Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Simon

There’s really only so much a person can be expected to take.

Breaking up with Agatha? Fine. The Mage trying to send Simon away? Whatever. Baz’s mum coming back from the grave to give him of all people a message? Great. Baz himself missing for a month and a half- plotting the downfall of everything and everyone Simon holds dear, no doubt? Also fine. 

But Baz missing for a month and a half and one day ?

Really, enough is enough.  

“Simon. I know you want to know what Baz is up to. But you cannot skip out on school to go find him. I’m sorry, but you just can’t- ”

He doesn’t even pause his packing as he cuts in to say, “Pen, I’ve got to. He could be enacting some nefarious plan to kill the Mage as we speak. I’ve got to stop him.” He’s already put his cross necklace back on. Just in case. 

Penelope is half lying, half sitting on the bed, spinning the ring on her finger as she idly watches him pack his bag. For someone adamant that Simon shouldn’t go, she’s not doing much to stop him. “You didn’t let me finish,” she accuses. 

Simon lets out a breath, and to his surprise and panic he feels some magic dissipating with it. He hadn’t realized it was building. Simon takes a moment to check himself- no smoke, no crackling- and then goes back to packing. “Sorry,” he says, because he is. “But I’m still going.”

Penny rolls her eyes. “I was going to say,” she starts, face serious, and something about how she says it has him pausing- something under her voice, a barely repressed mischief that he’s come to know and love. She smiles. “You cannot skip out on school to go find him without me .”

And for all Simon has been feeling stretched thin, for all that the bags under his eyes are deep and only growing deeper, for all the staticky sticky feeling cloying up his chest every time he so much as thinks about Baz out there being all…evil.

He grins back. 

Penny

In retrospect, this was all much too optimistic of them. 

Oh, getting out of Watford and off the grounds is easy as anything. They’re all packed to go- food, money, clothes, anything else they could reasonably need to take down a crazed vampire- and thanks to Penny’s liberal use of silencing spells, they find themselves outside of the gate in practically no time flat. It seems like it’s going to be smooth-sailing all the way through. 

Then Penny says, “So…how are we going to find him?”

Then Simon says, “I’m going to try something.”

And she gets a bad, bad feeling. 

All night Simon’s magic has been hanging around him like a cloud. A cloud that has the hair on the back of Penny’s neck sticking up, a cloud that makes her own magic feel drunk and hazy and pleased with itself- a cloud that’s been very steadily growing with every step they take. 

It should have had her reconsidering this whole insane venture. But really, it’s in all likelihood why she agreed to do this in the first place. It’s hard to say no to Simon. It’s harder to say no to his magic. 

She should have pushed through. But it’s too late now- his magic is growing and growing even more now, and worse, Simon has that look on his face- the one that tells Penny that even if she had gotten a word in, he would push on anyways- and, magic building up in the atmosphere like an electric storm, he says, “ Once lost, now found - ”

Almost before the words have even left his mouth, he’s gone, and Penny is left with: all of their money and general useful items; and the sinking dawning horrible hollow realization of what it would have felt like if she hadn’t grabbed his arm in time at the end of last year. 

Simon

Ebb taught him that spell. It’s to find lost baby goats, the ones that strayed from the herd. It’s the only finding spell he’s ever used that’s worked for him. 

…It’s never quite worked like this before.

He maybe should have realized it was going to backfire on him. Simon’s magic never works when he needs it to. It always goes ten times further. And now Simon is standing there. In a pile of slime. Under a bridge. With nothing but a duffle bag with his clothes and toiletries in it. 

Surrounded by numpties. 

Simon summons his sword with hardly a thought. He doesn’t want this to turn violent, but he’s been through too much to think it won’t. Especially if Baz is here. Plotting.

He hoists his sword up, trying to look menacing. His voice comes out hard when he asks, “Where’s Baz?”

The numpties shift and move as one, as though to surround him. They’re big, troll-like creatures, looking like mishappen lumps of clay. They smell like it, an earthy wet smell that almost makes up for the sharp tang of garbage and sewer that otherwise occupies the space. They move like clay, too, terrible stop-motion-animated caricatures. It’s surprising how quickly they surround Simon, shoving up close enough that his arms are pinned to his chest, sword uselessly up in the air. 

Already, his magic is building again. He grits his teeth and reels it in as best as he can- thinking about nothing and nowhere- while simultaneously trying to free his sword hand. He starts to ask again, “Where is- ”

It’s then that he notices the coffin. 

Really, it’s the first thing he should have noticed, even tucked back in the deepest shadows of the bridge like it is. It’s dark and wooden and elegant, standing out against the other clutter like a- like a really nice coffin in a pile of trash.

Simon’s limbs lock up. He goes still, even as the numpties continue to press in. He can’t breathe. (It’s not because of the numpties.) He can’t stop staring at the glorified wooden box. 

It’s a coffin. Why is a coffin here? Why did his spell take him to a coffin? It was supposed to take Simon to- 

To Baz. 

The Sword of Mages wavers. There’s a sort of rushing in Simon’s head, and he can’t tell if it’s his heart or his blood or his magic. 

The rushing gets louder. 

It’s his magic. 

When he blinks back into himself he’s absolutely covered in dust and the space under the bridge is almost completely empty. Where there had once been piles of garbage there’s now spotless concrete. Even the little creek that had been running mud and silt up to its banks is gone, although water starts to trickle in once more. The numpties are gone, too. Not a trace of their uneven eyes, lumpy hands. Simon can’t even smell a lingering scent of clay. 

Normally there’s at least the slightest pang of grief when he goes off like this. When he’s not in a real and present danger, when there’s a chance that they weren’t going to hurt him. 

Not this time. 

Simon is by the coffin in a flash. He’s not thinking of anything really, or feeling anything either, just moving. He hooks his fingers under the lid of the coffin and pulls up, hands shaking- the magic must have strained him more than usual. A burst of said magic has the lock on the lid breaking, and it comes free. 

His hands stop shaking as the lid lifts. So does everything else. The world is completely and utterly still as Simon stares into that coffin. 

Baz. 

He’s pale. Cold. Unmoving. Dead- 

Baz’s eyes flash open. Simon doesn’t startle. He doesn’t even breathe. Baz’s eyes look black, until Simon realizes his pupils are just dilated all the way. They sharpen as his gaze falls on Simon’s face, pupils contracting to reveal a slate grey. Simon feels words he already didn’t have get lodged in his throat, and he has to swallow them back. 

What would he even say? “Hey Baz, long time no see, I thought you were plotting so I came to possibly murder you- I hadn’t gotten that far yet- but now I see I was gravely (ha) mistaken but I’m definitely not apologizing,” or “how come you look so good if you’ve been here this whole time,” or, “so you are a vampire, then. Right? Because you’re sitting here in this coffin and there’s definitely flecks of blood around the corner of your lips and you’re really, really, really grey, soooooooo- ”

As Simon continues to stare, wordless, Baz’s lips part, his head tilts, his eyes flutter. Simon’s face goes warm. Because Baz is clearly about to mock him, and he’s getting pre-emptively angry. 

But then Baz’s expression smooths over, so fast it’s like he never looked like anything but perfect stone. “What are you doing here?” Baz asks. 

Good. Yes. Simon’s got a really good explanation for him. And he’s about to say it, eloquently, when his gaze catches on Baz’s lips again. They’re really chapped. And his cheeks hollow. And there are bags under his eyes. And Simon has seen that before. Not on Baz. But in the mirror. 

Which is why instead of his (previously noted) extremely eloquent come-back, he bursts out with, “Have you eaten?”

Baz blinks at him. Again, there’s an expression on his face. In this case, it’s bafflement. It’d be funny if Simon didn’t hate him so much- if Simon wasn’t feeling so panicky, for no reason. “No,” he says, slowly. Then- again - with the smooth face. “And I’m not hungry, thank you. Close the lid on your way out.”

Baz

At first, Baz was certain that he was dreaming. What else could it be? Simon Snow, actually here to rescue him? Inconceivable.

Then he realized he still hurts. So much. An unbelievable amount. Which means this is real. And by real, he means a fucking nightmare, because the only thing worse than being kidnapped by numpties is then getting rescued from them by the godforsaken Chosen One , like some wilting damsel in distress. 

And he’s right there. Still. Staring at Baz with those stupid cornflower blue eyes, his mouth open (idiot) and his hands fidgeting (damned idiot). 

“I mean it,” Baz informs him, because he does. He really would like nothing more than for Snow to close the coffin lid and leave, and then Baz can let himself out and crawl his way over to some payphone, and make Fiona pick him up, and then Baz never has to speak of this to Snow, ever again. 

“...No,” Snow says, and it’s lucky for him Baz can’t move because otherwise he’d kill him. 

“Right. No. Okay then, well, what do you propose? Killing me?” Baz asks, through the spike of useless fear at the thought of Simon Snow killing him (even after all these years).

Completely irrationally, Snow looks a little scared too. And like Baz just hit him. 

Even if it’s news to him that Snow wouldn’t want to kill him, Baz knows this- knows how to keep pushing until Snow either goes away or blows up. As cruel as he can manage, even with the pain running up his arms and legs like electric shocks, he continues, “Go ahead. No, really. It would be easy. I can’t move on my own, and I don’t have the energy for spells. It’d be like shooting a fish in a barrel. Your magic is a disaster though, so I’d recommend the sword- ”

“You can’t move?” Snow cuts in. He looks somehow even more alarmed. 

