Work Text:
i.
Sparks Beans is at The Ritual, in the process of zapping between two comically large tesla coils when the weather shifts.
The coils were mainly for show, they certainly didn’t need them when they had a body. But the tourists loved to watch them show off, especially now that they could zip around and roast their beans in their elemental form. Plus, Sparks liked the attention it grabbed from folks walking by on the street.
There were pros and cons to not having a body anymore. Easier to get between places once you figured out the electrical currents. Nobody asked you to help them carry band equipment back from shows anymore. But they’d be lying if they said it was all good. They missed the smell of fresh coffee on a cool Seattle morning mixing with the saltiness of the Sound. The warm embrace of their partners after a particularly hard day.
And, truthfully, it got to be a little lonely at times. They missed traveling with the band and the camaraderie that came from playing games together. Sure, they still tagged along sometimes, but they couldn’t help but feel like it wasn’t their place anymore. Blaseball was moving on without them.
They try not to dwell on it, instead focusing on their roasting and the oohs and aaahs of the crowd gathered out front, peering into their roasting chamber. It didn’t matter if they couldn’t play anymore, or that they felt like they were drifting from their friends, at least they could still do other stuff they liked. It was fine.
It was. Fine.
As they gear up for their grand finale, a big continuous arc of lightning that branches across the room, showing off their colors in one last big explosion, something tugs at them from beyond. They feel themself being lifted from the coils, into the ether. It feels like being undone, or being redone, like being stitched back together, like the moment they fused with that spirit, like the universe was pulling them in so many different confusing directions they couldn’t tell which way was up or down or sideways or -
They blink.
Wait, that can’t be right. They shouldn’t be able to blink anymore.
Gravity hits them all at once and they stumble backwards off of first base, landing on their ass. They’re on the familiar field of the Big Garage, alive and whole again. They look at their hands in astonishment, flexing them before pinching their leg, half expecting this to be a dream. They feel younger, weaker than the last time they stood on the field. Across the diamond they see a similarly peculiar sight: Carmelo Plums, standing on third. It hasn’t been a Garage in years, not to mention it’s dead like them.
What the fuck had they missed?
Just then an announcement booms over the speakers:
A surge of Salmon rushes Upstream! Baserunners are swept from play and replaced by Season 15, Day 5, Inning 2 Garages!
An eruption of cheers and shouting shakes them as they try to remember how standing works. It takes them a moment to process what the fans are yelling.
“Spark it!”
“Time for beans!”
“This bean’s for you!”
Out of the corner of their eye they see a figure rushing the field, and before they get a chance to react they feel a force hitting them like a freight train, knocking them back onto the field. They feel the weight of the impact, the pain of hitting the ground at an awkward angle, the faint smell of fish on their tackler, and they savor every moment of it, unsure of how long this will last.
“That’s for not telling me I wouldn’t get a chance to hug you again.” Lenjamin Zhuge grins, squeezing the air out of them.
Sparks lets out a laugh. “Sorry, it was-”
Lenji waves them off, helping them to their feet. “Complicated, unknowable, yeah yeah, I’ve heard it all. Still gonna glomp you for it.”
“Glomping. Now that’s a phrase I haven’t heard in a while.”
Lenji notices the outfield umpire approaching them and walks backward towards the dugout. They shoot Sparks an apologetic glance. “Just, glad to see you again. And quit making yourself such a stranger, the apartment is too quiet without you around.”
Watching their friend retreat into the dugout, listening to the crowd’s familiar chants, they wipe grateful tears they hadn't realized they'd made from their eyes. Though they have a feeling they’ll return to their electric, non-playing form by the end of the inning, they get the sense that maybe there was still a place for them, after all.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
ii.
Parker MacMillan stood at the plate in the Amphitheater, hands sweating. Two outs, runners on second and third. He took a deep breath and tried to focus.
There weren’t any eclipse games today, but the new weather combos had him on edge. He barely had time to adjust to this league's set of weather patterns before they started getting mixed together.
Strike, looking, 0-1
Shit, get it together Parker, he curses at himself.
He’d had another nightmare the night before and was operating on four hours of sleep. Nobody tells you how dead the eyes of redacted players looked, before they’re attracted to a team. The way they stare at you, it’s like they can see into your soul. Their mind decided to replay that moment at the Garage, when Mike Townsend emerged from the secret base. Parker claimed they hit into that double play to keep Mike safe from the instability he would bring the team later that week, but there was more to it than that. He couldn’t bring himself to say it; how do you tell someone you didn’t bat someone home because the unsettling look in their eyes scared you beyond description?
Strike, looking, 0-2
Parker shook his head, trying to shake off the memory. It didn’t matter. What was done was done. What was his new team’s motto? Don’t look back? Something like that.
Before the Moist Talkers pitcher could throw another ball (they had so many, Parker couldn’t keep track of who this was), the wind shifted. Parker steeled himself, unsure of what was about to come. There was a gurgling sound before salmon flooded the field, sweeping Hatfield and Lottie up with them in the process. As the school of salmon receded, the color in his face drained.
A surge of Salmon rushes Upstream! Baserunners are swept from play and replaced by Season 5, Day 13, Inning 6 Moist Talkers!
Most of the crowd was focused on the giant axolotl, who smiled his big dopey smile and waved at the fans. Even with how new he was to this era, Parker had at least been able to pick up that Richmond Harrison had a reputation of being everyone's friend, and that he had been on both teams at some point. They couldn’t place who was standing on second, though he thought he could hear a few voices calling out that they were fans.
But Parker was far more concerned with the lionfish standing on first. They looked around the stadium, confused and in awe. Finally their eyes landed on Parkers, and they gave him a casual wave. Parker studied them, though they were an attractor, their eyes didn't look as dead as Mike's had. Maybe he could bring them home, give the Tigers a new player and actually save someone from redaction this time, he could-
But something flashed behind their gaze, just for a moment, dark and menacing and otherworldly.
Strike, looking, 0-3
Ziwa Mueller continued to stare at Parker as they began to vanish. And though he wasn't the best at reading lips, he knew the word Ziwa left him with:
Coward