Chapter Text
The late-afternoon sun hung low over the football field, casting long golden beams across the grass. A handful of kids were scattered around the area — some perched on the wooden bleachers as spectators, others tossing a spare ball between them or simply enjoying the breeze that carried the scent of cut grass through the air.
A three-on-three match was underway, and from the looks of it, the game was nearing its final moments. One team consisted of three so-called “yard dogs” — a nickname given to the rougher kids who prided themselves on playing mean and hard, relying more on brute force than skill.
Facing them were Russell, Hank, and Butch.
Russell sprinted across the field, his old-fashioned football helmet on his head as he clutched the ball tightly against his chest. His breath came fast, adrenaline pounding in his ears. “Russ, on your left!” Butch called out sharply.
Russell turned just in time to see one of the yard dogs — a broad-shouldered kid built like a linebacker — charging straight at him. Heart lurching, Russell pivoted hard and barely sidestepped out of the way. The larger kid lunged past him and slammed face-first into the turf with a heavy thud, skidding through grass and dirt.
“Rusty, I’m open!” Hank called from ahead. Her dark green military-style helmet bobbed as she ran, black-tinted goggles strapped around it catching the sunlight. Russell didn’t hesitate. He launched the ball toward her just as she broke into a full sprint toward the field goal.
What Hank didn’t see was another opponent — a lanky kid with braces flashing between clenched teeth — closing in fast from behind. Russell opened his mouth to warn her, but before he could, Butch barreled in from the side and intercepted the would-be tackler, blocking him cleanly and keeping him away from Hank.
Hank spared a quick glance over her shoulder, catching sight of Butch holding the other kid back. Realization flashed across her face at how close that had been. “Thanks, Butch! I owe you,” she called, flashing him a grateful grin before snapping her focus forward again.
“Go finish it. Then we’ll call it even.” Butch shot back, digging his heels into the grass as he kept the struggling yard dog at bay.
Hank pushed herself harder, boots tearing through the turf as the field goal loomed closer. The world seemed to narrow to the space in front of her — the cheers of distant kids, the pounding of her heartbeat, the wind rushing past her ears. With one final burst of speed, she crossed the line and secured the last point.
She skidded to a stop and thrust a fist into the air. “And that’s game! We win!” she declared triumphantly.
Behind them, the yard dogs were still dusting themselves off, pride far more bruised than their bodies. Low groans and irritated mutters drifted across the field.
“Smooth move, faceplant!” the self-proclaimed leader barked at the kid who had missed Russell, jabbing a finger in his direction.
The larger boy spat out a bit of grass and shot him an angry look. “At least I tried to stop him — where were you?”
“You think I can stop everyone?” the leader snapped, crossing his arms defensively. “Step up next time instead of eating turf!”
“And you!” the leader rounded on the kid Butch had blocked, pointing accusingly. “This is why we lose! You can’t even catch the target!”
The boy with braces shoved his hands out in frustration. “Maybe if you actually led instead of just yelling at everyone, we wouldn’t be losing!”
“Yeah!” the larger kid chimed in, stepping forward now that his mouth was free of grass. “You practically just stood there while we did all the work. No wonder nobody else wants to play with you!”
The leader’s face reddened, but before he could fire back, the bigger kid turned to his teammate instead. “Come on. Let’s get outta here. We’ve got better stuff to do than hang around with ‘Captain Useless’.”
“Yeah, I’m done,” the braces-wearing kid muttered, throwing the leader one last glare. “Let’s roll.”
The two of them brushed past him and stalked off across the field, their shoes crunching against the gravel path.
“Fine! Run off!” the leader shouted after them, though his voice cracked slightly. “I’m better off without sissies like you anyway!”
He stood there for a second longer, fists clenched, before kicking at the dirt and stomping off in the opposite direction, grumbling under his breath.
Hank let out a satisfied laugh as she watched the trio of yard dogs storm off in three separate directions. Russell and Butch joined in, the tension of the game finally melting away.
“Yeah… I don’t think they’ll be lining up for a rematch anytime soon.” Hank said, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face.
“Yeah,” Butch agreed, folding his arms with a smirk. “Lot of noise, not a lot of skill.”
Russell adjusted his old helmet and glanced between his friends, a small but genuine smile forming. “Yeah, I mean… between you guys or them? Not exactly a tough choice.” He paused, sincerity creeping into his voice. “Thanks for having my back out there.”
Hank shrugged lightly, though her expression softened. “Of course we did. That’s what a real team does.”
Russell’s smile widened. “Yeah, I know. Still… I really appreciate it.”
“Alright, before this turns into a group hug… can we sit down? I’m beat,” Butch cut in, stretching his arms over his head.
Hank chuckled. “Fair enough. We’ve definitely earned a break.”
Russell nodded in agreement, and the three of them made their way toward the bleachers as the golden sunlight dipped lower below the horizon.
