Fiction: And It's a Whole New Ball Game, pt. 1 of 2 (CW RPS; JA/JP)
I was telling prillalar that I wanted to write a long, porny, J2 AU, and she said, "sports story." But I can't hold her responsible for my inner sap :).
Title: And It's a Whole New Ball Game
Author: kestrelsan
Pairing: JA/JP; CMM, CK
Rating: Adult
Warnings: AU, Chad, baseball
Word Count: 14,821 words
Notes: Many thanks to prillalar for beta and title mojo.
Summary: "Don't tell me about the world. Not today. It's springtime and they're knocking baseball around fields where the grass is damp and green in the morning and the kids are trying to hit the curve ball." - Pete Hamill
You can also view the whole thing at my website here.
And It's a Whole New Ball Game
The guy's old and lined and the uniform hangs on his tiny frame. "Padalecki?"
Jared shields his eyes over the brim of his hat and nods. Jared thinks he's the third base coach, and you'd think he'd know this shit, ready for the opportunity, but it happened so fast he barely had time to fantasize before the call came.
"When'd you get in?"
"An hour ago," Jared says, but the coach is already scanning players spread out over the field, tossing balls and practicing swings in groups of three and four.
"Ackles," he calls, and the guy catching for Sturgis -- Jared recognizes the pitcher at least, which he should since he's first in the rotation and makes eight million a year -- comes over.
"Yeah," Ackles says, and gives Jared a brief once over.
"Warm up Padalecki then we'll take him over to the mound, see what he's got." And just as quickly as he came into it, Jared's out of his radar again, just another green pitcher called up by the organization to squeak through the tail end of a dismal season.
"Jared," Jared says to the catcher, as the coach walks away. Ackles squints up at him and doesn't say anything. "Uh, my name," Jared says.
"Yeah, I got that," Ackles says, and Jared can't tell if he's laughing at him or just doesn't give a shit. He heads for an unclaimed patch of green and Jared follows, glad that everyone is completely uninterested in his presence and he can work through his nerves without all those eyes on him.
Ackles doesn't say anything else, just tosses Jared a ball and crouches into catching stance. Jared walks the yardage away, fingering the ball. He's been doing this since he was seven, never thought a ball would feel weird in his hand, but it's like the weight's all wrong; it feels small and foreign and his fingers slip a little when he grips it.
The first pitch he sends over is a shaky lob. Jared sees the raised eyebrow even behind Ackles' mask, but Ackles just throws it back and doesn't say anything. Jared grips the ball in his glove. He's been playing double-A since high school, for christ's sake, and maybe this is a huge step up, but it's still just a step.
The next one is better. They go at it about ten minutes, then Ackles stands up with the ball, pushes back his mask, and comes over. Jared's been trying to place him, figures he'd know if he was a starter, but at least he caught like he knew what he was doing. Then again, even the batboys could've caught what he was throwing.
"Where'd you come up from?" Ackles asks. The mask's left a red indentation on his forehead.
"Bowie," Jared answers.
"Pretty short drive from here." Jared doesn't know what to say to that so he just watches the ball as Ackles tosses it back and forth between his glove and his hand.
Ackles squints at the sun, scans the field like he's looking for something or someone; his eyes come back to Jared's abruptly. "Jared, my grandmother's got a speedier fastball than you."
Jared flushes. Ackles is looking at him, question in his eyes but no particular derision, just like he's trying to determine what the hell kind of ball they played in Bowie.
"Nerves, I guess."
"Yeah?" Ackles asks, and again Jared can't tell if he's laughing at him. "Nothing to be nervous about." He tosses Jared the ball. "Though if you fuck up on the mound at least it's not far back home, right?"
He walks back and crouches again, holds his glove up as if to say, come on, send some shit over.
So Jared turns it on, the first one cracking into Ackles' glove like it was tethered there. He knows it was over 90, and he grins a little when Ackles shakes out his glove hand and tosses the ball back.
A few more like that then the third base coach is calling his name. "Gettin' there, Padalecki," Ackles says under his breath as they walk over to the mound, and then the third base coach is introducing Jared to the guy next to him, who's just as lined and grey-streaked and stooped, but his eyes move over Jared sharply.
"Sid, pitching coach," is how he's introduced, and Jared holds out his hand. Sid has a strong, wiry handshake, and he doesn't let go of Jared's hand right away but turns it over to look at his palm, examining his grip, and Jared feels a little like a horse on display. Sid doesn't say anything about what he sees in Jared's hand when he lets it go and waves Ackles over to home plate. "How old are you?"
"Twenty-two," Jared says.
"First time up?" he says, and Jared nods. "Just send over a few softies first, then I want a run-through of what you've got." He walks off to stand with the third base coach about halfway to home plate.
Left alone on the mound, Jared looks down at Ackles, who's got his mask back on and glove in position. It's the same distance he's used to but it seems miles longer to home plate, and Jared just fools with the ball in his glove until he sees Ackles give him a little thumbs up sign, which makes him feel better.
He does well, not as great as at the end of the warm-up, but Sid doesn't seem pissed or disappointed or anything when he comes over. The rest of the guys head into the locker room, but Sid keeps him up on the mound, checking out his grip on the ball and moving fingers around, muttering a little to himself as he has Jared try out a new grip in the wind-up that doesn't feel too bad.
By the time Sid lets him go Jared realizes Ackles has gone, and he's not in the locker room, either, so he can't even thank him. There are only a few guys left and they nod at Jared when he stashes his glove and uniform back in the locker with his street clothes. A couple even introduce themselves, names he knows and follows and never figured on meeting in person, but they seem like regular guys, nice, even, and when he leaves the locker room for the bright pavement of the parking lot, he thinks, yeah, he can do this.
****
He's got seventeen messages on his cell phone when he checks into the hotel room they put him up in even though his apartment is less than an hour away. Mostly the guys from Bowie, just quick calls telling him to watch his nuts and they hope they won't see him again anytime soon; a couple from his agent already planning out contract renegotiations. One from Sandy which makes him smile, because not every girlfriend would be so cool with him being on the road half the season but Sandy just takes it in stride. A message from Chad to tell him they're out of beer and to pick some up, because Chad has no clue what goes on in his life.
The last one's from his dad, and he calls him back first. His mom picks up and he can hear the happiness in her voice, all sunshine and relief that he hasn't been whittling away his life in the minors after all, and Jared doesn't even have to say anything, she just carries the conversation with a tally of all the relatives she's talked to in the last six hours. Finally she hands the phone to his dad, and he just says, "Jared," like all the pride he's ever felt in his own life just got passed down to his son.
Jared knows this is a Big Deal for him, because his dad played ball, second base for Houston, and he's been dreaming about this since Jared shot up in the ninth grade and just kept growing. It's not like it's not a big deal for Jared, too, because he's wanted this, planned his life around it, but it's not every day you get to make your parents this thoroughly happy and Jared revels in it a little.
When he hangs up with them he doesn't feel like talking to anyone else. The hotel room's nice and right across from the ballpark. He's got a view of the harbor, even. He watches people walk by, in and around the shops and along the water like brightly colored ants. He feels weird in his skin, like he's just stepped into this huge yawning world he knows nothing about, which he has, and it scares him a little, because it's not about him anymore. It's about everyone who wants things from him, for him.
When he picks up his phone, Sandy answers with, "Hey, baby," all warm and happy and nothing weird in her voice because he's in the big leagues now, whatever that means. She doesn't even hesitate when he says he doesn't want to talk about it, just wants to hear about her day and the sound of her voice.
****
Even without checking the scoreboard Jared knows they're losing; the crowd's restless, half the seats empty, and the relief pitchers are slumped on the bench waiting for the desperation subs.
