#and Jay saying ��anyway I gotta finish watching the game.” Don saying how he wanted to too but his tv is fucked so they watch together

[scoliosisgoblin]

doodles and some lore. I'm tired.

[goldenhemmings]

Opening Day - A Stealing Second Extra | Baseball!Shawn

We’re gonna pretend like the Blue Jays didn’t lose their opening game last night.

Yeah, yeah, I know I promised this yesterday on the actual Opening Day but I got distracted because I’m the worst ever with timing. BUT it’s still Opening Weekend so we’re gonna pretend like it’s all good. This takes place about nine or so months after where they were at the end of the final (fifth) part of the series, and it’s about 1.6k words. It can also be read as a standalone piece if you haven’t read the series, but if you’d like to read it, it’s linked in my masterlist. Enjoy, and I’d so love to hear your feedback!!

Opening Day was one of the most exciting days of the year; every baseball aficionado could agree on that. What you hadn’t known, however, was how stressful the day was for those working on the inside to make it happen. The Blue Jays would be playing their first of 162 games in just over an hour, and you hadn’t had a long enough break the entire day to take the time to even acknowledge your excitement.

The team had had a more than successful Spring Training, and you (along with every other Jays fan) were extremely hopeful for the upcoming season. Your current worry, however, was that you’d miss the start of it.

You’d been running around the stadium and the offices like crazy trying to finish your bottomless pit of a to-do list, but every time you thought you were getting close to the end, your boss had more for you to do. You’d been working nonstop since eight that morning, and the closer time crept to 7 p.m. the more anxious you became that you’d miss some of the game.

You clutched the blue folder you were carrying tighter against your chest as you raced through the mass of thousands of jersey-donning fans, needing to get back to your office away from the sea of blue and white. You’d managed to get down to one last task, and it felt like you were walking through a minefield as you waited for your phone to inevitably go off again with yet another thing for you to do. Your goal in going back to your office had been to find Cassidy, hoping she’d be at her desk, but in a stroke of good fortune you spotted her from the corner of your eye leaning against the wall of one of the Rogers Centre’s many team shops, surveying the crowd; you hadn’t even had to leave the actual stadium to find her.

“Cassidy!” you called, wide-eyed as you beckoned her over. She jogged to where you stood, her face immediately showing that she recognized how uncharacteristically flustered you were.

“What’s up?” she asked, the words casual but said carefully.

You wordlessly thrust the blue folder out towards her, and she looked down at it quizzically. “What’s this?”

You sighed, not realizing you were out of breath until you tried to talk. “I promised Shawn I’d meet him before the game like always, but Curt keeps giving me a million things to do and I’m running out of time before Shawn has to be in the dugout. I am begging you, Cass, to please just take this up to Thomas Andrews from the Toronto Star. He’s writing the front-page story about Opening Day and it’s a list of quotes I gathered from the players that he’s been cleared to publish. He should be finishing up interviews in the announcer’s booth.”

She laughed as though you’d just asked her to do something as trivial as tie your shoe. “Sure. I’ve been bored out of my mind for the past hour, anyway. Wouldn’t wanna be the one to break the famous pregame tradition.” She wagged her eyebrows at you, and despite the tension you felt in your chest you managed to laugh.

“You’re amazing,” you breathed out, pulling her into a hug. “Thank you. I will do you as many favors as you need once I get back.”

“Don’t sweat it,” she replied, opening the folder to begin sifting through the compilation of quotes curiously. “I’ll meet you back here so we can watch the game?”

“Of course. I won’t be too long, I promise.”

“Take your time, Y/N,” she teased, and you playfully rolled your eyes as you turned over your shoulder to make your way towards your and Shawn’s usual meeting spot.

Your feet ached from being up and running around all day, but the pain was easy to ignore now that you’d finally found time, however short, to take a break and see Shawn. You pulled open the door of your little meeting spot outside of the team locker room, unable to help the smile that crossed your face as Shawn’s head snapped up to look at you.