The sky had mellowed into warm shades of orange and gold as evening gradually settled over the field. Long shadows stretched across the grass. Russell, Hank, and Butch sat side by side in the bottom row as they replayed the best moments of the game.
“Man, all he got out of that was a mouthful of turf,” Russell said with a chuckle, shaking his head, “I almost feel bad for him.”
“Oh please,” Hank replied with a teasing smirk. You practically sampled the entire field your first game.”
Butch let out a low laugh, leaning back on his hands. Russell, meanwhile, winced at the memory. “Oh yeah,” he said dryly. “Pretty sure I was still picking grass out of my teeth for days afterwards.”
“Hey, improvement’s improvement,” Butch added. “You haven’t face-planted since.”
“Exactly,” Hank said, nudging Russell lightly with her elbow. Her tone shifted from playful to sincere. “Seriously though, Rusty — you’ve leveled up. Be proud of that.”
Russell looked down for a moment, the faint smile on his face turning more thoughtful. “I mean… yeah, I am,” he admitted. “But that’s mostly because of you guys. You’ve always had my back.”
He hesitated before adding quietly, “And honestly? I don’t know what I would’ve done without you two.”
The breeze picked up slightly, ruffling their hair as the words lingered between them.
“Especially you, Hank,” Russell added, turning toward her. There was no teasing in his voice now — just honest gratitude. “You kinda… didn’t let me quit. And those pep talks? Yeah. I really needed those.”
Hank rubbed the back of her neck, slightly embarrassed by the praise but smiling all the same. “Yeah, well… someone had to show you that you’re better than you think, Rusty.”
“Definitely,” Butch said with a nod. “That’s what a team does.”
A comfortable silence settled over them, the kind that only came from shared victories and easy friendship. The distant hum of crickets was beginning to replace the afternoon noise of the field.
After a moment, Hank straightened slightly. “So,” she began casually, “What are you guys gonna do now that things are calming down around here?”
Russell blinked at her. “Huh? What do you mean?”
“Well,” she clarified, gesturing toward the now mostly empty field, “With the season being over and all, I was wondering what you two were planning to do.”
“Wait — season?” Russell echoed, his brows furrowing beneath his messy hair. “Since when do we have seasons?”
“Oh — right.” Hank winced lightly as realization dawned on her. “Sorry, Rusty. I guess we forgot to explain that part.”
Russell still looked thoroughly confused, but he gave a small nod, signaling for her to go on.
Hank leaned forward slightly, “Okay, so — when everyone’s fully into it, that’s the season. It’s kind of an unspoken thing.”
“Playoffs are done. Season’s done,” Butch added, resting his elbows on his knees, “That’s how it works.”
“Yeah,” Hank continued, nodding. “Once the playoffs wrap up, most people take a break. Recharge, do other stuff.”
She gestured toward the quieting field before them. “These last few games? Just whoever still felt like showing up.”
Russell nodded slowly as it clicked into place. “Ohhh. Okay, yeah, that makes sense. I did notice fewer people showing up… but I just figured they were busy or something.”
“It’s fine, Rusty,” Hank assured him with a small smile. “Like I said, it’s kind of an unspoken thing around here. And hey—it's your first season. It's not like anyone handed you a handbook.”
“All right then,” Russell said, sitting up a little straighter. “Now that I’m officially in the loop… what are we gonna do instead?”
Hank and Butch exchanged a brief glance — the kind that said neither of them had actually thought that far ahead — before turning back to him.
“Honestly? I’ve got no clue,” Hank admitted, giving a small shrug. “We could still meet up here, I guess… but there wouldn’t be enough kids for a proper game.”
“Yeah,” Butch agreed. “Pretty sure those yard dogs were the last holdouts.” He smirked faintly. “Well… until today, anyway.”
Another quiet stretch followed. The breeze rustled through the trees beyond the field as Hank stared out at the empty goalposts, clearly turning something over in her mind.
Finally, her expression brightened. “Then we’ll find something else to do.”
Butch tilted his head. “And what exactly are you thinking?”
Hank looked between the two of them. “Lunch at the Snack Hub tomorrow. At noon.”
Russell perked up. “Snack Hub? You mean that fast-food joint just outside of town?”
“That’s the one,” Hank confirmed with a grin. “You up for burgers tomorrow?”
“Oh, definitely,” Russell replied without hesitation. “I’m always up for some fast food.”
“Same here,” Butch agreed.
“Great, then it’s settled,” Hank said with a satisfied smile. “We’ll meet there tomorrow around noon.”
Just then, the sharp blare of a horn echoed across the quiet field.
The three of them turned to see a familiar, slightly rusted pickup truck rolling into view — a model that looked like it had driven straight out of the 1950s. The engine gave a low, uneven rumble as it stopped.
Russell’s dad, Denny, leaned out the driver’s window and waved. “Rusty!”
“Coming, Dad!” Russell called back, grabbing his helmet.
He turned to Hank and Butch, offering them a quick grin. “Well, that’s my ride. See you guys tomorrow.”
“Have a good one, Rusty,” Hank said warmly.
