Together Until We Die...

Chris Pronger returned thirty minutes later. He entered the room, holding a sharp razor in his hands. He stormed up to Patrick. The big goon sank his fingers into Patrick’s hair and wrenched his head backward, exposing his neck. Patrick wondered what Pronger had planned for him.

“You watching there, Smiley?” Pronger hissed, raising the razor into place.

Jonathan didn’t reply or move. Instead he allowed a fierce glare to speak his thoughts. He wasn’t amused at all.

Pronger stuck the razor to Patrick’s forehead, applied a little pressure at first and then dug deeper. Patrick cringed. With his other hand, he cupped it over Patrick’s mouth, silencing him for the coming action. He sliced into Patrick Kane’s skull and in a quick slashing motion, drew the weapon across the skin on his forehead.

The Chicago forward wailed into Pronger’s hand, as the man drew the razor across the skin. Blood gushed from the wound, dripping down the forward’s face. The cut wasn’t necessarily deep enough to kill, but it was enough to make Patrick feel woozy from the sudden loss of blood.

Pronger released Patrick’s head, flicking the razor, soaking in the Blackhawk’s fresh blood to the side. Blood splattered on the ground adjacent to him. Patrick groaned, as the Flyer’s hand left his mouth once again.

He attempted to move his head, but a pounding sensation filled him. Instead, he kept it in place, refusing to move. He took in large gulps of air, heaving heavy inhales and exhales. He felt the blood dripping farther down his face. He could see red out of the corners of his eyes. And then he tasted the salty tang of the crimson on his lips and tongue.

Pronger cackled, as he wiped off the razor with a cloth he had on him. “How does your own blood taste, sweet Kanerboo?”

Patrick rolled his head to the side and spat out blood in the direction of Pronger. “Piss off, asshole!”

Pronger smirked. “Nice comeback Patty Kane. But you should really learn to hold your tongue!”

“What’s your problem, Pronger? What did we do to you, that we deserve this torture and treatment?”

“You really want to know?”

“Yes, out with it,” Jonathan growled.

“This is about you both winning the Cup on my home ice!”

“It’s not YOUR ice!” Jonathan and Patrick screamed in unison.

“I was the damn captain for Philly! What was Philly’s ice, was mine! So it was MY ice! And then you all thought it was cute to accuse me of stealing all your game-winning pucks!”

“Because you did steal the fucking pucks!” Patrick snapped.

“I didn’t “steal” anything! Hartsy gave me the first one and then a ref gave me the other one!”

“But Johnny saw you hop over the bench, reach down and scoop one into your glove, while we celebrated the win!”

“You really want to argue about me breaking rules, Kanerboo?”

Patrick lost it. He kicked his leg out and nailed Pronger right in his knee. Pronger stumbled backward. He caught himself, clutching to the surface of a table. On the table, was an ominous roll of black duct tape. Pronger snatched it up and stalked back over to the helpless Blackhawk.

“You’ve done it now, sweet, innocent Kanerboo!” Pronger roared, furrowing his brow, darkly.

As he stalked closer to Patrick, he furiously tore a piece off of the roll. Patrick kicked out, trying in vain to keep Pronger away from him. The pain in his head subsided to rage. He sure wasn’t acting innocent. And unfortunately for him, he’d crossed the line.

“You aren’t going to silence me!”

Jonathan hung his head.

Pronger went around the man having the Sidney Crosby-esque temper-tantrum. He slipped up behind Patrick, grabbed his head, to hold him still. Tears streamed from Patrick’s blue eyes, as he kicked and screamed.

“No! No! I’m sorry! Please, don’t-----!”

Pronger slapped the tape over Patrick’s mouth and smoothed it over his lips. He bent over Patrick’s shoulder and whispered into his ear, “Don’t think I won’t rip off your head! Don’t think I won’t slit your throat and end your life here, either, Kanerboo.”

Patrick muffled a shocked, inaudible word into the material that covered his mouth.

Pronger straightened up, slapping Patrick’s blood-stained cheeks. He left the room once more. Patrick immediately threw his head backward.

“He did warn you, Kaner…” Jonathan spoke.

Patrick tilted his head back down, looking at his captain. His eyes were mixed with the blood and tears. He looked worriedly at his friend.

****

Notes

Poor Kanerboo, right? It's a fun nickname. I don't know if Patty Kane would actually enjoy though...