He's got the bullpen door cracked to see what he can, which is about half the field. Ackles comes over to watch with him. Jared snuck a look at the name on his locker before warm-ups, but he's never heard of Jensen Ackles.
"You know you don't have to actually watch the games," Jensen says, and Jared figures by now he's just teasing.
"Don't you want to win?"
Jensen shrugs. "Half the team's overweight, all of them are overpaid, and the owner's a fuckwad. Losing's the one thing we do well."
Jared can't tell if he's serious. He turns back to the game. Namoff, the shortstop, is up. He takes two strikes on weak-ass fastballs then pops a curveball to right field, out of Jared's line of vision. "How long have you been with the club?"
"Traded from St. Louis last year."
Jared wonders if that's why the other players seem to avoid Jensen in the locker room, if he's still got that new guy smell, though they've been nice enough to Jared so far. They're polite to Jensen, just not friendly, though Jensen hasn't struck Jared as the world's most outgoing guy, either.
"So what, you're just here for all the green pitchers that come through?"
"Someone's gotta teach you how to throw a ball." Jensen whistles low when Moreno sends a grounder to third that squeaks through, then adds, "Caught for Gutierrez before he blew out his shoulder. Which is why you're here, by the way."
Jared rolls his shoulder in sympathy. Sid's got some freak radar for when Jared's slacking off, his voice like a bullhorn whenever Jared takes anything off his pitches.
The third baseman pops up with two runners stranded, and the crowd's restlessness picks up in the changeover. People stream out to get food, more beer, beat the traffic home.
He glances at Jensen. "Where're you from?"
"Dallas," Jensen says, and Jared grins.
"No shit. San Antonio."
A smile tugs at the corners of Jensen's mouth. "I kind of figured you for Texas."
"Yeah?" Jared's grin turns on himself, and he ducks his head. "So where's your accent?"
"Hell, I've been traded so much I don't know where I'm from," Jensen answers, but he doesn't sound bitter, just stating a fact.
"Where before St. Louis?"
Jensen cocks his head as if tallying it up. "Detroit, and before that Minnesota for a couple of years. Started out drafted by L.A. after a year at Arizona State."
"Shit," Jared says, because you have to either really suck or be a diva princess to be traded that often. "You trying to hit every team before you're thirty?"
That earns him a laugh. "Yeah, something like that."
Jensen's called over by Sid to warm up a reliever for the next inning, and Jared watches the game. Pomeroy's looking shaky up on the mound, pitches off the mark, then he throws an absolute gopher to the DH, who sends it out of the park.
They end up losing by six. The crowd boos as it trickles out of the stands.
"Welcome to the big leagues," Jensen says, clapping him on the shoulder as they head across the field.
****
They've got a seven day road trip, three-game series at Kansas City then Toronto for another three. Sid wants to work on his curveball so they fly to Kansas City a day after the rest of the team, and Jared wishes he'd known Sid was a nervous flyer because as fearless as Sid is when he's telling Jared everything he's doing wrong, the guy has a deathgrip on Jared's forearm the entire three-hour flight.
They get to the hotel -- all glass and marble and soft leather couches, like Buicks to Porsches from sleeping on the road in double-A -- and Sid checks them in. There are a couple of guys in the lounge and Jared returns their waves, shoulders the jibes he still gets 'cause he's green and is probably gaping like a wahoo at the surroundings.
They're all harmless, though, and they won today. Everyone's in a good mood.
Sid comes back. "Hotel's booked. Some orthodontist convention," he says, like he can't figure out why orthodontists would want to have conventions. "I gotta put you in with one of the guys."
"Sure," Jared says, surprised Sid thinks it might be an issue. He's always bunked with roommates on the road, knows most of the guys prefer it.
"Most everyone's settled," Sid says. "Okay if I put you in with Ackles?"
"That's fine," Jared says, and wonders if Jensen's a slob or a secret asshole that no one else is rooming with him.
Sid looks a little relieved. He hands Jared a keycard and gives him the room number. Jared shoulders his bag, waves off the bellhop, and heads for the elevator.
Jensen's not a slob, at least not in hotel rooms. He's reading a book when Jared comes in and dumps his stuff on the other bed, returns Jared's "Hey" amiably enough.
"Heard we won today," Jared says.
"Yeah. Sealy got a sweet one in the fourth, two men on. And K.C.'s pitcher went completely bugfuck when Gomez plowed one an inch from his nose, had to be pulled off the mound. Kinda funny, really."
"What time's tomorrow's game?"
"Practice at ten, game starts at one." Jensen turns back to his book.
Jared sits on the bed, fingers the TV remote but thinks it might be rude while Jensen's reading. Back in Bowie he used to bunk with the shortstop, small guy who was great half the time and erupted in spit-filled rages the rest; they put Jared in with him because even Hejduk would think twice about taking him on. He only blew up once on the road, took a bat to the TV before Jared got it out of his hands, and all that because it was emitting some kind of whine that interrupted his magazine reading.
Jared doesn't think Jensen's the type to go batshit over something like that, but it's not like he knows for sure. He grabs his coat. "I'm heading down to the lounge, see what the guys are up to. You in?"
"Nah," Jensen says. He looks up as Jared opens the door. "Curfew's midnight. And they will kick your ass back to Bowie if you miss it."
"Yeah, thanks," Jared says. He pauses in the doorway. "Kinda sweet you're all worried about me," he says, and grins at Jensen's startled laugh before it's cut off by the door.
Jared finds a group of guys down at the lounge, Gomez and Konopka and Soumare, and it turns out they're heading for some place Soumare knows across town. They're cool with him tagging along, Gomez buys him a beer and doesn't believe that he's legal until Jared produces a driver's license, then they all rib him for being so freaking earnest about it. Jared's having a good time, the guys are great, and he doesn't get the stares the rest of them do because in this world he's still a non-entity and he's cool with that for now.
Then Konopka almost gets into a fight with some monstrous biker guy who has, like, ten tattoos and probably a knife, but they all pull him off and stuff him into the cab before he can do more than scream back some obscenities.
On the ride home, Gomez turns to him and says, "You rooming with Ackles?" At Jared's nod, he spits to the side and ignores the cab driver's glare. "Better watch your ass," he says, and Soumare laughs from the front seat.
Before Jared can ask what the hell that's about, they're back at the hotel and Gomez and Soumare are heaving a drunk Konopka up to his room.
The lights are off when he opens the door to his room. He tries to be quiet -- he's only had a couple of drinks and it takes a lot more than that to get him drunk, but the curtains are drawn and the room's like a freaking cave. He trips over the desk in the corner and it rocks back, hitting the wall.
A light comes on over the far bed. Jensen's looking at him sleepily. "You smell like the butt-end of an ashtray."
"I feel like one," Jared says and collapses back on the bed. He's not drunk but he's buzzing, and it feels good to lie down. "Konopka nearly took out this biker dude who had a freaking knife."
Jensen rubs at his eyes. "You gotta watch out for Darryl, he can be a mean motherfucker when he drinks."
"Yeah, no kidding." Jared finally moves, grabs a t-shirt and clean boxers from his bag and starts stripping off smoke-saturated clothes that he tosses in the chair next to the desk. He finds his toothbrush and heads for the bathroom, splashes his face and brushes his teeth, hair smelling like smoke but he's too tired for a shower. When he gets back, Jensen's left the light on but is rolled on his side like he's sleeping.
Jared pulls back the comforter and yanks sheets from the edges of the bed; even in hotels like this the beds are too small. "Jensen," he tests, and gets a grunt in return. "What's up with you and the other guys?"
He doesn't think Jensen's going to answer, but then Jensen says, "What do you mean?"
"You know, the way they don't talk to you. And Cahill gives you some weird freaking looks in the locker room. What, did some buddy of theirs get traded when you came in?"
