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Strange Visitor From Another Planet!, 1/1
Strange Visitor From Another Planet!

Fandom: NHL RPS

Pairing: Patrick Kane/Jonathan Toews

Summary: "Stopping bullets with your chest isn't hard, but it ain't easy."

Length: 4k (finally, a short one, jesus)

Warnings: oh god, as [personal profile] rageprufrock put it, "...how is it both hockey AU AND hockey rpldsfkjsdf"

Notes: So, basically I was like, "Ugh, [personal profile] thehoyden where is my fic where Super Kaner is really Superman and Tazer is the BITCHIEST Lois Lane?" and she was like, "LOLOLOLOL SUCKER" and then I wrote it. And [profile] moonklutz bullied me through it in the most loving of ways. I would like to qualify that this is like... TV/movie news accurate. I asked Pru to stop me from shaming myself and after she laughed and was like, "TOO LATE." she made me caveat it this way. Yeah, idk either, guys.

Patrick Kane would be a fucking awesome journalist if he wasn't Superman.

It's hard to explain why he would be like, five feet away from Chase Tower and yet somehow miss the bank being robbed, unless he's stupid as shit. But he certainly can't tell anyone the truth, either- "Yes, I did see the whole thing from where I was being a super hero foiling the crime. I can give you pretty good descriptions of all the robber, including his dental history, because I have motherfucking x-ray vision. Dude had mad fillings." So instead he tells Toews and Sharp that he went to get a coffee across the street.

"You're kidding," Jonny says, as flat and unbelieving as he can, which is pretty tremendous.

"I was thirsty!" Patrick tries to inject some whine into his voice. A frappucino does actually sound really good. Stopping bullets with your chest isn't hard, but it ain't easy.

"You have the worst instincts of anyone I've ever met," Seabs laughs from across the bullpen, listening eagerly while sitting on Patrick's desk and putting his dirty ass feet on Patrick's chair.

"Preach," Duncs agrees.

“I have a story!” Patrick protests.

“This is not a story,” Sharpy says, pointing at Patrick’s headline which- “BANK HEIST FOILED; OBSERVERS SAY “THANK GOD FOR SUPERMAN”” is shit sad, that’s fair.

"Can I have a word with you?" Toews says, after a long moment of staring at Patrick like he's a robot with laser eyes who can destroy Patrick for screwing up at newspapering again. It's not really a question, since he takes Patrick by the elbow and drags him out into the break room. "Look. I just need something to run with for online. Something that'll get us picked up over the Sun-Times. I know you have something."

Patrick bites his lip, because this is Jonny. If Jonny is one thing, it's dedication to the paper. If he's two things, he's dedication to the paper and burning, scorching deadpan hotness. Jonny shouldn't suffer for Patrick being Superman and having to suck at his job all the time as his cover. "Okay, okay. I talked to one of the cops and he said something about the guy robbing the bank for his girlfriend, Brandi."

Actually, Frank, the robber, had sobbingly confessed that he just wanted to get her some nice things. Patrick had felt kind of bad. Guy was making hella bad choices, but his heart was in the right place. He wasn't robbing the bank for funds for a death ray or anything. Just wanted to go on vacay with his lady. Patrick gets that.

Jonny stares at Patrick, the beginnings of a truly amazing bitchface forming. "Yeah?”

"You’re going to make me call all this guy’s neighbors, aren’t you?” Patrick asks sadly and Jonny snorts.

"You fucking betcha, Kaner." Jonny smiles and walks back to the bullpen.

Patrick wishes he didn't feel all a-tingle.


All things considered, being Superman actually superblows, but someone has to protect Chicago. Streets are fucked up, man. Patrick has usually just gotten in his jams when some 6 story building catches on fire, like, full of babies. There should be a rule that babies are first floor only. If he couldn't fly, it would be beyond bogus. He also always misses the smudge of soot under his jaw- which, the fuck does that shit even get there, he's not rubbing his face on burning buildings- and Jonny throws the morning edition down on his desk like a gauntlet.

"Arson?" he greets Patrick.

"Nah, gas leak," Patrick says automatically, the hint of rotten eggs still in his nose, before he can think. "Uh, probably, right?"

Jonny 'hmms' all mysteriously at him. "Probably."

It's a close call; Jonny always seems to catch him out by accident. It's a good thing that Patrick's fucking awesome at deflection. Patrick rubs under his chin, catching the last of the charcoal.

He can see four miles away, but he misses Jonny watch him rub the last of the charcoal off his chin.


The city is full of fucking bridges, it was only a matter of time until one went bonkers and tried to kill everyone.

