Chapter Text
Mid-Summer, the perfect time to get some sun. The metal bat is stored away, so it’s not hot to the touch; it’s been long out of use by now. This leaves our monochrome vessel, now de-stringed (as far as he can tell) with nothing to do. He watches from afar as the child he’s taken refuge with — who now has taken the Batter in as a father-figure, it seems — as they frolic about.
They seem to not have a problem with lazy days, curiously. Batter adjusts his cap in the shade, obscuring his eyes even further than they usually are.
From far away the child ran over, having a baseball in one hand and a wooden bat in the other. The Batter stares for a moment, tilts his head, and crouches down to meet the eyeline of the younger boy. Ness, he called himself. Quite the natural with a bat, which was likely why he had taken a liking to the pale man. His mouth tightens to a thin line as he glances up and down, trying to figure out what he wanted.
He asks, simply, “Ness?” and nothing more.
His fingers twitch as he speaks, still not used to unplanned interactions.
“Want to join us in playing baseball?” Ness asked.
Even more unexpected. Batter swallows and pauses for a moment. So that’s what Ness was doing. He knew baseball existed, he knew phrases like ‘homerun’ and ‘save base,’ but not what any of it actually meant.
He glances ahead of Ness, then back to the boy. “I don’t know,” he answers curtly, and without elaboration. “I don’t have my bat on me,” is the excuse.
“I can ask for them to hold up while we get it,” He replied.
Another bout of silence in response, more thinking.
“It’ll be too hot. Metal is a conductor.” The Batter glances down at his hands, clenching them once.
In truth, he could likely handle the heat with minor injuries, though he never cared about being in harm’s way. He just. Didn’t know how to play baseball. And while emotions are foreign and difficult for him to explain, he knew shame, and it would be utterly shameful to explain to this child, who looked up to him, that he had no idea how to play the sport, in spite of his attire and weapon.
“You can always use mine,” Ness offered, lifting his bat at hand with a smile.
And now he’s run out of excuses. Silently sighing, he reaches for the wooden bat and flips it around in his hands a couple of times. It’s a little small for him, but he still knows how to swing it.
Finally, he mutters, “Okay,” and takes a stand.
Though he’s noticeably fidgety about the subject, and hesitates to move in the direction of the game.
There are plastic mats littered about the ground, in a sort of diagonal pattern. It reminds the faux sportsman of the Nothingness, and how the zones were sprawled about. He’s utterly perplexed, but the shadow falling from the brim of his hat luckily prevents his expression from being shown. Or, so he thinks, so he hopes.
Ness eventually catches up, standing on first base as the rest of his friends scattered into position.
“Batter up,” One of the friends shouted.
The pitcher got into position, stretching his arms mimicking official players on the field before throwing the ball forwards at rocketing speeds. Moreso out of instinct than any distinct knowledge, the Batter swings at full force, hitting the ball right as it’s about to collide with him. It flies away, allowing Batter to fall in a battle stance — baseball was about violence? It’s not something he’s adverse to, but the idea of a gaggle of children trying to harm each other is a little off, to say the least. Hugo didn’t even fight back, much less act malicious. He glances across the field, towards Ness, then the pitcher. He takes a single step forward, off the plate, glaring now.
Ness stared, perplexed.
“Uh, Batter, you’re supposed to go to that base,” He said, pointing to first base. Batter glances behind himself, still tense. He pauses for a moment.
“...I am?”
Another pause. He glances back at the pitcher.
“Oh.”
He takes a step back, and glances towards his right, where the plastic mat — a base, apparently — laid. He swings the bat over his shoulder and follows the straight path towards the marker, casually walking, totally oblivious to the looks he’s likely getting.
Everyone looked speechless, the pitcher not taking the effort to throw to first base in confusion. He glanced at Ness with a ‘what is he doing’ face to which Ness looked back in slight embarrassment.
“And, drop the bat,” He said out loud. He turned to the pitcher, “He’s probably rusty.”
Batter stops in place, nods with another oh and okay , and drops the bat where he stands. It hits the ground unceremoniously, and he glances down to make sure he hasn’t cracked it anywhere. When his eyes drift away from the ground, it’s now that he realizes the stares he’s getting. But it’s not like he knows what to do about them, so he stands in place, near-perfectly still.
“...Am I supposed to keep walking?”
Maybe it’d be better if his puppeteer came back after all.
“ Really rusty,” Ness elaborated.
He began to walk over silently once the others were too busy in a gossip huddle.
“What are you doing?” Ness whispered.
“I don’t know,” Batter replied. “But I think I’m doing it wrong.”
"That's because you are," Ness replied in a somewhat impatient tone.
Silence folded around them as Ness fell into deep thought.
"Wait, do you not know how to play?"
Batter adjusts his cap again and looks away from the boy, now embarrassed, as he feared. “...No. I don’t.” His eyes find the bat, and he gets lost in the twists and turns of the wood for a moment.
“I never got to play. I didn’t choose to look like this,” he explains, only a slight nervousness in his tone.
"Wait what? What do you mean? Everyone has a choice in things—" He paused a second to recollect the beginning of his journey, "—most of the time anyway."
Batter shakes his head, though waits a moment before responding. “As soon as I was created, I was ‘the Batter.’ I knew how to swing a bat, and that’s all,” he replies.
“Everything else, I either picked up later, or I was taught. I never picked up how to play baseball.” More fidgeting, he contemplates for a second.
“I wouldn’t mind learning.”
After soaking it all in, Ness nodded, “Sure,” He replied hesitantly.
At this, the pale man cracks a small smile, and picks up the bat. In doing so, his eyes trail to Ness’s group of whispering friends, immediately making him drop his expression. “...They’re staring at us.”
Ness looked up then looked back, “Maybe we should do this later—”
Batter is quick to oblige, picking up the bat and placing it firmly in Ness’s hands. He backs away from the group, step by step, and eventually finds himself back to where he was planted before. He nods in Ness’s direction, confirmation that he would be fine. He’s spent much longer doing even less than this. Bat in tow, Ness returns to the group with a sheepish smile. He explains a little, something about Batter unfortunately not knowing how to play, but leaves it at that.
In the subsequent games, the purifier watches from a distance, matching the focused expression of Ness when he’s up at the batter’s plate. Though, eventually, his friends do say their goodbyes, and he takes refuge in the shade with his more-or-less adopted father.
“It looks fun,” Batter comments. He’s not sure what fun is, but if he had to pinpoint it, it’d look like that.
“Mhm!” Ness nods with a smile. “So, do you think you’d be up to practice?”
The sun is setting, and their games have gone on for a bit now. As expected, Batter is a natural, though Ness still exceeds his skill. Experience is often better than pure talent, after all. “I’m tired,” Batter claims, after Ness has returned to collect the baseball from one of his earlier swings. “One more swing?” Ness asks, and for once, Batter declines.
“You need rest, too,” he states matter-of-factly. Ness, being human, has even more limitations than he does, and he’s quick to recognize that fact with how red the boy’s face is from the playing. But, he looks happy.
“Alright,” Ness shrugs, once again taking the bat from the taller figure once it’s offered. He follows quickly after Batter has started heading back inside. All the while, he’s chattering about things for the two to do.
Batter is lost on almost everything the boy says, but finds comfort in the newfound optimism that has joined his life.