Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The bullpen was empty.

Sawamura Eijun kicked his foot against the bottom rung of the fencing with a disgruntled snort, punching his fist into his glove with a sense of dissatisfaction. It was already past four o'clock and it was his day to have Miyuki catch for him, but there was no sign of the team Captain. School had ended some time before, but Sawamura had found himself called back by the history teacher to explain his paper on the Unification of Japan. Sawamura had, admittedly, written the paper by torchlight the morning of its submission, and he had felt sure that there had been a few kanji miswritten here and there, but even given that fact, the teacher had been entirely too harsh. In fact, as he reflected on the meeting now with another disgruntled 'humph', he had thought it entirely unfair that the teacher had not allowed Sengoku Basara to be cited as a source of information on Sanada Yukimura, and had ordered him to rewrite the paper again, this time without a single reference to either Wikipedia or Kuramochi's 'Warring States Battle Console Games" guidebook.

I'm still sure it was only because the page on Osaka Castle was covered in miso soup stains and I couldn't make out the dates properly.

He humphed again to emphasise his annoyance, although there was nobody there to either hear it or sympathise with his plight.

Particularly, no Captain.

On account of the weary teacher's dressing down, Sawamura had only arrived at the bullpen himself twenty-five minutes earlier, and had expected to find an annoyed senpai ready to either tease him or give him his second lecture of the afternoon, this time on punctuality. What he had not expected was a bull pen devoid of catcher - and that it would still remain so now.

There were no other pitchers or catchers in the bull-pen that afternoon. Furuya was pitching for the fielding practice, with Ono as his catcher, trying to iron out the bugs in their battery that had unsettled them both during the Jingu tournament the previous autumn. Kawakami and Kaneda had been roped in as runners and batters, while Kariba had been summoned to some class representative meeting related to the School Council. Sawamura had not known Seidou had had a School Council, much less that Kariba was on it, but he had not stopped to ask questions. It was his day to have Miyuki catch for him, so he had been in a hurry...and the absence of a Miyuki, angry or otherwise, waiting in the bullpen was now beginning to seriously tick him off.

I bet he's doing it on purpose because I was late. I bet he's watching from somewhere to see how long before I freak out, or give up, and then he'll rip holes in me at dinner, or make jokes at my expense.

Sawamura clenched his fists together.

He likes picking on me way too much. And yet it's him I always want to catch for me. I must be a sucker for punishment - but it's just not the same otherwise. I wish he'd feel that way too, sometimes - like I'm not just entertainment in his day, but a serious battery partner. He's so annoying...and yet I can't not want to pitch to him. Gah.

He glared at the walling of the bull-pen, only just resisting the urge to headbutt it in frustration, just in case the Captain was indeed watching from somewhere, or, worse, had borrowed Kuramochi's smartphone and was filming his reaction for the team's facebook page. Instead he ran his hand along the struts of the building, letting out a sigh of annoyance that he couldn't even express his emotions without the risk of them becoming public property.

Just because he was sometimes loud and sometimes shouted things in a fit of passion during a game. Just because sometimes he let his excitement get the best of him, some bright spark had set up a whole folder entitled Sawa-media on the Facebook group and it had already begun to fill with material. Only that morning, a picture of him sleeping in class - taken by Kanemaru and tagged as 'Baka-Sawan' (The Idiot Southpaw) - had come up on his feed. That nickname had originally come from Furuya, in a discussion before a media interview, but it had spread quickly among the first years, and was now occasionally used by the second years too when they wanted to get a reaction. As a result, almost all his images were tagged as 'Baka-Sawan' or 'Bakamura', and Sawamura felt sure that he knew who the masterminds behind the project probably were.

Miyuki and Kuramochi. The Captain and Vice Captain of Sawamura-baiting.

True, Miyuki himself did not own a smartphone, and didn't really care about using one - but Kuramochi had threatened to film Sawamura sleeping on the floor of the dorm room and upload it before now, and he was sure that a lack of technology would not get in the way of Miyuki's mischief should he choose to deploy it.

Though everyone said that Kuramochi and Miyuki weren't friends, Sawamura lived with one and spent his life chasing the other, and he knew different. His roommate and the team Captain were thick as thieves together, especially when it came to plotting mischief, and Sawamura had learned that it was sometimes best to be wary when one or both were around. In fact, he thought bitterly now, convincing the rest of the team that they didn't get along was probably just another big troll, which they doubtless laughed about behind everybody's backs.

"Oi, Sawamura! Why are you fondling the bull-pen like you want to take your relationship to the next level?!"

