Chapter Text
Crowley didn’t even want to play baseball in the first place. But then Eric found out that Crowley used to play little league and practically begged him to join the team. Crowley managed to hold out for a while, but after the third week of Eric stopping by his cubicle every five minutes to ask if he’s changed his mind yet, Crowley finally broke.
So there he was. In the sun. With bugs buzzing about his ear, holding a bat and staring down the cold gaze of the opposing pitcher. He briefly thought about just letting himself get struck out, but their team was down by two runs. And while Crowley didn’t approve of ‘corporate loyalty’ or whatever, he still liked winning.
Crowley stepped up to the plate and readied his bat.
“Good luck,” the catcher said in a light and airy voice.
“I don’t need luck,” Crowley said.
The pitcher wound up and tossed the ball. Crowley tracked it expertly and swung at just the right moment, sending it sailing into right field. He tossed the bat and made a run for it, making it around to second just as the thud of the ball hit the 2nd baseman’s mitt.
Crowley heard the “Safe!” and smirked, looking back at the catcher. That’ll teach him to wish Crowley ‘good luck’.
-
By the time Crowley was up to bat again, they were up by three runs. Which meant he could have just struck out and been done with it. But he still had to prove to that damn catcher that his luck wasn’t needed. So Crowley knocked the bat against his cleats to clear the clay and smiled to himself as he got ready.
“You have a very nice butt,” the catcher said.
Crowley blinked and missed the first throw completely.
“STRIKE!” the umpire called.
Crowley turned his scowl back to him. Raphael was literally the last person he would choose to be the umpire in this little company league. Sure, he technically made the most sense because he worked with all of the companies in some manner, but the guy was too much of a shit-stirrer to ref with a clean motive.
“Did you hear what he said to me?” Crowley asked.
Raphael shrugged. “Yeah? So?”
Crowley huffed in exasperation. “He can’t say stuff like that.”
“Nothing against it in the rules,” the catcher said.
“It’s a compliment,” Raphael agreed.
Crowley grumbled. “Exactly who’s side are you on here?”
“Oh, whichever side gets the most veins to pop out of the most heads,” Raphael said with a laugh.
Crowley shook his head and took a calming breath before readying his bat again. But he was still thrown for a loop and his hit was just a few inches off, the ball sailing right under him.
“Strike two!” Raphael announced.
“Yeah, no shit,” Crowley mumbled.
“Hey, don’t make me red flag you,” Raphael said.
“That’s soccer,” the catcher said.
“I’m the ump, if I wanna red flag someone, I’ll red flag them.”
Crowley tuned out their conversation and really focused on the next pitch. He had to prove himself here, especially to the two clowns behind him. The wind up, the pitch, the swing…and the miss.
Crowley growled and dropped his shoulders, glaring at the ball in the catcher’s mitt.
He nearly strangled Raphael when he yelled, “Strike three, you’re out!”
“Good try,” the catcher said. And then Crowley entertained the idea of strangling him too as he walked back to the dugout.
-
The rest of the game was pretty uneventful and boring. That’s why Crowley hated this game so much. It was always so boring, even while playing it. The other team, The Gardeners of Eden, ended up winning in the last inning by one run. Which you’d think would be exciting, but was just a lackluster walk-in.
Once the game was officially over, Crowley started to leave, but got cut off by Erich, another one of the triplets.
“You did really great today, Crowley,” he said, chattering excitedly. “This is the closest we’ve gotten to winning in a while now.”
“Yeah, but we still lost,” Crowley said. Not that he cared for any real reason, just personal pride.
“You’re probably just rusty,” Eric said, joining his brother in blocking Crowley’s path. “We’ll get ‘em next time.”
“Yep, sure.”
Crowley turned around to leave the other way, and let out a surprised yelp when he nearly smacked into Erik.
“You are coming to the next game, right?”
Crowley sighed and placed his hands on his hips. “If I say yes, do you go away?”
All three of them nodded.
“Fine. I’ll show.”
They let out a small cheer and then finally dispersed, patting Crowley on the back as they left. Crowley grabbed his bag and figured they must be pretty desperate to get a win. He may not like the company, but he liked most of his coworkers enough. So he at least wouldn’t actively lose on purpose.
As Crowley was trudging back to his car, he spotted the catcher from the opposite team walking along the sidewalk with a bit of a dance to his step. The actual parking lot was in the opposite direction, so Crowley figured he must live nearby.
“Hey,” Crowley called out, jogging up to him.
The catcher turned around and Crowley’s breath stuck in his throat for a minute. The guy had one of the brightest, most cheerful faces you could ever imagine. And when he smiled at Crowley, it was like the sun itself was smiling at him.
“Oh, hello,” he said in the light voice of his. “Good game, yes?”
He held out a hand and Crowley shook it. “Uh, yeah, sure.” He cleared his throat. He was going to give this guy a piece of his mind, but he couldn’t bring himself to yell about something as stupid as a baseball game at that face. “Uhm, just wanted to congratulate you,” he said instead.
“Well thank you, but it was a team effort.”
“Nah, I meant your weird butt comment.”
“I’m sorry?”
Crowley hated to admit it, but it was a pretty solid strategy. “It’s the most creative distraction I think anyone’s ever come up with.”
“It wasn’t meant to be a distraction,” the catcher said. “I just thought you had a nice butt.” Then he smiled a bit and looked away briefly. “But it is good to know it has that effect as well. I’ll have to remember that one.”
Crowley stared at him, trying to figure out if he was adorably clueless or just ruthlessly conniving. Either way, Crowley was interested. “What’s your name?”
“Aziraphale.” Aziraphale held his hand back out.
“Crowley.” He shook it again, holding on a little longer than probably acceptable. “Say, Aziraphale, can I give you a ride?”
Aziraphale looked a little flustered, his cheeks reddinging a bit. “Yes, I suppose you could. That’s awfully nice of you. Thank you.”
Crowley smiled and started leading Aziraphale to his car. Maybe something worthwhile would come out of this whole baseball nonsense afterall.