brooklyn, you burned me up

author's notes & content warnings

A/N: Got caught up thinking about incineration parallels and now here we are. Written with love to Tam, as always, who helped me develop the structure, dialogue, some of the scenes, and (most importantly) the title.

Content warnings: (canonical) death, grief, discussion of suicidal ideation, some drugs/alcohol/smoking

To say that Dom is relieved to get beaned isn’t exactly true.

For one thing, it hurts a lot more than he was expecting. There are shouts, although he can’t tell if they’re coming from the fans or his teammates. He has to drop his bat to shake his arm out. There’s blood rushing in his ears. He can only hear the sound of himself breathing.

He looks down at his hand. He’s not flickering, exactly, and he still feels solid. But if he looks just right, tilts his head exactly the right way, he can see straight through it. Like he’s not quite all there.

About a month ago, the Mills walked off the field after a normal game. Then Winnie had checked the news and started screaming, and that was how they found out about Ruby Tuesday.

So Dom knows what this means. They all do. He can tell from the way his whole team is staring at him, and the way that none of the Garages will meet his eyes.

None of them except Jaylen, who’s still standing at the mound, looking at him.

To say that Dom is relieved about this - no, he’s not relieved to be hit. But he’s a little bit relieved that it was him.

He takes a deep breath and picks the ball up. “Catch,” he calls, and it feels like the entire field goes silent as he lobs it to her, a gentle, underhand toss.

Jaylen’s face doesn’t change. She catches it easily and calls back, “Thanks.”

There’s a throbbing bruise on his arm. His heart is pounding harder than it has in a long time. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do after this. But the game isn’t over yet.

Dom steps back and yells, “You just gonna stand there or are you gonna play?” He thinks he sees Jaylen smile for a split second before she throws another pitch.

“Dom,” Winnie shouts from across the locker room. “You know where my cleats are?”

“Ask Ren, she wanted to do something with shoes.”

“You let the Shoe Thieves player near my shoes?”

“I didn’t let her do anything!”

Winnie curses and then storms out. Dom casts an apologetic look at Andrew. “Sorry about that.”

“No, it’s fine,” Andrew says. He looks a little overwhelmed, poor guy. “You guys are… loud.”

“We all live together. You know, New York. Not a lot of boundaries.”

“Right,” Andrew says. He looks a little green around the gills. He’s been on the team for all of half an hour, so Dom figures he can cut him some slack. No two teams in the league do things the same way, but the Mills are probably as close to the antithesis of the Spies that you can get.

“Let me get you a locker,” Dom says brightly. “And then I’ll show you around the stadium, show you all the little things that you pick up when you play here for a while.”

Andrew follows Dom to a locker that he picks at random. “So you’ve been with the Millennials since the beginning?”

“First of all, we all just say Mills here, it’s fine. But yeah, I’ve been here since day one.”

“And you’re the captain?”

“We don’t really have a captain.”

The door swings open, and Dom glances over as Penelope pokes her head in. “Dominic,” she rumbles. “Patty is asking about the Crabs strategy pages.”

“They’re in the apartment, under…” Dom squints, trying to remember. “You know the middle end table, with the key thing hanging over it? And we have that mail tray that’s half melted? Last I saw they were between the melted halves of the mail tray.”

“Thank you,” Penelope says, and backs out. The door swings shut behind her.

“Not a captain,” Andrew repeats, sounding skeptical.

Dom grins. “Not officially,” he says. “And they’d stay afloat without me. Hell, maybe I should make you train and take over as captain. You’re a spy, you’re organized.”

“Barely,” Andrew mutters. “You could pick a better backup.”

“Maybe.” Dom shrugs. “Not like it matters right now. Get settled in your locker and I’ll give you the grand tour.”

“Aye-aye, captain,” Andrew says. Dom cuts him a glare, and while Andrew doesn’t smile, Dom gets the distinct feeling that he’s being laughed at. He can’t say he minds.

Dom wakes up to nearly a hundred missed calls and over five hundred texts.

“God,” he mumbles. Someone near him snores, and he has to bite down a sigh. He had to put his phone on silent overnight because everyone wanted to talk to him about what happened. They all said that they were just checking in, that they wanted him to know they’d keep an eye out. All that stuff you say to someone who’s at higher risk than normal of sudden, horrible death.