He hears a slow exhalation from Jensen, but by the time Jensen turns over he's got a look on his face that seems practiced. "Some shit went down in St. Louis I'm still getting fallout from."
"A year later?" Jared says skeptically.
"It's a tight-knit group, Jared. Players talk." Jared waits for him to elaborate, but Jensen just reaches up to flick off the light.
Jared unfolds himself into the bed, pushes the comforter down to his feet and wraps himself in sheets that smell like too much detergent.
"Night, Jensen," he says, but if Jensen answers he doesn't hear it.
****
They lose the next day, K.C. turning it on because they're two back in the wild card and the game actually means something to them. Jared hasn't done anything more than a little warm-up, another session with Sid, but he's dripping from the day's humidity and takes a shower in the locker room with the rest of the guys. He's standing at his locker, Jensen a few lockers down, when Cahill walks by Jensen and mutters faggot under his breath.
Jared looks over and Jensen's just standing there, putting his stuff away like he hadn't heard, but there's a bright spot on his cheek like a red wine stain.
By the time Jared's changed, Jensen's already left. He gets back to the hotel and Jensen's not in the room, either, so he unloads his stuff and turns on the TV, waiting, not sure if he should be out looking for him or something, if Cahill was just being an asshole.
He waits in the room for an hour then heads down to the lobby. Jensen's at the hotel bar with Chris, the team's starting catcher, and after a second's hesitation Jared walks over.
Chris gives him a little nod when he sits down. Jensen glances over, drinks from his glass of beer. "Hey, Jared," he says. "You know Chris?"
Jared holds out his hand and Chris slides off the bar stool to take it. "Hey, man," Jared says. "Don't think we were ever introduced."
"I'm about to talk Jen into dinner," Chris says. "You joining?"
Jared glances at Jensen, who shrugs. "Sure," Jared says.
They end up at the hotel restaurant, a little too white-tablecloth for Jared's comfort, but they get a table in back and Chris orders a bottle of wine. Jared drinks it even though he doesn't even like wine, but it's worth it to hear the shit Chris comes up with for conversation, every sentence beginning with, "So I was at this bar," or "I was with this girl in Savannah," or "There was this alligator." Jared's laughing and even Jensen's cracked a smile, and it doesn't matter that the food costs more than his per diem and is crappy to boot.
"So I hear you're gettin' a start in Toronto," Chris says to him, and Jared just stares. "About time I got a day off."
"Are you serious?" Sid hasn't said anything to him, but like most of the old guys he's weird about shit like that, all superstition and jinxes and playing close to the vest. The rest of what Chris said sinks in, and he looks at Jensen. "Does that mean...?"
"Yeah, guess so," Jensen says, but Jared can tell he's pleased to get back in the starting roster, if only for a game.
Chris takes off after dinner, says he's got an ass to kick at air hockey in the hotel game room, but the restaurant's only half full so Jared and Jensen stick around to finish off the rest of the second bottle of wine.
Jared wonders if Jensen's drunk enough that he can ask, or if he's just going to get his ass handed to him. He takes the plunge. "So what happened in St. Louis?"
Jensen looks at him over his glass, doesn't shift away from the question. "Blew the first baseman in the locker room after a game," he says.
"Shit," Jared says, not entirely surprised after Cahill's little outburst, but he didn't expect Jensen to admit it so baldly. He doesn't know if it's the wine, but he suddenly busts out laughing. "Are you fucking serious?"
Jensen's not laughing, but a grin tugs at his mouth. "Yeah."
"So what, did someone walk in on you or something?"
"Nah, he got cold feet after, told a couple of his buddies that I'd jumped him."
"Jesus," Jared says, shaking his head. "Smooth, Ackles."
"Yeah, well." Jensen looks away and finishes off the wine in his glass. "Pretty soon they were talking trade, so it's not like they could do anything else to me."
"Still, that's pretty shitty."
Jensen splits the rest of the wine in the bottle between their glasses. "Jared, that's Major League baseball."
Jensen insists on paying the check even though Jared knows he doesn't make much more than him, possibly even less since he has a pretty sweet developmental contract. Jensen says something about getting it out of Chris later. They go up to the room and Jared can't pretend it's not a little weird, hates himself for feeling weird, but the wine's wearing off and his roommate likes to blow guys in locker rooms.
"So this is going to be weird for you, right?" Jensen says, pretty much picking the words from Jared's head.
"No," Jared says, and Jensen gives him a look of tolerant disbelief. "It's not going to be weird," he says, and he makes himself mean it, because Jensen's probably the one friend he's got here and he's a decent guy, and he certainly doesn't deserve any extra shit from Jared.
"Yeah, okay," Jensen says, running a hand through his hair like he's already regretting saying anything. Then Jared calls bathroom dibs and he just says, "Hell, no," and beats him to the door.
****
Sid tells him after breakfast, and Jared thinks it's funny that Sid is the nervous one, but he's seen how Sid acts with the other pitchers, like they were his kids, so he doesn't mind being the one offering reassurance.
"I'm sending you and Ackles early, want you to get comfortable in the place. Check in with the stadium tomorrow. They should let you have the field for an hour or so." Sid looks like he's already rethinking the start, so Jared jumps in to say he's fine, his arm feels good, he's ready, and finally Sid lets him go with a promise that Jared will check in with him once the rest of the team gets there.
When he gets back to the room, Jensen's already packed. "Is there some secret code I don't know?" Jared asks.
Jensen tosses Jared's bag to him. "Sid likes to think he's being mysterious, but he's pretty predictable."
Jared's not nervous, that won't happen until game day, but he's pretty much wrapped up in his head, thinking about the start. Jensen must sense it because he gives him space, listens to his iPod as they wait in the airport lounge for their plane to get in. Jared drums his fingers on the armrest until Jensen grabs Jared's hand pointedly.
"Sorry," Jared says, and rubs his hands on his jeans to work out the jitters. He tries to read a magazine someone's left on the seat over, but it's like the most inane shit ever and out of date. "Do you remember your first start?"
Jensen pulls his earphones out and Jared can hear the twang of some indie faux rock. "What?"
"Your first start, do you remember?"
"I'm not, like, ancient or senile or anything."
"So how was it?"
Jensen sighs a little, and Jared can see he's thinking about being stuck babysitting the next couple of days. "L.A.'s catcher tore his ACL in the off-season so they called me up before the season started. I guess it was easier because I'd gotten to know the guys pretty well in spring training, but yeah, I was nervous, I guess. Caught a good game but my hitting was for shit. I didn't get my first one until about ten games in."
At least Jared won't have to bat against Toronto. "How'd the rest of the year go?"
"I batted like two-ten or something dismal, maybe fifty RBIs. They liked me all right, though. Did a pretty good stint in L.A. until they brought in some hotshot catcher, and, well."
Jensen just sort of trails off. Jared thinks maybe Jensen's trading history isn't the most reassuring model to focus on, considering Jared hasn't really made it on one team, yet.
At the stadium the next day for practice, he's pretty sure he won't get that far. Everything he throws is either two feet off the mark or slower than Atari pinball. Jensen lets him work it out, doesn't say anything, but after twenty minutes he comes over, exasperation all over his face.
"Jared, relax. Stop trying to push it. You know what you're doing up there, just freaking do it."
"Yeah, I know," Jared says, and he doesn't know what the hell's wrong with him, except he keeps picturing the expressions on the guys' faces if he fucks up and this huge stadium filled with people who are going to be rooting for him to fail.
"Stop," Jensen says. "Get out of your head, man."
Jared sighs and flexes his glove, wipes his forehead with the back of his hat. "You're not going to start talking about chakras and breathing through eyelids, are you?"
"I'm not going to feel up your nuts if that's what you're asking."