Damn it. That had the opposite effect Baz was hoping for. Usually he’s better than this. He curses his addled mind- living on an all-liquid iron-heavy diet will do that to even the best of them- and says, “I was being facetious. Just go away.”

“That’s not really what being facetious means…” Snow says, slow, confused. 

“Oh, and you’d know that how?” Baz asks, tilting his head. Then he forces a laugh, even though his stomach tears itself up over the effort. “Oh, of course, Bunce. Well you can just tell her- ”

Fortunately, Baz is cut off from saying anything less than completely and utterly scathing by Snow reaching into the coffin and picking him up. 

Unfortunately, every other part of that string of events. 

Simon

Simon doesn’t really know what he’s doing. He hasn’t really known what he’s doing since…well, since Baz didn’t show up for school that first night. But now he really doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s sort of just…going with it. 

As he lifts Baz out from the coffin- one arm under his back, the other under his legs- it occurs to him that Penny is probably worried sick about him. After he gets Baz some food, he should find a phone. Actually, considering how light Baz is, maybe they should find a phone first? Surely he needs medical attention. 

Wait, what medical attention does a vampire even need?

Oh, shoot, vampire. 

With some careful finagling- considering Simon has someone taller than him in his arms (and said someone is very, very unhappy about it)- he reaches up and pulls his necklace off, before stuffing it in his pocket instead. There, that should be good. 

Baz has been hissing and spitting at him pretty much the whole time Simon has spent picking him up, but at that he goes quiet. “You are so fucking stupid,” he finally says, words carefully enunciated and icy enough to freeze over the whole world. 

Simon doesn’t really let it bother him. He might very well be fucking stupid. He’s not sure. He doesn’t know what he is at all, in fact. Other than getting out of here.

Baz

Snow carries Baz out from under that bridge, hardly even struggling to climb up the hill leading into the nearest town. Baz spends the whole time planning out how he’s going to tear Snow limb-from-limb. He can, now, since Simon’s not wearing the cross and neither of them are protected by the Anathema. 

Well, except for how Baz still can’t really move his own limbs without pins and needles shooting through him like red-hot spikes of pain. And how Snow is really, really warm. 

Has he always been this warm? Baz imagined Snow probably ran hot- how could he not?- but it’s one thing to think and another to know . And he does know, now. Baz can feel Snow’s arms and chest through his clothes, and thinks he might be burning. It’s not taking Snow nearly enough work to haul Baz back into civilization, but he’s still breathing hard, short puffs of air that keep making Baz thinking thoughts. Thoughts such as: maybe if he can trip Snow at the exact right time, they might both fall backwards and break their necks and Baz will never have to think about what’s happening right now at this moment ever, ever again. 

He closes his eyes for a moment to revel in that dream, and then opens them again when Simon is suddenly setting him down on some bench- way too gingerly for someone that hates him- and says, “Stay here. I’ll get you something to eat.”

Baz can’t muster up anything but a couple of baleful blinks in Snow’s direction. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep (in Simon Snow’s arms) but he had, apparently, fallen asleep (in Simon Snow’s arms). Long enough for Snow to get them all the way to a corner shop, bench and all. Who knows how long Baz was out for? All, all, curled up. 

If anyone ever learns about any of this, Baz is lighting himself on fire and he’s taking out as much of the world as he can with him. 

Simon

So, the main problem is that Penny had all the money. 

Simon decides to worry about that when he gets to the checkout counter. For now, he works on gathering any and all food he thinks Baz might be able to stomach. He’s still mostly trying not to think, since he thinks he might crumble into a million pieces (he’s helping the enemy ! Why is he helping the enemy!) (Baz fits surprisingly nicely in his arms, for someone so tall) but he does need to turn his mind on a little bit for this. He grabs a loaf of plain white bread, and some water to wash it down. 

He hesitates. Do vampires drink water? They do, right? Right. Simon remembers Baz drinking water when he plays football. So, yes. Water. Water and bread and…

He grabs a bag of salt and vinegar crisps. Baz has a secret stash. He probably thinks Simon doesn’t know, but he does. There’s not a lot about people that goes unnoticed when they live together. Simon’s not so sure how the crisps are going to settle on an empty stomach, but he figures- well- if Baz was really in that coffin for six weeks, then he could use something…like these.

As Simon casually (not casually at all) heads for the door without looking at the cashier once, he thinks that there’s a chance Baz hasn’t been in that coffin for six weeks at all. That this is some kind of elaborate ploy to fuck with Simon. 

Except Simon doesn’t think that’s it. Not with how Baz looks. Not with how light he was. 

“Excuse me, sir,” the cashier says, just a beat too late, and Simon is out the door. The cashier shouts behind him, and he picks up the pace. He reaches Baz in three steps, shoves the food in his arms, and then picks him up again. Adrenaline is humming through his veins, so is magic. He’s never actually stolen anything before, and he’s getting lightheaded from the heady rush and fear. Even though he's faced down dragons and chimeras before, something about outright theft feels riskier than anything else.

Baz smacks him on the top of his head. “Put me down,” he demands, for what’s probably the twentieth time since Simon first picked him up. 

“Can’t,” Simon says, already running out of breath from running. “We’ll be caught.”

Baz twists his head so he’s looking over Simon’s shoulder, then down at the food in his hands. “You- did you steal these?” His gaze lingers on the food, expression shifting. It’s as though he’s just now realized that he’s holding food. “Nevermind,” he says, and starts tearing the plastic wrapping the bread.

“Slow,” Simon says. 

“I am not a child,” Baz says, hand covering his mouth, which is full of food. And…his cheeks look a little full, even with the bread. So…fangs, too?

Yes. Fangs. 

Simon decides to watch where he’s running. It’s easier to get his words out this way, anyways. “I have experience with this stuff, okay?”

Baz pauses, halfway through his second slice. He’s looking at Simon, Simon can feel his gaze burning into his cheek. To Simon’s complete surprise, Baz pulls the slice of bread down. “Fine,” he mutters, so quiet Simon’s not sure he heard him correctly. Or at all. 

Simon keeps running for a couple minutes longer, and then decides they’re not in any real danger of being run down by the police. What’s a single loaf of bread, some water, and some crisps, anyways? 

“Phone,” Baz says, almost as soon as Simon slows.

“What?”

Baz points, and Simon follows the line to where there is indeed a payphone. “I don’t have- ” Simon starts. 

“I’ll spell it,” Baz says. “Just…move.” He’s talking rather stiffly, but Simon elects to think that’s a good sign. The food is probably working. He’ll be better enough to go back to fighting in no time!

Simon does as Baz directs, but stops just shy of the phone. “Wait, should you be using magic?”

“Shut up,” Baz says. To Simon’s alarm he pushes out of Simon’s arms. He immediately falls over, except for how Simon manages to catch him, practically holding him up with two hands on his arms. 

“Oaf,” Baz says, which…doesn’t actually make any sense. Simon wasn’t the one being clumsy just there. Still, he decides to let Baz have it, instead helping him the rest of the way into the booth. As he slips in behind Baz, Baz gives him a very unimpressed look. Simon pretends not to see it, continuing to hold Baz up so he can make the call. Not that it takes much effort now that Baz is practically leaning on top of him. What with the close quarters. And all. 

Baz doesn’t smell like bergamot right now. He mostly smells like clay, and copper. He’s cool to the touch. Simon decided not to worry about that earlier, he’s not going to worry about that now. Except for how he’s a little worried about it. 

Not because he wants Baz to be better, or anything. Because he doesn’t. Baz is the enemy. But- just- because. 

“Are you going to call someone or what?” Simon asks, louder than he maybe meant. 

Baz sends him one more Look, capital L, and then turns to the phone. He murmurs, “ Take a number ,” and then shudders so violently Simon momentarily thinks he’s dying. But no- it’d just been the spell rushing out of him. Still, as the phone rings, he somehow seems a whole shade greyer, and Simon can’t help but press in just the slightest bit more. If Baz notices, he doesn’t mention it. He just stands, and Simon just stands, and the phone just rings.

Chapter Text

Baz

Fiona takes four minutes to get to their payphone. Apparently, she’d been in the area. Apparently , she’d been moments away from finding Baz herself. If Snow hadn’t gotten to him first. 

Baz decides, not for the first time, that if there is anyone up there, they hate him.

Snow stands around like a big dimwitted dog, staring at anything but Baz the entire time they wait for Fiona. Baz would like to tell him to go somewhere else- make his own way back to school. 

The problem is, he’s the only reason Baz is still standing. Without his not-so-subtle support, Baz would fall over. Which is making him all sorts of miserable. Also? His leg hurts. 

It doesn’t get better when Fiona shows up, glancing at the close proximity to Snow, her eyebrows shooting up. Baz responds with a glare as vicious as he can possibly manage, and then starts the arduous trek of getting into the car. 

“Not the front seat,” Fiona says, and Snow pauses from where he’d been helping Baz. (Helping. Like Baz is some- some invalid . He’s lighting both of them on fire.) “Front seat's for people who haven't been kidnapped by fucking numpties .”

He absolutely shouldn’t have let that particular detail slip when he was talking to her. 

But Baz doesn’t have it in him to argue. He just switches tracks, limping for the back instead. Snow on the other hand gets that red-faced look that makes Baz, somewhat deliriously, think that maybe he’s about to fight Fiona on it. On his behalf . 

