(Before I start I just want to thank one of my beta readers for editing and "nitpicking" this story. I love what you've done and I love writing with you. Thank you, birdywings (Meghan). You're the one person who always has an extra lightsaber.)
Chapter One: Carried On
Baz destroyed it. The last and final hare. Six of six. Every last one. Every last hare. Gone.
He was covered from head to toe in blood that wasn't his. Baz's eyes fluttered open and his body shook from the cold of the water dripping down from the cave's ceiling, then onto his dirt covered chest. His black hair was now a brownish color and currently sticky with the scarlet fluid as were his long eyelashes. Dirt trickled from his clothing, pouring into a dark brown puddle at his bare feet, and he watched as the beige liquid gushed in between all ten of his toes. In that moment, Baz worked more on breathing evenly than ever before, (because somehow his lungs had momentarily forgotten how to be lungs) but he supposed he couldn't curse them for their defective memory considering the fact that he forgot about pleasing everyone, (for once.)
"Everyone's expectations are too big," he would tell Simon during their midnight talks in the old nursery. "I can't possibly please them all."
"They're too big because their heads are even bigger." Simon would reply in return, and Baz could only smile in response.
But for now, he forgot about everyone.
Agatha.
Penelope.
His sight was sharpening back into focus now as he looked straight up.
"Sim-" Baz mouthed the words quietly, his voice breaking hesitantly and with great effort because there was no bloody way Baz was going to break down in front of Simon. But he was breaking, even faster than he could pick up the pieces.
"Shhh." He mouthed back, his blond bangs dangled in front of his somber eyes, smelling of wood and sweat and blood and tears.
"I just-"
"Hush" Simon's sharp Liverpool accent was cool and calm, slightest hint of concern flooded Simon's heart onto Baz's.
And Baz saw it.
Suddenly all the clues he'd picked up the past year were coming together in his head, each one configures to reveal the mystery at large.
Baz could feel Simon pressing all he carried emotionally into him but it still wasn't enough.
'Come on, Baz.' He thought to himself. 'Don't bloody cry. Don't be a baby. Not here. Not ever.'
Baz felt hot tears flood the corners of his charcoal shaded eyes, and though the sting was inevitable, it was worth holding in.
"The Humdrum, Simon-" Baz began to gather his bleeding emotions. Emotions that had split open like wounds. He knew deep inside that Simon wouldn't have made it out of that nursery if they hadn't been together, fighting. The whole time. Together. It was the end of the beginning. But it wasn't like the story books. There was no blissful happiness in endings.
"Don't worry about it. You-" Simon's iron eyes brushed a bit of the pain away.
"Now you on the other hand… You need help." His crimson lips formed a fold that seemed to be a smile. An obvious Simon Snow made smile. And it was a smile that Baz would have missed had he not memorized the every curve drawn in his lips.
Simon leaned over Baz, stirring a potion that seemed to reek of blood and sweat, although everything at this point did. Baz knew this potion by heart. He studied this potion for the whole year. He dreamed about perfecting this potion.
Baz wasn't going to let Simon waste this on him.
"Drink up, Basilton." He handed the dark bottle to Bas, keeping a slight joking voice in mind.
"I can't possibly drink that." Baz frowned at it, grasping onto the blanket his lifeless body was lying on.
"And why not? Are you afraid?" This was obvious sarcasm. But Baz just faced his biggest nightmare. The whole reason he was half dead was because of the monster that had been chasing him for all eighteen years of his life, causing him to suffer and become the thorn in Simon's side.
If he wasn't afraid of the Insidious Humdrum anymore then he definitely wasn't afraid of a potion.
These last weeks spent looking for the White Hares have been the closest weeks Baz had ever spent with Simon Snow. But no matter how much the insufferable git whined or grew nostalgic over the life they had to leave behind at Watford or woke up screaming in the middle of the night from that of his tortured mind, he never wanted their time to end. And why did it have to? Time was endless after all. But it would. Eventually. And soon.
"Then why won't you let me heal you? You're dying. There's blood everywhere and you look awful." Simon never seemed to care if he was dying or almost dead. He was too self-absorbed for that. But he was also a good actor...
"Thank you for noticing, Snow." Baz's deadly voice seemed harsher than it had meant to be. And maybe it was. But it was too late to bite the words back.
"Seriously though. Bloody drink it." Simon smiled tenderly while handing Baz the potion's round bottle, losing the disgusted tone he had normally used when being associated with Baz.
Baz took it gratefully.
"This is the last healing potion. I won't let you waste it on me." Baz's cold grey eyes met Simon's and he felt his cheeks run red.
"Waste? I wouldn't give you anything that would be a waste. Saving your life is the best thing I could ever do. I'm tired of only saving myself." His long pointed nose began to poke at Baz's fast beating heart, and Baz had to wonder how this happened. How they came to be here. How they happened. But he couldn't help but hope too, as foolish as that was. I mean what was hope exactly? Nothing but a lying, cheating, backstabbing shout into the void. Hope was something that had no place in times like these. But still... Baz hesitantly tilted the bottle's cold opening onto his lips, begging for life.
He felt immediate relief when he swallowed the warm liquid down his burning throat, and felt only slightly drunk but completely aware of his actions.
"Better?" Simon watched Baz carefully. Steadily. Cautiously.
"Better." Baz breathed out the word with great effort.
A long silence filled the awkward air before Baz threw the glass bottle down with a force he didn't even know he contained. The glass shattered and it gave Baz a reassuring pleasure to know that he successfully destroyed something today. He felt Simon jump in both unmistakable surprise and disbelief.