Jared grins. "Yeah, you're no Susan Sarandon."
"Didn't know you dug old chicks, Jay." Jensen tosses him the ball and starts walking back to the plate.
"I do when they look like Susan Sarandon," Jared calls after him, but Jensen just shakes his head and pulls down his mask and punches his glove when he squats down.
Jared gets about ten good pitches out of the morning, enough that Jensen calls it a day. He takes Jared to this place he knows for lunch, just a hole in the wall near the stadium but the burgers are the size of his head and the cheese fries almost make Jared get religion.
"My dad played for Houston," Jared says in response to whatever question Jensen just asked, he's not sure now because the cheese fries are that good. "So we went to games and stuff, met the other players, but he was never a big name and he was out by the time I was nine. So I guess I never really got much of a complex about being his kid."
"Is he cool about all this?" Jensen asks. "'Cause man, that's some serious pressure."
"Yeah, he's cool. Avid, but he lays off when my mom gets on him." Jared takes a bite of his burger. "You close to your parents?"
Jensen shrugs and snags one of Jared's cheese fries. "Pretty much. I mean, they're not thrilled by the whole gay thing, but we don't really talk about it. They're cool with everything else. My sister started school last year and she sends me these long-ass emails like I'm her diary, all college drama and whether or not she should try pot or have sex with this dweeb in her poli-sci class until I'm ready to fly out there and off the poor guy."
Jared thinks about Megan, who's been her own personal force of nature since she turned thirteen. "Yeah, I know what you mean." He eats another cheese fry. "Did you catch in Little League?"
Jensen shakes his head. "Not until high school. I was this seriously tiny dude -- " he glares when Jared starts laughing, " -- and they stuck me in the outfield until I finally hit a growth spurt."
"How traumatizing for you," Jared says, and Jensen throws the last cheese fry at him.
He realizes he hasn't even thought about the game in the last hour, and even forgives Jensen for wasting the last cheese fry.
The rest of the team's at the hotel when they get back. Jared checks in with Sid, who seems to have come to terms with letting his new pitcher out into the cold hard world and just tells Jared to get an early night.
Jensen's in the bathroom when he gets back to the room. Jared lies down on the bed and stares at the ceiling, wondering if sleep is a possibility or a pipe dream. The bathroom door opens, and Jensen's leaning in the doorway.
"Couple of things," Jensen says. "First thing is, no one's going to be shocked if you fuck up. It's pretty much expected. There's nothing riding on this game, we sure as hell aren't making the playoffs, and they just want to give you some experience to take into the off-season. And it's not like they're not going to give you a second chance, and a third, to prove you can do it."
"Oddly, that's not making me feel at all better," Jared says, and Jensen's teeth flash in a grin.
"Yeah, I know. Shut up. The second thing is, you're not going to fuck up. You're a good pitcher. You have the potential to be fucking awesome. If you go out there and do your thing, no way are you fucking up."
He turns out the light and gets into bed.
"Man, you deserve a medal for that speech," Jared says, and it's like he can feel Jensen's grin.
****
He gets the win. It's not at all a sure thing until the fifth, when Cahill of all people lands one in the left bleachers for three runs in. Jared gives up seven hits in the first three innings, two for runs, but he catches his stride in the fourth, Jensen signaling pitches like he's hooked into the batters' heads, and it's all strikes and grounders until Sid sends in the closer in the ninth.
The guys rib him even more if possible, all look at the next Greg Maddux and keep it up, pretty boy. Jared can't stop grinning. He shakes Jensen's hand like they just closed a deal, and Jensen's grinning, too, because he had a nice hit to start off the fifth and was one of the guys Cahill brought home.
He's riding high all the way to the hotel. He calls his dad in the bus, but it's too loud to hold any kind of conversation, so he just gives him a quick recap of the game even though his dad watched it on satellite. His dad tells him he's proud, that he looked good up there, and Jared can't put into words how that makes him feel, so he just says bye and that he'll call him later.
Back in the hotel room, he can't sit still. He finally drives Jensen out of the room when he asks for the third time if Jensen thought his curveball might have been a little off, maybe he should start working on that.
He calls Chad.
"Dude, where the fuck are you? You've been gone for, like, weeks."
"Toronto," Jared says. "Man, I left you a note. It's on the fridge."
There's a long pause, then he hears the creak of the linoleum floor as Chad goes into the kitchen, the whisper of paper as Chad pulls his note from the fridge door. "Yeah, okay. Jesus. What the fuck, Jared. Are you moving out now? Because this is the shittiest time of the year to find a new roommate."
"I'm not moving out. Chad, I got the win."
Chad sighs. "You know I don't know shit about baseball."
"Yeah, I know, that's why I love you."
"Yeah, fuck you, too," Chad says, and hangs up.
Jared closes his phone. A minute later, he's calling Sandy.
"I got the win," he says, and there's a short pause.
"Jared, that's great. Really great." And she sounds happy for him, but there's something off in her voice, and she can't seem to think of anything to add other than really great.
"Everything okay?" he asks, distracted for a second when Jensen opens the door to the room; Jared tries to gesture that it's okay, but Jensen must see something in his face because he just ducks back out.
"Yeah. Things are good."
"Uh-huh," Jared says, but he's thinking, what the fuck. Girls weren't supposed to dump you after you made it big.
"I think maybe we should talk when you get back," she says.
"Sure, we can do that," Jared says, but he knows they won't. Sandy's the easiest girl he's ever gone out with, and apparently break up with, in large part because they don't do things like that.
There's a long silence, then Sandy says, "Bye, Jared."
Jared turns his phone off completely.
He finds Jensen down in the hotel lounge. Jensen's got his glasses on and he's doing the crossword, and Jared wonders how it's possible that a professional ball player can look so much like a geek. He slides down on the couch next to him. "I don't understand women."
"Man, who does," Jensen says. He glances at Jared and chews on the end of his pencil, then puts the pencil down and sort of pats Jared on the head, like something Jared's mom would do.
"Dude," Jared says. He rubs at his eyes.
"Yeah, I know," Jensen says.
****
They close out the season at home. Jared gets another win and a no-decision when the closer breaks down against Boston, but management's happy, his agent's freaking ecstatic, and Sid pulls him aside after the last game and tells him to keep working in the off-season and that he'll see him in spring training.
The parking lot's almost deserted when Jared leaves the locker room. He sees Jensen across the lot, about to get into his car, and Jared gives a little wave to tell him to hold up and walks over. Jensen shuts the car door and leans against it.
"Man, wow," Jared says, running a hand through his hair and wishing he knew what to say. "Thanks. I mean, I know that's kind of inadequate and all, but thanks."
Jensen shakes his head. "Forget it," he says, and Jared can tells he's a little embarrassed. "They bringing you back next year?"
"Yeah, looks like. We'll see what they end up doing with my contract."
"You have a good agent?"
Jared thinks about Mia, who can be a pain in the ass but she generally looks out for him. "Yeah, pretty good."
Jensen nods and looks out over the parking lot, hands in his pockets as he leans against the car.
"You have far to go?" Jared asks.
"I live in the city, so, no. You heading back to Bowie?"
Jared nods. Jensen looks like he's ready to get out of there, fingering his car keys, so Jared says, "So give me your number at least, we can get together in the off-season."
Jensen looks surprised, but he says, "Yeah, okay." He takes Jared's phone and programs his number in, then hands it back. "I kinda suck at this whole good-bye thing, so I'm just gonna get going."
Jared grins. "Yeah, sounds good. See you," and Jensen nods and gets into his car.
Jared drives back to Bowie with the window down; he doesn't feel deflated, exactly, just a little sorry the season's over, and the blast of air through the window is grounding. When he gets back to the apartment, Chad looks up from the couch.
