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Nagomi Nava is standing at the plate.
It’s Lars’ first day at practice, first day after being promoted from the Sundarns. They’re barely even old enough to play, according to Sandoval’s estimations, but now they’re supposed to pitch the ball to actual professional players. Now, Nagomi freaking Nava is standing at home plate.
It smells like dirt. That’s not a smell Lars knew could be overwhelming, but somehow the Moab has managed it. Lars tries to breathe in deep and ends up coughing. They try to hide it behind their glove, but they doubt that fools anybody.
Nagomi doesn’t even twitch. She stands completely straight and still, bat resting against the dirt at her feet. Her eyes never leave their face. As if Lars needed more to unnerve them.
They catch their breath, barely, and take a second to regain their footing. Lars runs a hand over their eyes, pulls their hands up to their chest, and winds up.
Nagomi doesn’t even lift her bat to swing. It doesn’t matter; the ball barely makes it over the plate.
--
It’s not really about where you want the ball to go.
That took Lars a really, really long time to figure out. No matter how badly he thought about where he wanted the ball to be, no matter how much he wished and hoped and crossed his fingers, the ball would end up somewhere else. And that’s because, in the end, wanting is barely even scratching the surface of what needs to be done to throw a decent pitch.
What actually matters is the form. It’s where he places his feet, and where his eye is looking. How much does he straighten or bend his arms, how does he follow through?
Sometimes, he gets so caught up in all the things he’s supposed to be keeping track of that he forgets to keep track of them. But he’s learning. Slowly.
It’s just that there isn’t much time to improve when it’s already the playoffs, and the team is counting on him to outdo himself.
“You’re going to be fine,” Nagomi says to him. She’s got a bat slung over one shoulder, is signing with her free hand. “You are going to pitch. You will throw the ball where it wants to go. Beyond that, this is out of your hands.”
Lars nods, covering her hand with one of his own. He takes a deep breath, ignoring the way his heart is pounding against his ribcage. One of his spectral hands plays with the bill of his hat, lifting it off his head. It’s a nervous tick, one he knows Gomi can pick up on.
“It’s just that we’ve never made it this far before,” Lars says. “I don’t want to let anyone down.”
“You will not let anyone down,” Nagomi says, out loud this time.
That catches a few peoples’ attention; Lars sees a handful of his teammates look over at him, all showing various levels of concern. He loves them. He loves them all so much.
Even so, he’d rather they all focus on something else right now.
Nagomi steps back and away, apparently sensing his need for more space. He nods at her, spectral hand settling his hat firmly back on his head.
“You’re gonna do great out there, kid,” Sandy says, coming up from behind to pat him on the back. “This is just like any other game. Any other day.”
Lars doesn’t feel that way. He feels like he might be dying, or at the very least like he’s going to choke and fail to throw a single strike. It wouldn’t be the first time, though he’d like to think he’s grown beyond that by now.
--
The first game against the Tigers is hardly anything to write home about. Lars pitches plenty of good throws, sure, but none of the batters will let them have it. They strike out seven people, only seven out of all of them. And there’s a black hole in the sky, and they’re so happy the Sunbeams won, really, but mostly they’re glad they won’t have to pitch again for a while. Even if they do, it probably won’t be against the Tigers.
“You sure you don’t want to hang around?” Sandy asks them as Sigmund’s doors swing open. “You did an amazing job today! We’re going to order some pizza and have some drinks to celebrate.”
“No, it’s – I’m a little tired, I want to rest up before the next game,” Lars signs, mostly letting their spectral hands do the work. It’s not entirely false; this whole thing with the black holes and the sun disappearing, on top of everything else, it’s just a little too much sometimes.
Sandy frowns, but they nod anyway. “Good idea, kid, go on up and get some rest. I’ll bring some dinner up for you when it gets here.”
Beyond the common room, it’s actually pretty quiet in the castle today. Lars manages to make it to their room without seeing anyone at all, and it’s a relief to step inside and close the door on everything. They drop down into bed without even turning the lights on, barely managing to toe off their cleats.
You did well today, young Lars, Sigmund tells them. You’ve come a long way since I first began playing alongside you.
Lars holds out a hand to give Sig a thumbs up. “Thanks,” they sign, not even bothering to lift their head. “I’m gonna sleep for ten thousand years now, but those are some good last words to hear.”
Don’t fall asleep just yet.
“Why’s that?”
There is still more to come. I am not at liberty to say more.
“Cool. Thank you for the warning.”
It is not a warning, but rather, a promise.
Lars doesn’t reply to that; it doesn’t feel like Sigmund wants or expects them to. Instead, they lie in the dark for a while and wait for whatever it is that’s coming. It takes a while before they hear their phone buzz all the way over on the nightstand, but they haven’t managed to drift off yet, so they grab it.
