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Son sat in their room, dangling their feet over the side of their bed, letting them sway back and forth. Their hands fiddled with the soft comforter that was wrapped around them. Music played through their shotty headphones, the garages released a new album and they wanted to support their ‘rival’ team.
They never really understood their mock distaste for each other. Yeah, they threw the garages into party time that one time but they did it back, so why the beef? Son never really paid attention to it, they wanted to support the team’s creative venture. It reminded them of calmer times.
But that wasn’t really what they were playing attention to, they just needed something to make the room not silent. Something constant and rhythmic, something to where their ears won’t ring every time a sound is made.
The hums of Townsend probably were not the best to be listening to for how they were feeling. Son loves siestas, but this one trudged on slowly as Donia’s old fastball. Donia, Son really missed her. They let out a deep sigh and turned up their music another notch.
They brought their hand up to their mouth and chewed on their nails, they were already [EXPUNGED] they really needed to kick the habit but... things could be worse. Andrew always used to chew on toothpicks when he was stressed, maybe they could try that. But, for now, they gnawed at their messily kept fingernails. Benitez would try to put vinegar on their fingers to try to keep them from trying, but they weren’t there now.
Valentine tried to keep them in check while in the dugout. Son would get nervous about a play that they needed to get on base for; it was almost second nature for their hand to be up to their mouth. Val tried to keep up a conversation, about classes or if they wanted to get something to eat after the game. Sometimes when Son was really in their own head she would challenge them to a Rock Paper Scissors competition, a few times Joe joined in for some extra competition.
Maybe Son could call her, to see how the tacos were treating her. NaN said the tacos were good folks, Val was probably fine. NaN was probably okay too, the lovers were always nice when they used to face off together. Miki always wanted to befriend the lovers even though she never got to play against them, Son was inclined to agree.
The song playing through Son’s headphones faded out for a moment, and they were in silence. A soft crunch and a pinch of pain caused Son to pull their hand away. They didn’t chew to where their finger could bleed, but enough for it to ache. Son moved onto the next finger, their other hand still picked at the pilling of their comforter.
Son’s small trance was only broken by a sharp tweet of a bird outside of their window. Their ears rumbled like someone dunked them under water for a split second, but they didn't move. The bird continued its melody in full and the rumbling only made Son chew a bit further than they should.
“It’s fine,” they murmured to themselves trying to control their breath. Son could ride this feeling out and they’ve done it before and they can do it again. The bird’s incessant chirps cause Son to pull the blanket tighter around themselves.
A callus at the end of their ring finger caught Son’s attention next, well it didn’t really grab their attention they just got to the point subconsciously. They didn’t want to have to put another bandaid on it, but they probably would have to because of the small discomfort that was already forming. The bird’s song was still strong.
“I’m okay,” Son practically whispered, trying to calm their mind from the rumble. The blanket grew from a comforting tightness to a distressing strangle, but they felt too frozen to move. “I’m fine.” They sounded like they were drowning.
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When Son’s legs felt like they could carry them, they planted their feet and tried to stand. Pulling away from the bed felt weird, it always felt odd especially when they didn’t have to leave for a game. Son could merely sit in their room all day, but they knew their teammates would come to check on them sooner or later. It was better to make an appearance than to have someone come around to ask questions.
A few of their fingers were sore, it would probably be a good idea to run to the medicine cabinet and swipe a bandaid or two. Holding their thumb to their mouth, Son made their way to their door trying to walk light on their step. The door’s creak shot through their ears and paused their stride, their legs wavered, but they continued to push forward.
“Hey, Son!” A voice carried from further down the hall, “I was just coming up to check on you!” Son turned to see Morrow walking their way. Morrow’s step seemed too chipper, or maybe Son was just being too analytical.
They gave a little wave making their way to the closest restroom, still picking at a hangnail on their thumb. The dull ache was already pulsing under their lips but that didn’t stop the pulling.
“Son, you okay?” Morrow said making a small haste towards Son, placing a solid hand on Son. “We haven’t seen you all day, Malik’s planning on making a big potluck later. Is there anything you want?” They rub their thing across Son’s tense shoulder.
Morrow could feel a small tremor from their son, they had always felt like they were too young to have a son of Son’s age but it felt right. Son deserves the world when Morrow is concerned and they can tell that their world was having a war. Neither of them moved for a moment, Son doesn’t even notice that they were shaking until they try to pull their hand away and their teeth clatter.
The pressure on the younger’s shoulder gets heavier as the taller of the two falls to one knee to alight their eyesight. A look of concern falls on Morrow’s face, their eyes glimmered trying to connect with Son’s but they don’t connect.
“I’m okay, Morrow, I’m fine...” Son’s voice would be convincing from the other side of the door but looking at them, Morrow could see through the lie. A hand rested on Son’s other shoulder and pulled them in slightly, softly enough to pull away but solid enough to show intention.
“You are okay, Son, you’re going to be okay,” Morrow brings them in with a squeeze. A hand goes to the back of Son’s head and brings them into Morrow’s shoulder. Sometimes the team forgets that Son is still an actual child, but it stays painfully clear to Morrow.
The ex-tv star child holds their son close, they remember the pressure that was on them back then. Even with that, it was only a tv show, people weren’t dying around them, or leaving them like what Son had to deal with. They were so young, both of them were too young for this hell.
“Son…” Morrow’s voice leaves their throat without even thinking on what to say, “Do you want to talk? Or just stay like this?” They said coming their fingers through Son’s hair to soothe the kid. A weak sniffle comes from the star’s shoulder and they loosen their grip slightly and Son finally moves.
“I—“ Son falters for a moment with a crack in their voice finally pulling their hand away from their mouth, “I miss them Morrow… would they be proud of me?” They don’t look at their ‘parent’ but Morrow could tell that their face was in a grimace.
All the taller could do is hold them tighter.
“Honey…” Morrow tried to speak calming words but every one they thought felt cold on their tongue. Morrow wasn’t there when they saw their fellow teammates burn up, and none of the spies had died since. Morrow had been there. Some were feedbacked away, but most of them were still in the blall game. Yet there were players, no Son’s family, who were gone.
They had gone through their own loss, the pies had lost their fair share of players for the time when Morrow was with them. Morrow learned to cope, Morrow learned enough to keep themself afloat through all of the hell blaseball put them through. Morrow had time to grow up, yes it was in front of a camera, but Son was growing up on the field, surrounded by those they loved being torn away or burning.
“Sweetheart… you are doing the absolute best you can. They are so proud of you,” they press a sweet kiss onto their scalp, “The lights in the hall can’t shine bright enough for you. The shadows are clamoring to hold you. The league smiles when they see you on the plate. The world loves you, Son. We all love you.”
They can feel Son crumple in their arms and Morrow lets Son bring them down along with. A small wet spot grows on Morrow’s shoulder as the two of them sit on the floor of the empty hall. Gliding their hand across Son’s back Morrow hums slightly, ringing out the storm.
“You’re okay my sweet Son, the world is so proud of you.” They whisper into the child’s scalp.