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I’m surprised at how easily I fall asleep in Baz’s room. I should be worried about him attempting to kill me or suck my blood or something - there’s no Anathema here. But we’re on a truce, and Baz’s breathing is so familiar. I fall asleep in no time.
I dream of that night - The Visiting.
Baz’s mother, her icy hands, the anguish in her expression.
Later, the cold enveloping me, a high pitched voice - “My son. My rosebud boy. I never would have left you. He told me we were stars.”
The desperation in her fading call, “Simon, Simon . . . my rosebud boy.”
I wake up, breathing heavily. Something feels wrong, something’s wrong, and I can’t believe I didn’t realize it sooner. “Baz!” I call out. “Baz, are you awake?”
“Not anymore, thanks.” He grumbles from the bed.
“Baz, there’s… there’s something wrong.” I’m sitting up now, fingers gripping my blanket tightly.
There must be something my voice that makes him understand how serious I am, because he gets out of bed. “What? What’s wrong?”
“Your mother,” I say. “How could she have known my name?”
"What?”
“She called me by name. ‘Simon. My rosebud boy’.” I’m shaking. “Did she ever call you that - her rosebud boy?”
Baz comes closer, but it’s too dark in here to see his expression. “I don’t know, Snow, what are you on about?”
I think back to that night, I replay the sounds in my head. “Her voice sounded different, it was higher.”
I’m just muttering to myself now, but Baz is starting to catch on. “You think you got two Visitings in one night.”
I nod, afraid to say anything more, afraid to confirm my suspicions.
Baz is dubious. “Most people don’t even get one in a lifetime, you know.”
I can feel my magic twisting around in my gut, flowing into my fingertips, seeking an escape. “I fell asleep for awhile, after your mother told me about Nicodemus. And then I thought she came back. But it was different - she was different. She knew my name.”
“But if that wasn’t my mother, who was it?”
“Mine.” My voice is a weak whisper. I can barely hear it over the sound of my own magic drumming my in ears.
“Crowley, ” Baz says, and I think he knows I’m right. “Snow, do you know what that means?”
“It means she’s dead.”
“It means she was a mage.”
I look up at him, and now he’s close enough for me to see the look on his face. His expression is one of awe and sympathy - one I don’t usually see on Baz, especially when he’s looking at me. I can only imagine what I look like, a sweaty catastrophe, trying to blink back tears. “She’s gone…”
“She found you.” Baz’s voice is firm, but gentle.
“The Veil is closed, Baz, she’s gone. ” A tear spills down my face and I don’t bother to wipe it away. “I was afraid, I hid from her. I-I didn’t know-”
“She found you. She never would have left you .” Baz echoes the words I told him so long ago, the words we once thought were from his mother.
My mother, my mother is a mage, my mother is dead. My magic is burning my insides but I still feel so cold. “What does that mean? Why did she leave?”
Baz sits down next to me and it feels like he’s the warm one for once, all I am is ice. His voice is steady, “We’ll find out. I’ll help you.”
I don’t know if Baz is the one to take my hand or if I grab his first, but I need something to hold onto and I don’t let go. I can breathe again. “I… I always thought my parents were Normals.”
“I know,” he says. I guess that’s what everyone thought.
“My mother…” It’s all I can say, it's all I can think.
“She must have been powerful.” Baz’s grey eyes are filled with intensity and reassurance in the darkness.
“The Veil is closed.” I repeat. “How will I ever…”
Baz squeezes my hand, bringing me back to reality. “I’ll help you find her, Simon.”
“Why?”
He shrugs. “It’s only fair… And you deserve to know.”
I can’t find the right words, but I give him the most grateful look I can muster. When he squeezes my hand again, I push away the thought of how nicely our hands fit together.
“Her rosebud boy.” Baz whispers. “She must have really loved you.”
“Your mother loved you too - she loves you.” I feel the need to say it, I wish I had said it when I first told him about the Visiting, instead of fighting with him. “I could tell.”
Now it’s his turn to give me a grateful look. “It’s late, we…” He clears his throat. “We should sleep. Are you going to be okay?”
He asks like he cares. This is new. “I think so.”
“Okay.” Baz nods, and then lets go of my hand, standing up. “Goodnight.”
“Wait, Baz!” I stand up with him, lifting my hands to grip the sides of his face before I can talk myself out of it.
He doesn’t say anything, just looks at me, waiting.
I kiss his forehead, quickly, nervously, tenderly. “From your mother.”
“Thank you.” Baz’s smile is soft, genuine.
When I fall back asleep, I dream of loving mothers and Baz’s hands, I dream of hope.