"Go Crusaders!" Lance had expected to see all the kids stumbling around in the sweltering summer haze, but he was standing up and shouting while Jim rounded first and the boy on third dashed for home. The fielders were after Jim for the third out. The other parents stomped the bleachers and shouted. A whipped-around pass from center field to second -- Jim skidded back toward first -- another throw! Jim got caught playing tag with first and second base, trying to find any opening, then dived into second in a mess of dust. Everyone held their breath until the umpire called. "Out!"
Lance groaned. But Jim grinned as the second baseman offered him a hand and high-fived him. Heh. Lance supposed Jim was learning to be a good loser, at worst. Darn close, too. If not for that ump's eyes!
The Broncos from out of town snatched victory from the Crusaders and held it through a nail-biting ninth. Then, for the only time he'd ever seen, both teams looked sincere about the "walk past the other side and tell 'em good game" bit at the end. Lance hopped down to hug Jim and say, "Great hustle out there."
"Thanks. Glad you could make it to this one."
"I've paid to watch less exciting games than that."
"Oh, that's Coach Whistle's doing. He had us practice a lot."
"Whistle? That's his name?"
A man with shaggy blond hair and an actual whistle came over and shook Lance's hand. "That's me. Nice to get a name that sums you up, I find. Jim's yours? Haven't seen you around."
Lance looked away, scratching his ear. "Work calls. We just won a big contract. The bidding has been tying me up all season so far, but now there's some breathing room."
It was the coach's turn to look embarrassed, scratching at the dirt with one shoe. "You know, you're the only parent to show up for the Crusaders today. Usually there's no one. Every... well, all the fans today but you are Broncos moms and dads."
Lance resolved to show up for the rest of Jim's games this season. "Nobody else for the whole team. Wow."
"Yeah." He lowered his voice. "I hear a lot of the local kids have troubles for one reason or another. Broken homes, people teaching 'em to be nothing instead of finding what they love."
Lance had worried somewhat about putting Jim into a city youth team, but what little investigation he'd done said that it was run by honest people with background checks and everything. He just hadn't had the time to look into it deeply. He patted Jim's head and said, "When I dropped him off for the first practice, I told Jim to check things out and see if they looked all right."
Jim said, "I was kinda scared, actually."
"What? Why didn't you say something?"
"I knew you were trying to find me stuff to do. To meet people. Anyway, all the other teams are great, and we've been learning a lot." He stifled a laugh and looked up at the coach. "Still want to get you to try a burger sometime."
Whistle said, "I don't know about that. Can I compromise on ice cream?"
Lance felt flush with cash after the company bonus. "I'll pay for taking both teams out for sundaes today."
"Sure, but we'll divide up the bill and have a split."
Over dessert at Shakey's Pizza, Whistle grilled him. Lance talked about his work, about the search for a new girlfriend, and finally about Jim. His school, the teachers, his grades.
Whistle waved a spoon around, talking over the chatter of happy kids. "You seem like a decent guy, Lance, but it's not about getting your boy into the right school. I hear they're all pretty messed up around here."
"He reads to me too!" said Jim. "Lately it's a biography of Edison and Tesla."
Whistle looked confused for a moment. "Oh, the electricity guys. Ambitious. Think that's what you want to work on for a living?"
Jim laughed. "No way. Weather. 'It's gonna be snowy today!'"
Lance blinked at the boy. "A weatherman? That's a new one."
Jim rolled his eyes, but Coach Whistle looked concerned. "I've told 'em all that a man's a man when he knows what defines him, what makes him tick. But Jim, that's... not an option."
"Why can't he be a forecaster?"
The coach looked Lance over, silently judging him. "How'd you like to come to our away game this weekend? None of the parents ever show up for those."
"Where's it at?"
"Schedule's still flexible, but we'll promise to get you back by sundown. Be sure you're there for the bus though."
A grin spread across Jim's face. "Really? Dad can come along for this one?"
Lance said, "I'll make the time."
"Good man," said Whistle.