Then Snow’s mouth shuts and he goes back to acting like he’s anywhere but here. Baz can, unfortunately, sympathize. He just about tears Snow’s throat out when he has the audacity to try and buckle him in. Too bad he’s too weak for it- he settles for an icy look instead, and Snow backs off. (Actually, it’s a damn good thing he’s too weak for it, because the stupid, stupid idiot has taken off his necklace, and so that’s something that Baz could not only actually do, but something he sort of would really like to do .)

Baz would like nothing more than for Fiona to drive away, careening off and leaving Snow in her wake, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. He’s fully anticipating it, too. Fiona must know how tired Baz is- how much he’d like to get off the streets and back to school. And Snow is the Mage’s Heir. Fiona won’t want anything to do with- 

“Well?” Fiona asks, looking at Snow over her glasses. “Get in.”

Fiona

Fiona would in all honesty prefer not to bring the Mage’s Heir anywhere near the ancestral home. Actually, she was fully planning on leaving him behind. Letting him eat her dust, serves him right. Him and the Mage. 

Then it occurred to her that kidnapping the Mage’s Heir to the ancestral home might not be so bad. Particularly if the Mage happens to be behind this whole fuckup with Baz- 

Actually, she can’t think about that right now. (Six weeks. Six weeks in a coffin . She’s coming back later to make sure those numpties are dead.)

Anyway. Hop on in, baby propaganda machine! 

Baz

Betrayal of the highest magnitude. Baz illustrates this fact by trying to glare holes in the back of Fiona’s head, even as Snow gets into the front seat. (Because of course he’s allowed the front. He wasn’t kidnapped by- whatever.) When it becomes clear to Baz that Fiona’s not going to actually spontaneously develop holes in her head, he decides to do the next logical thing: fall asleep almost instantly. 

It’s a fitful rest, even with the novelty that is ‘room to spread out’, and only lasts about an hour- to his estimate. When he wakes up, he feels like utter shit. And also, instantly suspicious. “This isn’t the way to Watford,” Baz says, staring at the landscape rolling by. 

“It is not,” Fiona agrees. 

“It’s not?” Snow asks, apparently looking outside of the car for the first time. 

“Take me to school,” Baz says, ignoring Snow. 

“No,” Fiona says, also ignoring Snow. 

“What,” Snow says. (Unhelpfully.)

“I want to go to school,” Baz says. 

“We all want things, boyo,” Fiona says. 

“Snow, commandeer the vehicle,” Baz says, preparing to strangle his aunt to death. 

“Um,” Snow says. (Unhelpfully.)

Fiona risks a look over her shoulder, and the expression on her face…unimpressed with Baz, yes, but also worried. About him . 

Baz forces himself to stop. To think. 

“Two days,” he concedes. “And then back to school.’

“Two days,” Fiona agrees, “And then we’ll see.”

Baz is certain he’ll be feeling well enough in two days to go back. And even if Fiona and his father say otherwise, it doesn’t matter. He’ll fight tooth and nail back to Watford, if he must. 

But for now…well. He may as well sleep a little longer. 

Simon

After Baz falls asleep again, the car goes back to being quiet. It’s been quiet this whole time. Simon is looking forward to it being quiet for the rest of the ride, since he doesn’t think he has it in him to say anything to Fiona. His…kidnapper? (He’s still not entirely sure what’s happening there.)

Of course, right about when he has that thought the quiet is immediately interrupted by Fiona abruptly asking, “Has he eaten?”

Simon realizes then that he’s holding the bag of crisps. Has been this whole time. He doesn’t know why that happened. He’ll just…keep holding them, for now. He sort of gestures at them, and then when he realizes Fiona is not in fact looking anywhere near him, says, “Yes.” And that’s that. No more talking. 

At least, until- what feels like an eternity later- they pull off the main road and onto a stretch of packed down dirt, leading up to a goddamn manor. 

Maybe it’s not really a manor. Simon doesn’t know the actual specifications of what would make a house a manor. But it definitely looks like one: big and dark and multiple turrets and too many windows to count. 

Simon is too aware of things as he stands to the side, watching Fiona poke and prod Baz until he wakes up and climbs out of the car. He’s sneering the whole time, like something disgusting just died in front of him. Or, knowing Baz, more like something adorable didn’t die in front of him. Whatever the case, he doesn’t look at Simon once. 

Fiona and Baz head for the house, Fiona not-so-subtly throwing a couple more healing spells Baz’s way. Simon watches as they go, confused for multiple reasons. 

For one, he can’t decide if Fiona likes or cares about Baz. He thinks she probably does? But then she made him sit in the back just because he was kidnapped by numpties- something that could happen to anyone, really- so who knows? (Or better question, who cares? Not Simon.)

For another, Simon…doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. For a while there, he’d been sure this was a kidnapping. Not one pressing enough to do anything about, but a kidnapping nonetheless. (It’s one thing to decapitate a driver when Simon’s the only other one in the car, but another thing entirely to risk…okay, well, it’d just have been Baz, and he’d have been fine, probably, but then he’d probably try to kill Simon for killing his aunt, and really it just made more sense to bide his time. Or something.

Simon’s still doing his best not to think about things. He’s pretty good at it.)

Anyways. Now he’s not so sure it’s a kidnapping. They did just sort of leave him here, on the drive. He could turn around and walk away. Hell, he could probably get his magic to do something vis-a-vis getting back to school. He should , really. If Penny was worried before, she’s out of her mind now. That, or she’s tearing the school down getting ahold of a spell powerful enough to track him. 

That thought makes Simon feel better, since upon reflection that’s exactly what Penny is doing. Practically enrichment, that. 

So, basically, he’s all set to do some good-old-fashioned espionage. Get a lay of the land, figure out how the enemy works. They all but invited him in, anyways. Also, it’s getting a bit later in the day, and he’s starved. Also also, tired. (What’s a little kidnapping if it means a nap? He’ll escape when he wants to.)

Simon starts for the front door. 

Mordelia

Baz is home! But then he had to go to his room to sleep, which Mordelia finds unfair. She wanted to say hello. 

He did bring home a friend, at least. A weird friend that mostly sits in silence when everyone else is laughing and talking and eating. Mordelia likes his curls. She wants to pull at them- everyone else in the family has straight poky hair, which is no fun at all. 

His friend seems a little scared. He must not be used to gargoyles. But that’s okay, because everyone else- that’s not Mordelia- seems a little scared of him, too. They’re nice to him, but there’s something about the way the grown-ups talk to him that seems to Mordelia like maybe something isn’t quite right. 

At one point Father pulled Fiona into the living room, while the friend was talking to Mother. Mordelia, because she’s a genius, decided to eavesdrop. It’s not hard. She just crawls behind the big velvet sofa, quiet as she can, and sits still. 

“Why on earth did you think it was a good idea to bring him here ?” Father asks, voice tense. 

Fiona probably shrugs. She likes to shrug. Then she says, “Why not? We all know it was the Mage that pulled that shit with Baz. Don’t tell me you don’t want to stick it to the man.”

Father sighs. “I’d love to stick it to that man. But we’ve spent years making sure he doesn’t have the means or the reason to ruin us. Something you’ve just gone and given him. By kidnapping his Heir .”

“Does that kid look kidnapped to you?” Fiona asks. 

Mordelia turns to look over her shoulder so that she can just see where the boy is now nodding politely at the twins’ babbling.

Another sigh. “The distinction is hardly going to matter. We need to take him back to school. We need to- damage control.”

“Psh,” Fiona says. “Leave it to me.”

“Fiona…”

“No, I mean it. I have it under control. Okay? I’m impulsive, but I’m not stupid. I’ve got a plan .”

A third sigh. A record, Mordelia thinks. “Fine,” he says. Then, muttered so low Mordelia almost can’t hear it, “Might as well. We’re already pretty well fucked.”

Simon

Simon still doesn’t really know what’s going on. He hasn’t been locked in a dungeon, but he also hasn’t been kicked out. And between those two extremes he’s not sure what to do. So, this far, he’s just…rolling with it. He eats with the Grimm-Pitches, he sits with them after dinner, suffers the worst small-talk he thinks he’s ever encountered- and finally, shown where to put his things. Mrs. Grimm- Daphne- seems embarrassed when she finally walks him to the guest room. Like she forgot he had things to put down. Or more like she didn’t know what to do with him, and put off letting him settle until the very last moment. 

Really, Simon shouldn’t stay. He should be going back to Watford. School is in session . But between the surreality of it all, and the scoping-out of his enemy’s home, and the food…he just kept staying. 

Also, he has to tell Baz about his mum. He has to. 

Unfortunately, Baz has spent the whole day sleeping. Although Simon thinks he saw a housekeeper take a plate up the stairs, so probably he woke up long enough to eat dinner. Which, considering how horribly light Baz was, is good. 

No, not good. Fine. It’s just fine. 

Simon…needs some sleep.

***

Simon can’t sleep.  

There are things here. In the room. Making noises. Looking at him, probably. He’d idly thought the place looked haunted- he hadn’t thought it was actually haunted. But apparently it is.

He misses his bed. He misses the tower. He even misses the bloody moat. 

Baz has been sleeping all day, so he’s probably awake, right? 

Right.

Simon is just going to nip in real quick, tell him that thing about his mum, and then go back to school. No problem. He pushes the covers off of him and then swings his legs onto the ground- heavily carpeted but freezing nonetheless. It’s like the whole house is allergic to heat. 

He hurries over to the door, and has only a moment to worry that they’ve maybe locked him in when the door handle turns easily under his hand, and the door swings open with a long creaking sound. Simon shudders at the noise, and then starts off towards Baz.  

