whoacanada reblogged
AU suggestion
Bitty is a ghost from 1778 who died in the revolutionary war. Jack studies him for his thesis, learning what exactly the accents sounded like at that time and how much they’d diverged from English accents.
(I am so sorry to do this…again…for the 700th time…warnings for obvious character death seeing as Eric is a 200+ year old ghost…)
Eric is already resting on the couch when Jack comes down the stairs, his arms crossed over his stomach, hovering the usual two inches off the cushions though his coattails still brush the fabric.
“You must have lived through some terrible conditions and this is still where you draw the line, eh?” Jack chirps, setting down his notebook and recorder to settle in. “You know I cleaned it for you.”
“I died in a barn, Mister Zimmermann. I didn’t live in one,” Eric chides, brushing non-existent dirt from the sleeve of his jacket.
“Just can’t help myself, eh? Well, let’s get to it,” Jack clicks record and hopes this time the tape picks up their conversation and not a mess of static. “Feel like telling me about your battalion, today?”
With the tone set, Eric begins to describe his fellow soldiers and Jack zones out a bit as he transcribes, following the flow of the conversation and noting the subtle shifts in his subject’s tone.
“— We had a Frenchman just like you,” Eric says, voice suddenly fond, and Jack can’t find the will to correct him. “A Major, when I first met him. His father was a General and the other men assumed he’d bought his commission, but I never much had time for rumors. All I knew was he was handsome as the devil and twice again as deadly with a shot.” Eric smiles easily, lost in thought. “For the longest time I thought he hated me, then came Cowpens and I guess he thought we weren’t going to make it because he grabbed me and he —” Eric pauses, looking to Jack for a reaction. He must get what he wants because his transparent skin flushes a pale, rosy pink before he whispers, “he kissed me.”
“You never mentioned being with anyone while you were fighting,” Jack swallows, fighting his own imagination, “and certainly not an officer.”
“Well, you never asked! All you wanted to know was if I fought in this battle or that siege and where were my parents from. Never inclined to be interested in my personal dealings,” Eric defends, winding a finger through a hole in his uniform shirt.
“Now, this is not to say I did not think we would perish. No, after the kiss, we lived to fight another day and I thought the good Major would forget the moment as quickly as it happened but I was wrong. He snuck me into his quarters not a week later; we had our little rendezvous, and a perfectly decent romance, until a redcoat took me at Yorktown.”
Jack had known of Eric’s proclivities quite early but this is new information and he does some quick math. “Yorktown? Were you involved for three years?”
“Almost. Didn’t make it that far. He was a Colonel by the end and as the war dragged on he tried to make me his father’s aide-de-camp, send me to Philadelphia to keep me out of harm’s way. Imagine my joy to survive all that, only to be cut down at the finish,” Eric huffs and rolls onto his side, smushing his face into his hand. “Now, here I am, complaining, while you sit and listen like a true gentleman. Can’t even cook a proper meal to thank you.”
“What was his name? Maybe I can find what happened to him. If you want.”
“Laurent Rousseau,” Eric breathes, candid as Jack has ever seen. “He had such a good heart and I wanted so badly to see how he’d use that heart in peacetime. Not that it matters now; he survived and I assume he went back to what family he had remaining. Married some pretty thing and forgot all about me.”
“I’m certain he didn’t, you’re very … memorable.” Jack sets aside his pen and tries not to imagine how Rousseau must have mourned if he’d gone to such lengths to protect Eric.
“Oh, am I? You’re such a sweet thing, comforting me like this,” Eric sinks a little and flails, catching himself before he ‘touches’ the cushions, causing his form to flicker as Jack realizes their time must, again, be at an end.
“I want to speak to you more about this,” Jack says quickly. “About Cowpens. Laurent. What happened at —”
Eric is gone, and Jack is alone with his thoughts once more. Thoughts of Eric, and a French officer, and worlds he can only imagine.
AAAAHHHHHH AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!
Part II
There’s a portrait of Colonel Rousseau hanging in the National Gallery in Ottawa. It doesn’t take much effort for Jack to hop a quick flight to investigate for himself, the sliver of wood tucked tight in his messenger bag the entire flight; Eric dormant for most of the trip while Jack’s mind runs in circles.