#
On Saturday morning, Lance tossed him a bottle of some off-brand sports drink. Lance raised it gratefully and drank to stave off the blazing summer sun that heated the whole bus. The ride was loud and bumpy and would've been terrible but for having Jim and Whistle there to talk to. The Crusaders sang a song he didn't recognize. "What's that one?" he said. The bus must've gotten lost; they'd headed out through that new exit to the middle of nowhere.
Jim grinned. "March of Harmony!"
"Uh-huh." Didn't sound too manly. Decent tune though. "Where're we going, anyway?"
The coach said, "Keep your eyes peeled. You may want to lean forward, too."
"What?"
Just then, he saw the wall. He yelped and stared but could do nothing as the bus slammed into it at full speed. The impact was much quieter than he'd expected. Lance yelped as the whole tin can around him shuddered and colors splashed everywhere, leaving the world oddly bright and still. Something had jabbed him in the spine. He itched horribly all over. He couldn't feel his hands! Lance looked wildly around for Jim and gaped. There was a horse sitting there instead. Deep grey yet shiny, with huge eyes that sparkled sky blue. Wings? Those were little grey wings on its sides, too!
Lance stood up, or tried to, and fell over. His hands clanked against the metal floor. He stared down at them and saw only round black nubs where his fingers should have been, half covered by shaggy grey wrist hair. His face felt wrong, too long on a neck with the wrong angle. If he was seeing this, he'd been knocked into a delirious coma. Oh God, was Jim even alive or in a hospital bed next to his?
Jim's voice said, "Oh cool, you're a pegasus too! I'm gonna show you how to fly!"
Lance stared at the small horse. Then, at the entire busload of other brightly colored, big-eyed horses. One of them even had a unicorn horn. "That's Double Play, our pitcher," said a horse beside him that vaguely resembled the coach. A painted whistle stood out on the fur of his hip.
The team was absurdly cute, a gang of multicolored equines with anime eyes and baseball caps. Two had similar paintings or tattoos or something on them. One had a baseball diamond and the other was an improbably green foal marked with a flower.
Lance struggled to find his voice and speak through teeth that felt all wrong. "Jim? Is that you?"
"Course it is!" The little stallion pounced him and wrapped hooved forelegs around his neck in a way no horse should be able to do. "I'd been dying to show you all this."
"All this..." Lance looked out the window again and saw the wrong world entirely. Too bright, too full of green hills and a sun that warmed without burning. "Like a cartoon," he said. "We... we didn't make it out from that crash. I'm so sorry, Jim." It had happened suddenly. He should have come to the other games, should have gotten him involved in some other sport, something safer.
The other kids were staring solemnly at him. The coach said, "Nope, it's real. Think back. You didn't hear anybody scream when we hit that 'wall', did you? Nobody noticed it at all, or they weren't afraid. I'd suggest pinching yourself, but that's a fingers thing." He slapped hooves together, then touched some itchy, bent-wrong spot that didn't hurt on Lance's... arm? Back? "Here, feel this wing?"
Lance felt unfamiliar muscles flutter. He turned to see the feathered wing attached to him in the corner of his vision, then saw the tail twitching behind that, then fainted.
When he came back, the coach said, "Sorry. Didn't know how to break it to you. But we've got a game to run and we're almost there."
The inexplicable unicorn peeked over a seat, looking worried. "Coach, we can't tell, but you never got him to promise."
The coach said, "It's taken care of. Lance, that stuff you drank will make you forget most of today, afterwards. But I hope you can enjoy the day with your boy. And..." He glanced at Lance's exposed sides. "I don't think you've really found your own talent yet. Maybe you'll remember that."
Lance followed his gaze, trying not to think about his sudden lack of pants, and saw only bare grey fuzz in the spot equivalent to where Whistle had his whistle and two other players their diamond and flower. Marks that defined them? Jim and the rest of the players didn't seem to have them either.
Jim looked Lance over too, then tackled him again so that they collapsed in a confused tangle of hooves and wings and wondrous light. As strange as this world was, Lance couldn't help but be delighted by what was definitely his boy, with the same grin and the same bubbling enthusiasm. "Don't worry, Dad. You'll figure out what to do someday, just like me! I'm so glad you spotted that sign for the baseball pony league!"