The voice of that roommate suddenly cut through his thinking, making him jump and swing around, hurriedly removing his hand from the bullpen wall as though he had been stung. His cheeks flushed red with annoyance as he heard the high pitched laugh of the shortstop and saw him standing across the grass, hands on hips. "What are you doing out here? Everyone's fielding. Coach is wondering where you got to."

"I'm meant to be throwing to Miyuki-senpai, but he isn't here," Sawamura said sullenly, kicking his foot idly against the railings once more. "He promised to catch for me today, but I was late out of class thanks to the history teacher deciding to give me a lecture. I got here as fast as I could but he isn't here and I don't know where he is. If he told the coach I should be fielding, then I swear..."

He balled up his fists.

"I came in good faith because he promised to work on the numbers with me, and he didn't have time this morning. I thought he was taking me seriously, but..."

"Woah, woah, boy," Kuramochi held up his hands in a mock surrender. "Before you punch dents in that thing, hear me out. Did nobody tell you? I guess if you were late, you haven't heard. Miyuki's not here. He's not practicing anywhere, today. Coach excused him. That's why he expected you to go field."

"Not...here? Excused him?" Sawamura's eyes could not get any bigger, and Kuramochi sighed, his cheeky expression becoming serious. He nodded, reaching over to grab Sawamura by the arm, and hauling him in the direction of the training ground proper.

"Mm," he said frankly. "So stop making a fuss about it, okay? No point in having a tantrum if the one you want to hear it isn't here."

"But why?" Sawamura demanded. "He made me a promise, and..."

"Nothing to do with you," Kuramochi said simply.

"Nothing to..." Sawamura stopped dead, his whole body trembling with anger at this dismissive statement, and at the change in his demeanour, Kuramochi also paused, eying his junior quizzically.

"You're pretty pissed off about it," he observed. "What was this, a pitching practice or a date?"

"Stop making jokes!" Sawamura exploded. "I was waiting, and he didn't tell me, and now he's just skipping off practice? Without even bothering to send a message?"

"Idiot." Kuramochi's response was blunt, and he grabbed the first year by the shoulders, giving him a little shake. "Stop it. Listen. Focus. I didn't want you making drama out of it, but I guess I don't have a choice. Miyuki isn't skipping off practice. He didn't choose to blow you off. I don't know why you're so mad that he did, since you complain about him so much, but listen, all right? He was hauled out of class halfway through this afternoon. There was a message from home. Apparently his Dad had some kind of accident at work, and so he went to see what was up. I don't know any more detail than that, but because of it, Coach excused him from practice. And if you'd been here on time," he clapped a hand down on Sawamura's head, "you'd have known it too."

"Accident?" As soon as it had come, the rage had drained out of Sawamura's body, leaving him momentarily numb, and Kuramochi nodded his head.

"So he didn't stand you up," he said frankly. "You should know better. Miyuki doesn't miss practice unless there's a good reason. He'd probably try to come if there was an earthquake and the ground had a big damn hole in the middle of it. Just it's a family thing. So because it's like that, he had to go."

"An accident," Sawamura's anger and resentment was quickly being replaced by horror, and he grabbed Kuramochi by the sleeves, eyes big with sudden emotion. "You can't just tell me that and nothing else? What kind of an accident? Is he okay? Is...I mean...will...I mean..."

"I don't know, idiot," Kuramochi clapped his hand across the back of Sawamura's head lightly. "So calm down. That's why I didn't want to tell you. You always overreact to everything, and it's not helpful. All I know is that he was hurt and Miyuki went home. Probably he'll be there over the weekend. Coach seemed to think so, anyway. But I can't answer what I don't know. Maybe Takashima knows more - she always seems well up in Miyuki's business - but whatever it is, it's nothing to do with you. Your job is to come with me and help field. And in Miyuki's absence, I'm pretty much acting Captain. So you'd better stop resisting and come quietly."

"Mmm," All of Sawamura's resistance had drained out of him after Kuramochi's revelations, and the older shortstop cast him a thoughtful look.

"For all you whine about Miyuki picking on you, you seem pretty worried that he's gone," he observed, and Sawamura sighed, shrugging his shoulders.

"Just because he annoys the heck out of me doesn't mean we're not friends. I think," he added the last two words doubtfully. "Sometimes I think so, anyway. And sometimes I don't know. But even if he doesn't think so, something like this...of course it's upsetting. Aren't you upset? What if it was your father?"

"Never had one, so don't know," Kuramochi said briskly, and Sawamura blinked at his roommate in surprise.

"Pardon?"

"What I said, idiot," Kuramochi grinned. "Never had one, so can't comment. And this ain't getting us anywhere. Less yapping, more leg moving, please."

"I'm coming," Sawamura hurriedly fell in step with his senpai once more, then, "But you know, everyone has a father..?"

"Not me," Kuramochi said matter-of-factly.