By all accounts, he shouldn’t know where Baz’s room is. But thanks to the aforementioned espionage (he’d asked to use the bathroom and took his chances) he knows exactly where Baz’s room is. 

Namely, just across the hall and down a few doors from his room. Convenient. 

…Convenient, or nefarious. 

Simon knocks as softly as he can manage, the previous creak already pushing it. 

No answer. That’s fine. He goes for the doorknob. 

This one isn’t locked either, and it opens considerably quieter than Simon’s had. Of course. Even Baz’s door hinges had to be perfect. 

The Penny that lives inside Simon’s head takes a second to tell Simon he’s being monumentally stupid, going into a vampire’s dark room at night without his wand or his sword drawn. He takes a moment to think that she’s absolutely right, and then goes on and does it anyway. 

He’s seen firsthand the state Baz was in. He’s not particularly worried. 

The room looks, once his eyes adjust, even more haunted than Simon’s own. Then again, he can’t see much. The lighting is too dim to make out much more than shapes in the darkness. Suspiciously gargoyle-shaped shapes. 

Then, of course, there’s Baz. 

Simon can see him fine. (Well, sort of fine. It’s very dark.) He’s lying on his bed, covers up to his chin, eyes closed. He’s stiff as a board. He’s pale as a sheet. 

He may or may not be breathing. 

Simon also may or may not be breathing. 

He inches forward, heart thumping uncomfortably in his chest. Did Baz die ? Died in his sleep after weeks in a coffin? 

That should be cause to celebrate. Simon doesn’t feel like celebrating. He mostly feels like throwing up. 

He reaches Baz’s bedside, and then hesitates. Baz really, really looks dead. Should Simon call for someone? Go back to his own room and pretend like none of this happened? 

Instead, unblinking, unthinking, he reaches his hand out and presses his fingers to Baz’s neck. More specifically, where his pulse would be. Should be.

Initially, Simon thinks he shouldn’t bother trying to feel for it: Baz’s skin is ice cold. Too cold for him to be alive. He’s definitely, definitely dead. But something has Simon keeping his fingers there, pressed against Baz’s neck, feeling for a heartbeat. (Hoping for a heart beat.)

And after just a fraction of a second later, he feels one. Then another. A third. Strong, steady. Simon realizes Baz is breathing, chest rising and falling slightly. Evenly. 

He really is just sleeping. 

Well, better not to wake him. Simon pulls his hand away and turns to go. He stops, frowning down at his fingers. They’re cold now. He looks back at Baz, frown deepening. It can’t be healthy, being that cold. He might die in his sleep of hypothermia before he can wake up and get better. Simon should cast a heating spell. Or, better yet (and so he doesn’t explode the whole house on accident), he should find someone else and get them to cast the heating spell. 

But that would mean waking someone up, and then explaining what he was doing in here, and…and he doesn’t actually know where anyone else is in the whole house. Also, he’d rather avoid getting eaten by whatever ghosts make their home here. 

So instead he does the next most logical thing: he turns back around, pulls back the covers, and gets into bed next to Baz. 

Simon lies there, as stiff as the boy next to him, and stares up into the darkness at nothing in particular. Already he can feel the blankets growing warmer, and can imagine the chill that was infusing Baz’s veins begin to dissipate. 

This was smart. Simon’s being smart right now. 

Baz lets out a little sigh next to him, and then with no other preamble, turns on his side and curls into Simon like a too-sharp cat made out of ice. Simon stiffens even further, but Baz makes no move to go back to the other side of the bed. If anything, he curls in closer . 

Yep. Really, definitely…smart.

Chapter Text

Penelope

When Simon vanished, Penelope panicked. But not for long. Because it wasn’t like last time, no matter how much it felt like it. Simon wasn’t whisked off by the Humdrum- the Humdrum only tries things once. No, Simon was whisked off by his own magic. Unpredictable? Yes. But it’s never hurt him. Simon is fine. (Unless his spell took him to Baz, and Baz flies completely off the handle and kills him, because he’s smart and ruthless and knows how to hit Simon where it hurts- )

Whatever. Either way, Penny has work to do.

She doesn’t have crazy powerful magic that can take her straight to Simon. But that’s fine. She has a brain. And a tendency to be a pain in the side when she needs to be.

Penelope needs to find where Dev and Niall are lurking. 

…It’s not hard. It’s also not hard to get them to tell her what she needs to know. Not hard, but time-consuming. (She tells them that she needs to know what they know about Baz. Often. Repeatedly. For hours. After spelling them to their seats. And threatening them.) She has to give it to Baz- his henchmen are loyal. But not loyal enough. Not in the face of Penelope Bunce. 

Problem is, all she learns is that they don’t know where Baz is, that no one knows where Baz is. Which means he’s either gone off on some sabbatical without telling anyone, or…he’s been kidnapped. 

If it’s the former, Simon might be in trouble. He could be in the wilderness somewhere, freezing to death. 

But thinking about that isn’t helpful, and so Penny elects to believe it’s the latter. Baz has been kidnapped by someone for some reason, and Simon has flown straight into the kidnappers’ hands. 

She feels sort of bad for them, honestly. 

Anyways, she needs to go to Baz’s house. They’re going to have even more information on Baz’s whereabouts- and therefore Simon’s, too. Or- with luck- he’s there himself. 

But it’s too late for trains by the time she gets the information she needs from Nial and Dev, and she doesn’t have a car or insane magical abilities that can take her where she’d like to go on the fly. Also, she needs time to think of a plan so the Grimm-Pitches don’t just kill her the second she shows up on their doorstep. (They probably wouldn’t kill her. But just in case.)

So as difficult as it is for her to admit…she needs to sleep on it. But as soon as the trains start running again…as soon as she can call a taxi to take her to said trains…

She’ll be on her way. 

Simon

Simon wakes up to: a pleasant warmth that’s not at all like his usual too-hot-to-breathe flailing that accompanies most mornings, the feeling of someone breathing on his neck, and the memory of everything that happened yesterday slamming into him so hard it’s like he was pushed down a flight of stairs all over again. In that order. His eyes flash open to the sight of the top of Baz’s head, silky-soft hair falling in swoops over the pillow and Simon’s arm. 

Then he looks just the slightest bit upwards, and he sees something absolutely gut-wrenchingly horrible. 

Fiona. Standing there, not two feet from the bed. Glaring at him so fiercely Simon can feel his eyebrows starting to singe. 

“Outside,” Fiona growls. 

“Yep, okay,” Simon says, in a very manly way that doesn’t sound at all like a terrified squeak. (He’s faced down dragons. Chimeras. The Humdrum . Of course he’s not scared of Baz’s aunt .) (Yes he is.)

Fiona narrows her eyes, as though waiting. But Simon can’t just get up. Not right away. His limbs and Baz’s are so thoroughly entangled he’s surprised something hasn’t broken. It takes a long, long eternity to get himself extracted from Baz’s clinginess. (Two words he never thought he’d think in his life. ) The only saving grace to this all, Simon thinks, is that Baz is still sleeping. If Baz ever found out that Simon-

Just the thought is enough to make Simon want the ground to swallow him up. 

What was he thinking ?

He wasn’t. Obviously. He never fucking thinks. 

Simon walks after Fiona, feeling a completely irrational flush trying to overtake his whole face. He doesn’t know why he’s even feeling this embarrassed. It’s not like he wanted to sleep with Baz. (Wait, no, not like- ) He just wanted to warm him up! He was basically frozen to death!

“Shut the door,” Fiona whispers. 

Simon closes the door after him, soft as he can manage, and then turns to face his death.

It’s…not actually as bad as he expected. Sure Fiona is still glaring at him, standing with arms crossed and eyes narrowed, but Simon hasn’t spontaneously melted into acid, so. Maybe this won’t be as awful as anticipated? 

“Why are you taking advantage of my nephew?” 

Scratch that. 

“I- am not ,” Simon sputters. “He’s a bloke! I’m a bloke. We’re just blokes. I wouldn’t- I’m not- ”

Judging by the expression on Fiona’s face, Simon has made a misstep. 

“Not that it would be an issue if I was,” Simon hurriedly says. Then, hesitant, “Or…if he was?”

Baz isn’t, of course. Not with the way he is with Agatha. 

Only Agatha, really. 

Even more hesitant, “...Is he?”

Fiona just looks at him. Simon looks back. He can feel sweat trickling down his back. 

“No, no,” Fiona says. “Keep going. I want to see how deep of a hole you can manage to dig yourself into.”

Simon decides to change tracks. “He was- I- I just wanted to talk to him! But then I thought he was dead, and- ”

“And so you got into bed with him?” Fiona asks, eyebrows raising. 

Simon can feel his magic stirring, looking to be let out when his words fail him. He forces it back down, and bursts out with a, “No! He was just cold. He was really cold. And so I thought…” 

He trails off. Because what can he say? ‘I thought I could fix it?’ Well, he did. 

“I just didn’t think he should be so cold,” Simon finishes, miserable. All he can do now is wait for judgment. 

Fiona opens her mouth. Simon hunches his shoulders. The door behind him opens.

Simon turns. Fiona’s eyebrows are raised again. Baz stares at both of them out from half-lidded eyes. His face is expressionless. His skin is still too gray. His hair is the most ruffled Simon has ever seen it. 

“Well. Good morning,” Fiona says. 

Baz doesn’t have anything to say to that. He just extends his hand, reaching right for Simon’s neck. 