And because Patrick's existence is shit, it's the Michigan Ave bridge, in the dead of winter, when no one expects it. Both levels are at baffling, dangerous angles, all the better to try to crush or drown people. In a horrifying new development, one of the sides is angled down toward the river on the lower level. Patrick didn't think it could do that, but he didn't think the bridge would malfunction, period.

He's trying to save an Escalade teetering on the edge of the upper deck, because that shit's gorgeous and also there's like, a family of five in it, when he hears metal groan and the upper deck on the other side starts to slam down on the lower.

"Aw, man," Patrick groans, giving the Escalade an inelegant shove back onto the deck before bracing himself between the decks on the other side. Which is also when he realizes Jonny and his shitty car are about ten feet away from him. "Aw, fuck."

Jonny's car is pinned between two SUVs, which explains why he didn't do the logical thing and run himself the fuck off the bridge like a sane person. It looks like Chicago PD has most of the people off the bridge so Patrick is feeling a big dose of fuck this noise. Kaner has officially had it with this bridge.

So he maybe uses his heat vision to melt some gears to fix the bridge in place.

Afterward, after using some super vision to ascertain that no one else is on the bridge, Patrick feels totally justified in swooping in to save Jonny, on top of saving the day.

"Really?" Jonny yells in his ear as they swoop up to the top of the Hyatt.

"What?" Patrick says back.

"You're carrying me bridal style," Jonny says, arms crossed over his chest.

"Oh, um," Patrick sets Jonny on his feet carefully. "I wanted to be sure of your safety, J- Citizen. I'm sorry you had to be the last off the bridge."

Jonny gives him the eye for a moment before sighing. "Well, it's not like I was expecting any special treatment. Can I get a quote for the paper?"

Patrick does his best to look surprised. "You'll be covering the bridge malfunction? Well, sir, in that case, please tell Chicago that I'm just happy we avoided any serious damage. I hope that everyone is alright."

Jonny stares at him like he's slow for a couple of seconds before rolling his eyes. "Great, what an exclusive." Jonny glances around. "Is this- did you put us down on top of the Hyatt?"

"Uh.... yes," Patrick says slowly. He's gotta get out before he says something stupid. "Farewell!"

He flies off thinking about how that's probably the fucking dumbest thing he could have possibly said.


Jonny's story, in addition to Kaner's quote, includes a recount of the whole thing, um, interestingly sans Jonny's rescue.

There's also a quote from Rahm Emanuel's press conference- when asked about Superman's involvement in the bridge malfunction, Rahm had muttered, "I don't know what's so fucking 'super' about him. That bridge is going to require millions in repairs. Next time he wants to save a bunch of people, it's fine with me, as long as he doesn't break the city at the same goddamn time."

The video goes viral, autotuned to hell, using a really unflattering picture of him after fighting a slime monster.

Duncs and Seabs play it non-stop all afternoon.

Jonny knocks their heads together around play 20. "Knock it off. Some of us are trying to work."

"You're so mean, Tazer," Seabs whines.

Sharpy laughs. "You have to admit, it's catchy."

"Then listen to it with your headphones in," Tazer gripes.

He slaps the back of Patrick's chair affectionately as he walks by. Man, Jonny is even accidentally a good friend.


And because in return, Patrick is also a good friend, when Jonny is terrifying the entire bullpen and aggressively ordering Kaner to cover like, cat fashion shows or some punitive shit, Patrick does the responsible thing and goes to get Jonny a sandwich. Jonny can be powerfully bitchy, but it's usually either for the good of the paper or because he's starving and has either forgotten to eat and/or ignored the humanity of his own body in order to yell at sources like a boss.

And because Patrick is the best, he goes to Pastoral to get Jonny a real sandwich, with fucking crusty bread, goddamn mysterious delicious cheeses and turkey that hasn't been compressed into a cylinder. So despite the fact that by nature, Patrick doesn't believe in paying ten bucks for a sandwich, the smells are so overwhelmingly scrumptious smelling, like actually meriting the use of the word scrumptious, that Patrick gets himself one too.

Because he's had a terrible fruitless crush on him for years, Patrick gets Jonny bacon potato salad, too.

Of course, Sharpy is standing in front of the elevator doors when Patrick arrives back in the office.

"Peeks, you sweetheart, for me?" Sharpy coos, reaching out sneaky ass acquisitive hands towards Patrick and Jonny's food.

"Fuck no, go get your own." Patrick clutches the bag close to his chest.

Sharpy dimples at him aggressively. "Let's play keep away. Raise the bag over your head and see if I can get it."

