miracle (miracle) wrote in luke_noah, @ 2008-12-19 18:28:00 |
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Current mood: | annoyed |
"Icing" - Part 3
Original poster: willwork4dean
What It Is: My very first ever Nuke fanfic!
Title “Icing” Part 3 (First Sentence Challenge series)
Prompt “Hi, there. Need help with your stick?”
Author: WillWork4Dean
Fandom: ATWT
Characters: AU Noah + Luke + assorted Snyders & friends
Disclaimer: Don’t own ‘em. Don’t make no money.
link
"Icing" - Part 3
Once again, Noah found himself flat on his back, staring up at the sky. At first, he was aware only of the sensation of falling snowflakes tickling his skin, and a faint, far-off ringing that sounded like church bells. That was followed by a warm wetness seeping down his face, just over his left eyebrow. Then the harsh zing of blades on ice, one after another, announced the arrival of the other players. Vague shapes loomed over him and voices spoke.
“Dammit, Casey,” Luke whined. “He’s not even my boyfriend yet, and you broke him.”
“Sorry, man.”
“Nice slap shot, Casey.”
“Thanks, Parker. It’s all in the hips.”
“The goal still counts, right?”
“Shut up, Aaron.” That was Luke again. “Why do you have to be such a tool?”
Belatedly, Noah realized his head hurt--really hurt--starting above his eye and radiating outward.
“Ew, that’s a lot of blood,” said a tearful voice.
“Blood?” Noah whispered weakly.
“Don’t worry, Natalie. He’ll be okay.”
“Are you sure? He looks like he’s gonna hurl.”
“Not helping, Faith. Hey!” Luke leaned closer and snapped his fingers in front of Noah’s face. “Do you see any stars?”
“Only in your eyes,” Noah replied honestly.
“Get this guy to the ER, STAT. He’s clearly brain-damaged.”
“Shut up, Brad.”
“I’m just sayin’..."
“You’re not supposed to move someone with a head injury,” Faith said primly.
“Yeah, he should have one of those collar things. We should call the paramedics, get him to the hospital. My grandpa can take a look at him,” Casey offered.
“No hospital,” Noah whimpered. Hospitals meant needles. He hated needles. He tried to sit up and fell back on the ice, groaning.
Luke’s voice sharpened. “Dad!”
Two more zings, two more shapes looming overhead. Noah thought he recognized Luke’s father and uncle, but he couldn’t remember their names.
“Hey, Noah.” Luke’s dad had a soothing voice, Noah thought. Not like the Colonel’s at all. “How you feelin’, buddy?”
“Good. No hospital.”
“I think he’s really hurt,” Luke said worriedly.
“Not hurt. No needles.”
Luke’s uncle peered closely at Noah. “Can you sit up?”
“Sure, no problem.” Noah remained flat on his back.
“Here,” Luke’s uncle grasped one arm, his dad the other. “Stand back, guys. Give him some room. Let us know if you feel sick, Noah.”
“Yes, Sir.”
The world tilted as the two older men carefully lifted Noah to his feet. With his skates under him again, he flailed for balance, but multiple hands steadied him.
“How’s that?” Luke’s uncle asked. Noah remembered that his name was Jack.
“Just awesome, Sir.” Noah tried to stand up straight, but his entire body ached like an old man’s.
“The cut’s not too bad, actually,” Luke’s dad--Holden--told him. “Head wounds always bleed like a stuck pig. Just a few stitches, probably.”
“No stitches. No needles,” Noah whimpered.
“Meg could fix him up,” Jack said, ignoring Noah. “She’s at the farm.”
Holden considered for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah. And even if she’s not, Mama could take care of him. Lord knows she’s stitched up the rest of us enough times.”
Some consensus seemed to have been reached, for the group moved as one off the ice, Brad and Aaron still arguing about whether a goal counted if a guy managed to slow the puck's trajectory with his face.