Well, if he hadn’t been dead before, he’s dead now. He’s about to be immolated. Turned to ash in an instant. They’re going to have to sweep him up with a broom by the time Baz is done with him. Simon braces himself to- what? He can’t bring himself to draw his sword. Not when Baz looks like…that. And he can’t run. Fiona is right there. 

Under his skin, crawling like bugs, his magic flares. 

Then Baz’s hand lands on his shoulder, wraps itself in his pajama shirt, and with a strength Simon doesn’t think Baz should have in his state, yanks him back inside Baz’s room. 

“Goodnight,” Fiona calls, and the door slams shut behind her. 

Before Simon can figure out what's happening, Baz limps Simon all the way back to the bed (someone should check on that leg), pushes him under the covers, and then follows him in.  

It’s only once the sheets have settled and Simon is once more laying with the other boy (asleep again in what has to be record time) curled up in his arms does it occur to him he could probably have resisted. Some part of it. 

He could have at least tried . 

And now that he’s here, he should really be trying to leave. Because this is completely insane. 

But, then again…Simon’s really pretty comfortable…and he hasn’t been sleeping well since…Baz didn’t come back, so…

Instead, Simon falls asleep again too.  

Fiona

She’d been planning on checking on Baz first. But then she was going to go tell the other boy that his friend showed up. Really, she was. In fact, she’d been looking forward to the look on his face- maybe he’d think Fiona had done something nefarious before she told him Bunce was here to help figure out what happened to Baz, and it would have been hilarious. 

(It was the Mage, Fiona is sure of it. And she certainly doesn’t need some teenager helping her prove it. Except in this particular case this particular teenager seems potentially competent. And incessant. So. Just this once.)

But then the Heir was there. In Baz’s room. In his bed . Just sleeping, all innocent-like, sure, but still . That’s her nephew . Her nephew with apparently extremely dubious taste, considering how the damn boy dragged the Heir back into his room, obviously intent on cuddling right back up with him. 

Fiona should put a stop to it. It’s what a responsible aunt would do. 

(But that Snow kid had looked so flustered- and Baz so content- )

So instead she goes back downstairs. To Bunce. And the evidence they’re compiling. 

Baz

Baz thought it was a dream, is the thing. And now he’s awake. And it wasn’t a dream. And everything is ruined forever. There’s just no coming back from this. Or if there is, he can’t think of it. Probably because every time he tries to think of how to come back from this, instead he keeps landing on things like: “I’ve never seen Snow this close except for when we’re fighting,” and “If I moved three centimeters closer I could kiss that mole I’ve always wanted to kiss, and I don’t know if Snow would even notice,” and “I don’t think I’ve ever felt truly warm until now, and I don’t think I ever will again unless I do something like light myself on fire.”

All completely unhelpful thoughts. 

Snow’s breathing hitches in the way it always does when he goes from ‘asleep’ to ‘awake’, and Baz can’t help but tense. Which Snow obviously immediately feels because Baz is somehow in his fucking arms . 

Arms shift around him until Snow is able to crane his head and look at Baz, and Baz braces himself for- he doesn’t know. Gloating, maybe. ( He’d have gloated.) But no. “Are you awake?” Snow asks, looking at Baz with…concern?

No, thank you. 

Baz readies himself to launch out of Snow’s arms and then also destroy him. But then he thinks about how cold it is just outside of these blankets, and how Snow hasn’t moved to let go of him yet, and he’s still so tired and in so much pain- so he stays put. But! He does manage a glare. 

“Okay,” Simon says, and blessedly stops looking at Baz, instead directing his gaze to the canopy above. He doesn’t move to get away from Baz. And continues to not move to get away from Baz. (Why isn’t he moving to get away from Baz?) ( Why was he in Baz’s bed in the first place? )

“Um,” Simon starts. “So.”

Baz has to bite his tongue in the effort not to mock him. “Do me a favor, Snow, and just shut up.”

“Um,” Simon says, again, and really Baz is a saint for not jumping down his throat about this. (He’d certainly like to jump down his throat- no, no. No.) “You were just- cold.”

Oh, good. He was cold. So Snow decided to hop into bed with his unconscious form. Because that’s rational. And not at all completely creepy. (Baz is trying really hard to find it creepy, and failing miserably.)

“Did it sound like I asked for an explanation? No. It didn’t. We’re not discussing this. Not now, not ever.” There. Good. That should do it. 

Snow’s throat bobs. “Should I go?”

Baz’s vision whites out momentarily in panic, and he finds himself suddenly holding very tight to Simon’s arms. He’s being utterly and unforgivably pathetic. He’s never going to live this down, with anyone, ever. And frankly he might be better off dead at this point, for more reasons than one. But the idea of going back to that cold - 

“Okay,” Snow says simply, and his arms tighten around Baz, and apparently that’s all there is to it, apparently all Baz needed was to be cold and Snow would have held him without question, and Baz is trying not to think it- has been trying not to think it this whole time- but he can’t help it. 

He’s so in love with Simon Snow it hurts. 

Simon

Simon thinks this is nice. It shouldn’t under any circumstance be nice, but Simon thinks it is. Baz can’t hurt anyone when he’s in Simon’s arms. And he fits there. He fits in Simon’s arms like Agatha never did (that was a weird comparison) and Simon likes this . 

Not that he likes Baz. Baz is a villain. And a monster. And breathing so softly, face pressed into Simon’s shoulder like he never trusted anyone more. 

It’s just because he’s tired. Too tired to be evil. He’ll be back on his feet and back to draining blood and plotting in no time at all. 

…And in the meanwhile, Simon can just keep staying here. Getting sleep, finally. Feeling peace, finally . 

Because this is nice. 

Wait, shit, Baz’s mum. 

“Baz,” Simon half whispers, half says. He shakes Baz a little for good measure. “Baz wait, wake up, I need to tell you something.”

“Absolutely not, I am never speaking to you again,” Baz says. Into Simon’s shoulder. Because his face is still pressed into it. 

“Fine,” Simon says. He’d figured as much anyways. “You don’t have to talk. But listen. Stay awake enough to listen.”

A pause. Then, slowly, like Simon’s ruined his whole life, Baz looks up at him. “What.”

Another pause. This time from Simon. It didn’t occur to him how difficult this would be to explain, but now that he’s in the moment, he finds himself at a loss. 

“Snow. What.” Baz still sounds infuriated, but under that Simon thinks he can hear an undercurrent of unease. And his expression- there dancing behind his eyes is almost certainly uncertainty. 

Simon can’t put this off any longer. He owes it to Baz- evil or otherwise- to tell him. He deserves to know. 

He breathes in. He breathes out. 

And then he tells Baz about his mum. 

Penny

Simon walks into the dining room and Penny is so relieved to see him she hardly even notices that he’s supporting almost all of Baz’s weight against him as he helps the vampire over to a seat. 

Then she does notice. And has to do a double-take. 

Simon and Baz are both in pajamas, for one. For another, Baz looks horrible. Just awful. He’s limping, there’s bags under his eyes, he’s shivering, he’s so gray…Penny hates him, but it’s hard to look at all the same. Simon, on the other hand, looks really pretty good. Well-rested for the first time in weeks. He watches carefully as Baz sits down, chewing on his lip until Baz is safely seated. His brow is furrowed, and he’s got that look on his face that tells Penny that there’s something bothering him badly, except he doesn’t know it yet because he hasn’t admitted it to himself. 

Penny goes ahead and files all of that away for later consideration. For now, she’s got to focus on the matter at hand. Namely, the fact that Baz is apparently going to be helping them with their research on who kidnapped him.

“You’re not supposed to be up,” Fiona says, eyeing her nephew shrewdly. If she’s surprised that the Simon Snow is helping Baz, or there at all, she doesn’t look it. 

“We need to talk,” Baz says. “Alone,” he adds. He looks to Penny cooly, and pointedly not at Simon at all. Who conversely does not move. 

Penny can take a hint. Even if Simon can’t. She stands up from her chair and heads for the door, grabbing Simon’s arm as she goes. For a beat, she thinks he’s not going to let her pull him. But then he does. All the way out to the hall, leaving Baz and his aunt to talk in quiet tones over the table. 

“Penny,” Simon says, as soon as they’re out of eyesight. He sounds so relieved. 

Penny drops his arm long enough to punch him in the shoulder. “You idiot,” she says, anger suddenly threatening to take over rationality. “You gave me a heart-attack. Don’t do that!”

“I didn’t mean it,” Simon says, sheepishly rubbing his arm. “I meant to take you with me. I’m sorry.”

It’s impossible to stay mad at Simon. “Don’t do it again,” she says, firm. 

“I’ll try?”

That’s the best any of them can hope for, really. Anyways. Now for the details . She leans in close. “What happened? Where did you end up? Who took Baz?”

“Didn’t Fiona tell you? You seemed to be working together…” 

Yes. But Fiona has told her almost nothing at all. And honestly, Penny wouldn’t have bothered to offer if she didn’t think she would have already been kicked out of the house without helping Fiona sort out her paranoid delusions about the Mage. 

“Well, she didn’t tell me anything,” Penny says instead of all that. 

Simon frowns, clearly annoyed on Penny’s behalf. Then the frown morphs into a determined expression. “I don’t know much either. But he was kidnapped by numpties, and held in a coffin, and- ”

Hold up. “A coffin? As in, one of those six-by-three boxes? For dead people? He was in one of those?” That would explain why Baz looked so awful. 

The frown is back, and this time it looks pained. “Yeah. For the whole time.”

Jesus. 