"Man, you couldn't even pick up a pizza?"
Jared throws the phone at him to call delivery.
****
Part 2
Title: And It's a Whole New Ball Game
Author: kestrelsan
Pairing: JA/JP; CMM, CK
Rating: Adult
Warnings: AU, Chad, baseball
Word Count: 14,821 words
Notes: Many thanks to prillalar for beta and title mojo.
Summary: "Don't tell me about the world. Not today. It's springtime and they're knocking baseball around fields where the grass is damp and green in the morning and the kids are trying to hit the curve ball." - Pete Hamill
You can also view the whole thing at my website here.
And It's a Whole New Ball Game
The guy's old and lined and the uniform hangs on his tiny frame. "Padalecki?"
Jared shields his eyes over the brim of his hat and nods. Jared thinks he's the third base coach, and you'd think he'd know this shit, ready for the opportunity, but it happened so fast he barely had time to fantasize before the call came.
"When'd you get in?"
"An hour ago," Jared says, but the coach is already scanning players spread out over the field, tossing balls and practicing swings in groups of three and four.
"Ackles," he calls, and the guy catching for Sturgis -- Jared recognizes the pitcher at least, which he should since he's first in the rotation and makes eight million a year -- comes over.
"Yeah," Ackles says, and gives Jared a brief once over.
"Warm up Padalecki then we'll take him over to the mound, see what he's got." And just as quickly as he came into it, Jared's out of his radar again, just another green pitcher called up by the organization to squeak through the tail end of a dismal season.
"Jared," Jared says to the catcher, as the coach walks away. Ackles squints up at him and doesn't say anything. "Uh, my name," Jared says.
"Yeah, I got that," Ackles says, and Jared can't tell if he's laughing at him or just doesn't give a shit. He heads for an unclaimed patch of green and Jared follows, glad that everyone is completely uninterested in his presence and he can work through his nerves without all those eyes on him.
Ackles doesn't say anything else, just tosses Jared a ball and crouches into catching stance. Jared walks the yardage away, fingering the ball. He's been doing this since he was seven, never thought a ball would feel weird in his hand, but it's like the weight's all wrong; it feels small and foreign and his fingers slip a little when he grips it.
The first pitch he sends over is a shaky lob. Jared sees the raised eyebrow even behind Ackles' mask, but Ackles just throws it back and doesn't say anything. Jared grips the ball in his glove. He's been playing double-A since high school, for christ's sake, and maybe this is a huge step up, but it's still just a step.
The next one is better. They go at it about ten minutes, then Ackles stands up with the ball, pushes back his mask, and comes over. Jared's been trying to place him, figures he'd know if he was a starter, but at least he caught like he knew what he was doing. Then again, even the batboys could've caught what he was throwing.
"Where'd you come up from?" Ackles asks. The mask's left a red indentation on his forehead.
"Bowie," Jared answers.
"Pretty short drive from here." Jared doesn't know what to say to that so he just watches the ball as Ackles tosses it back and forth between his glove and his hand.
Ackles squints at the sun, scans the field like he's looking for something or someone; his eyes come back to Jared's abruptly. "Jared, my grandmother's got a speedier fastball than you."
Jared flushes. Ackles is looking at him, question in his eyes but no particular derision, just like he's trying to determine what the hell kind of ball they played in Bowie.
"Nerves, I guess."
"Yeah?" Ackles asks, and again Jared can't tell if he's laughing at him. "Nothing to be nervous about." He tosses Jared the ball. "Though if you fuck up on the mound at least it's not far back home, right?"
He walks back and crouches again, holds his glove up as if to say, come on, send some shit over.
So Jared turns it on, the first one cracking into Ackles' glove like it was tethered there. He knows it was over 90, and he grins a little when Ackles shakes out his glove hand and tosses the ball back.
A few more like that then the third base coach is calling his name. "Gettin' there, Padalecki," Ackles says under his breath as they walk over to the mound, and then the third base coach is introducing Jared to the guy next to him, who's just as lined and grey-streaked and stooped, but his eyes move over Jared sharply.
"Sid, pitching coach," is how he's introduced, and Jared holds out his hand. Sid has a strong, wiry handshake, and he doesn't let go of Jared's hand right away but turns it over to look at his palm, examining his grip, and Jared feels a little like a horse on display. Sid doesn't say anything about what he sees in Jared's hand when he lets it go and waves Ackles over to home plate. "How old are you?"
"Twenty-two," Jared says.
"First time up?" he says, and Jared nods. "Just send over a few softies first, then I want a run-through of what you've got." He walks off to stand with the third base coach about halfway to home plate.
Left alone on the mound, Jared looks down at Ackles, who's got his mask back on and glove in position. It's the same distance he's used to but it seems miles longer to home plate, and Jared just fools with the ball in his glove until he sees Ackles give him a little thumbs up sign, which makes him feel better.
He does well, not as great as at the end of the warm-up, but Sid doesn't seem pissed or disappointed or anything when he comes over. The rest of the guys head into the locker room, but Sid keeps him up on the mound, checking out his grip on the ball and moving fingers around, muttering a little to himself as he has Jared try out a new grip in the wind-up that doesn't feel too bad.
By the time Sid lets him go Jared realizes Ackles has gone, and he's not in the locker room, either, so he can't even thank him. There are only a few guys left and they nod at Jared when he stashes his glove and uniform back in the locker with his street clothes. A couple even introduce themselves, names he knows and follows and never figured on meeting in person, but they seem like regular guys, nice, even, and when he leaves the locker room for the bright pavement of the parking lot, he thinks, yeah, he can do this.
****
He's got seventeen messages on his cell phone when he checks into the hotel room they put him up in even though his apartment is less than an hour away. Mostly the guys from Bowie, just quick calls telling him to watch his nuts and they hope they won't see him again anytime soon; a couple from his agent already planning out contract renegotiations. One from Sandy which makes him smile, because not every girlfriend would be so cool with him being on the road half the season but Sandy just takes it in stride. A message from Chad to tell him they're out of beer and to pick some up, because Chad has no clue what goes on in his life.
The last one's from his dad, and he calls him back first. His mom picks up and he can hear the happiness in her voice, all sunshine and relief that he hasn't been whittling away his life in the minors after all, and Jared doesn't even have to say anything, she just carries the conversation with a tally of all the relatives she's talked to in the last six hours. Finally she hands the phone to his dad, and he just says, "Jared," like all the pride he's ever felt in his own life just got passed down to his son.
Jared knows this is a Big Deal for him, because his dad played ball, second base for Houston, and he's been dreaming about this since Jared shot up in the ninth grade and just kept growing. It's not like it's not a big deal for Jared, too, because he's wanted this, planned his life around it, but it's not every day you get to make your parents this thoroughly happy and Jared revels in it a little.
When he hangs up with them he doesn't feel like talking to anyone else. The hotel room's nice and right across from the ballpark. He's got a view of the harbor, even. He watches people walk by, in and around the shops and along the water like brightly colored ants. He feels weird in his skin, like he's just stepped into this huge yawning world he knows nothing about, which he has, and it scares him a little, because it's not about him anymore. It's about everyone who wants things from him, for him.
When he picks up his phone, Sandy answers with, "Hey, baby," all warm and happy and nothing weird in her voice because he's in the big leagues now, whatever that means. She doesn't even hesitate when he says he doesn't want to talk about it, just wants to hear about her day and the sound of her voice.
****
Even without checking the scoreboard Jared knows they're losing; the crowd's restless, half the seats empty, and the relief pitchers are slumped on the bench waiting for the desperation subs.
He's got the bullpen door cracked to see what he can, which is about half the field. Ackles comes over to watch with him. Jared snuck a look at the name on his locker before warm-ups, but he's never heard of Jensen Ackles.