Once they reached the shore, Luke scooped up a handful of snow and pressed it to Noah’s eyebrow. “Hold that there,” he ordered. The snow stung like a son of a bitch, but it did ease the sharper pain of the cut. Luke’s dad and uncle steered Noah to a seat on a log and his sisters argued over who got to remove his skates, finally deciding on one apiece. Luke shoved Noah’s feet back into his boots and laced them up. “Ready?” he asked.
Noah nodded and immediately regretted the motion. The pain and dizziness must have shown on his face, for Luke immediately looked guilty. “I’m sorry,” he said. “This is all my fault.”
“No, it’s not,” Noah said, although it kind of was. “I wanted to play.” He took a deep breath and stood carefully. Everyone watched, then smiled when he remained upright.
“Atta boy!” Brad smacked him on the shoulder, and Noah swayed.
“Knock it off, Brad.” Luke’s arms went around Noah, who tried not to lean into the touch.
“Just trying to help.”
“I’ll help him,” Luke growled. He stuck close to Noah’s side as he lurched through the snow (although the girls insisted on holding his hands) and steadied him when he faltered. After what seemed like an eternity, they reached a farmhouse.
Inside, Noah was assaulted by a fresh wave of sensations. The old house was decorated to the hilt for the holidays and stuffed to the gills with people. Besides the Snyder men, there seemed to be an equally large and confusing number of Snyder women, include moms, daughters, aunts, girlfriends, ex-girlfriends, wives, ex-wives, not to mention a gaggle of infants and toddlers. In the center of it all was Luke’s grandmother Emma, an apple-cheeked woman who clucked over Noah like a mother hen.
“What do you think, Meggie? Stitches?”
Luke’s aunt looked him over with a professional eye. “I think you might be able to get away with a butterfly bandage, but there’s always a chance it could scar.”
“Scars are fine,” Noah said quickly. “Trust me, I have plenty.”
Emma fixed him with a shrewd but compassionate gaze. “Don’t like needles, hmm?”
“No, Ma’am,” he admitted.
“A bandage it is then.” She applied it carefully, then stepped back to appraise her work. “You should have that looked at by a professional as soon as possible. And keep icing it.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
Emma washed her hands and briskly dried them on a towel. “In the meantime, I think you should join us for supper.”
“Oh, I couldn’t,” Noah started, but Emma cut him off in a firm tone.
“Nonsense. We need to keep an eye on you anyway, because of your head injury, so you might as well eat something. I won’t take no for an answer.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” Noah smiled down at Emma, and she reached up and patted his cheek.
“You’re a good boy, I can tell.” She glanced over her shoulder, then lowered her voice. “And I think my grandson is quite taken with you.”
Noah started to protest, to deny it, then stopped. This was his new life. “The feeling’s mutual, Ma’am.”
Emma’s eyes warmed even more, and she guided him over to the table. Somehow, the entire clan had squeezed around it, although there were a few children sitting in laps. Emma shooed Casey to another chair and sat Noah next to Luke, then took her place.
“Holden, will you say grace?”
Noah automatically folded his hands--and was alarmed when the Snyders reached for each other’s instead. Faith had maneuvered a spot next to him and firmly grabbed his left. Resigned, Noah turned to his right.
Luke’s eyes met his. Slowly, he held out his hand in invitation, palm up.
After a moment, Noah took it. As he prayed, he felt a tingle start in his hand and spread rapidly to the soles of his feet and the crown of his head, stopping at interesting points along the way. He felt dizzy and light-headed, but not from his injury. He felt...alive, he realized. Alive and well and ready for anything. For once, he was alert, but not from fear. He blushed, but not from shame. As the family said their amens, Noah squeezed Luke’s hand and leaned closer.
“Thanks for helping me with my stick,” he whispered.
This time, it was Luke who blushed. His long eyelashes fluttered over reddened cheeks as he glanced bashfully down at his plate. He smiled, and for the first time, Noah realized that there were dimples at the corners of his mouth.
And that, Noah decided, was the icing on the cake.