He climbs out of bed as silently as possible and makes his way into the hall. He ignores most of them, only marking a few to call back - Layna, Beck, Conrad, Richardson - when the call comes in.

Dom doesn’t actually mean to answer, but he’s trying to switch apps just as it comes in, so his thumb lands firmly on the “answer call” button. He bites back a sigh and lifts his phone up. “Hello?”

“Dom, it’s Zion, over on the Tigers. I just-”

“Wanted to check in,” Dom finishes without thinking.

Zion laughs. “No, uh, actually I thought you could use someone to talk to who… made it through.”

“Made it through?” Dom pauses and sifts through the mental list of players he remembers from Ruby Tuesday. Most of what he remembers is about Scorpler, because he was a Mill in the beginning and he had a lot to grieve about that, but he thinks he remembers… “Right. You also got hit.”

“Yeah,” Zion says grimly. “Same time as Moody and Scorpler. I survived all the incinerations and the chains, but…” she takes a heaving breath. Dom doesn’t know her all that well, but his heart clenches. “It’s been a rough month for all of us in different ways.”

“Of course.”

“And I just thought… if you want to talk to somebody who got unstabilized and survived it, I’m around.”

Dom glances down at his elbow. It takes a second for him to actually focus on it, like it’s not completely there. “I appreciate that,” he says, and he’s surprised by how much he means it. “Did you also have everyone in the world calling you?”

“All of us did,” Zion admits. “Nobody saw it coming. I don’t think I’ve talked to that many people in one day in my entire life.”

“All of them asking the same questions?”

“Yeah, I had a script. They went in the same order too.”

Dom chuckles. “Maybe I should make a script,” he murmurs.

“With any luck you’ll get nine days of use out of it,” Zion says. “I mean it. Lots of people get marked and nothing happens at all. The Mints and the Steaks, they haven’t lost anyone yet even though they got hit. Statistically speaking you’re going to be fine.”

“I know,” Dom says, even though he’s pretty sure he’s not going to be fine. It’s hard to say at this point, staring down the barrel of nine more games.

“Seriously, Dom,” Zion says, and it’s a little softer, a little more serious. “Don’t do this alone. I didn’t talk to anyone until my instability wore off, and it was the wrong choice. I know it goes against everything you’re feeling right now, but you need to talk to somebody. And if you can’t stomach talking to someone on your team, call me. Got it?”

Dom swallows. “Thanks,” he says, and he really, really hopes that Zion doesn’t notice that he didn’t actually say he would call.

“Good,” she says, and Dom lets out a breath. “Go and… drink a Frappuccino, or whatever it is that you guys do before games.”

“Cold brew.”

“God, of course it’s a cold brew. Get out of here.”

“Bye, Zion,” Dom says. He hangs up and idly wonders if he should feel guilty about halfway lying. But then, there’s probably not much of a point to it. If anyone would understand why he’s doing this, it’s her.

Dom is on a plane to Utah when he gets the call. He excuses himself to the bathroom, practically sprinting down the aisle. The door is barely locked before he answers the call and says, breathlessly, “Randy?”

“Dude!” Randy says, sounding not at all like someone who fell into a Hellmouth. “Guess what!”

“Randy, are you okay?”

“I’m better than okay, Dom, you gotta guess what!”

“Were you in the Moab? Did you hear-”

“I’m in Hellmouth right now,” Randy says, and Dom’s heart stops for a second. Randy doesn’t seem to notice. “And I have horns!”

Dom blinks. “What?”

“Horns! Like, cool little- they’re coming out of my forehead.”

“You have horns,” Dom says slowly. He tries to imagine his little brother’s face, and then goat horns coming out of his forehead, and then shakes his head. “Randy, come on, be serious, are you okay?”

“I’m being serious!” Randy protests. “I have horns! We’re all fine, by the way. Everything’s pretty much normal, except it’s mostly on fire.”

Dom sags down until he’s sitting on the lid of the airplane toilet. “You’re okay,” he repeats.

Randy must finally figure out that something’s up, because he seems a little softer when he speaks again. “Yeah, Dom, I’m fine.”

“You know someone got incinerated, right?”

