Tag Archives: Burke Gonzales

Live Ash

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.

There Will Be No Song For Him

“Six days till event horizon,” Brock tells him. It’s barely a whisper, with his head pressed against the top of his, the man behind him, much like everyone else, is so, so tired.

Where up until now, they’ve managed some semblance of faux stability, the wake of the end of the world makes Burke’s head spin.

They have a game in Kan–Oxford, now, apparently. He still can barely stomach the change. Death upon death upon death upon death, the feeds and the ticker and the announcements play off in every stadium like a pained rattle.

The universe, every bit of their existence is feeling this world ending tug, and the closer they make it to the black hole, the more he thinks of the darkness, the more he wishes it would just envelop him already.

The day passes.

The feed rattles.

“The Seattle Garages have reached the Hall of Flame…the Seattle Garages appear to be…

The word is muffled by screams all across the field. The Garages are beloved, in some parts of the world, the band plays on often beyond the city of Seattle. Burke has never been able to stomach the noise.

Especially not now.

He’s falling. He feels the Earth fall from under him.

There’s pairs of arms, two to be exact, they are cold and comforting but they aren’t enough, they aren’t enough, they couldn’t be enough.

Burke’s vision is full of static and feathers and blinding liquid salt. He’s scrubbing at his face, his glasses crumbling to the concrete dugout floor. His heart is screaming in every sense of the word, he should be gone in his partners arms right now, but he is here, fighting the bile and the erratic beat in his chest.

There are people crying far beyond where the Wings are huddled, mourning this team so beloved by the ignorance of the fans.

Burke could care less about them, about their musicians and their players. The death toll being as long as it is, the name is meaningless to everyone in these stands.

There will be no song.

He just lost his son.

The next four days, they don’t expect him to play, there’s some naive thought that the end of the world means the contract is broken.

He plays anyway.

When they’re edging the horizon on day 79, Joshua and Brock are by his side. They have stayed by him through all of this. The static and the gold and the feathers have faded now, the one fucked up gift the universe could grant him before it all ends.

The play their last game.

His partners squeeze his hand.

The darkness takes.

Blaseball Mini Prompts: Washing Each Other’s Hair

Burke shoots up from the bed, the thin sheets sticking to his drenched skin as he shakes awake. His hand is over his throat, lingers of the static he was clearly spouting prior to waking up still stung hard.

Despite the sun setting hours ago the heat was still unbearable, and the rise and fall of his chest was making his head spin.

The knock at his door make’s Burke scramble for his glasses.

With a short cough, Burke responds, “Come in.”

The door open slowly, and Brock peaks his head in.

“I heard a–Burke are you alright?”

As Brock’s full body comes into view for Burke, he watches concern rise on his face.

Burke opens his mouth to speak, but falters instead.

Brock sits down at the end of the bed, his movements as careful as they always feel to Burke.

He reaches out his hand, and Brock takes it in his.

“You,” Brock begins, “Are incredibly sweaty.”

Burke laughs at that, he really does. His shoulders shake from the laughter and the sheets peel from his back.

“Yeah I am.”

“Do you want to take a shower?” Despite the clamminess of his palm, Brock squeezes his hand tight.

“Please?” Burke leans into the man in front him, and Brock stands up to support him.

Removing himself from the sheets, Burke falls into Brock’s arms, they move slow, creeping across the dark of the apartment. The cold of Brock’s scales ease the heat and ache.

By the time they make it to the bathroom, and Brock has the water turned at best, lukewarm, Brock is still leaning into him.

With his hand on the small of Burke’s back, he helps him into the shower. Accepting the fate of his clothes, he stepped in as well.

Burke lets his head fall under the water, Brock watches the white locks fall across his face.

It’s a moment of peace, the pulse of the water pressure, their soft breath.

Brock presses a kiss to Burke’s forehead, then grabs the conditioner.

Early Morning Melody

Burke had concluded that today would be a day to lay in bed as he woke up with the sun. Warm light cracking through his blinds, instead of the regular urge to vacate the duvet, he took it as a chance to rest.

As far as he knew, the world would not miss him if he didn’t leave the sheets. No one was expecting him for anything in particular, and furthermore, Brock had told them at dinner that he would be out on expedition for the next few days.

As Burke relished in the silence, he let his eyes fall shut for another time, taking in a deep breath of the cotton around him.

The moment he hears the scratch of a record, his eyes snap open.

Even from the other room. The hum of the vinyl permeates through the wall. Burke closes his eyes again, for only a moment, before the smooth sound of a saxophone, and the soft accompaniment of a piano fills his ears.

He recognizes the record in an instant, even if it had never been played from the moment it entered his home.

Until now of course.

Burke slides out and shimmies off the covers. The cold air hits his bare chest as he cringes for only a second at the new sensation. He doesn’t bother with grabbing a shirt or slippers as he moves towards the door.

Opening it just a crack, Burke peaks into the living room.

The specter he sees is a welcomed one.

Joshua Watson, translucent just to the point of visibility, swaying gently in front of the record player to the music he, evidently, put on.

Burke opens his door a little more, & the old hinge makes a squeak. In an instant Josh stops swaying. He doesn’t move to stop the music, but instead turns to face the door.

“Burke?” Josh’s voice is barely louder than the music, a gentle bass among the melody. “Did I wake you up?”

Burke shakes his head. Opening the door further, he steps out into the living room to assure him. “I was already awake, just didn’t want to get out of bed until now…”

Josh smiles at him as the translucency of his form becomes more and more opaque.

“Well, it’s nice to see you out and about,” Josh says.

He hasn’t begun to sway to the music again, the record is in transition, the mere few seconds between songs. They’re standing in the silence, looking toward one another, before Josh opens his mouth to speak again.

“I realized—“ Burke turned his head, nodding at Josh to continue, “I realized that for as long as I’ve been here, we—you’ve never turned the record player on. I just thought I’d listen to something.”

This. This was true. When Burke first moved into the apartment, after stumbling into this world, after legal set him up with everything he’d need. The first thing he sought was a sense of normalcy. He sought out the things he knew, even if he was missing one of the most vital pieces.

His wife’s record collection was fresh on his brain back then. The records she’d play during dinner, the ones she’d throw on while cleaning the house, the quiet jazz records she’d listen to while painting, the sensual, beautiful music she would play to welcome him home from work—

It was hard. Realizing the degree in which he had lost his family the moment he stepped into this world. So the records served less as something he enjoyed, but as a reminder. Letting them collect dust wasn’t his intention, but well, here he was, listening to songs he remembers like yesterday for the first time in 45 years.

Burke smiles back at Josh, “I haven’t listened to this in a long time…”

Josh raises his eyebrows, “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. My—“ the static itch in his throat catches Burke by surprise, his hand jumps to his throat as he swallows down the pain. Josh’s face is covered in concern; Josh has seen this many times before. Burke collects himself before continuing, “it’s an old favorite.”

Josh’s face goes soft. Walking towards Burke, he pulls him into a silent embrace.

Burke welcomes it wholeheartedly.

The two hold there, for a moment, & Burke relishes in it. While the thought of his wife is still simmering in his brain, he takes in Joshua fully, comforted by the man who has been in his company for so, so long.

The words that come out of Burke’s mouth at this moment are not impulsive. These words are tender, filled with the kind of love that Josh recognizes instantly.

“Dance with me?”

Joshua’s hands shift, moving in the space between Burke’s waistband and hips. Burke’s hands drift around Josh’s neck and shoulders. Josh let’s the distance fully close between them, resting his head on Burke’s shoulder.

At last, with the last slow track spinning into the air around them:

They dance.