“Later, Russ,” Butch added, giving him a small wave.
Russell jogged across the field toward the truck, climbed into the passenger seat, and pulled the door shut. A moment later, the old pickup rumbled off down the road, its faded paint catching the last light of the evening sun.
Hank and Butch stood from the bleachers, gathering their things.
“Well,” Butch said, stretching his arms overhead, “I guess that’s a wrap for today. Later, Hank.”
“Take care, Butch,” she replied with a nod.
With that, he headed off. Hank made her way toward her bike, which she’d left propped against the side of the bleachers. She slipped her helmet back on, adjusted the strap beneath her chin, and mounted the seat.
As the sky deepened into dusky hues, she pushed off and began pedaling home.
The shadows of the surrounding trees stretched longer across the road as the sun dipped steadily toward the horizon. The air had cooled slightly, carrying with it the quiet hum of early evening. Hank pedaled along the side of the road, her tires crunching softly over loose gravel, her mind drifting far from the road ahead.
She was a little disappointed that there wouldn’t be any games for a while. The field had become something special to her — the place where she got to play the sport she loved. But even so, she focused on the upside. Season or not, she still had her two closest friends. That wasn’t changing.
Tomorrow helped, too.
She smiled faintly at the thought of greasy burgers and shared laughs at the Snack Hub. And Russell being there made it even better. She genuinely enjoyed his company — his awkward jokes, his sincerity, the way he tried so hard even when he doubted himself.
Her thoughts lingered on his first day at the field.
He’d shown up quieter than usual for someone new — shoulders tense, eyes uncertain. Like he wasn’t sure he belonged there in the first place.
And that first official game… yeah, it had gone sideways. He’d stumbled more than he’d run, missed plays, and left early with his confidence bruised worse than his knees — grass stains and all.
She remembered catching up to him afterward, giving him not one, but two pep talks. Telling him not to quit just because things got tough. That everyone wiped out at first. That he’d find his rhythm.
The next game, he’d scored the winning point.
“Yeah,” she thought with quiet pride, a smile tugging at her lips. “I knew he could do it.”
He’d grown a lot since then — faster on his feet, steadier under pressure. But more than that, he’d opened up. And that mattered more to her than any touchdown.
Russell wasn’t just a teammate anymore.
He was her friend.
The distant growl of an engine broke through her thoughts. Hank instinctively glanced over her shoulder as a vehicle approached from behind.
An off-road police SUV came into view — white and blue paint gleaming faintly in the fading sunlight, black-tinted windows reflecting the trees, a red-and-blue lightbar mounted on the roof. It moved smoothly down the road, kicking up a small gust of wind as it passed her.
The rush of air ruffled her hair as the vehicle continued ahead.
And for a moment — just a moment — something about it felt… different.
Hank watched the police SUV with open admiration as it continued down the road. Like most kids her age, she thought police vehicles were undeniably cool — the bold paint job, the authority they carried, the sense that something important was always happening around them.
But this one felt… different.
She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Maybe it was the way it moved — too smooth, too steady. Or maybe it was just her imagination running ahead of her.
Before she could dwell on it, a sharp roar split the air from above.
Hank looked up quickly.
A jet streaked across the sky overhead, its body painted primarily red and black, the nose tipped in white. The canopy gleamed darkly, tinted so deeply it reflected the fading sunlight like polished glass, while large circular engines hummed on either wing.
Her eyes narrowed as she studied it. The engines caught her attention — large circular fans mounted on the wings, angled in a way that didn’t match any typical jets she’d ever seen before.
Then it clicked.
“VTOL…” she murmured under her breath.
She remembered a trip to the aviation museum some years ago — seeing small-scale models. Vertical Take-Off and Landing. She remembered them because they looked so different from the other aircraft.
The jet continued forward, shrinking into the distance until it became little more than a speck against the darkening sky.
“Whoa…” was all she managed to say.
She’d been so absorbed watching it that her pedaling slowed without her realizing. Her bike wobbled dangerously before she jerked upright and regained control, heart skipping as she steadied herself.
By the time she looked again, both the police SUV and the jet were gone.
Still, her mind lingered on them.
Seeing a police vehicle and a jet pass by in the same stretch of road was pretty neat on its own. But the timing — almost back-to-back — felt oddly coincidental.
And beyond that… there was something else.
Something about the way they’d moved. The presence they carried. An unspoken weight in the air that she couldn’t explain.
An aura, maybe.
She frowned slightly. That sounded ridiculous even in her own head.
“Eh… it’s probably nothing,” she muttered to herself, giving a small shake of her head.
She refocused on the road ahead. “Now what was I thinking about…?”
She scratched her head briefly, then snapped her fingers softly. “Oh — right. Tomorrow.”
A small grin returned to her face.
She had an idea — something different from what they were used to — that she wanted to pitch to the guys when they met up. She was sure they’d be all in.
With that thought, Hank pedaled onward, the evening settling fully around her as she made her way home.