“Yeah, I heard. But we’re not incinerated. Just in hell.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Dom mumbles. “Listen, I’m on a plane to Salt Lake right now-”

“They’re flying planes towards the brand new Hellmouth?”

“Nobody ever said that it was a smart idea.”

“I’ll say,” Randy snorts. “No, but listen, I think I’m fireproof now.”

“What,” Dom says flatly. “Why do you- Randy, tell me you didn’t stick your hand into a fire.”

“I didn’t stick my hand into a fire,” Randy repeats promptly. “But Miguel’s on fire.”

“Miguel’s… on fire?”

“Yeah, you know our pitcher Miguel? She’s on fire. And it’s fine. So I think I might be fireproof too.”

Dom has a million things he wants to say. As far as he’s concerned, Randy’s going to be just a kid forever, and this kind of thing is terrifying. There’s no precedent here, no protocol for what to do when your little brother falls into hell and there’s nothing to be done about it. But the best thing Dom can do, probably, is make sure Randy feels normal.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Dom says at last. “If you wait until I’m there, in Hellmouth with you, I will help you test as many powers as you want.”

“Including setting me on fire?”

“Including setting you on fire. With an extinguisher on hand. But you have to wait until I’m there.”

“I’m gonna make you do so many weird things,” Randy says delightedly. “When do you get here? I can’t wait to see you, Dom, this is gonna be awesome.”

“My plane lands in about an hour, and it’ll take me a couple hours to drive.”

“Got it. In four hours if you’re not here I’ll make Nagomi set me on fire.”

“Fine,” Dom says, and makes a mental note to look up back roads that he can speed on. “I’ll be there soon.”

“Yeah,” Randy says, and then pauses. “Hey, Dom?”

“Yeah, Ran?”

“Thanks for coming.”

Dom huffs out a surprised laugh. “You literally couldn’t stop me,” he says. “I gotta go, I’m pretty sure cell phones crash planes.”

“That’s a conspiracy,” Randy mutters. “See you soon. Bye, Dom.”

“Yeah, bye, Randy.”

Randy hangs up. Dom doesn’t move, just stares straight ahead until someone bangs on the door.

There’s an office in the Mills locker room.

Dom thinks he’s actually the only one who knows about it. Everyone else tends to ignore it. And if they do know about it, they don’t go in, because they think that he only uses it to hotbox. Which, okay, he definitely uses the office to hotbox. It would be stupid not to use it for that.

Actually, in retrospect, maybe everyone thinks that he’s the captain because he’s always in the office. He might’ve made his own bed on that one.

But the point is, nobody really goes in the office. So Dom isn’t expecting it when Patty throws open the door and says, “We need to talk.”

Dom spins around and looks at her. “You’re lucky I wasn’t smoking.”

“Dom, please, we can all tell when you’re smoking,” Patty says dismissively. “That’s not the point. I want to talk about our plan for tomorrow.”

“I have a plan for tomorrow.”

“What’s your plan for tomorrow?”

Dom lifts up the notebook he’s writing in. “All the pages with blue ink are my strategy advice.

Patty stares. “What?”

“For if you need-”

“For us to have if you’re gone?” Patty says, voice climbing dangerously. “That’s what you’re doing? You’re sitting here by yourself, writing a last will in blaseball form?”

“You guys need-”

“We need you!”

“You might not have me after tomorrow!” Dom shouts back.

Patty slams the door shut behind her. “First of all,” she says, “don’t you ever raise your voice with me again, I will kill you before the umps get to. Second of all, I don’t think you need me to tell you not to yell that in the middle of the locker room, so I’m just going to assume that you had a mental lapse in judgment. Got it?”

Dom drags a hand down his face. “I’m sorry,” he says, and it comes out weaker than he intended. “I’m-”

“Stressed?”

“That’s a word for it.”

“Well, I’m stressed too, so you need to get over it.” Patty drags the other office chair over, ignoring the broken wheel, and plops down in it. “All of us know a little bit about strategy, and technically you’re not our real captain, so that’s not your job. Quit it.”

“Patty-”

“What’s in the other pages? The ones that don’t have blue ink.”

“Angsty slam poetry.”

Patty rolls her eyes. “Fine, keep secrets, whatever. The point is, there’s a solar eclipse in tomorrow’s game.”