Not that that gives Penny a reason for why Simon is acting all…like he’s acting with Baz, but she can’t deny that that’s awful. Would it have been more awful if it had happened to someone Penny liked? Yes. 

But…six weeks. In a coffin . 

Baz is lucky to still be alive. 

Penny lets that thought linger for half a second, and then dismisses it. Simon’s here, safe, and Baz is fine too, and she’s done what she came here for. “Yeah, yikes. Okay. Anyways, let’s go.”

Simon blinks at her. “Go?”

“Yes. To school? Where we live?”

Simon continues to blink at her. 

Penny tries again. “If we’re fast, we might even get back before anyone realizes you were gone.”

The blinking, finally, stops. “Oh,” Simon says. “Um. Right.” He starts chewing at his thumbnail, not meeting her eyes. “Right,” he says again, softly. 

That does not sound like the words of a man that is agreeing with her. But before Penny can ask what exactly his reservations are, Fiona pokes her head out into the hall. Her eyes are bloodshot and her smile is sharp as hell. “Bunce, get back in here. You’re needed at the table.” 

Penny’s thoughts click through reasons she could be needed back at the table. She doesn’t land on anything plausible. Ergo, she is suspicious. (She’d have been suspicious anyways, considering the look on Fiona’s face.) “Why?”

“Because Basilton seems to think you’re going to be of help, for some ungodly reason.”

The suspicion grows into something prickly. Penny got the same feeling before she and Simon were pulled off to meet the Humdrum, and the same feeling when Simon left to find Baz. It’s the feeling that something is about to change- and not for the better. “For what?”

Fiona’s smile widens impossibly further. “For catching a murderer.”

Chapter Text

Simon

Simon and Penny- and Simon is so, so glad Penny is here, so glad it’s making him a little sick- make their way back into the dining room, where Baz is slumped over the table. Simon finds himself drifting in his direction, and has to stop himself from reaching out to- feel his pulse again? Maybe?

Anyways, moving on. 

“You,” Fiona says, jerking her head at Simon. He jumps at the abruptness of it, and also because he was distracted by Baz. She follows his guilty gaze, expression otherwise unchanging. “Take him back upstairs. He needs sleep.”

“Absolutely no way in hell,” Baz says, into the table.

“Absolutely yes way in hell. You can’t even sit up straight, boyo.”

Baz immediately sits up straight, not wavering in the slightest. “I am not leaving. She was my mother,” Baz says. 

Penny makes a noise of confused interest, and Simon realizes he hadn’t told her that part. He immediately feels guilty- he’d already kept it a secret for long enough before this whole debacle, and they aren’t supposed to have any secrets. Except- is it really his secret to tell?

Either way, he forgot to worry about it. Either way, he feels bad. 

“And she was my sister.” Fiona snaps, then looks faintly uncomfortable before sighing. “Look. When we get to the exciting stuff, the vengeance murder spree, you can join in. But for now, you need sleep.”

Baz looks upset then, really upset- eyes glinting, jaw set. Fiona meets his gaze steadily. But Baz has never looked away first from anyone, and now is no different. 

For a second, Simon thinks probably the two of them are going to sit like that forever, glaring each other to death. Then Baz asks, “Where is my father?” 

Fiona’s gaze flickers down to the assorted papers scattered across the table, pressing her lips together. “There was an emergency meeting of the families,” she says. “He’s anticipating some fallout.”

Simon panics briefly about what that could be in regards to until- somewhat belatedly- he remembers he’s gone missing, and then he thinks he does know what it’s about. 

Maybe they should head back after all. Not that he ever told Penny that he didn’t want to head back. Which, he does want to head back. Of course. Why wouldn’t he?

“Anyways, that leaves me in charge, and in-charge-me says back to bed,” Fiona finishes. 

Baz is back to glaring. 

“I’ll magic you there if I have to,” Fiona warns. 

Still glaring. Simon is just about ready to pick Baz up and take him himself just to break the tension. But then, like he heard what Simon was thinking, Baz turns the glare to him and snaps, “Snow. Upstairs.”

Simon can’t help but relax- and it’s not just because he was starting to worry Baz was going to start flinging spells. Baz just really, really, really looks awful. Still. And that limp- will he ever get to play football again?

At this thought, something in Simon’s stomach curdles. He very gamely ignores it in favor of going next to Baz and helping him up. He’s honestly surprised Baz lets him. He’s surprised Baz all but asked him. He must be in a lot of pain. 

More curdling. More ignoring. (Since when did he give even a single shit about Baz? Or better yet, since when has he become someone who continues to give shits about Baz? 

It was supposed to be a one-off thing. It wasn’t even supposed to be that.)

Simon continues to ignore that, as well as Penny’s extremely raised eyebrows. There’s nothing to raise an eyebrow about here, let alone two. This is just him being decent, that’s all. He’s a bloody hero, doing all this for someone that hates him so bad. For someone he hates equally badly. 

Baz leans more heavily on him the further they go, eyelids sinking closed. And Simon needs to go back to school. He wants to go to school. Penny wants them to go back to school. 

But he knows then that he’s not going back without Baz there, too.

Baz

Baz is sure he’ll be spending the next couple hours sleeping, which has been a frustratingly recurring theme in his life as of late. Especially because the last thing he wants is to sleep. After hearing what Snow had to say? About his mother? 

He shouldn’t be able to sleep. He wants to be out there- avenging Natasha. It’s what she asked of him. Him . Not Fiona. Not Bunce. Not Snow. Baz. But no. He’s here instead. Uselessly falling asleep in the arms of his worst enemy. 

Baz isn’t going to be able to stop it, either. His thoughts are moving like mud, he’s so tired. His stand against Fiona had taken it out of him far more than he’d hoped it would. And Simon is so, so warm, and downstairs was so, so cold, and Baz is so sad - 

He’s going to wake up and Simon is going to be gone. He’s done what he came here for, after all. And that should make Baz pleased, because the last thing he should want is Simon sticking around at all in any capacity- especially after learning about his mother. 

But the thought of that makes Baz feel so hollow he feels sick. It’s like that coffin all over again. Baz is starving and he’s been starving since he met Simon and soon he’s going to be going more than hungry again. 

“Don’t go,” Baz whispers, making sure he’s quiet enough he won’t be heard. 

“What?” Simon asks. 

“Go away,” Baz says, half asleep already. 

“Goodnight, Baz,” Simon says a moment later, and then shifts- almost like he’s going to move. Like he’s really going to leave.

Baz feels a surge of desperation that has his eyelids forcing themselves open, his hands tightening on Simon’s arms. “Simon?”

Simon shifts again. He’d just been getting comfortable. “Um. Yeah?”

Baz presses his face half into the pillow, half into Simon’s shoulder. “I hate you more than anyone on the face of the whole earth.”

“Right,” Simon sighs.

 “Okay,” Baz says, and then he’s out. 

Simon

After that, Baz goes back to sleeping. Simon is also there. 

At first he tries to sleep as well. But as tired as he’s been, he can only really sleep for so long before it becomes impossible to keep up.

So then he just lies there. 

The trouble with spending a lot of time in bed with a sleeping vampire that’s spent the last six years wanting Simon dead is that Simon doesn’t have a lot to do but lie there and think about things related to said vampire. Which he is historically not especially good at doing. 

Baz called him Simon. And he asked him not to go.

Baz

Snow is still there when Baz next wakes up. Sleeping. 

At the sight of his completely relaxed face, just inches from Baz’s own, Baz feels three things in quick succession: an overwhelming appreciation for life and living, a wave of burning anger threatening to immolate everything in his house, and finally a crushing grief that immediately smothers the previous two emotions and any other emotion he might dare to have. 

It’s not fair. 

Any of it. 

His mother. Being fucking kidnapped. His leg still hurts- he doesn’t think it’s going to stop. He might not ever get to play football again. He certainly won’t at school. The season is too far gone. 

And to top it all off, Snow is here. Still . Even after Baz asked him to go. (Asked him to stay.) Baz is under no illusions- Snow is here for one reason and one alone. Pity. After everything, their history, all the work Baz put into being feared and respected by this one person - ruined. 

He can’t even kid himself that Snow is here to keep tabs on him. Not after he took his cross necklace off. 

At least before, Baz could say that Snow thought about him. As a threat, yes, but- after this? All Baz is going to get is a sidelong look. If that. It makes Baz sick . 

Maybe he should just kill him. Move the two centimeters it would take for Baz to be in biting distance of that neck, and drain him dry. It would serve him right, underestimating Baz. Daring to feel sorry for him. 

He can’t, though.

He’s not sure he was ever going to be able to. 

Baz turns away from Snow- as much as he’s able to, considering Snow’s arms are around him, and presses his face into his hands. Behind him, Snow starts to stir. At first Baz thinks it’s his fault, and that makes him feel bad, which makes him feel worse - but then he realizes Simon hasn’t woken at all. He’s just moving around in his sleep.

Baz hasn’t shared a room with Snow for the last six years for nothing. He knows how nightmares look on Simon. He has them often enough. It’s just, he’s never been this close before. 

It’s how he knows, weak or otherwise, to grab Simon’s wrists before the flailing truly starts and Baz gets caught in the crossfire. How to press his elbow down into Snow’s chest to keep him from throwing himself off the bed. The sheets are already pretty well tangled around them, but Baz pulls back enough to keep them from becoming truly strangling. 

And finally- because he really can’t afford to be kicked in the stomach by a mule in the shape of a boy, he gets really close to Snow’s face, and says, “Simon. Wake up.”