"You know you don't have to actually watch the games," Jensen says, and Jared figures by now he's just teasing.
"Don't you want to win?"
Jensen shrugs. "Half the team's overweight, all of them are overpaid, and the owner's a fuckwad. Losing's the one thing we do well."
Jared can't tell if he's serious. He turns back to the game. Namoff, the shortstop, is up. He takes two strikes on weak-ass fastballs then pops a curveball to right field, out of Jared's line of vision. "How long have you been with the club?"
"Traded from St. Louis last year."
Jared wonders if that's why the other players seem to avoid Jensen in the locker room, if he's still got that new guy smell, though they've been nice enough to Jared so far. They're polite to Jensen, just not friendly, though Jensen hasn't struck Jared as the world's most outgoing guy, either.
"So what, you're just here for all the green pitchers that come through?"
"Someone's gotta teach you how to throw a ball." Jensen whistles low when Moreno sends a grounder to third that squeaks through, then adds, "Caught for Gutierrez before he blew out his shoulder. Which is why you're here, by the way."
Jared rolls his shoulder in sympathy. Sid's got some freak radar for when Jared's slacking off, his voice like a bullhorn whenever Jared takes anything off his pitches.
The third baseman pops up with two runners stranded, and the crowd's restlessness picks up in the changeover. People stream out to get food, more beer, beat the traffic home.
He glances at Jensen. "Where're you from?"
"Dallas," Jensen says, and Jared grins.
"No shit. San Antonio."
A smile tugs at the corners of Jensen's mouth. "I kind of figured you for Texas."
"Yeah?" Jared's grin turns on himself, and he ducks his head. "So where's your accent?"
"Hell, I've been traded so much I don't know where I'm from," Jensen answers, but he doesn't sound bitter, just stating a fact.
"Where before St. Louis?"
Jensen cocks his head as if tallying it up. "Detroit, and before that Minnesota for a couple of years. Started out drafted by L.A. after a year at Arizona State."
"Shit," Jared says, because you have to either really suck or be a diva princess to be traded that often. "You trying to hit every team before you're thirty?"
That earns him a laugh. "Yeah, something like that."
Jensen's called over by Sid to warm up a reliever for the next inning, and Jared watches the game. Pomeroy's looking shaky up on the mound, pitches off the mark, then he throws an absolute gopher to the DH, who sends it out of the park.
They end up losing by six. The crowd boos as it trickles out of the stands.
"Welcome to the big leagues," Jensen says, clapping him on the shoulder as they head across the field.
****
They've got a seven day road trip, three-game series at Kansas City then Toronto for another three. Sid wants to work on his curveball so they fly to Kansas City a day after the rest of the team, and Jared wishes he'd known Sid was a nervous flyer because as fearless as Sid is when he's telling Jared everything he's doing wrong, the guy has a deathgrip on Jared's forearm the entire three-hour flight.
They get to the hotel -- all glass and marble and soft leather couches, like Buicks to Porsches from sleeping on the road in double-A -- and Sid checks them in. There are a couple of guys in the lounge and Jared returns their waves, shoulders the jibes he still gets 'cause he's green and is probably gaping like a wahoo at the surroundings.
They're all harmless, though, and they won today. Everyone's in a good mood.
Sid comes back. "Hotel's booked. Some orthodontist convention," he says, like he can't figure out why orthodontists would want to have conventions. "I gotta put you in with one of the guys."
"Sure," Jared says, surprised Sid thinks it might be an issue. He's always bunked with roommates on the road, knows most of the guys prefer it.
"Most everyone's settled," Sid says. "Okay if I put you in with Ackles?"
"That's fine," Jared says, and wonders if Jensen's a slob or a secret asshole that no one else is rooming with him.
Sid looks a little relieved. He hands Jared a keycard and gives him the room number. Jared shoulders his bag, waves off the bellhop, and heads for the elevator.
Jensen's not a slob, at least not in hotel rooms. He's reading a book when Jared comes in and dumps his stuff on the other bed, returns Jared's "Hey" amiably enough.
"Heard we won today," Jared says.
"Yeah. Sealy got a sweet one in the fourth, two men on. And K.C.'s pitcher went completely bugfuck when Gomez plowed one an inch from his nose, had to be pulled off the mound. Kinda funny, really."
"What time's tomorrow's game?"
"Practice at ten, game starts at one." Jensen turns back to his book.
Jared sits on the bed, fingers the TV remote but thinks it might be rude while Jensen's reading. Back in Bowie he used to bunk with the shortstop, small guy who was great half the time and erupted in spit-filled rages the rest; they put Jared in with him because even Hejduk would think twice about taking him on. He only blew up once on the road, took a bat to the TV before Jared got it out of his hands, and all that because it was emitting some kind of whine that interrupted his magazine reading.
Jared doesn't think Jensen's the type to go batshit over something like that, but it's not like he knows for sure. He grabs his coat. "I'm heading down to the lounge, see what the guys are up to. You in?"
"Nah," Jensen says. He looks up as Jared opens the door. "Curfew's midnight. And they will kick your ass back to Bowie if you miss it."
"Yeah, thanks," Jared says. He pauses in the doorway. "Kinda sweet you're all worried about me," he says, and grins at Jensen's startled laugh before it's cut off by the door.
Jared finds a group of guys down at the lounge, Gomez and Konopka and Soumare, and it turns out they're heading for some place Soumare knows across town. They're cool with him tagging along, Gomez buys him a beer and doesn't believe that he's legal until Jared produces a driver's license, then they all rib him for being so freaking earnest about it. Jared's having a good time, the guys are great, and he doesn't get the stares the rest of them do because in this world he's still a non-entity and he's cool with that for now.
Then Konopka almost gets into a fight with some monstrous biker guy who has, like, ten tattoos and probably a knife, but they all pull him off and stuff him into the cab before he can do more than scream back some obscenities.
On the ride home, Gomez turns to him and says, "You rooming with Ackles?" At Jared's nod, he spits to the side and ignores the cab driver's glare. "Better watch your ass," he says, and Soumare laughs from the front seat.
Before Jared can ask what the hell that's about, they're back at the hotel and Gomez and Soumare are heaving a drunk Konopka up to his room.
The lights are off when he opens the door to his room. He tries to be quiet -- he's only had a couple of drinks and it takes a lot more than that to get him drunk, but the curtains are drawn and the room's like a freaking cave. He trips over the desk in the corner and it rocks back, hitting the wall.
A light comes on over the far bed. Jensen's looking at him sleepily. "You smell like the butt-end of an ashtray."
"I feel like one," Jared says and collapses back on the bed. He's not drunk but he's buzzing, and it feels good to lie down. "Konopka nearly took out this biker dude who had a freaking knife."
Jensen rubs at his eyes. "You gotta watch out for Darryl, he can be a mean motherfucker when he drinks."
"Yeah, no kidding." Jared finally moves, grabs a t-shirt and clean boxers from his bag and starts stripping off smoke-saturated clothes that he tosses in the chair next to the desk. He finds his toothbrush and heads for the bathroom, splashes his face and brushes his teeth, hair smelling like smoke but he's too tired for a shower. When he gets back, Jensen's left the light on but is rolled on his side like he's sleeping.
Jared pulls back the comforter and yanks sheets from the edges of the bed; even in hotels like this the beds are too small. "Jensen," he tests, and gets a grunt in return. "What's up with you and the other guys?"
He doesn't think Jensen's going to answer, but then Jensen says, "What do you mean?"
"You know, the way they don't talk to you. And Cahill gives you some weird freaking looks in the locker room. What, did some buddy of theirs get traded when you came in?"
He hears a slow exhalation from Jensen, but by the time Jensen turns over he's got a look on his face that seems practiced. "Some shit went down in St. Louis I'm still getting fallout from."