"You're a dick," Kaner reminds him, shoving past. "And I'm not short!"

"You're my little pocket-sized princess," Sharpy sing-songs as he gets in the elevator. "Polly Peeks."

The doors close on Patrick clumsily flipping Sharpy the bird around his lunch bags.

Jonny stares at Patrick like he's an alien (ok, touche) when he puts the bag on Jonny's desk.

"You didn't eat lunch," Patrick reminds him.

"Oh," Jonny says, surprised, because he believes his blood sugar is just a matter of willpower. It's not that Jonny's incapable of taking care of himself- he's the most together dude Patrick has ever met- but sometimes he just needs a little TLC to keep the bitch machine moving. "How much do I owe you?"

Patrick makes a hurt face to cover up how actually kind of hurt he is. What the fuck, man, you can't buy your bro a sandwich? "Dude. I got this."

"Oh," Jonny repeats, quietly.

"Eat," Patrick says, nudging the bag closer to Jonny.

"You got yourself one too, right?" Jonny says, hooking over the piss sad extra chair that Jonny commandeered by dint of meanness to give his cube an air of class and "prestige."

"Duh," Patrick pulls his out and waves it at Jonny.

"Oh, gross, that smells like hams," Jonny says.

Patrick rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I got you turkey, I have met you, you know. Quit whining."

They eat in silence until Jonny bangs his knee against Patrick's, hard. "Thanks."

Patrick fights down his stupidest smile. "Yeah, man."


Jonny gets the office tickets to the Blackhawks and, doing Patrick a total solid, invites him to take the spare. Patrick is insanely looking forward to it- the seats are amazing and he gets to sit close to Jonny all night, sharing nachos, watching hockey. Screw Hannah Montana, that's the best of all worlds, forget both worlds.

But he can't ignore the jewelry store being robbed right in front of him, no matter that he's supposed to meet Jonny at the United Center in 10. Especially because the poor saleswoman behind the counter, the one the nervous looking robber is shaking a gun at, is obviously pregnant.

And when the robber is safely zip stripped to the telephone pole outside and Tricia, the lovely sales lady totally goes into labor, well, it's not like Kaner can whip out his phone and be like, "Oh, hold up, I know you're in crazy pain and scared and having a baby, I just have to tell my boy I'm running late to a hockey game."

Well, he could, but that's cold. So he waits with her for the cops to show up, then he kindly but firmly insists that they take Tricia to the hospital first, which is when there's a massive pile-up en route to the hospital. And fuck that, Tricia's having a baby! So Patrick does some traffic control by way of literally moving cars, people, anything he has to, which- really, twice in one month? But when they get Tricia to the hospital, her husband Dan is stuck in Lakeview. And seriously, no one should miss out on that. Plus, Tricia told him about lamaze- shit sounds hard. So he picks up Dan- literally- and totally gets him to the hospital.

Which is when he realizes that it has to be well into the third period and Patrick is the worst.

He's barely a few blocks from the UC- Patrick runs there a little faster than is maybe wise, but seriously, he stood Jonny up. There's a twisting, wretched, super shitty feeling writhing in his stomach as he careens into the box office. The woman behind the counter gives him the stink eye but hands over a ticket and Patrick could not care less about anything else.

"Jonny, I'm so sorry, there was a traffic thing- shit, no, too accurate." Kaner practices as he circles around to the right entrance for their seats. "Jonny, I'm so sorry. My apartment flooded. Water everywhere. Soaked my phone. Fuck, I'm terrible at this." He shoves into the right aisle, finally.

"Jesus, Patrick," Jonny breathes out when he sees Patrick. Which is when he realizes he's covered in a faint patina of grime, motor oil, and shit, is that someone's blood? What the fuck.

"Oh, um- I'm so, so, so sorry, there was-" Patrick starts.

Jonny just shakes his head. "No problem."

Patrick can't help but stare at Patrick, even as something on the ice makes everyone else shout. "Wait, what?"

Jonny shrugs. "I'm sure it was important and unavoidable. You don't have to explain that to me."

"Seriously?" Patrick demands. How can Jonny not want to know what happened?

"Yeah." Jonny grins. "I'm sure I'll read all about it."

Kaner barks out a startled laugh. "Yeah, right. Like the exploits of Patrick Kane are news worthy."

Jonny raises his eyebrows like he's about to lay into something, but just then the Blackhawks score and everything else is lost in crowd noise.

"Well, I'm glad you didn't miss the whole game," Jonny says over the roar.