“I know,” Dom says. “It would be kind of hard for me not to know.”

“You’re insufferable. What’s your favorite food?”

“What’s my- what?”

“Team dinner. Say anything, I’ll make it. Or order it.”

“Patty,” Dom says, alarmed. “I don’t think we can afford-”

“We only have half the original team left, Dominic, and you would’ve pulled out the stops for any one of them if you knew it was coming. So let us pull out the stops for you.”

Dom sighs. Patty is still looking at him in that scary, matter-of-fact way that she does. Somewhere in his notes, Dom has recommended three players as captains: Andrew, Sandie, and Patty. He thinks between the three of them, this team is going to be fine. But if he had to pick one, he’s pretty sure it would be Patty.

“I’ll let you know,” he says at last. “I need to finish this.”

“You need to finish it by six o’clock, and if you’re not home by six-thirty I’m getting Penelope to drag you home.”

“Deal.”

Patty reaches out and squeezes his knee. “Don’t be an idiot,” she says, very lovingly. “Think about what you want to do tomorrow - not what you want to do if you’re about to die, what you want to do in the morning and afterwards. Think about what you want to do if it chains. And then stop thinking about it and come home. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Or else?”

“Or else Penelope Mathews will bodily drag me home,” Dom repeats dutifully. Patty grins, and he grins back without meaning to. That’s just how Patty works: he can’t help but smile around her. “Thanks.”

“Don’t say scary things around the rest of the team. We’re all worried already.”

“I’m doing my best.”

“Course you are. Get home soon.”

Dom waves her off as she leaves the office. As soon as the door’s closed, he goes rummaging in one of the drawers for his gummy stash. He’s going to need a little extra to get through this, he can feel it. But he thinks everyone will understand.

Dom only met Jaylen in person once.

It was short, the kind of thing that doesn’t stick with you until you look back and realize that it should’ve. They were at a party together in Colorado, between the season and the election. He and Patty played beer pong against Jaylen and Teddy.

He remembers the way she cheered every time they did well. He remembers that she shouted something at Patty and Patty screamed something back that got laughs from everyone watching them. He remembers that afterwards he hugged her, drunk and effusive, and she was laughing.

He doesn’t remember more. He wishes he did. It’s hard trying to reconcile that with the person he saw on the mound.

“This is a just in case meeting,” Dom says. Everyone is staring at him, and he forces himself to take a deep, steady breath. “It’s an eclipse. So I just want to let you all know that I love you, and I think you’re the best team in the world.”

Nobody tells him to stop, a small grace that he appreciates. Instead, Winnie says, “Thanks, cap.”

“Oh my god, I’m not-”

“Thanks cap,” Sandie interrupts. And then Andrew echoes it, and Penelope, and Ren and Thomas and everyone.

Dom takes a deep breath. This one is shuddering, threatening to turn into a sob. “You guys are awful,” he says, and god, he’s going to start crying, he can’t believe they’re doing this to him. “I take it back, you’re the worst, I wish I were on the Tacos.”

A laugh goes up around the room. It doesn’t stop Patty from leaping to her feet and wrapping Dom in a tight hug. It doesn’t stop everyone from following suit. It doesn’t stop Dom from burying his face in Patty’s hair and crying for the first time all week.

The Dale’s yacht is loud. Like, loud loud. Like, louder than normal, and it’s normally the loudest thing Dom has ever experienced in his life. But today it’s jet-engine levels of screaming.

Dom gets it. He knows that they’re celebrating because today’s eclipse didn’t take anyone. But he kind of wishes he could celebrate quietly, instead of… this.

“I know,” Beck says, appearing at Dom’s elbow with two beers in hand. “I’m still getting used to it.”

“This your new scene, Whitney?” Dom yells back. It’s hard to pitch himself so that he can hear his own voice over the chaos. “How-”

“C’mon,” Beck says, somehow completely effortless, and jerks her head towards the stairs. They weave their way through the crowd together, and she leads him to the top deck of the yacht. It’s still loud, but they navigate to a corner where the bass isn’t quite so loud.

Dom takes one of the beers from Beck and takes a long drink. When he lowers the bottle, Beck says, “You’d fit right in here.”

He barks out a laugh. “Better than you.”