The how’s and why’s of Eric’s existence are all pretty meaningless when Jack finally has a chance to see the portrait up close; and Jack would be a fool to insist there isn’t a resemblance between them. He doesn’t know how long he stands there, imagining just what Eric meant to a man with cold eyes and brassy medals peppering his uniform.
No wonder Eric had been so willing to talk; after all that time alone Jack must have been a friendly face.
Someone behind him snaps a photo and Jack quickly sidesteps to get out of the frame when the man apologizes and says, “No, no, I wanted you in the photo, too.”
Jack has to wait until the Gallery is almost closed, the last guard rounding the corner, before he chances bringing Eric out. If he thought his own reaction was noteworthy, it’s nothing compared to Eric, who becomes corporeal, sees the portrait, and immediately bursts into tears.
“It’s him,” he whispers, turning to make sure Jack is looking too. “It’s him. Oh, Sweetpea.” Eric rushes up to the small plaque beside the frame, but his excitement wanes when he realizes it’s only information about the artist.
“1787. He must have gone back north.”
“You said he was French.”
“Well, he was, but he lived in Quebec before the invasion,” Eric turns, only the slightest bit confused. “You did the research, you should know that.”
“I researched, but this was all I could find. A few lines and this painting. You know more about him than anyone, uh, living.”
“So, this is all that’s left of him,” Eric mutters, tense like he’s trying not to touch the canvas. “A painting.”
They have at least until the next guard comes around, though Jack knows he could live here and it’d never be enough time for Eric.
“Jack, why do you think I’m here?” Eric sniffs, eyes still locked on the portrait. “I thought…I thought I was a good person. It can’t be because I loved him, because he’s not here, either.”
“I don’t know, bud.”
“I miss him. I miss my family.”
A new addition to Jack’s personal list of regrets: inability to hug ghosts.
“Do you . . . want to stay here? With him? I could leave the stick here.”
Eric’s laugh is an empty sound Jack does not enjoy hearing.
“Not tryin’ to get rid of me are you? I know it’s only a handsome painting.”
“This can’t be it. We didn’t travel all this way for nothing. Unfinished business, right? That’s what Shitty was saying. What’s your biggest regret? Anything. Something you did or didn’t do,” Jack stands from the bench and walks to the painting, pointing at Rousseau. “Him. You’re here because of him. Maybe you never said goodbye, maybe you had a fight —” Jack turns and Eric is there, far too close for comfort.
“Well, I never told him . . .” Eric’s eyes a bright, shining and damp like he’s a moment away from crying again. “I never told him I loved him. Don’t think I had the words for it back then.”
“You think that’s it?”
“How could I possibly tell him now?” Eric bemoans. “How does that fix anything?”
“Here!” Jack gestures at the painting. “You can say it now. It’s not for him, it’s for you. I think. It can’t hurt to try.”
Eric scrubs his face and Jack takes the moment to fish the scrap of Haus wood from his pocket, setting it gently below the portrait.
“I’ll give you some space, eh? Can’t hurt to try. Just say, you know,” Jack catches Eric’s gaze, “I love you.”
The moment the words leave his lips, Jack realizes he means them in an entirely different context. He loves Eric. He loves having the spirit of a short, gay Revolutionary War soldier to keep him company. He doesn’t want this to end, but he can’t stand to see Eric hurting like this. Waiting for an afterlife that might never come.
“Can’t hurt,” Jack repeats, clearing his throat. “You can just . . . I’m just gonna take a lap,” he turns quickly and heads into the next room, away from Eric, Laurent, and his own complicated feelings.
_______
If he’d known it would be the last time he’d ever see Eric, he would have said goodbye.
_______
After the second week of not-mourning, Shitty slides into bed beside Jack, wraps him in a hug and says, “Alright, your adorable soldier-boy is gone, we all miss him, but little dude was trapped in this fuckin’ reclaimed barn-house for like three hundred years. He deserved to move on. You helped with that.”
“I miss him,” Jack mutters against Shitty’s bare shoulder. “I liked him.”