"Yeah, me too," Patrick yells back, relief extending the adrenaline rush just a little longer. Or maybe it's just Jonny, elbowing Patrick in the ribs, calling out the ref in a vulgar shout that pleases Kaner to the depths of his soul.

Patrick forgives himself for leaning a little closer, letting himself feel Jonny warm against his side. He's only superhuman.


Patrick knows Jonny is a reporter, and thus will put himself into peril for a good story, but Kaner wishes it was with a little less fucking frequency, for his personal comfort, if nothing else.

“Sir, the next time you decide to investigate a human trafficking ring, could you please call the police, rather than trying to track them down to their lair yourself?” Patrick tries to keep his tone as neutral as possible, which is hard when he’s looking at Jonny’s stupid face, his lip split and bruised and rubbing gently at Jonny’s wrists, chaffed and red from the ropes that had been tying him to the chair.

“There wasn’t time for that,” Jonny sounds completely unrefuckingpentant. “Either I followed my hunch and chased them down, resulting in, hello, this bust and saving a bunch of innocent people, or right now, they’d still be bundling people into unmarked vans to sell into prostitution, so.”

“You’re just not careful, Jonny,” Patrick spits out.

“Hey- I’m okay,” Jonny points out and Patrick realizes that the chair is creaking under his hands, squeezing tightly enough to crack the wood it. “It’s okay.”

Patrick can’t stop himself from carefully, carefully rubbing his thumb over the corner of Jonny’s mouth, red and tender looking. “It’s not okay.”

Jonny doesn’t say anything for a long moment, his eyes dark and unreadable and then he pulls Patrick’s hand aside and kisses him.


No, Jonny doesn’t kiss Patrick- Jonny kisses Superman.


“Um,” Patrick says, leaning back. “We should get you to the EMTs.”

“No, we really shouldn’t,” Jonny pulls Patrick back against him, and shit, it feels great, it feels beyond great. Jonny kisses like he writes, fast, nothing wasted, making his point, convincing you he knows exactly what you want and need to know. All Patrick wants to know right now is how he can get Jonny to keep making that noise, soft and promising.

He can have this, right? It's not like Superman isn't a part of him. If it's what Jonny wants, Patrick can do that. He'll take Jonny any way he can get him. It's fine. It's not like anyone could be expected to pick Patrick Kane, terrible fucking journalist and terrible dresser, when they could have Superman instead.

It's fine.

But then Jonny sighs against Patrick’s mouth and brings a hand up to cup Patrick’s face, tracing along Patrick’s cheekbone and it’s not fine, it's not fucking fine at all.

It’s stupid, it’s so stupid, when he has Jonny right where he wants him, but Patrick wants Jonny to want Patrick Kane, not just Superman.

“I have to go- emergency,” Patrick gasps out against Jonny’s mouth, tearing himself away. He also knows Jonny will never get himself checked out unless Patrick literally drops him in the EMTs’ laps. So he scoops Jonny up and zips him out to the sidewalk.

Patrick gets one last glimpse of Jonny’s surprised face as he drops him off on the ambulance hitch before he’s shooting across the city, weaving between buildings.


Patrick’s “emergency” is eating five pints of ice cream on his couch.

He wants to check in on Jonny, see how it went with the EMTs, but Patrick doesn’t know about that, so instead he just keeps sulking even more aggressively every time he instinctively reaches for his phone.

Jonny’s probably at the office, typing out the story because he’s a fucking moron who doesn’t want to get scooped and Kaner just gets more and more annoyed the more he thinks about it.

After he’s kicked over the empty pyramid of pints twice, his phone chimes and Patrick dives for it.

Everything ok? Jonny asks.

Patrick stares at his phone, confused. yeah? y?

Just checking in I guess Jonny sends back after a couple of minutes.

nope all cool over here what up Kaner sends back as nonchalantly as one can text.

Typing up the story now.

Patrick is too pissed off at Jonny to play dumb. moron GO HOME

Shut up deadline is in two hours

Patrick muffles an annoyed scream in the couch pillows that accidentally gets all of the dogs in the building barking.


The next morning in the office, Jonny is the source of great excitement, between the front-page story and the bruises, which, fuck, look even worse in the fluorescent light of the bullpen than they did in the shitty abandoned warehouse last night.

“Man, Supes let them give it to you, huh?” Seabs asks, poking at Jonny’s face. “I mean, I would have left you with the body snatchers. Maybe he’s getting tired of saving your dumb ass.”

Kaner slides down in his chair, because yeah, great, not like he already didn’t feel shitty about it, thanks, Seabs.

Jonny rolls his eyes. “He already yelled at me, thanks. But I’m sure he’s pretty invested in saving my ass.”

