Chapter Text
Baz
Admittedly I am not in the best of spirits.
I've been staying with my aunt Fiona while in uni. Or more so, I've been staying in her apartment and she's been off who knows where hunting vampires. That's what she does now, ever since the Mage fell. Or since Simon Snow and Penelope Bunce killed him, I suppose. Mere technicalities really.
Fiona's not a bad roommate, most of the time. It's just that the entirety of that 'most of the time' happens to coincide with when she's not there. When she is she leaves her clothes strewn everywhere and forgets to turn off the lights before she leaves and eats all of my food and never buys anything but bloody biscuits.
I'm not late for class, not even nearly, but I am cutting it closer than I'd like. I'm famished though, so I duck into a corner store on my walk to uni (because Fiona nicked my car) to grab something resembling breakfast.
I'm not sure if it's a drastic improvement to my mood or something that makes it far worse, but it's definitely something.
He's definitely something.
All bronze curls and boring blue eyes and fucking moles, stumbling into the store while I'm waiting in line to pay.
I've not seen him in two years.
I'd finally managed to stop thinking about him. Here he is though. Looking like a fucking wreck and back to ruin my life.
I never had to kill him. The world offered me that small mercy at least. After he killed the Mage there was just no one pushing the families to fight. No one pushing us to fight. He never finished eighth year. After winter break he and Bunce just never came back.
I hate to admit it but I missed him dearly. All those years of just wishing he'd leave me alone and give me peace so I could get over him. Then he did leave. I hated him all the more for it.
He scans the aisle on slightly unsteady feet, looking drowsy and pained and unless I'm mistaken, a little sickly.
He sneezes loudly and wipes it on his sleeve. I think I visibly flinch at that.
It's been a while though, I'm out of practice when it comes to dealing with my feelings for Simon Snow. We don't have to fight anymore either.
So, I step out of line and make my way over to him. I'll be late for class but it doesn't matter, I'm ahead anyway, I always am.
I offer him a handkerchief and a sneer, maybe I'm not as out of practice as it seems. "Maybe try not to contaminate all of London by sneezing on everyone's food."
He looks up at me, eyes wide like he's seen a ghost. I feel much the same right about now.
"Baz?" There's shock in his voice and more than a little apprehension, I can't blame him for that.
"Snow."
He opens and closes his mouth a few times like he's not sure what to say. I'm about to retract my kind offer before he takes my handkerchief and sneezes into it.
He really does look like shit. His eyes are watering and I think he's sweating. His hair is mussed and it's longer than I remember, it falls in his eyes a little more. I like it but I don't give myself time to dwell on Simon Snow's hair.
"Why aren't you in bed?" It's half a question half a chastisement and entirely too soft.
He shrugs, he's still doing that apparently and I hate how it kindles something in my chest. "I need soup."
"Can't Bunce get your soup?"
"She's in," he stops to sneeze again, shaking his head a little, "America. She's not back for three days."
"Can't someone else get your soup?"
"Who else?"
"Anyone else."
"There's no one else, Baz."
It was easy to forget that after Watford, Simon didn't really have anyone. He always got on so well with everyone. He wasn't raised in the magickal community though, he doesn't have a family, he didn't even leave Watford with a girlfriend. I heard Wellbelove went off California and left her wand behind.
So, Simon Snow doesn't have anyone to look after him.
I sigh and look at 'the Chosen One', powerless, alone, very sick and something in me breaks. "Go wait outside, Snow, I'll get your soup."
He looks up at me, a little shocked but mostly drowsy. "Baz?" is all he says.
"I'm getting my own things anyway," I say holding up the sandwich in my hand. "Go outside before you make everyone sick."
He looks at me for a moment, the same way he always has, with an unhealthy dose of suspicion. He relents though and nods, tottering off outside without a word.
I do get him soup. I also pick up a lemon and a jar of honey and a packet of tissues because I wouldn't put it past Snow to have not stocked up on the essentials. I don't have a great deal of experience looking after sick people, Vera always did that at home, but Fiona got sick a few months ago and decided to make me her personal nurse, ordering me to pick up a list of things that far exceeded today's shopping list. But Simon Snow does not need 'a bottle of vodka and a pack of fags', right now.