“You’re telling me,” Beck mutters, even though Dom thinks they both know that’s not true. He visited her right before the season started and she spent the whole time so tense that her shoulders were at her ears. She still doesn’t seem fully comfortable, but at least now she’s smiling. It looks like she’s doing better.

“How’s the team?” he asks, and takes another swig of beer.

Beck makes a noncommittal noise. “We have a lot of fun,” she says hesitantly. “It’s not the same, of course it’s not, but they’re easy to get along with.”

He nods. “And how are you?”

“Dom.”

“What? I’m just making conversation.”

She kicks him lightly in the shin. “I’m gonna be fine,” she says gently. “You’re dodging the issue.”

“I’m not dodging the issue, I just-”

“Don’t want to talk about it?”

“It would be easier if I didn’t know it was going to happen,” Dom says abruptly.

Beck lets out a breath and leans against the railing behind her. “Maybe,” she says. “I wonder about that sometimes.”

“About getting incinerated? Jesus, Whitney.”

“It’s hard not to think about it. Especially considering…” She pulls a face. “The curse, and all that.”

“The Flowers curse?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you ever worry that it followed you?”

“Not much point in worrying.”

Dom swallows. He remembers when Caligula got incinerated. Beck had called him that night, screaming and sobbing. Two months later, she called him when Randy died and let him scream and sob right back.

“Do you ever,” he starts, and then forces his mouth to shut.

Beck, unfortunately, looks him in the eye. “Do I ever what?”

“It’s not-”

“Ask the damn question, Dom.”

“Do you ever wish it was you? Instead, or in addition, or-”

“No,” Beck says, so clearly that Dom startles in surprise. She arches an eyebrow. “You thought I’d say yes.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to be so sure.”

“I used to wish it was me, sort of.” She grimaces. “It was easy to get into this survivor’s guilt mentality, this fear of losing other people. Everything I had was dedicated to making sure that my team stayed whole. And then I got switched to the Dale, and I had to face the fact that… I didn’t have anything left for myself. I was focused so hard on everyone else surviving that I was barely existing.”

Dom nods slowly. “What would you do, if it were you who got marked?”

Beck shrugs. “Tell people goodbye, just in case. All the Flowers have goodbye letters waiting for them, and they know that. And I think I’d just… try to make sure I’m happy with the days I have left.”

“But don’t you ever think that it could happen even if you’re not marked?”

“Of course I do. Nobody I knew was ever marked.”

“So what-”

“Dom,” Beck says in exasperation. “Lately I’ve been trying to make sure I’m happy with every day I have left. It’s a lot easier than trying to make sure nobody else is sad.”

“Oh,” Dom says. It seems obvious, now that she’s pointed it out. “I think the Dale have been good for you.”

She smiles. “I think so too.”

“So what do you want to do to be happy today?”

“I was hoping I could have a beer with my friend, and make sure he knows that I love him, even though he’s going through some stuff. You know, captain to captain.”

Dom laughs. “Hear, hear,” he says. Beck clinks her bottle against his. “Thanks.”

“Be good to yourself, Dom,” Beck says gently. “It turns out that makes a lot of difference.”

“I might not have much time.”

“It’s never too late to start.” She takes a swig of beer and smiles at him. “And let me just answer your other question.”

“I have another question?”

“Yes, I’ll help your team train a new captain.”

Dom grins. “So you’re already replacing me?”

“Never,” Beck promises. “But also, yes, of course I am.”

He throws his head back and laughs. And even better, next to him, Beck does the same.

“Can I get a light?”

Dom turns. Alaynabella Hollywood looks back at him. She looks absolutely exhausted, and she has a cigarette in her hand.

“Didn’t know you smoked,” he says, but he pulls out his lighter anyways and hands it over.

“I don’t.” She pauses. “I mean, not much, but I used to. And I think it’s safer in Hellmouth. You want one?”

“Sure, why not?”

Alaynabella passes him a cigarette, pauses to light her own, and then hands him his lighter back. “It’s horrible,” she says.

Dom doesn’t have to ask what she’s talking about. He’s not sure specifically what she means - the funeral, being in Hellmouth, Randy being… well, what happened to Randy - but he agrees, wholeheartedly.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Dom says. He lights his cigarette and takes a drag, and they stand in the stillness together, the haze of smoke.