“There you are, honey,” he exclaimed, pulling you into a tight hug. You held onto him a little longer than was necessary, inhaling his scent and taking the time to let some of the stress you’d been carrying around all day dissipate.

You finally pulled away to meet his eyes, and you could clearly see how excited they were despite the shadow the brim of his cap cast over them. “I was worried I wasn’t gonna have time to get down here and see you,” you admitted, smoothing out the jersey that covered his shoulders.

He sighed. “I was worried you weren’t coming, too. Has work been crazy today?”

“You have no idea. But I’m here now!” you chirped, pressing a chaste kiss to the underside of his jaw as he laughed. “And you’re less nervous than I thought you’d be.”

“You thought I’d be nervous?” he queried, a glint in his familiar brown eyes as they searched yours.

“Course I did, Rookie. It’s Opening Day.” Shawn laughed at this, and you quirked an eyebrow.

“What’s so funny?”

“You called me Rookie.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, cocking your head to the side as you looked up at him with a curious smile. “And that’s suddenly funny now after the thousands of other times I’ve called you that?”

“You’re forgetting something very important,” he grinned, cheekily, as he leaned in to place a quick kiss to your nose. You looked at him expectantly, feeling the smile growing on your face in anticipation before he made a dramatic show of rolling his eyes and continued. “I’m not a rookie anymore.”

You threw your head back and laughed, and you could hear Shawn join in. “You’re right. Your second season starts in a few minutes.”

“Exactly. So you’ve gotta find a new nickname.”

You gasped, feigning offense. “You don’t like Rookie anymore?”

“C’mon, honey, we just talked about this,” he teased, but you refused to break the act.

“But you’ll always be my rookie,” you pouted, and Shawn’s face scrunched up in reaction.

“Ew,” he joked. “So sappy today.”

You finally cracked a smile at this. “I’m just messing with you,” you giggled. “Kind of. I’ll call you Rookie for as long as I want.”

“We’ll see,” Shawn replied, narrowing his eyes at you playfully as you laughed in response. “But I should actually probably get going,” he continued, sighing as he reached up to remove his hat so that he could run a hand through his hair. “Coach is gonna kill me for not being up there already.”

“Okay,” you nodded, smiling as you gave his arms a reassuring squeeze. As much as you wanted him to stay a little longer, you knew you couldn’t say it—if you did, he’d undoubtedly stay with you until the very last second before the game started, even if it meant getting chewed out by his coach. He’d do anything just to have time with you, especially now that the both of you were going to be ridiculously busy again with the start of the season.

“Are you staying here for the game or watching it at home?” Shawn questioned, unmoving even though he needed to be out the door.

You kissed him hurriedly before nudging him towards the exit. “Watching it here with Cass.”

“Can’t wait to get rid of me, eh?” he razzed, and you giggled as you followed him out.

“I want to see you play opening day, not ride the bench because you pissed Montoyo off by being late.”

“Nah,” Shawn smirked, his feet planted firmly on the ground despite your playful attempts to push him in the direction of the locker room. “The lineup’s already been released, he can’t change it.”

You groaned, eliciting a musical laugh from Shawn. “You’re impossible.”

“Fine, fine, I’m going. For real this time.” He grinned, holding his hands up as if to say I surrender and backing away from you slowly. You quirked your head to the side as you admiringly took in his frame, happier than you’d like to admit to finally be seeing Shawn back in his regular-season uniform.

“Should I wait for you here or at home after the game?” you asked, reaching to pull your phone out from the pocket of your jeans and silently praying that there wasn’t anything else Curt had asked you to do last-minute.

“Here,” Shawn said, without hesitation. “I’ll meet you by my car in the team lot.”

“Perfect,” you smiled, and he animatedly blew you a kiss before turning to walk towards the locker room, the sound from his metal cleats echoing off of the flooring. “Hit a home run for me, Rookie,” you called after him, and you could hear him laugh.

“Still not a rookie, but I’ll do my best!” he shouted back, and with that you turned around and hurried off back down the hallway towards the stadium, smiling to yourself as you anxiously awaited the rapidly-approaching arrival of a new Blue Jays season that was sure to outdo the last.