When I finally emerge, Snow is leaning against the wall beside the store, looking more like death that I usually do and I actually am dead.
"Let's get you home," is all I say, gripping the shopping bag tightly, half expecting him to tell me to piss off.
"Thanks," he manages, his voice a little croakier than usual and he turns off and starts walking.
I fall into step beside him and what a slow step it is. I half worry he's going to topple over at any moment, he seems a little unsteady on his feet. I'm half hoping he does just so I have an excuse to catch him.
We don't talk much, Snow's barely capable of talking at the best of times, let alone now.
So he just leads me over to his flat, it's not far away. And I carry his things up the stairs in silence because I'm entirely sure that if I open my mouth I'll end up saying something horrible.
He fumbles with the lock and key for a minute, giving a small sigh that sounds more tired than I'd like.
"Do you want to come in?" he asks.
I think he's just being polite, even to me, but I accept anyway. "Sure, I'll give you your soup and keep the bag."
I don't need the bag. I only bought a sandwich, I wouldn't have gotten one at all if it weren't for Snow. But maybe I do want to come in.
He nods and heads off down the hallway, mumbling something about getting back into his pyjamas.
I don't do much, just take his things out and set them on the kitchen counter. I'm not sure if he wants his soup now or not, so I don't heat it up. I should at least say goodbye, I shouldn't just leave. It would probably only make him more suspicious.
I wait a while for him to return.
He doesn't.
Eventually, I follow him down the hallway, to make sure he's not gotten hurt I tell myself. I'm about to call out to him when I hear a very unpleasant retching sound coming from a door to my left.
The door's wide open, he must've been in a rush.
He looks up at me for a moment, before promptly going back to puking his guts out.
I sigh and retreat to the kitchen, checking the cupboards for a few moments before I manage to find a glass. I fill it and bring it to him, along with the tissues I'd brought earlier.
I set the water and the tissues down beside him on the floor, then, after a moment of hesitation, myself as well.
I spell the toilet bowl clean, Snow's eyes flicker to me for a moment, then to my wand. Should I not be doing magic around him after he lost his?
I don't dwell on it.
He heaves again and I rake my hands through his hair, pulling it back off his forehead and out of his eyes.
He doesn't object. He doesn't really need his hair held back either, but I do it anyway.
"Rinse your mouth," I tell him, holding up the glass of water.
His fingers are shaking a little when he takes it from me. He washes his mouth out and spits the excess into the toilet bowl.
I think he's about to throw up again and waste that effort but nothing comes out when he lurches forward, he just sits there dry heaving for a few moments.
I stay with him because he hasn't told me to go yet.
Maybe I should just go anyway. We've not seen each other in two years and we were mortal enemies and I'm in his apartment.
There's no one else here though. No one to look after him. So I stay. I'll stay until he tells me to go.
Eventually, it stops. He's still shaking.
I give him the water again and wait until he finishes it. I take the glass and shove the packet of tissues into his hand. "Go get into bed, I'll heat up your soup."
"I don't want to eat," he groans.
I roll my eyes. "That's a first." I stand anyway. Regardless of what he says he needs to eat something, there's nothing left in his stomach. "Go get into bed, Snow."
Begrudgingly, he gets up. I take note of which door he disappears into before I go to make him some food.
Crowley, what am I doing?
I don't give myself enough time to think about it. When this all goes south we can just never see each other again. I'll take another two years to get over him but I'll manage it eventually. He can pretend this never happened.
So, I heat up his soup in the microwave and make him toast slathered in butter. He always ate far too much butter, I should know, I spent more time looking at him than my own food during meal times at Watford.
He's laying down when I get into his room. At first, I think he's asleep, then I worry maybe he's dead. But he opens his eyes when I set the plate with his toast on it down on the end table.
"Eat," I command him, pushing the bowl of soup towards him.
He shakes his head and makes a face. "No."
"Snow, eat your fucking soup or I will break your jaw open and pour it down your throat."
He only grows more resistant, folding his arms across his chest and glaring at me. "No."