Finally, Alaynabella says, “I hate that it was in Colorado.”

“Me too,” Dom says instantly. “The Hands are fine, but-”

“But he didn’t know them.”

“And he knew us.”

“And we weren’t there,” Alaynabella finishes. Dom could cry with relief. “I know they loved him, the same way you love anyone on your team, but that doesn’t matter in the same way.”

“He was so young,” Dom says. Alaynabella cuts a glance over at him; when he looks back, he’s surprised to see tears on her cheeks. “Hey, do you need-”

“Nobody else will talk about how horrible this is,” Alaynabella says. “They all say that- you know, Sandy says at least he wasn’t alone on the field, Zack and Lars say at least we didn’t have to watch, Nagomi keeps talking about peace, and I’m not ready to talk about peace. I’m not ready to say at least it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been.”

“It’s horrible,” Dom says instantly. “I still don’t- do you still text him?”

“Yes!” Alaynabella whips around to face him, wide-eyed. “It’s like, every time I see something that I think he’d like, I have to remember all over again-”

“Except sometimes you don’t remember until after you sent the message.”

“Even though I know exactly what he would say.”

“I left him a voicemail the other day,” Dom admits. He hasn’t even told his team this. It just seems too sad. “I completely forgot. I had a weird dream, and I woke up and I called him, because that’s just what we do. It took me two minutes of talking until I realized he won’t call me back.”

Alaynabella shakes her head and takes a long drag of her cigarette. Dom doesn’t know much about her, and it strikes him suddenly that that’s a shame. He knows all the Sunbeams in passing, but this woman was his brother’s best friend. She loved him. He can see it in the way she’s crying without a sound. He can see it in the way she’s holding her head: precarious, like the wrong thing would knock her over completely.

“Alaynabella-”

“Oh, god, call me Layna, please.”

“Layna,” Dom says. “Do you want to get coffee sometime? Or lunch. Or drinks. Or go to a movie, or-”

“A movie?” she repeats archly.

“I don’t see many movies,” Dom says, and the edge of her mouth curves into a smile for a second. “No, I just mean… if you want to talk about how horrible it is, because nobody else will.”

“Oh,” Layna says. “Yeah. I think that’d be nice. I know this great-”

“Not in Hellmouth.”

“You got something against Hellmouth?”

“Yeah,” Dom says, because even if it’s not Hellmouth’s fault that Randy’s gone, he never really liked it here anyways. “I know places in New York.”

“Great,” Layna says. Dom takes another drag from his cigarette, and she shakes her head. “We should probably go back inside.”

“But?”

“But I want to mope a little longer.”

“I think this is technically grieving,” Dom points out. Layna smiles at him, absolutely radiant even with the tears still streaking down her cheeks. “But me too.”

“Yeah.”

They stand outside, smoking together, for a while longer. The only other thing Layna says, just before they go inside, is, “Thank you.”

“Yeah,” Dom says. He can get her number from someone tomorrow. He thinks maybe it’ll be good for him to get to know her. “Anytime.”

Layna smiles. And Dom hasn’t smiled much lately, but for some reason he smiles back at her.

10.

“Dominic?”

“Hi,” Dom says. He’s gripping his phone so tightly that his knuckles hurt. “I have a question for you.”

“Shoot,” Jaylen says, sounding unruffled. Dom wonders if much ruffles her these days. “Don’t you play in a couple hours?”

“Yeah, that’s kind of what I wanted to ask about.”

“I can’t protect you from it.”

“I wasn’t going to ask-”

“You wouldn’t be the only one,” Jaylen says, like she thinks it’s a kindness. “Once people realized what instability meant, I got a lot more phone calls. But I can’t control when it happens, and I can’t control who it chains to. I can’t always control when I hit people.”

“Really?” Dom pauses. “Wait, you can’t always?”

She sighs. “I need to do it sometimes, I know that much. People need to get marked and incinerated. And if I get behind on my…”

“Payments?”

“Yes,” Jaylen says. Dom can hear the grimace in her voice. “Those. If I get behind on that, I lose control. And I would rather not lose control. So I try to keep up as best I can.”

“Did you hit me on purpose? Or was that out of your control?”

