”Did it ever occur to you that maybe we don’t want to see you get hurt?”
He should've never let him play. When Jamie stormed into the locker room, running late and snapping at his teammates for asking why, Roy should've seen the red flags for what they were.
Everton at home wasn't the same as Everton away; he could've spared them all the misery. They could've spared Jamie, except that it was Roy's debut season as manager of AFC Richmond, and if he had a pound for every time that season Jamie had shown up to training in an utterly foul mood, he'd have more pounds than Phoebe.
So instead he'd barked, "Oi! Check the prima donna act at the fucking door. You're ten minutes late, and you've got sixty seconds to kit up or else you're watching the game from the bench. Got it?"
Fire flared in Jamie's eyes. That too should've been a warning sign. But he put his head down to undo his laces with a muttered 'yes Coach' and Roy, stupid as he was and knee deep in therapy he didn't like, counted his breaths and decided that this was a fight that could wait for later.
The match was a disaster from first touch.
The fight didn't wait for later. Whether it was how he walked onto the pitch or how he immediately set about cutting Everton to pieces, the opposing team picked up on Jamie's mood and magnified it back with an intensity that could set the grass on fire.
Jamie matched it back tenfold - once per each player outside the goal area, and only then because Richmond's press couldn't make it that far down the pitch.
The first yellow card failed to appear at the six minute mark. That set the tone for the rest of the match.
By the time a third dirty tackle sent Jamie's legs flying out from under him, even Sam was shouting at the referee to do something. The team's interim captain gestured furiously at Jamie, who shrugged off his teammates help, slapping them away as he limped onto his feet.
Jamie tested his leg. The second he put weight on it, he flinched. He turned towards the coaches, demeanor stoically blank apart from the obvious question in his eyes.
Roy stared back. After a few moments, Jamie nodded. He fell back into position and the ref motioned for the game to resume.
Sam sent a decidedly dirty glance in Roy's direction. His disappointment cut sharp.
So many red flags.
Roy had plenty of chances.
A few minutes later, Jamie snapped something at the Everton player marking him. Something cruel by the sneer across his lips and the way it painted the opposing player's face an even deeper shade of red.
The man reared back like a bull. In one quick motion, he headbutted Jamie square in the face.
The ref finally blew his whistle.
Jamie didn't get back up.
After the match, Sam followed Roy to hospital.
"You should not have done what you did today." Those were the only words the younger man offered on the ride over.
Fair enough.
Concussion, the physios had reported, as if that weren't fucking obvious from the loss of consciousness.
All things considered, if they'd arrived at hospital to find Jamie confused, dizzy, and a little deflated, things probably would've gone smoother.
Instead they walked in to find bristles and a scowl. The nurses fluttered around him, making soft noises as they briskly addressed his bruises- and there were a lot of bruises. Hard not to be banged up after a match like that, but there were an awful, awful lot of them and not all of them looked new. Roy's chest twisted as he tried to recall if at some point in his bullheaded inattention, he'd missed the signs of Jamie pushing himself too hard again.
The nurses left, packing away their tapes and tubes and syringes and all the other bits they used to mend things whole. Then all that was left was Jamie, Jamie's attitude, Sam, Sam's disappointment, Roy, and Roy's fury fighting for space in the tiny hospital room.
Jamie shifted uncomfortably against the pillows. Bruised ribs, the nurses had mentioned, and Roy could strangle the twat for not saying something sooner- for not pulling himself off the pitch sooner. What the fuck was he thinking?
"What the fuck were you thinking?"
Jamie recoiled on the bed. He blinked stupidly at Roy.
"Do you think this is a fucking joke?"
Their injured player opened and closed his mouth, at a loss for words. "I don't?"
"Oh really." Roy stepped forward until all that separated them was the rail at the edge of the hospital bed. "Because you could've fooled me. Seems to me like you were goading Everton into taking the first hit."
Jamie's jaw clenched in response. It was as good as an admission of guilt, and it made the anger simmering in his chest threaten to boil over.
"Who cares, mate? It's just Everton, yeah?" Jamie said casually, like they were discussing the merits of Aston Villa's new away kits. Like he wasn't laid up in fucking hospital. "Not like they hit that hard anyways."
Roy saw red.
"Sorry, am I the one who hit my head? Am I the one who missed the back half of the match? We lost three-nil you little twat, all because your teammates were too busy worrying about you to focus on the game. You lost us the match, you prick."
"Roy," Sam objected.
His breathing came sharp and fast, and it was almost dizzying the way he couldn't seem to suck in enough air. Tightening his grip around the edge of the bed, he growled, "For fuck's sake, Jamie. If we wanted to watch you get knocked around on the pitch, we'd just do it ourselves-"
"Roy!"
Sam's bare-faced outrage doused him in ice.
He'd crossed a line.
Under Roy's looming presence, Jamie looked very small.
He took a shallow step back, feeling sick to his stomach. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he swore, "Shit. Jamie-"
"Shut up."
When Sam Obisanya told you to shut up, you shut up.
"That was uncalled for," Sam said levelly. He paused for a moment, allowing his words to sink in deep, dealing damage to Roy the whole way down. Then Sam refocused his attention on the person more deserving of it.
"Jamie, Roy didn't mean that. He is upset - as we all are - but that is no excuse for him to speak to you in this manner."
Jamie's mouth twitched into an uncertain shape. It made him look softer, and younger, than he'd look in months, but it also made the damage stick out vividly, the bruise across his head dark and bleeding under his skin.
A strangled little noise bubbled out of him. He swayed towards Sam like a sunflower to the light, and he sounded oddly hoarse as he tried to quip. "Thanks, twenty-four. Nice to know that someone's got my back against that hairy arsehole."
"But you are also in the wrong."
