Chapter Text
Now
Baz
I don’t smell him. A few months ago, I would’ve known he was there even before I’d reached the bottom of the stairs up to our room. The prickly scent of fire would have made my stomach twist with nausea and my heart flip with excitement.
This time there’s none of that. No fire. No static in the air caused by the constant threat of Simon’s magic overflowing. There’s just nothing.
Which is the reason that, after dinner (real dinner, I mean. Not my kind of dinner), when I climb the stairs to the room at the top of Mummer’s House I once shared with a boy who had more moles on his face than true friends in his life (not that I have more, but hey, I owe up to how pathetic my social life is), I do not for one second expect that exact boy to be there, waiting for me.
Well… he’s probably not really waiting for me. If anything, he is just sitting there. At the end of what used to be his bed, staring at the wall. It’s completely dark inside, with only a bit of moonlight streaming in through the opened window (I couldn’t bring myself to close it after everything), getting tangled between the twists and turns of his curls. (Crowley, he’s back in my life for not even ten seconds and I’ve already turned back into the massive sap I used to be.)
The moment I see him, I freeze. If I’d sensed him before I could’ve made up some stupid snarky comment about how he must surely have lost his way since he does not belong here anymore after losing his magic, but I am so caught off guard that I can’t. Or maybe I wouldn’t have been able to anyway. I cannot break him any further.
So, I just stand frozen in the doorpost, waiting for him to notice my presence. He seems just as frozen, but in time. As if the world could catch fire and he would just keep staring at the wall while the gold of the fire would fight with the silver of the moon over who gets to light those pretty curls. And I’d be standing here watching, helpless.
Through the darkness I can see the hollow look on his face. As if the thoughts that must be clogging his mind emptied out the life in his eyes.
And then it’s just too much to see him like this. I need him to smile or to sneer or to yell at me. I need him to snap out of it.
I cough softly to draw his attention to me and he starts. His eyes meet mine. In that moment, it’s like I can see every possible emotion flashing through them and I feel my shoulders relax just the slightest bit.
“Baz.”
Before
Simon
The fucking git has been staring at me for hours on end now. Plotting, probably. Usually I can deal with this fine by just scowling back at him or starting useless fights, but tonight I can’t seem to shake him off. Which is not really something I can use right now when I’m already jittery and nervous for tomorrow.
You see, we (or the Mage and his men really) have been planning an attack on the Old Families for weeks, maybe even months, now. The thing is that on a reconnaissance mission of Penny and I we also found out that the Old Families had been planning an attack… on the same day.
Which actually sounds like a ridiculous coincidence and we were one hundred percent convinced that the Old Families must have known about our attack. However, after a bit of extra spying and prying at Baz it turned out they actually don’t. Which the Mage, of course, saw as a great advantage for us, but it made it even more important for me and Penny to act like nothing was happening.
So, now here I am in my own room (well the one I share with Baz, of course) pretending I don’t know that there will be a fight tomorrow, pretending I don’t know that Baz is pretending he doesn’t know there will be a fight tomorrow. Look, there’s a lot of pretending going on and usually I’m already shit with lying, but with Baz constantly brooding at me there is even less I can do about the electricity that I feel slowly creeping to my fingertips.
Baz
I can actually feel my hair lifting slightly due to the static in the air. I sneer at Snow, who tries to scowl back, but it completely falls flat. He’s wearing that face that says I-have-something-to-hide-but-I-know-I-can’t-hide-anything-so-please-just-don’t-look-at-me-and-let-me-disappear, which of course makes it all the more fun to keep staring at him. Even more so because I know exactly what he is hiding. Even more so because I know this will be my last chance to memorise as much about him as I can and I am too tired to deny myself it.
So, I memorise the way his curls seem to be rioting against gravity. I memorise the exact coordinates of the moles spread over the side of his face and neck facing me. I memorise the small dimples that randomly appear in his cheeks, even when he isn’t smiling.
I know that I won’t have to memorise the blue of his eyes, because he will be the one to end me and they will be the last thing I see. I do try to memorise his hands, though. They will be the ones to hold the wand. Steady and determined. I try to memorise how those hands are always moving. Always fidgeting, always tugging on shirts and sleeves, always tapping pens. As if his magic is directing his fingertips. And tonight, it’s reached an all-time high. Just like my self-control seems to have reached an all-time low.
I sneer at him. “Crowley, Snow, shouldn’t you be saving your magic for the big fight tomorrow?”
I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone turn that white this fast. The fidgeting stops, but now it’s his voice that keeps shaking as he tries to talk himself out of this one.