"But...surely...you must have done that stuff in biology. I mean, you know. About...babies...and all of that. And..."

"Idiot," A well timed kick to the rear stopped Sawamura's awkward explanation in mid-ramble, and Kuramochi groaned, rolling his eyes. "Not like that, stupid. Not in the literal sense. My parents divorced when I was a baby. Never saw my Dad. Don't care much what happens to him. Literally never thought about it. However," he looked serious. "If it were my mother, I'd be pretty damn upset. And I dunno...Miyuki's thing with his Dad seems pretty complicated. But I get the feeling Miyuki thinks a lot of his old man, too. So if you want to help him, the best thing you can do is not make a fuss and get on with practice. He'll catch for you when he's back, I'm sure - so for now, let it be. All right?"

"All right," Sawamura cast a glance back at the bullpen, a troubled look in his dark eyes. "I suppose so. I suppose in that case, I'm coming to field."

"So what, exactly, did you think you were playing at?"

Miyuki Kazuya folded his arms across his chest, fixing the room's only other occupant with a dark glare. The man in the armchair did not reply, instead raising his left arm to cover his bandaged right and meeting his companion's gaze with a semi-defiant one of his own. The silence continued for a few moments, then Kazuya let out a heavy sigh, slowly shaking his head in defeat.

"Why were you messing around trying to fix that kind of equipment without someone there to help you?" he demanded, moving across the room to stand directly before the other man. "It's not like you only started doing this yesterday. What if you'd cut your whole hand off on that thing? Bad enough you mangled your fingers!"

"It needed to be done," now the man spoke, his words quiet and defensive, and Kazuya clicked his tongue between his teeth.

"It needed to be done with someone else's help," he snapped back. "You gave me enough safety lectures as a kid about not running around inside the workshop and not putting my hands inside things that could be dangerous, especially not when they're switched on! Your hand already looks like something savaged it. Don't make it worse by trying to make excuses!"

"I'm not making excuses," the man responded evenly. "I had a deadline to meet and working on it overtime jammed the equipment, so I needed to fix it. And there wasn't anyone else to help, so I had to do it. I didn't intend this," he lifted his bandaged hand, "but you're making far too much of a fuss over something trivial. You didn't need to come all the way from school for this. It's not a bad injury and it will heal up just fine - the doctors said I missed most of the major ligaments and vessels."

"Nobody else to help...?" Kazuya's eyes narrowed to slits. "Does that mean you had to let your assistant go? I noticed, at New Year, that it was just you working late the night that I arrived. I didn't ask any questions, because I usually leave that to you - but tell me the truth, Dad. Are you working all these contracts on your own now, and if so, is there something I need to know about the state of this family's finances?"

"There is nothing you need to know about the state of this family's finances, now, or in the future," Miyuki Toku's eyes flickered slightly at this, and as they darkened, Kazuya felt a sense of frustration well up inside his own heart. "I'm your father, and managing the household is what I do. I told you a long time ago - you won your scholarship, and because of it, you're not costing me anything to keep or feed or clothe. You needn't worry about the rest of it, since they're my problems to fix, not yours. You're still a child and I want you to be that for as long as you're able."

"Dad, I'm seventeen," Kazuya snapped back. "Next year I'll graduate. I might even be going pro. And I don't think it's unreasonable to want to know what's going on. Just because you're not paying to keep me most of the year doesn't mean I'm not bothered if you starve to death or the business goes under."

"It's not going to go under," Toku sighed, suddenly looking weary. "And I didn't let my assistant go. He got another job. I've had a few friends help out with big contracts, but most of it is on me. That's all. There's nothing wrong economically. My insurance is up-to-date this time and will pay the medical bills. It's been busy, but I've made my last two orders on time and we're not in debt. I didn't have to lay anyone off. It's just that I just haven't filled the slot yet. That's all."

"And you're actively looking?" Kazuya looked suspicious, and Toku nodded.

"I put an advert in the local paper at the end of November, but nothing yet," he replied. "Don't glare at me like that, for goodness sake. You look way too much like your mother when you do it, and I don't need to see her face glaring at me after all these years."

"It's not my fault I look like her," Kazuya muttered, but obediently turned away, moving to the window of the small living room and resting his hands on the sill, gazing down at the yard and workshop. From this vantage point he could see the ominous brown spatters marring the ground below, where specks of his father's blood had fallen as he had rushed to seek help following the accident. Though he knew it was a freak occurrence - just one of those things that could go wrong in a workshop like the one Toku ran - the thought of it as it must have happened made his blood run cold. For some reason his memory was drawn back to something that he hadn't thought on in years - his mother's funeral, and the sound of people crying all around him. He had only been four or five at the time, too small to really understand the permanence of death, but, as his gaze took in the drops of blood, he remembered his father's face, pale and gaunt, his eyes tearless yet full of bleak emotion, as he had stared at the photo on the plinth.