Thanks for reading!!

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[handsomewrites]

Catching Up With The Fastball - Ch.3

broken mornings, broken nights, and broken days in between. open ground, the sky is open, makes an open sea.

There's really nothing to live for, any more. But there is lunch.

“This is the common area,” Dr. Ludwig introduced, pushing a wheelchair full of Jeremy through a pair of swinging doors. The walls and floors were white, just like all the walls and floors, but they’d tried to make it a bit homier with a seafoam area rug. There were some couches, and some tables, and some bookshelves, and a TV. “You can come here whenever you like, once you are more... mobile. Or call a nurse to help you into a chair.”

There it was. Jeremy sighed, leaning back in the chair again. There was no respite from the constant reminders of his new disability.

“I suppose you could grab some books and take them back to your room, as well, if you wanted?” the Doc suggested. He was trying, to his credit.

“Not much of a reader.” Jeremy glanced over to the TV. “Could come in and watch some stuff, though. What day is it?”

“Hmm? It’s Friday. Why?” The Doc wheeled his chair over by the couches and handed him the remote.

“The Sox play the Jays tonight and tomorrow. I guess I could watch that.”

“You like baseball?”

Jeremy shrugged. “Yeah. I tried to get the rec center to start a baseball team, but not enough people were interested.” He flipped the game on. The Red Sox were up by six. There was a familiar spark of excitement in his chest, but smaller than before, and as he watched the men run the bases, it faded back to the inky black suction that he’d been feeling there lately.

“I have never understood sports,” Dr. Ludwig admitted, taking a seat on the couch. “Perhaps you could teach me.”

“...Yeah. I could’ve, maybe.” He watched the players--his heroes, the men he’d aspired to be as a child--for a few moments more. He felt the Doctor’s eyes boring into the side of his face, so he tried his best not to betray any emotion as he turned the set off and tossed the remote to him. “Well. We should finish the tour, right?”

“Hm. Yes, I suppose.” Doc stood, brushed some imaginary dust off his pants, and moved behind Jeremy’s chair to roll him away. “This is a good place to socialize, as well. It may help you feel better.”

“How many times do I gotta say I feel fine? As soon as my legs heal up I can roll on home, Doc.”

“What about prosthetics?”

Jeremy shook his head. “Can’t afford ‘em. I’m sure there’s someplace that’ll hire me in this chair, yeah?”

The doctor was quiet for a moment, chewing the inside of his lip. “...Well. Perhaps put a bit more thought into the possibility. We work with insurance plans and have some affordable payment options. But you have time to discuss these things with your mother.”

“I don’t gotta discuss it with Ma, neither. I’m an adult, you know. You been treatin’ me like a baby all this time, but it ain’t ‘cause I can’t take care of myself--”

“I know, Jeremy, I know.” He patted the boy on his shoulder, and Jeremy deflated a bit. “It’s just my job, is all.”

Jeremy turned his head to watch the rooms go by. They were in a different wing of the hospital, headed towards some other room--so far, they’d seen the waiting room, the ER (well, the doors to the ER, anyway, since they weren’t allowed inside), the morgue (doors again), and the common room. He wasn’t sure how much more there could be to see. It had been more fun than sitting in his room all day, at least.

“These rooms are really nice,” he pointed out.

The Doctor hummed. “Yes. This is the cancer wing. Sort of our ‘pride and joy,’ they say.”

“You don’t sound so proud and joyful, Doc.”

The older man rolled his eyes. “Yes, well, this isn’t my area. I think there’s too much money here and not enough everywhere else, but, eh, hospital politics.” They slowed to a stop in front of an elevator, and the Doctor pushed a button.

“Wait, these rooms all got TV’s in ‘em!”

“Hospital politics,” the Doctor repeated, exasperation in his voice.

“Well fuck dat,” Jeremy huffed, and the Doctor laughed.

The elevator dinged, and the two men boarded it and rode skyward.