“I know, brah. But, consider the whole thing about you and him and that Laurent guy, you look just like him. Eric only talked to you first. You were the only one that could see him. Sounds like some predestination shit to me.”
“So, what,” Jack shimmies out of Shitty’s hold, “you think I’m related or something?”
“We had a ghost from the 1700s living here. Literally everything is on the table. Fuck, you’re probably his reincarnation cause you’re such an old soul. Maybe Laurent came back just to help him move on. Liberate the little fucker.”
“You’re high.”
“That is true, but consider this, too, maybe time isn’t linear. At least not for the dead. You may have helped Eric pass on, but he’s just as much then as he is now, get it?”
“This is nuts.” Jack flops back onto his pillow.
“Walk this back, maybe you were this Colonel in your last life, now you’re you. Best possible upgrade —” Jack slugs Shitty in the arm “— ow. Okay, now, Eric died in like 1781, years before you, so maybe he had time to nab a new life, too? Clearly there’s some kind of fate thing happening here. Like, maybe he’s gonna walk right up to the front door and —” A soft knocking from downstairs interrupts Shitty’s rant and he stares at Jack, wide-eyed. “—that wasn’t me.”
“Bull-shit, you got Holster in on this,” Jack wiggles out from under his teammate to head downstairs while Shitty scrambles to follow pulling on his boxers as he runs down the hallway.
“Holster, I swear if you forgot your key again —” Jack opens the front door to find a student with a duffel bag over one shoulder, who’s attention is trained on the LAX house across the street. The man turns, sun shining on his strawberry-blonde hair, his embarrassed smile painfully familiar.
“Hi, I am so sorry to bother y’all this early in the mornin’, but I need some help finding my way around the campus? I saw the hockey sticks and thought y’all must be friendlies —”
“Holy fuck,” Shitty breathes, coming up fast behind Jack. “I’m psychic.”
Jack’s brain is offline long enough he realizes he hasn’t spoken, and the man who can’t possibly be Eric offers a nervous wave.
“Yes.” Jack blurts, startling the man. “We are hockey players.”
“Little bro,” Shitty shoves Jack aside and offers a hand. “S. Knight. I think we’ve met. You’re name wouldn’t by chance be Eric, would it?”
Jack’s going to pass out.
“Um, wow, you have no pants — Well, I mean, my name is ‘Richard’ but I go by Eric to keep things from getting confusing since my Daddy and I share the same name. Y’all have already heard of me? Did Coach Hall tell you I was coming?”
“No, I,” Jack stops and takes Eric in, whole, breathing and wondrous. “Yes. I’ve heard of you.”
I love your reincarnation Jack fic, even though it’s so damn painful. Are you going to post it on AO3?
I probably should. It doesn’t feel like a full fic to me yet, maybe when I have an ending I’m happy with? We’ll see!
!!! Are you going to write more on the reincarnation piece??? I would sell my soul (or at least part of it) for more of it!!!
((Original Reincarnation AU Fic Post, Reincarnation AU Tag for context you sweet, angst-loving babies))
“Bits, it wasn’t his fault —”
“Past-Me was an idiot!” Bitty shouts, tearing off his gloves the second the door shuts. “I’m not mad at him, I’m just, ugh,” the fight drains from his voice. “If a fraction of this story is true, that means souls are real. The afterlife, reincarnation, a higher power, predestination, God, or Gods, plural, that’s all on the table. We don’t know why we’re here, Jack. What’s to say we don’t end up the same way as before? This could be a curse we’re destined to relive over and over. We could be here to get revenge.”
“That’s not how reincarnations works,” Jack kicks off his boots. “It’s karma, or something. You’re supposed to learn. To grow. That’s what Professor Nyland said.”
“You don’t know that,” Bitty pulls off his toque and shakes loose his sweat-matted hair. “You don’t know anything. We are literally living in a reality where you are your own uncle, Jack. All bets are off.”
“Don’t say that again. Please.”
“That’s fine, I don’t really want to.”
Jack nods and realizes he’s worrying his lip. It’s a conscious effort to stop.
“What do we do now?”