Patrick must be imagining the way Jonny’s eyes flick over to him, even as Sharpy elbows Jonny, waggling his eyebrows. He’s still trying to wrap up some corrects, so he doesn’t notice Jonny until he’s right behind Patrick.

“Hey, thanks,” Jonny says, bumping Patrick’s chair with his hip.

“For?” Patrick asks, confused.

Jonny stares at Patrick for a long moment before huffing, seemingly amused. “You know.”

Patrick guesses he means not being a little shit and giving him grief this morning. “Oh, yeah. Totally. Any time.”

The smile Jonny gives him is slow and beautiful and shit, Patrick wants to like, fucking live in that smile. “I’ll hold you to that, Kaner.”

Kaner is probably fucking beaming up at Jonny uselessly and Jonny just shakes his head.

“Dinner tonight? Barring man-made or natural disasters,” Jonny asks, a little smile still playing around the jacked up corners of his mouth that Patrick still wants to kiss.

“You’re buying, you name it,” Patrick agrees automatically.

Jonny snorts. “Just be ready to go at 6.”


Kaner was mostly kidding, but Jonny pays for dinner anyway. Steaks demolished, Jonny even offers to drive him back to his apartment so he doesn’t have to take the L home in the rain. Patrick is full of goodwill toward the world, despite the shitty start to the day, which is probably why he’s totally blindsided by Jonny leaning across the gear shift to kiss Patrick as soon as they’ve pulled into a parking space outside Patrick’s apartment.

Patrick automatically sways into Jonny, Jonny pulling Patrick even closer, his hands curling around the lapels of Patrick’s blazer which reminds Patrick that right now he’s Patrick Kane, not Superman.

“Holy shit, Jonny,” Patrick says, jerking back, plastering himself against the passenger side window, adjusting his askew glasses.

“What’s wrong?” Jonny asks, looking totally like he’s not trying to Def Jam’s How to Be A Player Patrick right now.

“I’m like- I’m not judging- no, wait, I am totally judging! Like, seriously, you’re going to cheat on Superman?” Patrick demands.

Jonny stares at Patrick.

“Are you concussed or something?” Jonny tips Patrick’s head around like he’s checking how his eyes are tracking. “Patrick, you are Superman.”

Patrick gapes at Jonny, mouth open unattractively. “You knew?!”

Jonny glares at Patrick furiously. “How stupid do you think I am, Patrick? Your ‘disguise’ is glasses and hair gel, you idiot. I knew the first time I saw you. I didn’t make a real big secret of the fact that I knew, either. Also, you thought I would have cheated on you?” Jonny looks like he’s gearing up into a bitch fit of previously unknown proportions but Patrick is so happy he thinks his body is going to explode and take the planet out with it.

He doesn’t think that that’s actually a possibility, but it seems safer to just manhandle Jonny across the car and into Patrick’s lap for some grade A making out.

Jonny keeps hissing things like, “You’re such a fucking moron,” and “I can’t fucking believe you thought that,” but he keeps kissing Patrick, wet, dirty and perfect, so he can’t be too mad.

“Yeah, okay, yes, shit, Jonny, I’ve wanted this forever, fuck,” Patrick breathes out as Jonny bites at his neck like a sexy vampire off the CW. “Shit, do that again.”

“I’m so mad at you,” Jonny growls at him, but does it again anyway. “Do you know how long it took me to get you, you ass? I’m not taking my hands off you.”

Patrick lets out something embarrassingly close to a whine, which is probably unbecoming in a guy who can bend a streetlight into a pretzel. “Fuck, Jonny,” Patrick pants. “I’m not arguing, ever, you just put your hands- fuck, wherever you want.”

“You’re fucking right,” Jonny grinds his hips down hard against Patrick’s. “I’m gonna, Patrick. Put my hands all over you.”

“Yeah, yes,” Patrick groans. “Fuck, Jonny, that’s all I want.”

“Better not be,” Jonny says. “I have it on good information that you’re here to fight for truth, and justice, and the American way.”

“Well,” Patrick grins as he presses another kiss to Jonny’s mouth. “Then we’d better be quick.”


“Are you fucking kidding me, Kaner?” Duncs groans. “Superman saves a bus full of nuns on your street and you miss it?”

Patrick shoots a grin at Jonny. “Guess I’m just unlucky,”

Jonny shoots him an email.

That could change tonight.

Patrick loves being Superman.

Yo dawg, why don't you comment on the dw. Because you can do that. And I want you to do that. Right here. http://twentysomething.dreamwidth.org/29027.html?mode=reply <3.

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