---

Turns out, the doctor was leading him to an unused operating theatre. He stopped Jeremy’s wheelchair by the door and allowed him to steer it himself, walking across the wide open room to look over the instruments. There was a little sparkle in his eye that his patient hadn’t seen before.

Jeremy followed behind him, albeit slower since he was still getting used to wheeling himself, and peeked up to see what he was looking at.

“What’re those?”

The Doc shrugged. “Medical tools. I doubt you’d want to hear me explain all of them.”

“Well you can explain some,” Jeremy prodded. “I’ll stop you when I get bored.”

Doc hesitated, but acquiesed after a few moments under Jeremy’s gaze. “Well, I’m sure you’re familiar with a scalpel,” he started, holding the tool in question up for a moment. “Then there’s the clamps, which are, you know... Clamps. They hold things.”

“What sort’a things gotta be clamped in an operating room?”

“Well, skin. You need something to hold it back and away. Sometimes you use them to hold wounds closed.”

“Ew.”

Doc giggled, which wasn’t a word Jeremy expected to apply to a man like the Doc, but it was cuter than a chuckle and smaller than a laugh. He also hadn’t expected to think the Doc cute, but the smile on his face definitely was.

“You’ve seen this before,” he said as he held up a curved needle. “It’s curved to make sewing flesh easier. Then this,” he held up what looked like a tiny pair of scissors, but with very tiny dulled blades, “is a pair of forceps. For grabbing.” Next he held up a fork with curved tines. “Retractor. For pulling fleshy bits aside. I prefer to use my fingers, but sometimes the space is too small, you know, to stick a finger in there, so you need something smaller to put in...”

Jeremy smiled a little at the Doctor’s enthusiasm, even if it was a bit... weird. He couldn’t imagine putting his fingers in a person’s organs, but Doc seemed to enjoy doing it.

He rummaged around in the drawers, humming. “Suction tubes pull blood out of the way,” he explained, “and--oh! Here are the bone drills!” He pulled out an intimidating looking device, grinning over at Jeremy.

Jeremy gave him a hesitant smile back. “You really dig this stuff, huh?”

Doc gave a hum, shrugging as he put the drill away. “Well, yes. I do. Surgery is my specialty. I sometimes wish I could do it more, but that’s not really a thing you can say to patients, is it?” He laughed, with a bit of a strange edge to it. Jeremy felt like he should probably be afraid of it, but he wasn’t. He laughed along with the Doctor, and he actually felt like smiling, for real.

“Hmmm. Yes, well. Are you hungry, Jeremy?”

“Huh? Uh, I guess I could eat.” He shrugged. “Not... You don’t have somethin’ squirreled away in here, do ya?”

The Doc laughed again, and it brought another small smile to Jeremy’s face. “No, no, of course not. I did think we could have lunch together, though. If you’d like?”

Jeremy shrugged again. “Sounds good to me. Lead the way, Doc.”

---

Lunch was... well, not terrible . It reminded Jeremy of high school cafeteria lunches: once-frozen chicken patties on almost-expired buns, with slightly soggy french fries and juice, not soda.

“I miss soda,” Jeremy lamented, looking at the juice can with a longing frown.

“You’ve only been awake for a few days without it,” Doc pointed out.

“Yeah, well, I usually drink, like, three a day.”

“That’s... terrible for your health. It will rot your organs from the inside and your teeth from your head, not to mention what the caffeine is doing to your heart--”

“Yeah, yeah, well. Somethin’s gotta kill me, right?” Jeremy shrugged, sipping his juice.

Doc just frowned. “I suppose we all have our vices,” he acquiesced.

“Even you, Doc?” Jeremy smirked, and Doc rolled his eyes.

“Yes, even me.” His patient wiggled his eyebrows, and he scoffed. “I doubt you really want to hear about what sort of habits I’ve acquired over the years. I’d rather talk about you, actually.” Jeremy seemed to deflate a little, but Doc pushed forward nonetheless. “What does your mother do? I haven’t seen her come by as often as she used to.”