Their screen lights up with a text from NaN: incoming! and i have food!
Lars smiles despite themself, rolling over onto their back to type out a reply. door’s open, can’t get to it bc i have merged with my comforter. don’t worry, totally normal in the hellmouth X)
It takes a minute or two for NaN to get there, carrying two pizza boxes in their hands. They look nervous, or maybe concerned; it took Lars a while to figure out what that looks like, what with the black static and all. Their outer lines are wavering and their eyes are perfectly round O’s.
“Two pizzas, huh?” Lars asks. “Must be my lucky day.”
“Oh, one of them’s a cookie,” NaN says. They set the boxes down on the desk to free up their hands, turning on a lamp. “I asked Sandy to add it on so we could celebrate your win!”
Lars almost winces before they catch themself. They push themself upright and move back against the headboard to make room for NaN. “The team won, not me,” they say.
“You’re part of the team, though! And you’re doing really well,” they say.
Their signing is getting a lot better. It helps they had a head start with the Spies, probably, but mostly Lars thinks it’s because they’re very determined. It sets butterflies off in their stomach to watch NaN committing so much to using their hands; the Sunbeams try, but really only Gomi and Miguel can manage to do it full-time.
Lars shrugs. “I’m doing what I can.”
“Can I,” NaN motions to the bed. “Or, uh. Do you mind?”
“Please do.”
NaN almost seems to sigh in relief, their shoulders dropping just a few millimeters. They drop down onto the bed, near Lars’ feet.
“No, it-“ Lars tries. Stops. Takes a deep breath and tries again. “Closer? Please?”
NaN smiles at them and nods. They scooch their way between Lars and the wall and wiggle up until their head is on Lars’ shoulder, sides pressed together. “Better?”
Lars leans their head against theirs. “Much.”
Touching NaN is… weird. The first few times, Lars had thought maybe it was just nerves or anxiety or excitement. Their hair would stand on end and it would feel a little like their skin was vibrating wherever there was contact. It took a while for them to realize that’s just a side effect of NaN themself, the not-quite-corporeal static of their body.
It’s even weirder that they’re this close to begin with. Lars knows there really isn’t that much separating them; NaN is around their age, played on a similarly abysmal team for years prior to the feedback incident and generally seems… normal, mostly. But in Lars’ head it’s sometimes hard to get past the fact that this is the NaN, the one everyone loves and admires and wants to be friends with. And now they’re sitting in Lars’ room, on Lars’ bed, socked feet knocking against Lars’ shins.
“We’ve made a grave mistake,” NaN says. Lars hums in response, an acknowledgement for them to continue. “I don’t want to move now. We’re never going to get to the pizza.”
“I think I’m okay with that.” Lars leans over just slightly to open their nightstand. They pull out their tablet, trying very hard not to disturb NaN or set them off balance. “Wanna watch a movie?”
“Oh, we never watched that one about the dog that plays blaseball!” NaN exclaims. “We should do that, I want to tell Hex if it’s any good.”
Lars smiles and settles back against NaN. They place the tablet on their own chest, holding it upright. After a scroll through Hlulu to find the movie in question, they use a spectral hand to turn off the lights.
“Comfy?” they ask. NaN nods against them, bringing a hand up to rest on their hip. Lars can hear NaN’s heart pounding, but they won’t comment on it. Theirs is beating pretty fast too.
The movie is pretty bad. They both spend the first half laughing at it, caught up in the inaccuracies and inconsistencies. Real blaseball, it turns out, is much bloodier than what children’s movies want to portray. By the end, though, NaN has gone quiet; when Lars looks over, their eyes are closed and they’re snoring slightly.
The Lovers and the Sunbeams will give them so much crap for this, Lars knows, but it’s hard to care. They turn their tablet off and move it out of the way, settling down to sleep.
--
Thank gods for the sun, Lars thinks to himself. It doesn’t seem like the kind of day where a black hole is set to open at any minute – though, to be fair, it is usually pretty hard to tell it’s that kind of day until it happens.
The Hell Series is still going, and now it feels like it may never end. Lars hadn’t anticipated he’d need to pitch another one of these, and try as he might, he’s so nervous he can barely think. There’s a note from NaN in his locker, a star drawn on a sticky note before they left Lars’ room after the last game. You’ve earned at least one more, they’d told him. He hopes they’re right.
This isn’t just any old game. This decides the Wild League champions, assuming nothing else goes totally wrong in the crossfire. This is a big freaking deal. And Lars is pitching.
“Team huddle!” Sandy calls from the dugout. They’re beaming, so full of positivity even after four games of disastrous weather. Lars doesn’t understand how.
The team meanders into a circle. Sandy waits for them all to arrive before starting.