“I-I… Th-that’s no-… What are y-“
“Use your words, Snow.” I interrupt him irritated. He shoots me an annoyed glare, but takes a deep breath before managing an actual sentence out of his (beautiful) mouth.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I roll my eyes. “We know that you’re planning an attack, and you know that we’re planning an attack, and now we know that we know, so just relax for a second.”
He chokes back a gasp, but I can feel his magic subside just the slightest bit. He keeps staring ahead, refusing to meet my eyes, so I lean back against my headboard. I refuse to look away, though.
And that’s how we stay for what feels like hours. Snow, just staring straight forward, his magic slowly but steadily calming down. Me, just memorising every bit of him. The air around us feels heavy and light at the same time. As if the acknowledgement of what is about to happen once the sun comes up has lifted the weight of secrets of our backs, but then replaced it with the burden of knowing that this will be the last time of everything. This is going to truly be the end.
At last, Snow turns his head to look back at me. There’s a sad smile on his lips.
“At least, I finally got to prove Penny that you were actually plotting.”
It sounds slightly bitter, but I can’t help but let out a surprised chuckle.
“Bunce must’ve had a field day.” He turns away again, leaning his head against the headboard to stare at the ceiling.
“Yeah,” there’s a fond smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. I don’t think there’s a friendship purer than theirs. “I didn’t let her hear the end of it for months.”
I can’t help but smile, too, at that. It’s never really been a secret that Snow wouldn’t talk about much else than my plotting against him, if Bunce let him.
“Is she coming, too, tomorrow?”
“Yes.” He sighs. Definitely not happy about that, apparently.
“And Wellbelove?”
“Nah,” Not too happy about that either for some reason. “I guess she’s never really been a fan of the whole putting-your-life-on-the-line-for-doing-what’s-right thing.”
“For the sake of a last peaceful night I’m not going to go in on the part where you think you’re doing what’s right.”
He actually growls at me. I roll my eyes. A moment of silence returns, before Snow turns to face me again.
“If we don’t have to keep this battle a secret anymore, how do I know you won’t take me out in my sleep?”
“You don’t." I tell him. "But we have the same reason not to kill the other tonight.”
He raises an eyebrow in wonder.
“That reason being?”
“We both want an audience.”
I don’t tell him I won’t kill him tonight, because I won’t ever kill him. Not tonight, not tomorrow. Not when he’s vulnerable enough, not when’s about to off me. I figure that would kill me more than if his fire were to finally set me ablaze.
“So tonight we’re on a truce?”
“Sure, whatever you want, Snow.” He lets out an annoyed sigh at my dismissing approval, but a mischievous smile starts to play on his lips. Oh no.
“Does that mean I can finally get you to admit to all your crimes?! You know, like some sort of end-of-the-world party? Confess all your sins last-minute as if that might save you from going to hell.”
What.
“Two people in a dorm without any alcohol, sharing secrets, hardly counts as a party, Snow.”
“So you’re not denying the crimes-part!” He states as if he’s actually outsmarted me and I roll my eyes.
“I’m not even going to answer that.”
He shrugs. “Well, then at least tell me whether you’ve been stealing my mint aero bars the past eight years.”
“Stealing is a crime so I’m not actually answering that.” I didn’t steal his ridiculous chocolate. His mind just can’t keep up with the speed at which he eats. (and I might have stolen a few… but just a few!)
“Well, you didn’t have any problem stealing my girlfriend.” He says and I scoff. Merlin, he can be so predictable. It always comes back to goddamn Wellbelove.
“Yeah, sure, I stole the love of your life,” I huff, “Your oh so Happy Ending.”
This has him pushing himself off the headboard, swinging his legs over the side of the bed to properly face me. His blue eyes are razor sharp and filled with rage. And just like that the air has shifted back to its usual heaviness. His magic starts building up again. I lift an eyebrow.
“What’s it to you?” He growls.
“What is Wellbelove to me?” I feel myself rising too. Snow’s obliviousness has been my one salvation, but, Merlin, it can get so frustrating.
“Yes, Baz. What is my girlfriend to you?” His hand is twisted in his sheets to restrain himself.
“Your ex-girlfriend,” I start to say and I know that this situation is going to escalate. I can’t stop myself. “means absolutely nothing to me but a way to get to you.”
And I know that it is cruel to use her like that. But I rarely do things that are morally acceptable. It’d be better for all of us if Snow just rids the world of me tomorrow.
“How can you say that?” Snow is seething. He has gotten up to his feet, looming over me. His curls seem to be even puffier under the static in the air. “How can you do that?”
I rise to my feet to face him.
“Because I don’t care about her. Because she is going to get through all this. Because while we’re out fighting to the death, she will be sitting nice and cosy in her dorm waiting to see which of her prince charmings will make it out alive to come pick her up and ride off into the sunset with her.