Bitty gestures lamely at the mudroom around them, ignoring the festivities outside, and the fireworks that are threatening to send Jack into a panic.
“What can we do? We died, once, but now we aren’t dead so we just have to move on? Act like we don’t have to live day to day with memories of being brutally murdered while the guy who killed us is probably still out there, living his life because no one cared enough to look for us? Sounds simple. Easy, even.”
“Bobby…Bob. He cared.”
“But Bobby didn’t find us, Jack. A construction crew with a backhoe —” Bitty falters, his eyes filling with tears as he looks anywhere but at Jack. “No one cared about us.”
Jack realizes a hair too late that the tears in Bitty’s eyes aren’t from anguish, they’re from anger.
“I’m gonna find him,” Bitty swears, vehement and certain. “I’m going to hunt him down, and I’m going to make him pay for what he did to us.”
“Yeah, and what are you gonna do, Bits? You gonna kill him? You gonna shoot some geriatric bigot in the face and tell everyone first-degree murder is justified because you’re the reincarnation of a man he might have murdered half a century ago? How do you think that’s going to go, eh? Think they’ll commute your sentence? Throw out the case? You don’t even know who killed us!”
Halfway through Jack’s rant, Bitty starts to smile; a wavering, slip of a thing that morphs into a full, dazed grin by the time Jack has finished.
“You don’t know because…” Bitty’s voice wavers as he taps his own sternum like he’s trying to coax the words from his throat. “… because he got you first, and that’s not your fault, Jack; it wasn’t a fair fight, but I saw him and I can find him again,” Bitty whispers, eyes bloodshot and gaze distant. “We have a chance to make this right. We can make him pay.”
An artillery shell goes off outside and Jack reflexively covers his head. When he shakes out of daze, he finds Bitty standing still, unaffected, somehow looking even more determined than before.
“No one has to know, Jacques,” Bitty says gently, in a language he shouldn’t know how to speak. “I know you’re scared. This time, let me take care of you.”
accurate representation of me working through the reincarnation au asks
I love the reincarnation fic! The concept is amazing and it’s got a healthy dose of angst. So Jack looks like Jacques but it’s not identical(?) is the same the case for Bitty and Danny? If so did Bob block out his memory of Danny? Or was Bitty vaguely recognizable but Bob couldn’t place him? I’m also wondering if Bob is going to make the connection between Jack and Jacques (being the same person reincarnated) or if Jack and Bitty will hide that. Does Bitty start having his own visions? Thx❤️
Hokay. There’s a lot here so let’s see what I can unpack!
- Not identical but close enough that you could point out the resemblance if you had, say, a handful of personal photographs to use for comparison
- Bob was about 10/11 when Jacques disappeared. Old enough to know what his brother was doing and to be trusted with a secret, young enough to accept his parent’s explanation of what happened, young enough to have forgotten what Jacques and Danny looked like beyond deja vu.
- Thanks to Tomas’ meddling (something Bob never would have been privy to at the time), Jacques was a persona non grata in the Zimmermann household for turning down a professional training camp to run off with a man. Because the gay thing never came up in polite discussion, over time Bob just accepted that his brother had moved on to better things and hoped someday they’d cross paths again. It’s not that Bob forgot Danny, it’s just been 35+ years since he’s really thought about him.
- Bob sees shades of Jacques in Jack’s behavior much in the same way Bob sees himself in his son. A familial resemblance. Bitty is familiar but Bob would sooner draw a line to Kent than he would Danny.
- Bob’s on board with the reincarnation theory before Jack is, mostly because he’s a quiet believer in the spiritual/supernatural after a series of cup-related incidents in his youth.
- Jack’s overdose happened at 19; Jacques was the same age when he died. Eric’s season-ending concussion, an injury that was a result of Jack being overconfident in the face of danger (hint-hint), happened when he was 18; the same age Danny died.
- Bitty is…dealing with some things. Or has been. Not in the same way Jack has been but it’s safe to say his contact issue wasn’t just because of the utility closet.
Okay I get that bitty is supposed to be a reincarnation of Daniel but every time I reread it (which I’ve already done a couple times) I think bitty is just an immortal creature that falls in love with every reincarnation of jack
Goddamnit, you know it takes zero effort to make me write AUs of AUs. Just let me finish one. JUST. ONE before we start
...You know what? Sure. Why not.