Jeremy gave an owlish blink, taken off-guard by the question. “Oh. I thought you were gonna talk about, like... medical stuff. Like my legs or whatever.” Doc shrugged. “Well, uh. She works at Kroger’s most, and also at Sears, but she had to get an extra job and a few more shifts to pay for...” He waved his hand vaguely. “What, you into my Ma?”

Doc snorted. “Not at all. I just was wondering where she’d gone, is all. Any siblings?”

“Seven, actually.” At the doctor’s surprised look, Jeremy laughed. “They’re all older,” he explained, “and most of ‘em have moved away. Nicky’s still nearby-- he has a wife, but no kids.” He started counting off on his fingers. “Then there’s Finny teachin’ at a college upstate, Billy in the military, Vick in jail, Ronnie who owns a bar, Tony who’s a stay-at-home dad now, and Donnie wit’ his garage.”

“Gracious. Your mother is a... tenacious woman.”

“That’s one way’a puttin’ it,” Jeremy agreed with a snort. “She just... has a habit of hookin’ up with the wrong kind’a guy, you know? An’ she thinks it’s gonna last, an’ they end up hurtin’ her.” He frowned into his juice. “I try to tell her, but she don’ listen.” A few moments passed, then the boy looked up from his drink with his smile back in place. “But yeah. Eight boys. Two of ‘em are twins, too. Lord knows we didn’t make it easy for her, neither.”

“I’d imagine,” Doc said with a laugh. “Children are hellions when they aren’t in a pack like yours.”

“Plus we had all that energy holed up in a lil apartment in the city,” Jeremy added. “She’s a good Ma, though. Always tried real hard for us.” He trailed off, then seemed to remember something. “Hey, can I ask you questions back?”

“Sure, I suppose, though I can’t always promise you answers.” Jeremy frowned, and Doc shrugged. “I’m sure there are things you wouldn’t tell me, aren’t there?”

“...Alright, that’s fair, I guess. But, uh, howcome you got so much time to hang around me?”

Doc hesitated for a long time. “How do you mean?”

“Like, you got other patients, donchu? Shouldn’t you be, like, busy?”

“Well...” He hummed. “The short answer is, ah, no? You remember how nice the cancer wing was, yes?” Jeremy nodded. “Well, that’s this hospital’s specialty. Cancer. Specifically, bone cancer, as well as bone and blood diseases such as sickle cell. People come to this hospital from around the world to seek treatment for these things. But I’m a trauma surgeon, with a specialty in reconstruction and orthopedic. And I’m not the only trauma surgeon, so it’s sort of like we’re sharing the few trauma patients among us, and most are in and out...

"Plus, I like you. You have a lot of..." He continued, idly motioning with his hand as he searched for the right word. "Spirit."

Jeremy had a light dusting of a blush across his cheeks, and though he didn’t betray the fact that he noticed it, Doc thought it brought out the light freckles on his cheeks very nicely.

The Doc looked at him seriously, but with a softness in his features. “I want to help you find your spirit again.”

Jeremy was quiet for a while, staring at his empty tray. He didn’t look up when he spoke again. “...Sorry, Doc. My... spirit... was running. Running was what I did, it was what made me happy. But now I can’t even walk . Maybe we could make prosthetics work, but just one pair, not enough to have them sporty ones, you know? So it’s just... over.” He shrugged, then looked up at the Doctor, a weak smile on his face, his eyes dull. “Sometimes I think it’d be better if... I dunno. Ma’s in all this debt. I don’t really got anything, now. I just wish everything had happened different... Maybe Ma’d be good with seven kids.”

With that, he rolled his chair back from the table, grabbed his tray and clumsily rolled his way over to the trash can. Doc sighed, leaning his cheek on his hand and his elbow on the table. He pushed his fries around on his tray with a plastic fork, thoughtful.

Only a few moments passed before he saw Jeremy wheeling back over to his table. “Uh, that would’a been a cool exit and all, but I don’t actually know how to get back to my room from here. So, uh. If you could...” He scratched the back of his neck.

Doc smiled and stood with a nod. “Of course.”