’re all ok. We’re gonna send a bus for you guys then get your gear later.”
“Actually you know what?” Shane looked back at the Duck Boat. “We only need to worry about the gear. We’ve got a ride.”
Shane explained their new bus to Marc as the team boarded the boat. News crews snapped photos of them as they waved. The ride to TD Garden was short, and the Duck Boat guide rattled off facts about monuments as they drove past people taking photos. Maybe this city wasn’t so bad after all.
Later that night. Beacon Street.
Ilya opened the door for Shane, who quickly came inside, closing it behind him.
“Not a sore loser, I hope,” Shane said with a smile.
“You had some stupid bus crash magic on your side,” Ilya smiled back.
Shane held Ilya’s face in his hands, pushing him against the wall and pulling him in for a passionate kiss.