"A year later?" Jared says skeptically.
"It's a tight-knit group, Jared. Players talk." Jared waits for him to elaborate, but Jensen just reaches up to flick off the light.
Jared unfolds himself into the bed, pushes the comforter down to his feet and wraps himself in sheets that smell like too much detergent.
"Night, Jensen," he says, but if Jensen answers he doesn't hear it.
****
They lose the next day, K.C. turning it on because they're two back in the wild card and the game actually means something to them. Jared hasn't done anything more than a little warm-up, another session with Sid, but he's dripping from the day's humidity and takes a shower in the locker room with the rest of the guys. He's standing at his locker, Jensen a few lockers down, when Cahill walks by Jensen and mutters faggot under his breath.
Jared looks over and Jensen's just standing there, putting his stuff away like he hadn't heard, but there's a bright spot on his cheek like a red wine stain.
By the time Jared's changed, Jensen's already left. He gets back to the hotel and Jensen's not in the room, either, so he unloads his stuff and turns on the TV, waiting, not sure if he should be out looking for him or something, if Cahill was just being an asshole.
He waits in the room for an hour then heads down to the lobby. Jensen's at the hotel bar with Chris, the team's starting catcher, and after a second's hesitation Jared walks over.
Chris gives him a little nod when he sits down. Jensen glances over, drinks from his glass of beer. "Hey, Jared," he says. "You know Chris?"
Jared holds out his hand and Chris slides off the bar stool to take it. "Hey, man," Jared says. "Don't think we were ever introduced."
"I'm about to talk Jen into dinner," Chris says. "You joining?"
Jared glances at Jensen, who shrugs. "Sure," Jared says.
They end up at the hotel restaurant, a little too white-tablecloth for Jared's comfort, but they get a table in back and Chris orders a bottle of wine. Jared drinks it even though he doesn't even like wine, but it's worth it to hear the shit Chris comes up with for conversation, every sentence beginning with, "So I was at this bar," or "I was with this girl in Savannah," or "There was this alligator." Jared's laughing and even Jensen's cracked a smile, and it doesn't matter that the food costs more than his per diem and is crappy to boot.
"So I hear you're gettin' a start in Toronto," Chris says to him, and Jared just stares. "About time I got a day off."
"Are you serious?" Sid hasn't said anything to him, but like most of the old guys he's weird about shit like that, all superstition and jinxes and playing close to the vest. The rest of what Chris said sinks in, and he looks at Jensen. "Does that mean...?"
"Yeah, guess so," Jensen says, but Jared can tell he's pleased to get back in the starting roster, if only for a game.
Chris takes off after dinner, says he's got an ass to kick at air hockey in the hotel game room, but the restaurant's only half full so Jared and Jensen stick around to finish off the rest of the second bottle of wine.
Jared wonders if Jensen's drunk enough that he can ask, or if he's just going to get his ass handed to him. He takes the plunge. "So what happened in St. Louis?"
Jensen looks at him over his glass, doesn't shift away from the question. "Blew the first baseman in the locker room after a game," he says.
"Shit," Jared says, not entirely surprised after Cahill's little outburst, but he didn't expect Jensen to admit it so baldly. He doesn't know if it's the wine, but he suddenly busts out laughing. "Are you fucking serious?"
Jensen's not laughing, but a grin tugs at his mouth. "Yeah."
"So what, did someone walk in on you or something?"
"Nah, he got cold feet after, told a couple of his buddies that I'd jumped him."
"Jesus," Jared says, shaking his head. "Smooth, Ackles."
"Yeah, well." Jensen looks away and finishes off the wine in his glass. "Pretty soon they were talking trade, so it's not like they could do anything else to me."
"Still, that's pretty shitty."
Jensen splits the rest of the wine in the bottle between their glasses. "Jared, that's Major League baseball."
Jensen insists on paying the check even though Jared knows he doesn't make much more than him, possibly even less since he has a pretty sweet developmental contract. Jensen says something about getting it out of Chris later. They go up to the room and Jared can't pretend it's not a little weird, hates himself for feeling weird, but the wine's wearing off and his roommate likes to blow guys in locker rooms.
"So this is going to be weird for you, right?" Jensen says, pretty much picking the words from Jared's head.
"No," Jared says, and Jensen gives him a look of tolerant disbelief. "It's not going to be weird," he says, and he makes himself mean it, because Jensen's probably the one friend he's got here and he's a decent guy, and he certainly doesn't deserve any extra shit from Jared.
"Yeah, okay," Jensen says, running a hand through his hair like he's already regretting saying anything. Then Jared calls bathroom dibs and he just says, "Hell, no," and beats him to the door.
****
Sid tells him after breakfast, and Jared thinks it's funny that Sid is the nervous one, but he's seen how Sid acts with the other pitchers, like they were his kids, so he doesn't mind being the one offering reassurance.
"I'm sending you and Ackles early, want you to get comfortable in the place. Check in with the stadium tomorrow. They should let you have the field for an hour or so." Sid looks like he's already rethinking the start, so Jared jumps in to say he's fine, his arm feels good, he's ready, and finally Sid lets him go with a promise that Jared will check in with him once the rest of the team gets there.
When he gets back to the room, Jensen's already packed. "Is there some secret code I don't know?" Jared asks.
Jensen tosses Jared's bag to him. "Sid likes to think he's being mysterious, but he's pretty predictable."
Jared's not nervous, that won't happen until game day, but he's pretty much wrapped up in his head, thinking about the start. Jensen must sense it because he gives him space, listens to his iPod as they wait in the airport lounge for their plane to get in. Jared drums his fingers on the armrest until Jensen grabs Jared's hand pointedly.
"Sorry," Jared says, and rubs his hands on his jeans to work out the jitters. He tries to read a magazine someone's left on the seat over, but it's like the most inane shit ever and out of date. "Do you remember your first start?"
Jensen pulls his earphones out and Jared can hear the twang of some indie faux rock. "What?"
"Your first start, do you remember?"
"I'm not, like, ancient or senile or anything."
"So how was it?"
Jensen sighs a little, and Jared can see he's thinking about being stuck babysitting the next couple of days. "L.A.'s catcher tore his ACL in the off-season so they called me up before the season started. I guess it was easier because I'd gotten to know the guys pretty well in spring training, but yeah, I was nervous, I guess. Caught a good game but my hitting was for shit. I didn't get my first one until about ten games in."
At least Jared won't have to bat against Toronto. "How'd the rest of the year go?"
"I batted like two-ten or something dismal, maybe fifty RBIs. They liked me all right, though. Did a pretty good stint in L.A. until they brought in some hotshot catcher, and, well."
Jensen just sort of trails off. Jared thinks maybe Jensen's trading history isn't the most reassuring model to focus on, considering Jared hasn't really made it on one team, yet.
At the stadium the next day for practice, he's pretty sure he won't get that far. Everything he throws is either two feet off the mark or slower than Atari pinball. Jensen lets him work it out, doesn't say anything, but after twenty minutes he comes over, exasperation all over his face.
"Jared, relax. Stop trying to push it. You know what you're doing up there, just freaking do it."
"Yeah, I know," Jared says, and he doesn't know what the hell's wrong with him, except he keeps picturing the expressions on the guys' faces if he fucks up and this huge stadium filled with people who are going to be rooting for him to fail.
"Stop," Jensen says. "Get out of your head, man."
Jared sighs and flexes his glove, wipes his forehead with the back of his hat. "You're not going to start talking about chakras and breathing through eyelids, are you?"
"I'm not going to feel up your nuts if that's what you're asking."
Jared grins. "Yeah, you're no Susan Sarandon."