He never has reacted well to me pushing him, so I change tact and try to coax him instead. "We both know you're not great at listening to reason, Snow, but if you don't eat something you're only going to feel worse. You can't get better if your body doesn't have anything to make you better with."
I hold the soup out to him again.
He fixes me with his glare for a few moments more before he sits up and takes the bowl. "Is this another plot?" he asks, taking a tentative spoonful.
I raise an eyebrow at him and perch on the side of his bed. "No."
"Why not?"
It's a stupid question. So, I don't answer him. "Why would I be?"
"You hate me."
My eyes flicker over him for a few moments, watching him down soup more rapidly than he's done anything else today, which isn't surprising given how he's always basically inhaled his food. "But I don't need to kill you anymore."
A frown passes over his face. "You never needed to kill me."
"Yes, I did," I tell him before nodding my head towards the plate on his nightstand. "Eat some bread."
He does take heed of my latter statement, though it might just be because of the copious amounts of butter weighing down his toast. "Why are you helping me? If this isn't a plot."
"Does there need to be a reason?"
"There's always a reason with you."
I feel my lip quirk up a little at that. "What? I am the epitome of benevolence and goodwill, Snow."
"You're dodging the question."
He's calling me out apparently. He's right to, but that doesn't mean I have to like it.
"And yet you're dumb enough to keep asking."
"Because it concerns me," he tells me and my eyebrow climbs ever higher, "makes me wonder if you're ill too."
I roll my eyes at him. "Are you done with your soup?"
He nods and goes to get up. I stop him, placing a hand on his chest. He's still warm, not as warm as he used to be, but still far warmer than I am. "Get back into bed," I tell him, scooping up the bowl and the plate and depositing them into the sink. I might be helping him but I'm sure as snakes not washing up.
I brew a lemon and honey, half because I think he needs it if the croak in his voice is anything to go by and half because I need time to regroup. Eventually, the kettle boils though and I make his drink. He's reclining again when I come back in, but still very much awake.
I set the drink down on his bedside table, having resolved to leave and save myself from this torment, even if I don't really want to.
"Is there anything else you need?" I ask him, more softly than I should.
He shrugs again. Always with the shrugging. "Do you have classes today?"
"No." It's a lie. I have two lectures and a tutorial, but he doesn't know that.
"Will you stay?"
I don't even give myself time to think about it. Because I want to stay. Even when he's got the bloody plague there's nowhere I'd rather be than at his side. "Yes."
"Thanks."
I contemplate sitting on his bed for a moment, but that would be too much.
So I settle down on the floor beside his bed, my back resting against the bed frame and my knees pulled up to rest my arms on.
"You do have classes though, in general, you are in uni right?"
I tilt my head back onto his mattress and am greeted with a somewhat upside down Simon, smiling at me. "I am."
"What are you studying?"
"Economics."
"Are you going to give me anything more than the shortest answer possible?"
"No."
He huffs and rolls his eyes. I pick my head back up and turn my gaze away from him.
He presses on despite my rudeness. "Why were you in that store today?"
"I was getting breakfast."
"Why?"
"Why does anyone get breakfast?" I ask, dodging his questions yet again. He's trying though. I want to talk to him. I want to stay. So, when he doesn't ask me anything, I do elaborate. "My aunt Fiona eats all the bloody food I buy."
"You live with her?"
"Of course."
"I just thought you'd want to live alone after so many years with me."
I tilt my head back again and look at him. Blanket pulled up to his chin, mussed hair a stark bronze against the while of his pillow, even in the dim room.
So, I talk to him. Properly this time. For far longer than I should. Finding out about his life at uni. Telling him about my younger siblings. Arguing over who’s the worst roommate Bunce, Fiona or one of us. It's definitely Fiona, by a fucking landslide, but I tell Snow it's him anyway.
I've refilled his lemon and honey at least three times because he continues to insist on talking and I don't really have the heart to stop him. We're barely fighting right now. I still get in the odd jab here and there. Snow lets a lot of them slide today, probably because I'm looking after him, maybe because I'm not as venomous today.
"You still haven't told me why you're helping me." He prompts me as if that's all it takes.