The pieces of the reincarnation fic you shared are fascinating and I need to know more
At the bottom of the shoe box, there’s a small tin that rattles when Jack shakes it. Inside are several very old, very misshapen lumps of what once could have been considered candy.
Bob watches Jack set the tin aside without a thought because why would he ascribe any value to it? It wasn’t his. Bob is the one that slides it off the countertop and peers inside like it’s holding something precious.
“None of his dumb girlfriends ever made candy,” Bobby says, grabbing at the small jar of sugar on the counter.
“Glad to know I’m not a dumb girl,” Daniel leans against the counter and grins, a cherry stem poking out the corner of his mouth. “You know, I’ll make you anything you want if you promise not to tell anyone about your brother and I.”
“I’m not stupid, I know it’s a secret,” Bobby mutters. “You don’t have to keep reminding me, I’m great at secrets. Remember, I kept that secret about the rat at Maman’s garden party.”
“Ah!” Daniel snaps his fingers and points accusingly, a nervous smile stretching his lips. “Bobby, that’s why I keep reminding you!”
“That’s not the same! You tricked me!”
“Danny, don’t bribe him with candy,” Jacques chides, setting his gear bag down beside the kitchen table. “He’ll get chubby.”
“I won’t get chubby,” Bobby protests before his brother grabs him around the middle and starts tickling. “Stop! I’m the fastest one on the team!”
“No, because Danny is going to fatten you up and we’re going to have to roll you across the ice!” Jacques teases as Bobby laughs and wiggles away from his fingers. “Call you ‘Blobby Zimmermann’.”
“No! Danny help!”
“But you wanted cherry drops,” Daniel holds up his hands, dusted with confectioners sugar. “And…I…can’t move…too sticky…”
“No one can save you, now,” Jacques growls playfully, wrapping Bobby in a tight hug and lifting him up off the floor with a shake. “Just remember, you can have delicious candy or I can tell everyone at the rink your new nickname is Blobby. Your choice, bud.”
“Bad Blob,” Bob mutters, shaking one of the candies out of the tin, almost four decades old and certainly no longer meant for consumption. He contemplates it for a moment, the red so dark it’s almost black and pops it into his mouth.
He assumes it tastes like a 40-year-old candy should taste, what he doesn’t expect is for Jack to stare at him like he’s gone mad and say, “Crisse, Bobby, don’t eat that shit.”
so wait, jack & bits are the reincarnations of jacques & danny, but jack has memories of the murder, but also doesn’t? and the murderer was...who?? sometimes my reading comprehension sucks ass so i don’t pick up all the clues lmao
oh no worries, it’s not you, bud. this is the problem with my dumb brain and outlining so much you no longer want to write the fic.
so one of the elements I was trying to fit in involved Jack slowly recovering the memory of his own death as he and Bob uncover more details about what happened to Jacques and Danny. This is all concurrently happening with the actual cold case murder investigation closing in on the killer.
The killer is a man called Tomas Boucher, a jealous ‘friend’/teammate of Jacques that tried to get handsy with Danny and was shut down hard. In an attempt to save his own image – but mostly out of spite – Boucher got a few guys together with the intent of teaching Danny a lesson, but Jacques caught wind of what was going to happen and intervened, outing himself to Boucher in the process. Boucher, already angry that Zimmermann had been scouted, couldn’t handle learning he was with Danny as well.
Intent on ruining Jacques’ reputation/career by outing him to the Bruins, Boucher confronted them both, threatened Jacques, and things went south; resulting in two deaths and a big ol’ secret.
Boucher, considered a ‘good friend’ of Jacques, would go on to tell a whole bunch of lies about Jacques and Daniel that would lead the authorities to the conclusion that the two young men had run off together in an embarrassing scandal that would only reflect badly on their respective families, so no reports were filed and no search parties would be mounted.
Years later, Tomas would be a well-respected member of the community, still maintaining close contact with the Zimmermann family; and an extremely wary family friend who would recognize far too much of Jacques in Bob’s son.