“Do you actually want an answer to that?”

“No,” Dom admits. “It just felt like the right thing to ask.”

Jaylen goes quiet for a moment. “I heard about your brother,” she says, and Dom’s throat closes up for a second, like always. “I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.”

“He didn’t deserve to-”

“None of us deserve to,” Dom says, quiet and firm. He thinks about Wesley, about Chorby, about Scraps, about Scorpler. About a list of names so long he can’t even count them anymore. “Not even you, Jaylen.”

She laughs, a strange, wet noise. “I think a lot of people would disagree with you on that.”

“They can disagree all they want. I’m the one who’s going to die.”

“You seem awfully resigned to that.”

“I figure this way it’s going to be a pleasant surprise if I make it five more days. I’m playing in another eclipse today, so my hopes are on the low side.”

“I don’t think this is healthy.”

“Says the woman who marked me for death,” Dom says. If he were less tired, more angry, he thinks it might be an indictment, but it comes out like a statement of fact. “I just mean that I know you wouldn’t choose this.”

“That’s generous of you,” Jaylen says, and it sounds like disagreement. He doesn’t push it. “Did I answer your question?”

“No, actually. I was wondering, do you know when it’s…” Dom swallows. “Do you know when your debts are going to get paid? Can you tell if it’s about to happen?”

“No,” Jaylen says, and for the first time she sounds apologetic. “I wish I could tell you.”

“I don’t think most people would want to know.”

“I don’t think you’re most people.”

Dom grins. “Nah, I never was. I was just… wondering. I thought you’d understand.”

“There aren’t a lot of people who understand,” Jaylen says, without judgment. “You have another question.”

“You won’t be able to answer it.”

“I figured I should let you ask anyways.”

“Will he be there?” Dom says, all in a rush. “When I - whatever’s there, whatever happens, clearly there’s some kind of other side. Is he going to be there?”

“Dominic,” Jaylen says, and Dom closes his eyes. She’s trying to be gentle with him. He hates that. He hates that it’s coming from her, of all people. “I can’t tell you.”

“I just-” he forces himself to take a deep breath, trying to keep the tears down. “It makes me feel better to imagine that he still exists. Even if he’s not somewhere that I can get to him right now. But the idea of not being able to see him forever, that we just have to be separate for the whole afterlife-”

“You know that he still exists,” Jaylen points out. “Because I still existed. That’s all I can offer you right now.”

Dom nods slowly. It’s not enough, but it was never going to be enough. “People missed you,” he says, because he’s not sure what else to say.

“I know,” Jaylen says. “I wish they’d missed me a little less.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but me too.”

Jaylen laughs. It’s strange, how normal it sounds when they’re talking about her staying dead. None of this should be normal. Dom should be scared.

Dom’s happy that he’s not scared.

“Do me a favor?” he says, instead of anything else.

“What’s that?”

“Tell me about your team gossip for five minutes. Who’s dating who, or whatever.”

“Never took you for a gossip hound, Marijuana.”

“Nobody’s talking to me like I’m normal,” he says, and Jaylen makes a noise of understanding. “I just need five minutes where the biggest problem I have is that… that Allison doesn’t understand an emoji that Kichiro sent, or whatever.”

“I could use that too. And I figure I owe you.”

“You don’t,” Dom says. “At least, not yet.”

“Not yet,” Jaylen agrees. “I can tell you about the kitchen cleaning war, though.”

“By all means, please do.”

“I will,” she says. And thank god, she does.

11.

Sandie steps up to bat and the sky goes black.

Dom stands up. It’s not even a conscious choice. Everything is lit up blue the way it always seems to be right before an incineration, and Sandie looks scared, and Beck looks scared, and Dom should be scared. Dom should be scared.

It’s not that he wants to be incinerated. It’s just that he knows it has to be him, and that makes it easier. He gets to protect them. He gets to carry this burden, and he knows they’ll get through this. There’s a notebook waiting in the office, half-filled with strategy, half-filled with goodbye letters. They’ll be just fine.

The rogue umpire turns to the dugout. Dom stands up and does not cry and says, very steadily, “Bye, guys.”

Endnotes

so tell them when you saw me
tell them i took the long way out
tell them brooklyn, you burned me up
just to turn me down