"Didn't know you dug old chicks, Jay." Jensen tosses him the ball and starts walking back to the plate.
"I do when they look like Susan Sarandon," Jared calls after him, but Jensen just shakes his head and pulls down his mask and punches his glove when he squats down.
Jared gets about ten good pitches out of the morning, enough that Jensen calls it a day. He takes Jared to this place he knows for lunch, just a hole in the wall near the stadium but the burgers are the size of his head and the cheese fries almost make Jared get religion.
"My dad played for Houston," Jared says in response to whatever question Jensen just asked, he's not sure now because the cheese fries are that good. "So we went to games and stuff, met the other players, but he was never a big name and he was out by the time I was nine. So I guess I never really got much of a complex about being his kid."
"Is he cool about all this?" Jensen asks. "'Cause man, that's some serious pressure."
"Yeah, he's cool. Avid, but he lays off when my mom gets on him." Jared takes a bite of his burger. "You close to your parents?"
Jensen shrugs and snags one of Jared's cheese fries. "Pretty much. I mean, they're not thrilled by the whole gay thing, but we don't really talk about it. They're cool with everything else. My sister started school last year and she sends me these long-ass emails like I'm her diary, all college drama and whether or not she should try pot or have sex with this dweeb in her poli-sci class until I'm ready to fly out there and off the poor guy."
Jared thinks about Megan, who's been her own personal force of nature since she turned thirteen. "Yeah, I know what you mean." He eats another cheese fry. "Did you catch in Little League?"
Jensen shakes his head. "Not until high school. I was this seriously tiny dude -- " he glares when Jared starts laughing, " -- and they stuck me in the outfield until I finally hit a growth spurt."
"How traumatizing for you," Jared says, and Jensen throws the last cheese fry at him.
He realizes he hasn't even thought about the game in the last hour, and even forgives Jensen for wasting the last cheese fry.
The rest of the team's at the hotel when they get back. Jared checks in with Sid, who seems to have come to terms with letting his new pitcher out into the cold hard world and just tells Jared to get an early night.
Jensen's in the bathroom when he gets back to the room. Jared lies down on the bed and stares at the ceiling, wondering if sleep is a possibility or a pipe dream. The bathroom door opens, and Jensen's leaning in the doorway.
"Couple of things," Jensen says. "First thing is, no one's going to be shocked if you fuck up. It's pretty much expected. There's nothing riding on this game, we sure as hell aren't making the playoffs, and they just want to give you some experience to take into the off-season. And it's not like they're not going to give you a second chance, and a third, to prove you can do it."
"Oddly, that's not making me feel at all better," Jared says, and Jensen's teeth flash in a grin.
"Yeah, I know. Shut up. The second thing is, you're not going to fuck up. You're a good pitcher. You have the potential to be fucking awesome. If you go out there and do your thing, no way are you fucking up."
He turns out the light and gets into bed.
"Man, you deserve a medal for that speech," Jared says, and it's like he can feel Jensen's grin.
****
He gets the win. It's not at all a sure thing until the fifth, when Cahill of all people lands one in the left bleachers for three runs in. Jared gives up seven hits in the first three innings, two for runs, but he catches his stride in the fourth, Jensen signaling pitches like he's hooked into the batters' heads, and it's all strikes and grounders until Sid sends in the closer in the ninth.
The guys rib him even more if possible, all look at the next Greg Maddux and keep it up, pretty boy. Jared can't stop grinning. He shakes Jensen's hand like they just closed a deal, and Jensen's grinning, too, because he had a nice hit to start off the fifth and was one of the guys Cahill brought home.
He's riding high all the way to the hotel. He calls his dad in the bus, but it's too loud to hold any kind of conversation, so he just gives him a quick recap of the game even though his dad watched it on satellite. His dad tells him he's proud, that he looked good up there, and Jared can't put into words how that makes him feel, so he just says bye and that he'll call him later.
Back in the hotel room, he can't sit still. He finally drives Jensen out of the room when he asks for the third time if Jensen thought his curveball might have been a little off, maybe he should start working on that.
He calls Chad.
"Dude, where the fuck are you? You've been gone for, like, weeks."
"Toronto," Jared says. "Man, I left you a note. It's on the fridge."
There's a long pause, then he hears the creak of the linoleum floor as Chad goes into the kitchen, the whisper of paper as Chad pulls his note from the fridge door. "Yeah, okay. Jesus. What the fuck, Jared. Are you moving out now? Because this is the shittiest time of the year to find a new roommate."
"I'm not moving out. Chad, I got the win."
Chad sighs. "You know I don't know shit about baseball."
"Yeah, I know, that's why I love you."
"Yeah, fuck you, too," Chad says, and hangs up.
Jared closes his phone. A minute later, he's calling Sandy.
"I got the win," he says, and there's a short pause.
"Jared, that's great. Really great." And she sounds happy for him, but there's something off in her voice, and she can't seem to think of anything to add other than really great.
"Everything okay?" he asks, distracted for a second when Jensen opens the door to the room; Jared tries to gesture that it's okay, but Jensen must see something in his face because he just ducks back out.
"Yeah. Things are good."
"Uh-huh," Jared says, but he's thinking, what the fuck. Girls weren't supposed to dump you after you made it big.
"I think maybe we should talk when you get back," she says.
"Sure, we can do that," Jared says, but he knows they won't. Sandy's the easiest girl he's ever gone out with, and apparently break up with, in large part because they don't do things like that.
There's a long silence, then Sandy says, "Bye, Jared."
Jared turns his phone off completely.
He finds Jensen down in the hotel lounge. Jensen's got his glasses on and he's doing the crossword, and Jared wonders how it's possible that a professional ball player can look so much like a geek. He slides down on the couch next to him. "I don't understand women."
"Man, who does," Jensen says. He glances at Jared and chews on the end of his pencil, then puts the pencil down and sort of pats Jared on the head, like something Jared's mom would do.
"Dude," Jared says. He rubs at his eyes.
"Yeah, I know," Jensen says.
****
They close out the season at home. Jared gets another win and a no-decision when the closer breaks down against Boston, but management's happy, his agent's freaking ecstatic, and Sid pulls him aside after the last game and tells him to keep working in the off-season and that he'll see him in spring training.
The parking lot's almost deserted when Jared leaves the locker room. He sees Jensen across the lot, about to get into his car, and Jared gives a little wave to tell him to hold up and walks over. Jensen shuts the car door and leans against it.
"Man, wow," Jared says, running a hand through his hair and wishing he knew what to say. "Thanks. I mean, I know that's kind of inadequate and all, but thanks."
Jensen shakes his head. "Forget it," he says, and Jared can tells he's a little embarrassed. "They bringing you back next year?"
"Yeah, looks like. We'll see what they end up doing with my contract."
"You have a good agent?"
Jared thinks about Mia, who can be a pain in the ass but she generally looks out for him. "Yeah, pretty good."
Jensen nods and looks out over the parking lot, hands in his pockets as he leans against the car.
"You have far to go?" Jared asks.
"I live in the city, so, no. You heading back to Bowie?"
Jared nods. Jensen looks like he's ready to get out of there, fingering his car keys, so Jared says, "So give me your number at least, we can get together in the off-season."
Jensen looks surprised, but he says, "Yeah, okay." He takes Jared's phone and programs his number in, then hands it back. "I kinda suck at this whole good-bye thing, so I'm just gonna get going."
Jared grins. "Yeah, sounds good. See you," and Jensen nods and gets into his car.
Jared drives back to Bowie with the window down; he doesn't feel deflated, exactly, just a little sorry the season's over, and the blast of air through the window is grounding. When he gets back to the apartment, Chad looks up from the couch.
"Man, you couldn't even pick up a pizza?"
Jared throws the phone at him to call delivery.
****
Part 2