Staring at someone gone beyond his reach.

For two weeks after the funeral, Kazuya had not seen his father at all. He had been bundled off to the house of a neighbour, and, although he had never told anyone, he had heard it in whispers - that the reason had been because he looked like her, and Toku could not bear to see his face so soon after her death.

Perhaps it had been that moment, Kazuya mused sadly, that he had decided never to be a burden on his father again.

There was a long silence, and then Toku sighed.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I didn't mean to bring her into it."

"We don't need to talk about her, since it's you it'll upset more than me," Kazuya rallied himself, turning to face his father in resignation. "I can scold you all I like, but it won't solve the realities of the situation. How many jobs do you have still to complete? Can your friends handle them?"

"I don't know, but you aren't going in that workshop," Toku spoke sharply, a warning in his dark eyes. "My fingers can be mutilated as much as they like, so long as they still have basic function, but you need yours to catch and throw with, and I won't have you dabbling in stuff where you have no training."

"You need your fingers just as much as I do, but calm down, I wasn't going to try," Kazuya grimaced. "I was just wondering who I should call and what I should tell them. It would help if you still had your assistant - but I guess we'll just have to make do with whoever you have in your phonebook."

"You really have got sarcastic with age, you know," Toku eyed his son pensively. "And you seem to think I'm not able to do anything myself. I still have one working hand and I can operate a phone. It really was a waste of time Erisa-san calling your school. I did ask her not to, since I knew you'd be bothered, and I didn't want to get in your way - but she insisted on letting them know. You might as well go back, though. You know, now, that it's not a dangerous or life-threatening injury. It's a bit messy, true, but even if it leaves scars, it's not going to stop me from working in the future."

"I'm not going back until I know everything is under control," Kazuya warned him. "I'm not stupid. And it's not just about the workshop. You have to eat, and do laundry, and all those other things as well. How are you going to do that, if your hand is out of action? Not that you really can cook, anyway," he amended, and Toku offered a rueful smile.

"I can heat instant ramen and eat convenience store bentou just fine," he objected, and Kazuya groaned, shaking his head. "All right, so I'm not as good a cook as you are, but that doesn't mean..."

"I'm staying for now," Kazuya cut across him, holding up a hand to prevent any further argument. "At least this weekend. After that, we'll see. Rei-chan told me to let her know what the situation was, and if I needed extra time, she'd arrange it with the school, so it isn't a problem. It's still the off-season, right now, and it's not like I can't go for a run on the old track round here if need be. I've no tests imminent and my grades are fine, so there's nothing for me to get behind in. It's only a month or so till spring break, anyway. And it's Friday," he concluded frankly, "which means that you've no reason to argue. It's going to be hard enough for you to use chopsticks with your left hand for a change. Don't make it worse by trying to pretend you can take care of yourself with only half your fingers functional."

"You really are like your mother, sometimes," Toku reflected, and Kazuya shot him an uncertain glance.

"I thought we weren't talking about her," he pointed out, and Toku shrugged, looking wistful.

"I know," he admitted. "But it wasn't meant as a slight."

Kazuya let out a heavy sigh.

"Whatever," he said dismissively. "I'm going to go check the cupboards. I'm going to go see what you haven't got in stock, and what I need to go buy. Then I'm going to go shopping. If you're able to work a phone, I suggest you do that, and get someone here to look at the workshop. Also, clean it up. Apparently it looks like something from a horror movie in there - according to Erisa-san - and if you don't want me in there, I can't do anything about it."

"You're not to go in there. Not even to clean," Toku said firmly. "Takashima-san wouldn't forgive me if I crippled one of her students."

"That student happens to be your son, too," Kazuya eyed his father pointedly, and Toku grinned.

"Yes, I know," he agreed warmly. "But I imagine she'd still want me to return you in one piece, and I don't really want to face her if I don't."

"I can see your point," despite himself, Kazuya laughed. "Rei-chan in a bad mood is definitely something to avoid. All right. Let me go and see how badly you've wrecked the cupboard and how much space there is in the fridge. There'll be no beer while your hand is healing - it's not good for repairing wounds - so if there's a lot of it in here, I'm going to go donate it to Erisa-san and Kei-san for helping you get to the hospital. You've been warned!"

"Kazuya!" Toku's smile evaporated at this, and a mischievous glint surfaced in the catcher's golden brown eyes at this reaction. He nodded.

"You should know better," he said firmly. "I've told you about it before. You can't run on alcohol alone. At least while I'm here, you'll eat a proper diet - because I'll be eating it too, and I have my future to think of!"