He’s never tried that before. Normally his strategy for Snow’s nightmares is to hide his head under a pillow until it stops. He’d thought about waking him up, of course. Thought it’d take at least eight repetitions of Snow’s name. Maybe some shaking. 

Snow’s eyes flash open before Baz even finishes saying his name. Wild and blue, they dart around as though Simon is reorienting himself, and then settle on Baz’s face. Snow’s shoulders relax, he stops fighting. He lets out a breath, like he’s relieved. And those eyes don’t leave Baz’s for a second. 

Baz should say something. He’s going to say something. Something to twist the knife. Or barring that, he’d settle on sarcastic. 

Snow licks his lips. They’re chapped. His face is very close to Baz’s own. And he’s not pulling away. Is he-  are they- 

“How is your leg?” Snow asks. 

Baz pulls away so fast it’s like he was burned. He feels like he’s been burned. “No,” he says, and then when he realizes that doesn’t make any sense at all, adds, “It’s none of your business.”

Snow doesn’t even have the decency to look hurt. All he does is chew at those lips, furrow his brow, and nod. “Right. Well, it might help to walk around on it?”

Baz doesn’t know if that’s true at all. But he’s also been in bed for what feels like ages. And he wants to see if Fiona has made any headway on the murder. 

At the thought of that, something cold pierces through his chest. The murder. His mother’s murder . Fiona and Bunce are working on that, and he’s here in bed. Sleeping. 

He must have been more tired than he thought when Fiona shuttled him off to bed, because if he’d been anywhere in his right mind, he would be out on the streets right now trying to figure out that Nicodemus guy. 

“Good idea,” he says, and resolutely ignores that way Simon’s face splits into a grin in favor of extracting himself from both the sheets and from Snow. (If he’d been told even just three days ago that being tangled up in Snow’s limbs was going to become a recurring theme in his life, he’d have laughed in their face.) “Let’s go downstairs.”

Baz tries to put his weight on his bad leg and immediately falls over. Except for how, as is his habit (apparently) Snow is already there beside him, slotting into supporting his weight like it’s as natural as breathing to him. Baz bites back a comment. The sooner they get downstairs, the better. 

Unfortunately, that means braving the stairs. 

“Are you going to eat something?” Snow asks, somewhat hopefully. 

“You know you’re allowed to eat whatever you’d like,” Baz says, grimacing at a particularly unsteady step. 

“No, I know,” Snow says, sounding very much like he didn’t know that at all. “I mean for you. You slept through breakfast.”

“ You slept through breakfast,” Baz corrects. “The housekeeper brought food early.” Also something he initially thought of as a dream, until upon later reflection. He vaguely remembers toast and eggs.

Snow is quiet. “She saw us? Together?”

Baz gives him a sidelong look. “You know, if you’re worried about what people think, you shouldn’t have gotten into bed with me.”

Baz hadn’t quite meant to phrase it like that, but the way Snow’s face goes immediately red makes it worth it. Sure, Snow is straight. Sure, that fact makes Baz miserable every day of his life. But at least he can have this. 

“You were cold,” Snow mutters. 

They walk (or limp, in Baz’s case) most of the rest of the way to the kitchen in silence. When they walk in, it’s to the sight of an empty room. Baz breaks out of Simon’s grasp and stumbles forward, heart in his throat. The papers are still strewn across the table, but no Fiona. No Bunce. “Where are they?” he asks. 

“Um,” Simon says, walking up next to him. “I don’t know.” 

Baz elects to believe him, if only because he’s got that look of concentrated concern on his face. He wouldn’t be worried if he knew where Bunce was. Baz turns away from Snow, and picks up a couple papers. 

“They didn’t write anything else,” he says. The paper in his hand crumples under the force of his grip. “They lied.”

“I don’t get it,” Simon says, picking up his own paper. “Why does that mean they lied?”

“They didn’t do more research. They probably left right after we went back upstairs.” Baz is feeling lightheaded, he’s so angry. “Fiona said she would wait .”

“Maybe they just went for more things to study?” Simon asks. “Penny’s got a lot of books at her house.”

Baz takes in a breath, and then lets it out again. “I’m going after them.”

“Hang on,” Snow says, but before he can voice any of his concerns, Baz whirls on him. 

“She is my mother. And frankly, by now, I’m getting really quite tired of your opinion on matters. So unless you’d like your head spelled off, I’d recommend shutting the fuck up.”

Monumental idiot that he is, Simon does not shut the fuck up. “I know she’s your mother. I’m not saying we shouldn’t go. I’m saying we should be smart about this.”

“There is no ‘we’,” Baz spits. “You’ve never had any say on anything I’ve done before, and your not about to start now just because you broke me out of that coffin.” Just because he’s spent the last twenty-four hours by Baz’s side, keeping him warm and comfortable-  “I’m not an invalid. I don’t need your pity.” There. 

“Jesus, Baz! I’m not saying that either! Just- sit, will you?”

Baz is wavering on his feet, but he stays standing. Simon’s mouth works, like it always does when Baz has truly frustrated him. 

“I don’t- pity you. I was worried . Okay? When you were gone. Worried out of my mind .”

Okay, now Baz sits. “No you weren’t,” he says. 

“I was!” Simon says, and his eyes are lit up- like this is a realization he himself is just now having. “I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep- I don’t pity you! I’m happy you’re okay, and I don’t like that you’re hurt, and I want to help you, and- ”

“Snow. We are not friends. I hate you. I want you dead. You want me dead.” Baz is sure to speak slowly, in case Snow has gone insane. 

Snow doesn’t say anything for a long, long moment. Long enough Baz starts getting worried that he truly had forgotten that, and he’s going to summon his sword and plunge it into Baz’s chest any second now. Then, just as slowly, he says, “I think…we are friends.” Then before Baz can respond to that , Snow folds his arms. “You called me Simon before.”

“Did not. Snow,” Baz says, immediate even though he can’t be sure he didn’t. He’s been very tired. 

“Did too. Baz,” Snow says. He leans forward. “Call me Simon,” he says. 

“I have to figure out where Fiona went,” Baz says, turning back to the papers. 

“We have to figure out where Fiona went,” Simon corrects. “And Penny.” He looks up at Baz. “Hey. Penny.”

“Not my name,” Baz says, because he’s tired and hungry and growing tireder and hungrier by the minute. And to make it worse, Snow laughs . Like it was even a good joke. 

Baz still feels pleased with himself. And hates himself for it. 

“I mean, Penny has a phone,” Simon says, once he stops laughing. “I don’t know if, um, your aunt would pick up, because she seems…”

“Like a bitch?” Baz supplies. 

“I wouldn’t call her that,” Snow hedges. 

“I would,” Baz says. He’s really angry at her right now. 

“Anyways. Penny has a phone! We can call her!”

Baz looks at Snow. Snow looks back at him. He’s trying to figure out how this plan might backfire. He can’t. Worst case, she doesn’t pick up. 

“Okay,” Baz says, and Simon lights up. Again. Like they are friends.

Fuck. 

Simon

“So- wait, so- ”

A tinny sigh. “She knew Nicodemus. We went to go see Nicodemus. That’s really all there is to it, Simon.”

Baz hisses through his teeth, the same way he’s hissed every time Penny’s explained what’s happened. (Twice. Well, three times now, but the last one was unnecessary.) Basically he’s like a very disgruntled cat. 

“No, I mean- why did you go?” Simon asks, holding the phone up a little higher. 

There’s silence on the other end of the line, manifesting as crackles. “Pen?” Simon asks. 

Finally, “I mean. What else was I supposed to do?”

Simon can't really counter that. He doesn't need to, either, because just a second later there's the sound of a brief scuffle and then, “Put Baz on,” Fiona says. Simon can still hear Penny in the background. (“You can’t just take people’s phones,” she’s saying.)

“It’s on speaker,” Simon says, simultaneous to Baz’s, “I don’t want anything to do with you.”

Fiona bulldozes straight past both of them. “Nico doesn’t have a thing to do with the murderer, alright? Other than some intel. Okay? So it wasn’t a lie. This was genuine information-seeking. I have a pretty good idea of where to go from here, and when you’re feeling better we’ll tackle it together. So calm down and eat something and go back to bed.”

Baz’s lips press together, and for the first time Simon sees him actually biting back something potentially hurtful. He wonders what it’s like to be on the receiving end of that- usually Baz doesn’t pull any punches with him. 

Maybe he’ll learn, now that they’re friends. 

“Fine,” Baz says at last, obviously struggling with it. Before Simon can do anything, Baz reaches out and hangs the phone up. 

“I wasn’t done with that,” Simon says, frowning. He still wanted to talk to Penny.

“I’m going back to bed,” Baz says, struggling to stand. “I’m done with this.” Again, the exhaustion is evident on his face. It seems like it’s just creeped up out of nowhere, and so fast…Simon wonders if Baz will ever be back to normal. 

Not that ‘normal’ is going to mean ‘nicer’. Baz isn’t nice. He’s never been nice. Especially not to Simon. 

He should maybe not be pushing the ‘friendship’ thing. Baz clearly isn’t interested. And it’s not like they’ve ever gotten along before. But really, they have to be friends. Even if Baz takes a while to warm up to the idea. After all this? Simon’s sanity couldn’t take otherwise. He can’t go back to fighting in the halls and ignoring each other in their room. Not when he knows what Baz feels like in his arms. What it feels like when Baz makes him laugh.

So, normal friend things. That he’s never had with any other friend before in his life. 

Anyways. 