Jamie faltered, something lost and sad filtering through his defenses. "But you just said-"
"You went into that match with no regard for yourself," Sam snapped. ”Did it ever occur to you that maybe we don’t want to see you get hurt?”
Jamie's mouth clicked shut. In the resulting quiet, only Sam's harsh breathing punctured through the beep of the medical equipment.
"It is not fair-," said Sam, his fists clenching at his side, "-for you to treat yourself with such disrespect. Not when there are so many who love you and want to see you well."
Jamie swallowed. A mistiness glimmered in his eyes. "Sam-"
"Jamie-"
Tripping over each other's words, they both stuttered to a stop.
Sam cupped his hand over his mouth. To Roy's horror, his chest shook as he stifled a violent sob.
"I can't do this right now," he said mournfully, their titan of a captain clearly close to crumbling. Blinking rapidly, he murmured, "Excuse me."
As he turned to leave, he stopped to level Roy with look so full of misery it made him want to sink through the floor.
"Fix this," he whispered, full of sorrow and love.
Sam left the room.
In the wake of Sam's departure, arguing about anything else felt... petty.
"That was uncalled for," Roy admitted in a harsh rasp. It was the bare minimum he could say- that he needed to say. "Sam's right, I shouldn't have..."
He gestured lamely to the room at large. At the shadows his anger had left, and Jamie sitting weakly in a hospital bed, and the overall fucked-ness of the situation in general.
"Sorry," he finished lamely.
Jamie blinked at him wearily. Now that some of the anger had fizzled out, the obvious signs of the concussion clamoured for attention. He wasn't quite tracking Roy's position, and the way he held himself stiffly made Roy suspect he was bracing himself against a tidal wave of dizziness.
Honestly, Sam should've kicked dirt over Roy on the way out, what with the hole he'd dug himself.
"Whatever. Was being a prick, so I probably had it coming, yeah?" Jamie shrugged. "Didn't even have the signal, did I?"
"You haven't had it in a while," Roy pointed out. "Not that that seems to be stopping you lately."
He half-meant it as a joke, but Jamie didn't respond.
"Come on," Roy tried, letting his voice drop into something quieter. "Talk to me- what's been going on with you, eh? Showing up late to training; skipping out of dinner at Sam's. Now you're snapping at Colin when he asks to borrow deodorant and ignoring play strategy to pick fights during matches? The fuck's going on here? This isn't like you."
"Maybe it is," Jamie grumbled. He picked mulishly the sheets, and Roy could strangle him for how fiercely the worry scratched at his chest. "Maybe I'm the same prick I've always been, and I'm just not fighting it anymore."
"Bullshit," growled Roy. "You're better than that, Jamie."
Jamie flinched back as if Roy had struck him.
He didn't argue.
He just sat there, picking at the sheets, twisting everything into knots, and pretending like Roy wasn't even in the fucking room.
Roy scoffed. Despair filled his chest, mixing with worry and anger and a deeply frightening sort of love that made him want to go up to the roof and scream until the clouds came crashing down. Maybe Sam had the right idea, removing himself from the situation. Roy needed to take a moment to collect himself, lest he dig the hole deeper saying words he'd only regret.
Roy turned to leave.
You couldn't help someone who didn't want-
"Coach?"
Roy paused at the doorway. Jamie, carefully looking down at his restless hands, still wouldn't look him in the eye. His shoulders curled up like he was bracing for a fight.
"I know you're busy and stuff. Being the gaffer and all. But-"
He paused. Anxiously, he rubbed his hands against his thighs. Roy frowned; he was missing something here, but he couldn't make the dark forest for the trees.
When Jamie continued, it was in a low mumble that was hard to hear over cacophony of the machines. "Do you think that maybe we could start doing morning trainings again? Doesn't have to be a full one - could just do half. That way we could start at six, and you'd still have the time at night to recharge your Terminator batteries."
A sharp snort escaped Roy. Down the hallway, some sort of alarm started going off, and he shut the door to block it out.
Crossing his arms, he looked Jamie up and down. "Why?"
Jamie shrugged. "Miss it, is all. Plus it's nice, innit? Having a reason to get out of the house."
In the forest Roy couldn't make out, something lurked in the dark. Some sort of low level radiation, maybe. It was like they'd taken a wrong turn and stumbled into Chernobyl without knowing.
Perhaps the way out was back the way they'd came.
(And honestly, he'd missed it too.)
"Fine. After you're cleared for play again. 6am."
An alarming amount of gratitude flooded Jamie's eyes. A sunflower reaching blindly for the heat of the sun.
"Thanks, Coach."
Roy grunted. This bit, at least, he didn't feel like he'd messed up too bad.
He thumbed at the door, where the hallway and the journos and the rest of the world waited. "I'm going to check on Sam. Then I'll update the team. Anyone else I should call? Your mum?"
"No!" Jamie blurted out. He tried to shake his head, only to remember too late that he was still concussed. He buried his head in his hands, hissing in pain. He tried again, "No, no need. Don't want to freak her out, or she'll drive down here and- I'll call her later. For now just tell the lads I'll make it up to them, yeah?"
Roy squeezed his eyes shut. "Fucking hell. Look, that was a shit thing for me to say, alright? No one actually blames you for losing the match. Not them and not me. It'd be a dick move to blame someone for getting carted off after a blow like that."
On the bed Jamie turned an ashen grey. He looked like he was about to throw up.
"Oi, you good?" Roy scanned the room. "What's going on- do you need a bucket? Or a nurse?'
"Huh?" Jamie jumped. He looked startled to find Roy still standing in his room. "Oh, uh. I'm good, Coach. Just thinking you're probably right.
"You'd have to be a real dick to blame someone for losing the match like that."
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