Actually, this is the overarching file for my habs!jack au! if you’ve been following me for a million years, this started as a halloween prompt where Jack meets a ‘perfect’ version of himself and that double tries to kill him and take his place. Fun right? That evolved into the much more stable habs!jack au — but the homicidal drama of the original lives on.
There’s seriously about 70k of various versions of this au floating around on my computer. Once I throttled back the murder and started thinking about the practical applications of a Jack that ended up playing for the Habs and an Eric that kept skating, things just kind of steamrolled. Unfortunately this led away from my main goal of writing a story where Jack confronts a version of himself that has ‘succeeded’ and has to deal with the emotional fallout, and turned more into a deep character study of what would have happened to Jack Zimmermann if he’d never truly gotten the support he needed to overcome his vices.
Of course, now the beast of the project is editing because there are so many raw versions I’ve tweaked a little here and there. Supportive Bob vs. Distant Father. Substance Abuse vs. Alcoholism. A dozen different takes on how Jack could crater a secret relationship with Bitty (usually sacrificing Bitty’s public image to save Jack’s).
It’s definitely my favorite project and it’s almost too big, now to be stitched into a Frankenstein’s monster of a fic, but I’m trying. In the interim, here’s version one from all the way back in 2017:
Bitty looks up and finds Zimms watching him intently, eyes pale as ice chips, gaze sharp and calculating. “You’re beautiful,” he says coldly. “You’re beautiful, he’s out, and you’re his.”
A shiver runs up Bitty’s spine, because the other man’s fingers are twitching and ‘beautiful’ doesn’t sound like a compliment; not to this Jack. However, his tone is as foreign as it is familiar, reminding Bitty of his freshman year and a Jack Zimmermann who couldn’t seem to process his emotions.
"I need your help to understand because I think you’re why I'm here."
“I am?” Bitty swallows, startling when he realizes he’s backed himself against the counter. In a heartbeat there are hands on his neck, a pair of recognizable lips hot against the curve of his cheek.
“I could have given him everything,” Zimms whispers, softly enough that the stubble catching on Bitty’s cheek feels like a threat, “You don’t even know, do you? You’d never have to work a day in your life.”
“I have everything I want,” Bitty presses a firm hand to Zimms’ chest though the action does nothing to dislodge the larger man. “I don’t need his money, or yours. I’m happy.”
This isn’t the answer Zimmermann wants.
“No, see, you think you’re happy, because you don’t know anything else,” Bitty flinches when Zimms rests his cheek against the top of his head. “You don't even know what you could be."
“That’s enough,” Bitty gets his palm against Zimms’ ribcage, the sensitive spot left over from an injury in Juniors, and shoves, hard. Zimms stumbles back with a breathless curse, and refocuses on Bitty with a wounded expression.
“Please,” he begs. “I want to know what I’m missing, what I did wrong — why does he get to have you and I don't?”
The version of Jack Zimmermann with three Stanley Cups and a substance abuse problem currently cornering Bitty in his own damn kitchen does not deserve affection. Not if this is what it does to him.
Bitty's rearing up for a fight when a thought stops him cold: "Wait, do you know me?"
Of course this is the moment Bitty's true Jack steps in from off the balcony with an excited flourish.
"Papa had a few ideas on how to resolve this and he's heading to the airport now. He should be here in a few hours."
Beside Bitty, Zimms stiffens.
Bob moves in for a hug, or a handshake, or something, and Zimms leans away from the touch, sliding back a few inches. Bob's smile falters and Zimms seems to immediately realize what he's done and laughs it off.
"Sorry, sorry, just, ah, worried about making this worse," Zimmermann stumbles, clapping his hands together to wring his wrists.
"Of course, of course," Bob says cautiously, "better safe than sorry, eh?"
Bitty leans into Jack's side and whispers, "What just happened?"
Jack frowns, his expression too harsh for Bitty’s liking, and he says something hurried, accusatory, in a language Bitty still hasn’t quite learned to speak. He catches Bob’s name, the Canadiens, and possibly something about leadership? No, wait, it’s ‘management’— Then Jack scrubs a hand through his hair and paces like he wants to be angry but can’t find the energy. Bob isn’t doing much of anything but he’s pale and there’s an unfamiliar furrow between his eyebrows.
Jack notices Bitty staring and explains, carefully, in English, “The Canadiens asked my father to be the GM in 2009 — he turned it down when I dropped out of the draft.”
It takes a moment for Bitty to understand the issue at hand, but when he gets it, the realization comes with an unfriendly twist of concern in his gut.
“Zimms plays for Montreal — isn’t that a conflict of interest?”
“That’s not the point,” Jack stalls out, trying to find the right words and failing long enough that Bob takes the reigns.
“It took a lot to make me change my priorities when it came to my legacy, my family,” his father’s voice is thick with regret. “If those events didn’t happen, the other, ah, me, is still chasing glory.”
Jack leans in, nudging his father with a sympathetic shoulder, and Bob knocks him back with a tight, wavering smile, clearly unable to continue. There’s a lot of history here, more than Jack ever thought he’d need to share because most of it had been buried and forgotten. Or so they’d thought.
It’s Jack’s turn to pick up the thread of the conversation, at least while his father pulls himself together. “If Zimms is playing for the Habs —” he starts, drawing Bitty’s attention away from the hockey legend tying himself in knots, “— and his father is the GM, he’s not getting the support he needs. It’s not possible.”
