Live Ash
Blaseball, Chicago Firefighters, Mexico City Wild Wings, José Haley, Kennedy Rodgers, Joshua Butt, Wesley Poole, Burke Gonzales, Miguel Wheeler, Season 7, Season 8 Fire, Character Death, Fungus, Incineration
Published on July 10th, 2022
Since joining the team, Kennedy hasn’t been a stranger to fire. He hadn’t been a stranger before of course, he’s worked with blow torches and forgers in his lab, but the sensation of a burning building is unlike anything else.
When he joined the team, after Axel understandably went home, the decision to pair himself and José on the same shifts made sense.
“It’s a comfort thing, trusting your crewmates is a big part of the job, and you two know each other.”
This was very true.
He trusted José deeply. Knowing that it was him he’d be with when the transfer to Chicago hit, being a battery and having that connection made the transition feel more…homey?
Almost.
Still.
The first time they went on a call with Joshua and Declan, the heat and the embers and the determination in José’s eyes was something else. It was, frankly, a horrific first call, and as evacuations continued, he almost lost track of him.
As Josh recounted the people living in the building and aid was being administered, Kennedy heard a scream.
Then boots hitting the pavement.
Then Declan yelled after his partner.
The building wasn’t safe. Joshua didn’t let him go in after him regardless of immortality or his metal components.
It was a tense three minutes.
José would come out with a boy in his arms. His eyes would lock with Declan, and like that, they were back to it, helping the injured, putting out the fire, following the call.
From everything about that night, his processors still cycle the sound of José’s cough, and the way he hid it in his sleeve.
Josh would reprimand him after, and he would apologize to the three of them after the fact.
They spent a lot of their time before the season in the basement of the firehouse.
Justice and Baby had told him there was some industrial space for him to work on himself and other mechanical projects, and after Thomas offered up a bean bag, José would camp out while he worked. Oftentimes, he would just read, sometimes, he’d be writing in a small notebook. It was a quiet company between the bending and shaping of metal.
José wasn’t always this quiet though.
He couldn’t really place when, but it always felt like he was trying to prove himself to the team…to everyone. He didn’t need to do that, none of them needed to prove anything, they had just won a championship!
Though, all things considered, he hadn’t really processed that himself.
None of them were strangers to fire after that.
The way Burke had held Axel back sticks in his mind.
Today José brought a project, some herbs to crush, a small molcajete and several clippings from his now downsized collection. José’s interest in plants fascinated him, while he never reaped the benefits of the various plants José would give to his teammates, getting the man to talk botany was always fascinating.
When he asked him what he was grinding, José first gave him a smirk.
“Really?” Kennedy laughed, but José shook his head.
“No, it’s not that, I’m grinding some chamomile, Silvia asked for it to help her sleep.”
Kennedy smiles softly, Silvia has kept in good contact with them both over the break, “That’s really nice.”
José hums in agreement, grinding out the dried flowers into a bowl.
“Say,” Kennedy begins, “How does it help you sleep again?”
The season starts like any other, they play the game like they’re supposed to. Jaylen isn’t like that anymore, and Chicago is far enough from Seattle that they don’t play much anyhow.
Still, the edge is still there. The fear of an ump’s eyes glowing white.
He was not on the field when Miguel Wheeler died, but José was. They called it a posthumous single in the reports, and it brought José home.
Despite the chaos, the screaming and crying and management sending Case out on the field, the thing that stuck with Kennedy the most was the hollow terror in José’s eyes. He was the only one of them on the field then.
He was just too far away.
Kennedy would often find himself at games he didn’t pitch, he didn’t need recovery like the others, he could watch, he could learn, he could hope to improve.
Caleb was a good pitcher and so was Garner on the Lovers, so he sat back, he took notes, and he watched, doing his best to ignore the looming dark sky.
It was the top of three and Caleb made quick work of Horne. Ortiz walked up to bat, her usual pomp and determination.
The rest came quick.
José was running, running, running, kicking up dirt along the first base line. The snakes slithering around Ortiz’s scalp jutted back. Caleb was yelling, Josh was yelling, from the opposing dugout Triumphant was running out too.
José burns.
It’s a cloud of glowing flame and ash, Ike and Ortiz are scrambling back as the umpire is unphased.
The smoke clears and everything is tinged a radiant orange, not like fire, not like embers, unlike anything he’s ever seen before.
He stares at the grass and the dirt and the bodies covered in what remains among the ashes.
The game continues.
They lose.
It’s Wesley, who finds him hours after the game ends, sitting at home plate.
The ashes were cleaned up, Josh was the one to call Burke, and he had declined the phone.
The orange though– “What is it?”
Kennedy stared down at the earth.
“Pyrophilous spores, a type of fungi which spreads after a fire.”
Wesley doesn’t respond.
Kennedy talks anyways.
“It was the blessing, that’s when things changed. I didn’t know–”
His gears creak, he’s registering a heat malfunction.
“You can’t blame yourself Ken,” Wesley sighs, “none of us knew he would do that.”
Kennedy doesn’t feel so sure.
Still though, he looks at the spores, he remembers a late night discussion, talking about the living network of mycelium that made up mushroom growth.
He remembers what it takes for those networks to be alive.
He remembers the determination in José’s eyes.
Eventually, he and Wesley go inside.
Some spores cling to his body, the brilliant orange lingers.
Even now, he doesn’t feel alone.