Simon helps Baz back upstairs, and this time he seems like he maybe would like to be alone for a bit, so Simon takes the chance to take a good long shower and then change into real, not pajama-y clothes. Then he goes back downstairs, figuring he might call Penny back. 

He nearly draws his sword when the dining room has people in it. Then he recognizes Penny, and he nearly falls over as he rushes up to meet her. She turns to face him, and smiles. “Anything?” Simon asks. 

Penny opens her mouth, but Fiona- who is also here- beats her to it. “What are you doing down here?”

Simon blinks. Is she about to start acting like a genuine kidnapper? (He’s still not quite sure where he’s at with her.) “Talking to my friend?”

“You got a problem with that?” Penny asks, bristling. 

“Um, yeah?” She turns to Simon. “I mean, honestly. You’re just leaving Baz alone? Do you even care about him or do you just like sleeping with him?”

Simon’s face floods with color. “It’s not like- he’s cold! And he wanted to be alone anyways.” 

Fiona watches him, amusement glinting in her eyes. “Uh huh. Well, take him food when you start up with that separation anxiety of yours.”

Penny snorts, and then pretends she was just coughing. Simon doesn’t appreciate either. “I don’t have separation - sure. Fine. Whatever.” Back to Penny. “Any progress?”

“I’ll go get that food ready,” Fiona says. “You’re probably going to want it sooner than later.”

Simon glares at her all the way out of the dining room. Then turns his glare to Penny. “Since when have you been buddy-buddy with the Pitches?”

Penny looks at him, unimpressed. “Since when have you ?”

Yeah, he walked into that. He tries again. “Progress? On the, you know, murder?”

It works. Penny’s eyes narrow. “I don’t know. Fiona won’t actually tell me what happened with Nicodemus. I don’t even really know how she knows him. But I think she is keeping her promise to Baz. For what it’s worth.”

Simon nods. “Good.”

Penny’s eyes narrow further, and Simon thinks he made a mistake. “So, we like Baz now?”

Simon thinks. “I hope so?” he settles on. 

This doesn’t work. “You hope so.”

“I want us to be friends.” No secrets, he reminds himself. “I think…I’ve wanted to be friends with him for a while.”

Penny’s eyebrows are very raised now. “How long is a while?”

“Like…” Simon struggles for a second. Since the beginning of the year, when he realized Baz was missing? No, that can’t be right, he hadn’t even seen Baz yet. So…before then? Sixth year? But he spent so much of fifth year following Baz. Was that because he was sincerely scared that Baz was a vampire, or was it just him being worried again? At least a part of it had to be genuine fear for Baz’s plots. But then again, so was the beginning of this year. So fifth year, then. 

But he’s always been obsessed with Baz, to some extent. Always kept an eye on where he was, where he was going. It’s not like it spontaneously happened in year five. 

Which would make the beginning of Simon’s desire to be friends with Baz…

Back when the crucible matched them, and he was a lonely eleven-year-old who never had a friend in his life. 

He opens his mouth to tell Penny that, and then stops. 

Does he really want to be friends with Baz? He doesn’t feel this way with Penny. But he doesn’t want to be enemies. He’s sure of that. He likes whatever this is so much more than fighting. So…

Simon sits with this for a second, investigating the thought as it stands without following any of its branches. Then he shrugs. “I just think it's been for a while,” he says. Then he turns towards the kitchen. “I’m going to take him that food now.”

Behind him, Penny buries her face in her hands. Simon doesn’t really notice. Or care. He has a plate of food to get to his…Baz.

Chapter Text

Simon

Simon is halfway up the stairs when he realizes the plate Fiona gave him to give to Baz has a blood bag on it. 

To be fair to him, it doesn’t look like a blood bag. It looks more like a Capri-Sun, minus the bright packaging. But it’s definitely, definitely blood. Simon can see it through the clear plastic bottom. His first thought is how expensive it must be to get blood specially packaged like this. 

His second thought is that he’s carrying blood up to Baz. To eat. Drink. Either way, he’s consuming it. Blood. Human, presumably. 

Simon idly pokes the bag. It must not be sealed all the way, because a drop of blood squeezes out from the seam. Unthinking, he wipes it up with his finger, then sticks it in his mouth. 

Salt. Copper. 

Yep. That’s blood. 

He’s known Baz is a vampire. Of course he has. But this is the first time it’s been so obviously confirmed for him. Baz is a vampire. Fully fledged and everything. 

And Simon’s spent the last twenty-four hours in bed with him. Cuddling up to him. Holding him in his arms. Looking at his hair. And face. Which is nothing new, really, other than the first two bits, but…

Hm. 

Nothing new. 

Simon stands there for a moment longer, staring at nothing. Then he remembers Baz is probably hungry, and goes to deliver his food for him. 

He lets himself in, not bothering to knock. He doesn’t knock on their room at school, why would he knock on their room here? Baz is lying in bed, looking for all the world like a frail Victorian woman. “I brought dinner,” Simon says, then reflects on the time, and adds, “Uh, of a sort.”

“Hm,” Baz says, then sighs. “Bring it here, would you?”
Simon does. Baz takes the plate and then freezes, obviously seeing the same thing Simon did. His gaze crawls up to meet Simon’s, looking- scared. Vulnerable. “Snow,” he starts. 

“You called me Simon before,” Simon says, somehow already on a reflex. 

Baz licks his lips. Simon knows this because he's looking at his lips. 

(Simon does that a lot. He looks at Baz’s lips. And hair. And face. And thinks Baz fits nicely in his arms. And compared him to Agatha. And- )

“I need to think,” Simon announces. 

Baz looks down at the plate. He seems uncharacteristically small. “Well,” he starts, then clears his throat. “Don’t let me keep you.”

Simon nods, and then plops down on bed besides Baz, arm flung over his eyes. Besides him, Baz goes stiff. Simon lifts his arm long enough to glance at the other boy. Perfect hair, perfect nose…

“I thought you had to…think?” Baz hedges. 

“I am,” Simon says. “I am thinking.” He props himself up. “Do you need me to think somewhere else?”

Baz is picking at his plate, avoiding his blood like it’s a dead rat. (Or actually, he might be pretty accustomed to those- ) “No,” he says. “I just thought you meant- ” he sniffs, rather imperiously. “Fine.”

Simon smiles at him, and Baz looks away immediately. Then Simon goes back to thinking. 

It’s not something he’s very good at doing. Not something he’s used to doing. But this…he thinks this might have been building for a good while. 

“Okay, done,” Simon says. 

“Oh, good. Your brain might have melted if you’d gone on any longer.” Baz says, dry.

Simon laughs, and Baz- Baz smiles. It’s small, and obviously unintentional, but it’s there. He made Simon laugh and he’s happy about it and how has Simon not figured this out years ago?

He props himself up again, and then sits himself all the way up. “Are you feeling better?” he asks. 

Baz looks at him, suspicious. “Why?”

Simon shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says. “I just think I’d like to kiss you, but I want to wait until you feel better first, so you don’t- ”

He’s cut off by a noise that sounds very much like a fork falling to the floor. He looks over to see Baz staring at him, mouth open, eyes wide. “Baz?”

Baz

Baz misheard. He must have misheard. “What did you say?” he asks. His voice sounds strained, even to him. 

Simon looks over at him, eyes wide and totally sincere. “Kiss you? Unless you don’t want to, which- ” and it’s here he has the audacity to look sheepish “- is totally fine. Obviously. In fact, I can just go- ”

Baz’s hand flashes out so fast it nearly breaks the sound-barrier, and he grasps Simon’s arm with a desperation he’s sure he’s going to be kicking himself over tomorrow. Simon looks down at it, and then back up. There’s a glint in his eyes that Baz hates him for. And also makes him feel a little lightheaded. Or maybe that’s because he’s stopped breathing. “You- are straight,” he says, the least eloquent thing he’s said in…his entire life, really. 

Simon shrugs. Again. “I don’t know what I am,” he says, and Baz’s blood- what little he has of it- is really rushing in his ears now. 

“If this is a trick, it’s very- ” he can’t say ‘cruel’, that would give away what he’s thinking about this. He clears his throat instead. 

Now Simon looks hurt. “It’s not a trick,” he says. “Maybe I should just go,” he says again. But he doesn’t move to pull out of Baz’s grip. Baz also doesn’t make a move to drop his wrist. 

“We hate each other,” Baz says. 

“I don’t hate you,” Simon counters. 

“I hate you,” Baz says in a whisper. 

And it’s that look again, the hurt one- the sincere one. The wide-eyed, big blue sky one. The one that’s always made Baz feel a little dizzy. “Do you?”

Simon

Baz opens his mouth. He closes it again. Simon can’t stop looking. He never could. Even still, his heart is pounding, his head feels light- he’s so much more nervous than he thought he’d be. 

He really, really, really wants this. He’s wanted this for a while. And now that he knows it- well, it’s almost making him sick, sitting here. Waiting. 

Finally, Baz straightens up, careful of the plate still on his lap. Simon watches, heart in his throat. “To answer your question, I’m feeling much better, thank you,” Baz says. 

Simon looks at him. Baz does not look back. Simon feels a grin spreading across his face. Baz’s own lips are twitching with a smile of his own. 

“Yeah?” Simon asks. 

Baz does look at him, now. “Yes,” he says. 

Simon leans in a little closer. “So, so like- I could maybe kiss you now?”

Baz puts his plate to the side. “I mean. If you really wanted- ”

Simon is already kissing him. And Baz is kissing him back.