TMD; The Mighty Ducks; Preferences and Imagines

𝕣𝕖𝕢𝕦𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕕- 𝕄𝕠𝕣𝕖 𝕋𝕙𝕒𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝔹𝕒𝕤𝕙 𝔹𝕣𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕤; 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔹𝕒𝕤𝕙 𝔹𝕣𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕤

𝕣𝕖𝕢𝕦𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕓𝕪; AshTray367

Fulton Reed was used to people looking at him like he was some kind of monster. It had been that way since he was a kid—his height, his build, the permanent scowl he didn't even mean to wear. It only got worse when he and Dean Portman became the "Bash Brothers." The name stuck, and so did the reputation.

But lately, it had gotten bad.

Really bad.

Dean stormed into the locker room, shoving his helmet onto the bench so hard it clattered to the floor. "Unbelievable, man," he muttered. His hands were balled into fists, his jaw clenched tight.

Fulton sat on the bench, his shoulders hunched. "What happened?"

Dean yanked off his gloves and threw them down. "These guys from the other team—before the game even started—called us 'goons.' Said we don't even know how to play hockey, just how to throw punches." His voice was thick with frustration. "Coach had to pull me away before I gave them a reason to call me that."

Fulton exhaled sharply, staring at his skates. "I heard some parents in the stands saying we shouldn't even be allowed on the ice."

Dean let out a bitter laugh. "Yeah? Well, that ref sure seemed to agree."

Fulton flinched. "We barely even touched that guy, and they benched us for it."

"Exactly!" Dean sat down hard next to Fulton. "I laid one check—one legal check—and suddenly I'm 'out of control'? They don't see how Banks gets slashed five times a game, but the second we so much as breathe on someone—penalty."

Fulton didn't say anything. He just ran a hand down his face and let out a shaky breath.

Dean side-eyed him. "You okay?"

Fulton hesitated before answering. "I don't know." He swallowed. "I don't wanna do this anymore, man."

Dean frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I'm tired of being the bad guy." His voice was quiet, but there was weight behind it. "I love hockey. I love being on this team. But every time we step on the ice, it's like everyone's already decided who we are. The refs, the other teams, even our own fans sometimes." He shook his head. "I don't know if I can keep doing this."

Dean didn't answer right away. He just sat there, staring at the floor. When he finally spoke, his voice wasn't as loud as before. "Yeah," he admitted. "Me too."

Neither of them noticed that their teammates had been lingering near the locker room door.

Charlie was the first to step in. "Hey," he said carefully.

Fulton and Dean both looked up. The rest of the team was behind Charlie, their faces a mix of concern and determination.

Goldberg crossed his arms. "So... you guys are thinking about quitting?"

Dean scowled. "I don't know, man. Maybe."

"That's stupid," Averman said, stepping forward. "Like, really stupid."

Fulton sighed. "Averman—"

"No, listen!" Averman pointed at them. "You two are bash brothers. Who else is gonna scare the crap out of the competition? Who else is gonna make sure Banks doesn't get steamrolled every game?"

Ken nodded. "We need you."

Julie stepped in. "Look, we know how people see you. But they don't know you like we do."

Connie crossed her arms. "You guys aren't just the Bash Brothers. You're Dean and Fulton. You're our friends. And if people wanna talk trash, then they're gonna have to deal with all of us."

Fulton's throat tightened. He looked at Dean, who looked just as overwhelmed.

Charlie clapped a hand on Fulton's shoulder. "We're in this together, guys. If they're gonna judge you for the way you play, then we'll just have to remind them who you really are."

Dean exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. "You guys are nuts."

Averman grinned. "Yeah, but we're nuts for you."

Fulton let out a small laugh, shaking his head. For the first time in a long time, he felt like maybe things could get better.

And maybe, just maybe, the Bash Brothers weren't as alone as they thought.

The next practice, the team got to work.

First, they had to show everyone that Dean and Fulton weren't just enforcers—they were real players.

"We need to highlight their skills," Charlie said, gathering the team at center ice. "People think they only check and fight, but that's not true. We know they can play, so let's make sure everyone else knows it too."

Banks skated up beside Fulton. "Dude, you have a killer slap shot. You should use it more."

Fulton hesitated. "Yeah, but..."

"But nothing," Banks cut in. "People expect you to hit people. Surprise them by scoring instead."

Julie nodded. "And Dean, I've seen you set up plays. You see the ice really well. If you start making passes instead of throwing checks, people will have to rethink their whole opinion of you."

Dean scoffed. "Yeah, until I breathe near someone and get called for a penalty."

Averman smirked. "Then don't give them a reason. Play clean. Play smart. Make them look like idiots when they call you for nothing."

The plan was set.

The next game was against a team that had been especially vocal about the "goon" reputation. Parents, players, even their coach had made comments about Dean and Fulton being thugs.

But this time, the Ducks were ready.

Fulton didn't go for the big hits—he went for the goal. When a defender came charging at him, expecting a bone-crushing check, Fulton juked around him and ripped a slap shot straight into the net.

The crowd gasped.

Dean played just as smart. He anticipated plays before they happened, setting up perfect passes for his teammates. No dirty hits, no penalties—just pure, skilled hockey.

By the third period, the opposing team was rattled.

"They don't know what to do," Banks whispered to Charlie as they lined up for a face-off.

Charlie grinned. "Good."

And when the Ducks won, 5-2, it wasn't because of brute force. It was because they played as a team—fast, smart, and disciplined.

As the team skated off, Fulton and Dean were shocked when a few of the opposing players actually approached them.

"Hey, man," one of them said. "Didn't know you had that kind of shot."

"Yeah," another added. "Guess you're more than just the Bash Brothers."

Dean smirked. "Took you long enough."

Fulton just grinned.

As they headed to the locker room, Dean nudged Charlie. "Alright, fine," he admitted. "You guys were right."

Charlie raised an eyebrow. "We're always right."

Fulton let out a deep breath, a real smile forming. "Thanks, guys. For everything."

Julie nudged him. "Hey, what are teammates for?"

Dean looked around at his team—their team. For the first time in a long time, he didn't feel like just an enforcer. He felt like a player. A teammate. A Duck.

And that?

That felt pretty damn good.