“Because she is not my happy ending. Because she is not your happy ending. Because you have this sick idea in your head that you are going to get a happy ending. Spoiler alert, Snow, you’re not. Neither of us are. Can’t you just get that through your thick skull?”
Now it’s me that is looming over him, but his gaze doesn’t give an inch.
“How can you say that?” I am surprised by the curiosity that is peeking out underneath the fury. “Why are we even doing this then? How can you say that neither of us is going to get out of this alive?”
There’s frustration in his eyes. And so much confusion. He really doesn’t get it. I take a small step out of his space, so that my position isn’t as hostile anymore. I just want him to get it.
“You really don’t get it, do you?” The increase of confusion in his eyes tells me no and I sigh. “This is not our fight, Snow. This is the Mage against the Old Families,”
He huffs at that and I roll my eyes.
“Or the Old Families against the Mage, it really doesn’t even matter. The point is that this is not our war, but for some reasons we are going to be the ones to fight it. Because, let’s face it, it doesn’t matter what the Mage’s Men will be doing tomorrow or what the other mages of the Old Families are going to be doing. It’s going to be you and me fighting a war that isn’t ours. And that is why we are both the losers of this game. We’re both going to lose.”
Snow is silent for a few seconds, but then shakes his head slowly. “How can you say that this is npt our war? This is a war between right and wrong and I am sure as hell going to fight for what I think is right.”
“You’re fighting for what the Mage has led you to believe what’s right. All he has been doing your entire life is manipulating you into thinking the same as him and now he’s going to use your gifts to fight his battles for him.”
“Stop.” His voice is almost too small for me to register. It doesn’t stop me.
“He is putting your life on the line for his own battles. How many times have you been given the choice to deny his quests? Did he ever assist you on any of them? Has he ever given you anything in return for your ‘help’?”
“Stop.” His voice is steadier now, more insistent. It’s not enough to stop me.
“So just imagine a scenario in which you manage to off me tomorrow and ‘win’ the battle. Imagine a scenario in which you also manage to defeat the Humdrum, once that battle has arrived. Do you really think you’ll get to disappear with our lovely princess Wellbelove? Do you really think that the Mage will stop sending you on life-threatening quests? Do you really think he will ever give a shit about you?”
“STOP.” I can’t.
“He won’t. He’s going to put your life on the line again and again and again. And no matter if you win this battle and the next one and the next one and the next one, you are always going to be the loser. Because there will be no ending. It is never going to stop. You will never be left in peace and you are never going to be happy. So, stop pretending that either of us are going to win this. We’re both the losers of this game. You. Are. Going. To. L-“
“STOP!”
And then his hand is covering my mouth, muffling the rest of my words. His eyes grow big and we both hold still for a few seconds to see whether the Anathema saw this act as too violent. Apparently not.
My breathing is ragged underneath Snow’s palm and I regret having spoken so many words so fast. And then I regret having spoken those words at all.
We stand like that for what feels like hours. Snow’s hand covering my mouth, eyes locked in a battle to see who chickens out first. There must be more regret in my eyes than I would like to show. There is more pain in his eyes than he would probably want to show.
Then he releases me, taking a step back. It feels like victory (or as close as it can get when you’re in my position), until he opens his mouth again.
“You said that neither of us would win,” Shit. “Why are you losing?”
I can’t answer that. I could never answer that. So, I grind my teeth, keeping my mouth shut, while holding his gaze. Fury and pain are still exploding from his eyes. There is so much challenge in them and I know why the second he opens his mouth again. He sounds so bitter. He’s going to go for the low blow.
“Is it because you will always be a bloodsucking vampire?” Too far. “Aren’t you going to enjoy finally getting to suck the blood out of my lifeless body once you rid the world of me?”
I don’t know if it’s the vampire thing that is the final straw or his insistent belief that I am forever out to hurt him, that his death will only bring me joy. Before I know it, I have him shoved against the nearest wall, my fist already pulled back.
“ANATHEMA!” He manages to scream just in time. My fist freezes mid-air, however, I keep him pushed up against the wall. Both of us are panting with rage, Simon’s magic seeming to take up the oxygen in the room. He opens his mouth to speak again, but I grab his collar and give him another push into the wall.
“Don’t.” I grit between my teeth. I just want him to shut up. He cannot drag this out of me. Not tonight. Not ever.
We stand like that for what feels like ages. My left hand twisted in his collar, while the other is grabbing his shirt at chest height. Together they’re holding him steadily pushed to the wall. His hands, on the other hand, are still. Any resistance that might have shown in his body seems to have collected in his eyes, still holding mine with a challenging look. I realise too late that he is not going to back down.
