icing those hurt

Part 7

"The rink is your oyster," Sapnap says, sweeping around the outside, stick in hand, an annoying cocky grin on his face. "Come at me, George."

George is going to tackle him into the stands.

"Don't kill Sapnap," Quackity warns. He's still putting his skates on- trying to tie the laces. They're not technically practicing. They're just bored for now, and decided to come out here while Schlatt and Techno were off in the actual gym and Wilbur was who knows where.

But just screwing around doesn't mean George can't take Sapnap down right where he stands.

"I'm gonna kill him," George says. "I really, really, am."

Sapnap sticks his tongue out at George, and that's the last straw. He's about to fly down the ice and beat him like he's a pad, but the rink door opens.

"I thought you'd all be here," Wilbur says, running up, a bit out of breath. "We running a scrimmage or what?"

"Where have you been?" Sapnap asks, and George guesses he can't slide tackle the man now- not when he's looking the complete wrong direction. How annoying. "You never texted if you were coming back or not."

"I found out about the kid." He says. Quackity reaches up a hand and Wilbur pulls him to his feet, steadying him on instinct. "He's not stuck up."

Sapnap's face drops. "Oh no."

"Oh yes," Quackity grins. "Money is coming my way and it's gonna feel so damn good when it gets here."

"How do you know?" George asks, because as much as he loves money, he loves things proven beyond reasonable doubt even more. Getting paid is always best when it's completely honest.

"He's gonna teach me some figure skating," Wilbur shrugs, but even he can't keep his little grin down. "I'm gonna dance on the ice."

"How did we get from A to B so quickly?" Sapnap asks. "I mean, you had one conversation with him. One. Now he's teaching you a whole new sport?"

Wilbur sobers a little, his eyes dropping over to the marks in the ice. "Well," he starts slowly, "he's not- I think that he's a bit-"

"Take your time, Wil." Quackity says and Sapnap nods firmly in agreement. George resists the urge to smile. As much as they go at each other...

"His coach." Wilbur says finally. "That guy we saw when we first got here? Do you guys remember him?"

"The one who told us to get the fuck out the way or else he'd stomp on us with his little skates?" Sapnap huffs. "Yeah, I remember."

"Well, I ran into him. I mean, not really, because he was leaving, but- I don't know. When I got into the room, the kid was...crying."

"Bad coach," Quackity says softly, and George can't help it, his fingers clench tight on the side of the rink. Only one thing truly enrages George. Bullies. Coaches or kids or Olympic athletes like him. It doesn't matter. They all suck.

"I didn't hear anything he said to Tommy, but-" Wilbur sighs, tugging a hand through his hair. Quackity tsks, then reaches down into his bag and gives him a hat. "Thanks. It doesn't seem good. None of it."

The doors open again, and this time, their coach is coming through them. "Okay, good." Phil says. "I saw Schlatt and Tech in the gym, but I figured you guys would be here instead."

"That's what Wil said," Sapnap remarks.

"Are you guys scrimmaging?"

"That is also what Wil said."

"We might," George answers, because he hopes so- he's itching to get out on the ice with a puck, not just to beat Sapnap up. "We're talking about the figure skater kid now."

"The one from when we got here? What happened?" Phil frowns.

Wilbur explains- more in detail this time- about what he saw and what Tommy said. To George, it sounds like this coach needs a good strong knock up against the head. Words work, but sometimes you just need to hit something- make it fear you. It's what he thought about Wilbur's old coach, and he feels the same way now.

When Wilbur is finished, Phil sighs.

"It's a sad thing," He says, "a controlling coach. For some, that coaching style works but more often than not, no. And if it doesn't, I can imagine the effect it would have. It would do a lot to someone that isn't equipped to handle it."

"He's young too," Wilbur says. "He's a child, Phil."

"And figure skating is a solo sport. He doesn't have a team to fall back on when he makes a mistake. Everything is on him. He's got no one to shoulder the burden with him- give him his due praise."

There's a quiet, solemn pause.

"What can we do?" Wilbur asks, eyes wide. And the question, it isn't can we do something, it's what can we do, like there isn't a doubt in Wilbur's mind that they would do something to help.

"Here's what I can do-" Phil offers. "I can look out for the coach. Keep an eye on him. I can't make any promises, not at this level, but if I see something shifty, I'll say something."

Wilbur's head dips in relief. "That's all I ask. Thanks Phil. I can handle everything else."

"Hey," Sapnap speaks up, taps his stick against the ice twice. "We. We can handle everything else. Team, yeah? You're not alone, Wilbur."

Wilbur flushes and Phil smiles proudly. George, again, hides his own grin. He loves his team. He loves his team more than anything.

(word count - 931)