Untitled Zimbits Reincarnation Fic
Original Summary: A reporter digs up evidence that Bob Zimmermann's older brother, a Bruins prospect who went missing in 1972, may have been a previously anonymous victim of a double murder. With the cold case re-opened, Bob has to face some uncomfortable truths; not the least of which is how damn much his son reminds him of his lost brother, and who the second victim was to the Zimmermann family.
Length: 3k+
What’s Missing?: An ending? This whole thing was basically a murder mystery and I never really wrote all of the world building elements that supported the villain, who was intended to be a well-respected friend of the Zimmermann family, a former friend of Jacques’ that was jealous of his success and outed him in retaliation for a perceived slight.
What I want?: Please talk to me. I loved this AU and it was just too much. Ask me questions. I’ll give you answers. ;A;
Context/Disclaimer: This fic is unfinished and (to me) is missing a fair amount of content. It contains references to past character death, period-typical homophobia, use of the word queer as an unintentional slur, mental health issues, general unpleasantness. There will be jumps from scene to scene, indicated by double center lines. Also it looks terrible on mobile. Really, really bad.
His phone has been on silent for over an hour and Bob can’t seem to find the energy to pull himself out of his chair; instead, he keeps rereading the same article even as new notifications drop down every few seconds.
“Honey,” Alicia interrupts softly. “What can I do to help you right now?”
Bob swallows against the lump in his throat and tries to say something, anything, to reassure his wife that he’s fine but the lie won’t come.
“I — ” another notification pops in, this one from a cousin he hasn’t spoken to in years. “I thought he got out,” he whispers. “This whole time and they never looked.”
It’d be disingenuous to say he hasn’t thought about his brother in years; there were days that he’d look up and find Jack with the same messy hair, the same tense posture. A blue-eyed twin four decades removed.
He blinks out of his reverie and realizes Alicia’s wearing one of his old sweaters, the one worn so badly the Canadiens’ logo has fallen off and the red has gone pink. Her comfort sweater.
“There’s a message from a detective, they want to talk to you. They found two sets of remains? I think they’re hoping you can give an idea of who the other person might have been.”
Grief rushes so hot and sudden his throat burns and his vision blurs. He tosses the tablet onto the coffee table and rubs the tears from his eyes. Even upside-down, Bob can read the article title clear as day.
‘Zimmermann Curse?: 42-year old missing person case reclassified as murder after NHL Legend’s brother’s remains found in woods’
Alicia looks down and frowns at the headline, graciously ignoring Bob’s tears. “Pretty unwieldy title.”
He laughs and tries to clear the tightness in his throat. “Had to get me in there somewhere, eh? Always has to be about me.”
Jack blinks, catching sight of his Samwell friends just beyond the glass, and he’s moving too quickly to recalibrate when, instead of his boyfriend, he finds a bloodied man in Bittle’s seat.
There’s no time to examine the moment closely because when Jack looks back to the ice a Fliers d-man is barreling toward him, eyes wide with the realization that he can’t stop his momentum.
It’s a stupid hit that leaves Jack on his back, blinking blearily up at the lights of the Dunkin Donuts Center, trying to figure out what just happened and how much damage was done. A moment of distraction. A turns his head slightly to look for the man in the Halloween makeup but there’s just a worried Eric Bittle with his hands up against the glass.
“Jacques? Jacques? Can you get up?”
Jack stares past Tater’s worried face to focus on the banners hanging from the rafters.
That’s not my name, he thinks.
Okay, so, as I’m moving everything over to Ao3 I have a few semi-abandoned fics I put a ton of effort into but are 100% unfinished I’m trying to figure out what to do with because I know there are more than a few of you who have said you would love to see what might have been.
If anyone is interested, today’s option would be pieces of an angsty reincarnation au I know I’ve talked about before; one where Bob had an older brother who went missing in the 70s and after Jack takes a rough hit he starts ‘remembering’ things about his secret uncle, who *spoiler* was straight up murdered.
I’ll post what I have (a couple thousand words worth) but it’ll be choppy.
I think my secret goal here is to get enough feedback I actually power through and finish it, so let me know if you want to see it.