“You said,” his voice is steady, but vicious. “that neither of us was going to get a happy ending.”
Stop.
“You said that neither of us was going to win.”
Stop.
“You said that both of us are going to be the losers of this war. No matter the outcome.”
I give him another shove, but there’s not an ounce of strength behind it.
“You spent an entire monologue on why I am never going to get my happy ending.”
Shutupshutupshutup.
“So I deserve an answer.”
No.
“Why. Are. You. Losing.”
Because, yes, I will forever be a bloodsucking vampire, I don’t say. I cannot look away from his eyes. But I want to. Crowley, I want to. I vaguely register tears pushing their way through, seeming to blur everything but Simon Snow.
“Why.”
Because my mother is dead and my father hates me, I don’t say. His eyes are scanning every inch of my face, looking for a sign that will show the reasons for my tragedy. They rest, for a second, on the tears streaming down my face and I can’t tell what he is thinking.
“Are.”
Because I am going to live forever and I will watch everyone I may ever care about die, I don’t say. His eyes settle back on mine. The rage in them has nearly disappeared. As if all he’s trying to do is figure me out. Curiosity in its purest form. I cannot let him. I need to look away from him. I can’t.
“You.”
Because I am in love with you and if my family wins, you will die. His eyes are piercing into mine. They’re trying to take me apart. As if he’s trying to unmask me piece by piece so he can rearrange the puzzle and create the picture that is really me. I need to look away.
I do.
My eyes shift to his lips and I feel myself leaning just the slightest bit closer. Would it really be that bad? To just kiss him right here and now? Tomorrow either one of us is going to die. This would be my last chance. Maybe I could reason myself into it, claiming it’s a way to shut him up. Released from the fierce grip of his eyes, I am now completely captivated by his lips. I cannot do this. I cannot kiss him. But I want to. Aleister Crowley, I want to.
I lean closer. I can feel his breath. So close.
“Losing.”
It’s barely a whisper.
Because I am in love with you and if my family wins, you die and I don’t know if I can handle that because you are my family and I love you. Crowley, I love you so much.
I don’t say, but I pull him closer and closer. So close.
If I just moved my head down the slightest bit, I’d be kissing him. Finally.
I’d kiss him and then I’d flee the room to wait in the catacombs for the sun to show its face to watch our final battle.
I’d kiss him and I’d know what I’m going to miss for the rest of my life. However long that life may be.
If I just moved my head down the slightest bit, I’d be kissing him.
I force my eyes to leave his lips and lift them to meet his eyes. There are so many emotions in the blue, I get overwhelmed. There’s curiosity. There’s genuine concern. There’s confusion. So much confusion.
I can also see that remaining anger. I can see fright for what is about to come tomorrow. But mostly I see confusion as his eyes flicker between mine and my lips.
I see so many emotions, but I don’t see rejection.
It occurs to me that if I’d kiss him, he might let me. Maybe he’d even kiss me back.
I pull him closer and closer. So close.
I can feel his breath on my lips, the tip of his nose softly bumping into mine. I try to keep his gaze locked in mine, but I can see his eyelids slowly closing as his hand twists in my shirt, pulling softly.
I realise that if I kiss him, he will kiss me back. I get to kiss my archenemy the night before our final battle. Crowley, I am living a charmed life. I just need to close the final inches. Lean just a little bit closer.
Closer.
Closer.
So Close.
Snow’s pull on my shirt strengthens, urging me forward. He’s so close. Just a breath away.
I take that one breath.
And as I release it, I release my grip on him.
I let go of his collar. I let go of his shirt. I let go of his eyes and of his lips.
I take a step away. And then another and another and another. I turn around and walk back to my bed. I lie down with my back facing his bed. I close my eyes and will my heart to lower its pace. I never cry, but just this once I allow one single tear to slip away. So close. But it wasn’t fair on either of us. Not now. Not ever.
It may be a minute or ten minutes or maybe an hour before I hear Snow get back to moving. I feel him loom over me for a second. As if he doesn’t know that he should let me be. That he should just go to sleep to get some rest before the big day tomorrow. As if he doesn’t know that if he would touch me now or call my name, I wouldn’t hesitate to tackle him and kiss him senseless.
Or maybe he does know. Because, after a few seconds I can hear a small, frustrated sigh and his ever-clumsy feet slouching back to his side of the room. I hear him drop himself on the bed.
And just as I feel sleep finally taking me away from this room, I hear his voice, barely a whisper.
“Goodnight, Baz.”
And I can’t stop myself from whispering back.
“Goodnight, Simon.”