"You did well, defeating the Humdrum, you know. I didn't think you had it in you." Simon pierced the silence with his two blue holes in his head.
Baz's facial expression must have given his confusion away.
"Well, don't you remember? You stabbed the Mage's Sword into the Humdrum's chest repeatedly before you were slicing his face up as if you were swatting a pesky bee. You collapsed afterward, of course. You saved us both, Baz. Thanks." Simon slipped his warm hand into Baz's cold and obvious trembling palm, allowing the warmth to invade his whole body.
He sat up slowly, allowing Simon to pull his body up only slightly, helping Baz with great struggle.
"It was nothing, Snow," he stared down at their hands, trying to remember how this happened for not the first time this whole journey they embarked on what felt like ages ago.
"So is he…" Baz was waiting to ask this for seventeen years.
"Very. You could throw his body off a cliff and he wouldn't be any deader. Your skin-" Simon looked at Baz with a loving stare.
"It's coming back, Baz. Your skin looks…" For a second Baz was positive Simon would say something snarky but he ended his sentence with,
"Divine."
Simon began to brush his finger over Baz's knuckles.
Simon reached for something in his pocket.
A mirror.
Baz took the mirror, half expecting not to see his reflection at all.
He looked at himself, mesmerized. Noticing the color of skin was beginning to appear a light shade of tan.
"You look beautiful, Baz." Simon's voice meant this but just then Baz saw Simon in a new way. Simon's annoyingly greasy blond hair was now wonderfully life saving. Simon's disgusted blue eyes were now dancing with a charming glance.
Baz realized that Agatha had never looked as good as Simon always did.
If Baz didn't know he loved Simon Snow before, he definitely knew now.
"Are your cravings are gone?" Simon eyed Baz's neck where two small holes used to be. Baz reached up and softly felt his neck.
They were healing.
Healing.
Baz wouldn't be a vampire anymore.
There would be no more cries at night while Simon held Baz's wrists down, restraining him from anything that moved or breathed. No more of this bloody weakness rubbish.
Baz was now immune to everything.
"It's all gone. I feel free and twelve again. I feel ten millions times better." Baz's lips felt excited due to his new transformation.
Simon's eyes got dreamy and laced with whimsicality.
"I've been wanted to ask you something but I wasn't exactly sure how you would respond. Scaring you is the last thing I need right now."
Simon sounded tired and awake at the same time.
"Ask it. I'm not afraid of anything anymore, especially not you." Baz watched Simon decide whether he was going to say anything after that.
"Maybe if I just make my question a command you'll do it." Simon suggested, sounding completely serious.
"I'm not a dog, Simon-," Baz had barely got those words out before Simon blurted out four words he thought he would never hear.
"Kiss me, Basilton Pitch." Simon tugged at nothing in particular, waiting for nothing in particular either... (At least not particularly.)
"What?" Baz's voice got wide and echoey.
"Kiss me. We both like each other, I think. I want to kiss you. You're the only person I've ever wanted to kiss. So, go on and bloody kiss me." Simon was serious, he could see it in his blue eyes, and it almost scared Baz. Much more than the Insidious Humdrum ever did.
"That's a dangerous thing to just assume..." He replied, his words thick and slurred with hesitation."But you have fortunately assumed correctly." Baz eyed Simon, who was leaning in to place his hand on Baz's cheek, which was almost but not quite warm.
Baz felt himself blush immensely, more of embarrassment than passion.
Looking into Simon's eyes was like looking into a twisted picture, seeing something each time that you never noticed before. It was a painting Baz wanted to hang over his bed so that it was the very last sight he fell asleep with in his eyes.
Simon decided to take the floor.
"It's a good thing I fall asleep after you or else I would have never heard your stirring at night, calling out for my name." Simon smirked and laughed teasingly.
He was right. Baz had had dreams about Simon but they were nothing vulgar. The dreams started out nice. Simon would be looking for the Hares with Baz when all of the sudden Simon would die over and over again and Baz would have to watch it happen over and over again.
The dreams were now nightmares.
Baz blushed at the fact that Simon knew him now. Simon Snow, his childhood enemy, knew him inside and out. He kept track of his dreams, breaths, jokes, and blood droplets.
Simon was okay with knowing Baz and that made Baz shiver. Or was he just cold? He supposed that was a valid excuse because he actually was cold. But Baz didn't want excuses for his feelings anymore. He just wanted Simon Snow. And whatever came after was history.
Simon stared deeply into Baz's stormy eyes, turning them into hard stone.
"I'm not intimidated by you, Snow." Baz threaded his left hand through the back of Simon's damp hair. His hair felt as if you were touching wet lace. It was the type of texture that reminded someone of Christmas.
"Intimidation isn't on my agenda. If I wanted to intimidate someone it would be someone who wasn't as scared easily as you." Simon's awful smirk came back.
Had it ever left?
No.
Will it ever leave?
Of course not.
Simon brought his face inches away from Baz's, creating the biggest set of tension they'd ever experienced.
"You're a bloody git, you know that?" Basilton tried to match Simon's smirk. Nope. Simon's lips were all his own.
"Baz, have you ever thought that I could get tired of hearing the same things over and over again?" He smiled like a young mischievous school boy.
And just like that, Simon's lips were intertwined with Baz's, not leaving room to breathe.
Baz smiled during it all, and Simon felt it and let out a giggle. (Could boys giggle? Baz hated the word 'chuckle').
"Just promise me one thing, okay?" Baz kept his hands where they were, holding his lips close while he spoke.
"Yes, Baz?" Simon's eyes were as heavy as iron.
"Just," Baz paused, looking for the perfect words,
"Carry on, Simon."