I'm sitting facing him now. Leaning my side into the bed and tucking my knees up to lean there too. One arm draped over the sheets and my chin resting on it as I watch Simon Snow prattle on about his day to day life.
"It's all part of my evil plot for you to let me into your apartment so I can kill you while Bunce isn't around."
He doesn't laugh. If anything, he frowns, looking a little like he believes me. "I wouldn't put it past you."
I do laugh, it's a bit more bitter than I intend though. "Relax, Snow. I don't need to kill you anymore. No Mage to tell you what to do and even if there was, your magic was what made you a threat, Snow. You didn't think it was your strategic mind now did you?" It's callous perhaps, talking about his dead father figure and lost magic that way, but it's also the truth.
His frown only deepens. "Exactly, no magic. I'm no use to anyone. The old families can't use me. So why are you here, Baz?"
"Do you want me to go?"
He rakes a hand through his curls, or at least, he attempts to. I think maybe he needs a shower and a bottle of conditioner to fix that mess. "No, I'm sorry, I just-" He tumbles over his words again. "I'm Normal- Useless- I was the bad guy- fraud-" and a million other things that for once aren't curses directed at me but himself.
"Snow," I try to interrupt but he blusters on.
"I didn't- I should have- "
"Snow."
"It's my fault- fucking supervillain-"
"Simon," I snap eventually and his head jerks up. "Shut up."
"Baz, I-"
"No, Snow, shut up," I growl at him and then turn so I'm facing the wall again, facing away from him. "You're a fucking hero. Basically, a martyr."
"Baz, I was the Humdrum."
I knew that. Fucking everyone knows that. There are, of course, some people who blame him, my father is amongst them. I'm not.
"It's not your fault."
"It is my fault."
"Then it's my fault too." And it is. Of course, it fucking is. "How many times did I push you till you went off, Snow?"
"It's not-" The protest dies on his lips. "I always knew you were a villain."
I think he's joking. He sounds it. I laugh either way. "I suppose you had to get something right eventually."
He scoffs and choruses out a "vampire."
I roll my eyes. He's right but he doesn't need to know that. "Wrong again, Snow."
"No, I'm not." Even after all these years, he sounds so sure. I suppose it was more than a sneaking suspicion, he really did know. "Baz," he tries again, "why are you here?"
I sigh and stare pointedly at the wall. "Because you saved us, fucking all of us. And you lost everything because of it. Now you need help and there's no one around. So let’s call it repaying a debt, shall we?"
"You don't owe me anything, Baz."
"Not anymore, certainly. You can die of the flu next time for all I care."
"You never owed me anything." He's more insistent this time.
I shouldn't say it. It'll only upset him. More than perhaps any insult I could throw his way. I say it anyway. "Of course, I do, you didn't mean to but you avenged my mother's death."
"What?" He perks up a little, I don't need to be looking at him to know it, I feel the mattress shift at my back.
"The Mage," is all I say.
"Oh," is all he says. Not a protest. Not a denial of what happened. Just a small sound of surprise.
And it's too much. Too much for not having seen him for two years. Too much for seven and a half years of despising each other. "I'll get you some more lemon and honey," I say, standing, "get some sleep, Snow."
I think he'll protest, but he just nods his head into the pillow. It's rather endearing.
No. I'm never going to be over Simon Snow.
Simon
I wake up to the sound of a door closing. Not my door, the front door.
It takes a moment for my groggy mind to put together the pieces but the moment I do I'm more awake than I have been in possibly my entire life.
Baz.
He's leaving.
I knew he would eventually but that doesn't mean I want him to.
Even being here, with my best friend by my side, an apartment that's partially mine, studying and not fighting anything and not having to save the world. It just doesn't feel like home. Not in the way my old room at Watford did.
Baz though? Baz feels like home.
After leaving Watford my view on what exactly our relationship had been shifted a little. I dated girls. Then I dated boys. Then I dated a particular girl that I wanted to follow everywhere and made me feel sick when I thought about her and who I was thinking about pretty much all the time. At first, I thought it was loathing but it wasn't. I know that now. She's long gone though, we burned hot but went out quickly. Then Baz was on my mind again, like he had been since I was eleven.
And now Baz is here.