“Listen,” they say. “This has been a long, hard series for all of us. But in the end, the result doesn’t matter. I’m proud of us for getting to this point.”
Beside Lars, Nerd cheers. “Here, here!” They bump their shoulder against Lars. He stumbles a little, caught off guard.
“I have it on good authority that more runs is better this time around. So you’re all going to run like Hell,” a few people laugh, and Sandy stops to wink at them, “and Lars is going to knock ‘em dead. Got it?”
Lars feels a little sick. But he does his best to keep a straight face and fake it, like he knows what Sandy is saying is true. The rest of the speech kind of goes over his head, if he’s honest; he’s too busy watching the Tigers gather in the dugout, readying for what could be the last game.
He barely even notices when the huddle disbands. If not for the fact people are passing him by and patting him on the back, Lars would probably stand there until the game was over. As is, he shakes himself out of it, walking up to Sigmund’s front door.
“Hey Sigmund?” he asks, tapping his knuckles against the wood.
Yes, Lars. The voice of the castle echoes in his head, even outdoors. What can I do for you?
“Can you, um.” Lars looks down, kicks a little bit of the dirt. “Can you call NaN down for me?”
They’re already on their way. I’m not sure if you’re aware, Lars, but this event is being televised.
Lars did not need the reminder. But he doesn’t have to think about it long; soon, the front door is opening and NaN is there, wearing Lars’ home jersey. That alone startles him out of his funk, if only for a minute.
“Where did you get that?” he asks, smiling already.
NaN shrugs, but their cheeks are turning grey. They’re blushing, Lars thinks, and it’s adorable. “I kind of stole it. It was Don’s idea. Should I – do you want me to take it off?”
“No!” Lars says, automatically. Perhaps with a little too much force. “No, uh. It… It looks good on you, that’s all.”
They grin so wide it almost looks painful. Lars is so hopelessly, wonderfully endeared by them. “Did you need something?”
“Oh! Uh, yes and no,” Lars says, and he can tell it’s getting close to game time so his hands are maybe moving faster than usual. He can see NaN struggling to keep up, so he tries his best to slow it down. “I know this is stupid, but. Could you just tell me that I can do this?”
“You can do this,” NaN says, without any hesitation. They link their pinkie with Lars’ and swing their hand a little bit, and it anchors him just enough. “You can do this, and then you can celebrate by eating the huge victory cake Theo and Knight and Percy are making for the Sunbeams right now.”
“They are not!”
“They will be after I ask them to help me in a few minutes!” NaN leans forward, pressing a quick kiss to Lars’ cheek. “Go get them, Lars. You got this.”
Lars’ skin is still tingling when he steps up to the mound at the top of the first.
--
The last pitch lands solidly in the mitt at Sigmund’s feet. The umpire calls strike before Lars can even comprehend what’s happening, before he knows exactly what he’s done.
His teammates swarm him, hoisting him up into the air. Sandy calls out his name, tells everyone to remember Lars freaking Taylor is the reason they won the Wild League Championship. Lars thinks he might never feel this way again, might never get to play a game he wanted to win so badly and make it happen for them, for his team.
The Sunbeams have been through a lot. They lost the Moab, they lost Emmett, they lost Randy. So many of them are spread out or lost now and Lars wishes they could be here for this, wishes they could know what this feels like.
When the team parades into Sigmund’s foyer, waving flags and screaming, true to their word, NaN and the Lovers are there with a massive cake. NaN has already cut Lars a slice.
--
The Lovers are nice. Or at least, they are most of the time. Lars still hasn’t spent too much time around them, just enough to be able to say hi when they pass in the hallways. That’s happening more and more often as the finals keep rolling forward. Honestly, Lars is starting to think the team is seeking them out.
So far today, they’ve passed by both Helgas, Ortiz, Percy and Theo. Every single one of them has wished them good luck; four of the five have had tokens of some kind. There are more handkerchiefs tied to Lars’ wrist than they’ve ever actually seen all at once.
NaN has already stolen Percy’s and is twisting and untwisting it in their lap between signing. They’re back in the room where they usually practice in, sitting on the floor by the loveseat; it seemed like the easiest place to go to avoid more attention, assuming Sigmund can keep it quiet.
“I think they just want to let you know they care about you,” NaN says. “I don’t know how much luck actually plays into it.”
“It’s very kind,” Lars says, “I just think it may be wasted on me. We’re going to end up playing plenty more games at this rate. Let Sandy have all the good luck tokens.”
“Sandy can have their turn if we get there, but I think it’s going to end here,” NaN says, grinning over at them. “I’m pretty sure you can do this.”
“Wow,” Lars snorts, “you have an awful lot of confidence about a pitcher with only one star.”