And he's leaving.
I all but jump out of bed and sprint out the front door, taking the stairs two at a time in an effort to follow him.
I crash directly into him, nearly throwing us both down the stairs, but he catches himself on the railing and rights himself. He rights me too.
"Baz," I basically pant out, trying to figure out what exactly it is I want to say to him.
He raises an eyebrow at him. "Decided to try and take the opportunity to get me back for pushing you down the stairs, Snow?"
I shake my head wildly. Shit. This was a bad idea. I can't breathe. My nose is too stuffy to properly drag in a breath and the air claws at my throat with every gasp.
"Go back to bed, Snow."
I finally manage out a, "Can I have your phone number?"
Baz looks taken aback, which is reasonable I suppose, given our history. "Fine, but only call me if you're dying," he concedes holding out his hand for something. "Did you bring your phone?"
"No."
"A pen?"
"No."
"You didn't think this through."
I roll my eyes as best I can manage whilst on the brink of death as I am. "Can you come back up? I didn't bring my keys either."
Baz gives me a rather condescending look. "You can’t even blame this idiocy on your sickness, you're like this all the time." He does, however, start heading back up the stairs towards my apartment.
"Thank you."
Baz doesn't say anything as we ascend, he spells open the door though and lets us in. "Get back in bed, Snow." He says, absently scribbling down a series of numbers on a napkin sitting on the dining table. "I'll come by tomorrow after class."
I don't argue with him. "Okay, thanks," I say again even though I already thanked him.
He just nods and heads back out the door, tossing a "Bed. Now," over his shoulder at me before he shuts the door.
* * *
Baz does come back. Waltzes right into the apartment while I'm half dozing on the couch. I jumped a little even though I knew he could do that because he did it the day before.
He'd just raised an eyebrow at me and set about heating up more soup he'd brought. Making me drink it through yet another series of threats. I just wanted to sleep, so I didn't put up much of a fight that time.
I think he's just leaving dishes in the sink for me to do later, but I don't really mind. I'll mind later, I'm sure, but right now he's taking care of me so I don't really care.
It's a surreal feeling, falling asleep on the couch and waking up in bed. I never had parents who carried me to bed, so it was odd indeed. As were the cold lips I'm entirely sure I felt press against my feverish forehead. I'm pretty sure that was just a dream though, I was semi-conscious so it all got a bit mixed around.
I know what's happening now though. Similar events I suppose. I'm sitting on the couch huddle up under a blanket when he comes in. He heats me some soup and gives me bread with loads of butter, I finish it all at a pace that makes him look a little disgusted. He drops my bowl in the sink and sits down beside me.
I'm not tired today, though. Not really.
So, I curl up on the couch and let my head fall into his lap, my eyes still focused ahead and on the television.
He tenses up for a moment and then relaxes. His hand falls into my hair and bit by bit he starts combing his fingers through and detangling it.
I'm furiously flicking through the channels every few minutes, trying to find something to watch. If it annoys Baz he doesn't show it.
I toss the blanket I have on and off as the hot and cold flushes come. Baz always helps me tuck it back around me, so I don't have to move too much. He complains the entire time, calling me fickle and indecisive and an impulsive moron for tossing it on the floor. He still picks it up though and lays it over me and puts his hand back in my hair even though he's combed out all the tangles and I'm entirely sure it's just a frizzy mess right now.
I should probably tell Baz I haven't washed my hair in a while but I don't want him to stop. He made me take a shower today, while he heated up my soup. I just stood there and relished the feeling of steam starting to clear out my sinuses, very little actual washing went on.
It all feels very domestic. And horrendously right.
I'm entirely sure my body is trying to off itself right now. He doesn't make it better, not completely, but it's nice to have him there.
No one's ever taken care of me before. Not like this.
I've ended up in the infirmary at school loads, but those were mostly injuries and they just spelled me better and left me to rest for a few days.
I got sick in care a few times. I mostly just had to tough it out. People don't really look after you there.
I’ve not been sick since leaving Watford. I’m sure Penny would have looked after me, I’m sure she will when she comes back. I thought it was the worst of luck that it first happened when Penny was out of the country, but now I think maybe it’s not.