NaN hums, knocking their foot against Lars’ knee. “I get worried about the star ratings sometimes too. It doesn’t feel like I should be on a team this good.” They wrap Percy’s handkerchief around their palm and keep signing, a little clumsy. “But I got some advice from the Wild Wings while I was with them, and it really helped me out.”
“What’s that?”
“If star ratings were all that mattered, nobody would play,” NaN says. “But we do anyway, because that isn’t what’s important. We care about the game, and we have to take the risk of losing sometimes if we want to have the amazing wins.”
“The Wild Wings are pretty smart,” Lars says, and then they close their eyes and lean their head back against the loveseat.
They can hear NaN shuffling around, doing something or another. They don’t bother to look until NaN grabs their wrist, sending shivers up their arm. NaN is barefoot now, holding their shoelaces in hand.
“What are you doing?” Lars asks, swallowing their laughter.
NaN is still smiling, still so happy. “I don’t have a handkerchief, and I don’t think I can give you a lock of hair if I don’t have any.” They’re wrapping the laces around Lars’ wrist, twisting and braiding them over their sleeve. “Consider this a token. Not for good luck, or anything; just so you know I’m out there with you.”
Lars’ stomach starts doing acrobatics, twisting itself in and out of knots until they forget what it feels like to be calm. “NaN, I-“
“Shhh, you’ll jinx it,” they say, tying the laces off in a bow. “You’re going to do great. And even if you don’t, you should be proud of what you’ve done so far.”
Lars knows they’re blushing. They want to do something, reach out for NaN’s hand or pull them in for a hug or untie their own shoes to return the favor. Luckily for them, they don’t have to decide. NaN finishes their work and shuffles up until they’re tucked under Lars’ arm, and that’s just about the best feeling in the world.
--
The last game is grueling. It’s hard, and it’s hot, and everyone on the team is constantly muttering about how there isn’t enough runs between them and the Garages, or there’s too many runs and they’re going to trigger another weather event. Tensions are so high Lars thinks they all might lose it before the last out.
It’s touch and go so often that Lars stops even looking at the scoreboard. They can’t. They don’t even track what inning it is anymore, not really; they step up to the mound, they throw the ball until an ump tells them to stop, and then they sit until it’s time to repeat the whole process.
It’s only in the bottom of the ninth that they allow themself to start thinking about the possibility that this might be it. They can feel it building in the dugout, from the way Sandy is leaning up against the chainlink fence and gripping it so tight their muscles are white.
“Come on Lars, you got this!” Hahn calls from her position behind them. A few other people call out their support after her, an echo of positive reinforcement.
Lars looks down at their wrists, at the collection of handkerchiefs and NaN’s shoelaces there. They take a moment to look around, as much as they can; it’s not every day that a one-star pitcher ends up in the bottom of a championship game and has to take it all home.
They look at each of their teammates, gaze finally landing on Nagomi.
“Show them what you’re made of,” she signs, lightning-fast, barely missing a beat. She’s smiling, however slightly.
They nod, a little bit to her but mostly to themself. Just one pitch at a time, they think, shifting their weight and pulling their hands to their chest for the wind-up.
And it is. It’s one pitch, and the next, and the next. Teddy knocks one out, but it’s in Hendricks’ glove within seconds. Paula Turnip is a little trickier, one ball after another until she hits a grounder and is caught out at first.
Sparks Beans hits a single; that one hurts a little bit. Two outs is close, but it’s not enough to negate the possibility of a comeback.
“Don’t let it get to you, Lars!” Sandy calls from the dugout, as if they could see inside their head. “One more out, buddy, you can do it!”
Oliver Notarobot, though. Lars isn’t sure. The Crabs were always the worst to play, worse even than the last few games have been. Lars runs a finger along NaN’s shoelace and tries to swallow down whatever they’re feeling.
It’s not just about where they want the ball to go. They have to work for it. Three more pitches could bring the Sunbeams a championship for the first time in history.
Lars breathes in deep. And throws the ball.
--
There’s a parade. There’s a parade, and people have posters with Lars’ face on them. They’re on a float with their teammates, in front of a hastily crafted sun. The Hellmouth is a terrifying, scary place; today, it’s bright and it almost feels like home.
And after it’s all over, when the confetti is falling out of their hair and they feel like they’re dead on their feet, Sigmund opens the front door and the Lovers are all waiting up for the team, the Season 11 ILB Champions.
“Welcome home!” Knight Triumphant calls, voice echoing around the foyer. “Congratulations on your fortuitous gameplay!”
Lars has just enough time to wonder where NaN is before they knock them to the ground in a hug.
“I told you you could do it!” they say, before kissing Lars full on the mouth.
Lars, through the haze of shock and surprise, wonders how they got this lucky.