Of all the people taking care of me, I never thought it would be Baz. Would he have been like this in school? If I'd gotten sick then and resigned myself to suffer in our room? Surely not. The years must've softened him some. Or maybe he was telling the truth and he does feel like he owes me.
I don't want this to be because he owes me.
Eventually, I give up flicking through the channels and turn to look at him, rolling onto my back.
His hand retreats from my hair and I immediately miss the contact.
I'm not entirely sure what I want to say, just that I want to talk to him. It seems fine, he's more than happy to fill the silence.
"Are you alright?"
"Fine." My voice comes out croaky and weak.
I see a frown momentarily crease his brow but it's gone a second later. "Do you want more soup?"
"No."
"Lemon and honey?"
"Nah."
"Tea?"
"I'm fine, Baz."
"Then what the fuck do you want, Snow?" he asks, sounding more than a little exasperated.
"I-." What do I want? Him to stay until I'm better? Then for the rest of our lives? Something other than a fucking sneer for once? I think for now I'd settle for just his hand in my hair again, so I say, "nothing" and roll back onto my side.
He hesitates for a moment. I swear I hear a little huff of annoyance, or exasperation, or something escape him. I say nothing though. His hand does return to my hair, slowly carding through it. I close my eyes and resign myself to just enjoying the fact that he's here.
It doesn't last long.
I hear the door open and Penny gets all of halfway through, "Hey," before her voice dies.
"Afternoon, Bunce. Good holiday?" Baz asks with all the nonchalance of someone who pays half the rent and has never tried to kill me.
"Hey, Pen." I follow, not bothering to sit up because I think if I sit up Baz might leave.
Alas, Penny has never been one for subtlety. "What are you doing here, Baz?"
"Snow's sick." He says with a shrug.
"That's not an answer to that question," Penny points out and I'm inclined to agree with her. "Unless it's vampirism and he's about to turn."
I don't need to look at Baz to know he's scowling. "He was stumbling around London looking half dead."
"And you what, came here to finish him off?"
"It's fine, Penny. He's been helping." I interject before they can manage to escalate this further.
"Though now that you're back, I suppose he's your responsibility again," Baz gives my shoulder a gently push, motioning for me to get off I think.
I don't want to get off. I want him to stay.
But Penny is here now and Penny will look after me and Baz has other things to do with his time, I'm sure.
I roll over onto my other side so my face is pressed into his stomach, wrapping an arm awkwardly around his middle in a sort of mock hug. "Thank you," I mumble into his shirt.
He doesn't say anything. He stiffens for a few moments and at first, I think he'll just shove me off. Then he just draws his hand through my hair, longer and slower than last time, like he doesn't want to go either.
I do sit up though, letting him stand.
He picks up his coat on the way out, giving Penny a nod of acknowledgement as he leaves.
Penny finally enters the flat properly. "So, what was that?" she asks as the door swings closed.
"I was sick." I give the same answer Baz did, but it sounds dumb coming from me.
"You can see why I'm going to need a bit more to go on than that. Generally, the next step from being sick isn't cuddling on the couch with your arch-nemesis."
"I don't think he's my arch-nemesis anymore since we don't have to fight."
Penny gives me a look like she's waiting for more than that but I don't supply it. I don't really know what was going on either honestly, just that I liked it.
I give a small sigh. "Look Pen, I don't pretend to understand what's going on in Baz's head-"
"But it's all you talked about for seven and a half years."
"That was when he was evil and plotting."
"And he's not anymore?"
I chew my lip a moment, letting myself flop back down on the couch. "I don't think so. I'll keep you posted."
She quirks an eyebrow at me. "He's not coming back tomorrow is he?"
I shake my head. "I don't think so. Not if you're back."
"But you'll see him again?"
"He gave me his phone number," I say as if that explains everything and for me at least, it does.
I see something click into place in Penny's brain and then her eyebrows shoot up. "And you're going to ask him out?"
Well, it sounds weird when she says it like that. Weird but nice. "When I'm better."
I expect her to protest and tell me this is a bad idea and smack some sense into my sickness clouded head. She doesn't.
"I suppose I'll go get you more soup then."