Work Text:
Baz
I don’t know where he is.
We were together, and suddenly, we weren’t. I don’t know if he is the one who ran away or if I am, all I know is that Simon Snow is nowhere in sight, and that it makes my heart beat painfully hard in my chest.
…
Simon
Baz told me that messing with dragons was dark stuff. Too dark even for his family, and Merlin knows that these people don’t have a moral compass, so if they fear that, it’s probably because it is serious. Dangerous.
Baz said that slaying a dragon was like opening a doorway to hell.
Problem is, he told me that after I killed a dragon. If there was any justification behind the Pitches’ fear, any real curse to punish those who end a dragon’s life, it had already fallen upon me.
I guess there is a curse, then. Or maybe this dragon wants me to pay for the one of its peers I killed when I was 11. Or maybe this is completely unrelated and a dragon just felt like fucking with me. Maybe I’m just unlucky.
All I know is that the dragon went away after digging its claws in my stomach and ripping my skin off.
Well.
At least it won’t hurt Baz.
…
Baz
Crowley, how did I even lose track of him? We were supposed to stay together, I begged him to be careful, after what happened last time…
He promised he would be. He promised he would fucking stay with me.
“Simon!” I shout, putting my hands around my mouth in a desperate attempt to sound even louder. Some of the dragon blood I have on my right hand transfers to my cheek, wet and cold.
I hope my voice will reach him. I hope he isn’t too far away. With all that smoke, and I can’t see him, and I don’t know where to run. There’s too much risk of jumping into the blasted fire if I simply sprint forward.
No that I wouldn’t.
I would run straight into a fire for Simon Snow.
But I’d rather avoid it if he isn’t on the other side of the fucking smoke.
“Baz.”
It’s faint. So faint I almost don’t hear it. But I do. Of course I do.
The voice comes from within or behind the smoke. I don’t hesitate. I run.
…
Simon
Baz said I was a hero.
Everyone does, but Baz doesn’t mean it the same way the others do.
He doesn’t think I’m a hero because of the result , because I always end up saving the day. He thinks I’m a hero because of the process. He thinks I’m a hero because I try and try and try, and when I can’t anymore, I keep trying, because I care more about protecting other people than protecting myself. He thinks I’m a hero because I give myself nightmares to preserve other people from having them.
He thinks I’m a hero because I’m stupid enough to die if it means those I love are safe.
I guess he isn’t so wrong.
I guess I’m a hero.
…
Baz
My eyes are full of tears and tiny needles, both caused by my proximity with the fire as I desperately run towards the voice I heard.
“Simon!” I shout again.
Maybe the tears aren’t just because of the unbearable heat.
“Baz.”
It’s an ugly, choked sound, but it’s louder than before. It means I’m closer. I’m going to find him.
I’m going to find him, and I’m going to help him, to stop whatever is making his voice sound this heartbreaking.
…
Simon
I’m not sure I’m one, though.
In movies, heroes are always brave when they die. Satisfied, because they know they’re dying for the greater good, they know that the consequences of their actions matter more than the consequences they have on them.
I’m not brave. I’m not satisfied.
I’m petrified with fear.
It claws at my throat, threatening to stifle me, to kill me even faster than the deep wound on my stomach, which is covering my shirt in more and more blood. There’s always more blood.
Soon there won’t be.
5 to 6. Baz said there were 5 to 6 litres of blood in a man’s body. It seems enormous, and like nothing at all at the same time.
I have at least a litre soaked up by my shirt. Maybe two. I couldn’t tell.
Too much. All I can tell is that it’s too much.
I’m feeling lightheaded.
It’s too much.
…
Baz
Eventually, I found him.
Part of me wishes I hadn’t.
My stomach turns the second my eyes fall on him, on his body spread out on the grass.
The grass that has turned red. Blood red. The same blood red I can see all over his shirt. It used to be white.
I cross the distance between us so fast I might have teleported, and I sink on my knees next to him, promptly pulling his head and shoulders on my lap.
I need to let him know that I’m here. That I’ve found him.
His eyes are hazy.
“Simon, Simon love, it’s me, it’s Baz.”
I stroke his cheek with my hand that isn’t covered in blood. His skin is almost as cold as mine.
At the same time, because I can’t lose any time, my other hand pats my back pocket for my wand.
I freeze.
I can’t feel it.
“Baz.”
He chokes on the word, coughing up blood.
My other pocket.
I can’t fucking feel it.
No, no, no this can’t be happening.
“I’m here love, I’m here.”
I try not to sound as hysterical as I feel.
I don’t have my wand.
I don’t have my fucking wand, and Simon is bleeding out next to me, and if I leave him to go get it, he might…
He might…
I choke too, but on my tears.
…
Simon
Baz.
Baz is here.
Baz is safe.
He’ll survive.
He’ll be okay.
I won’t be.
It’s too much.
But Baz.
So much blood.
Baz will be.
It’s hard to breathe.
…
Baz
I see panic flash in his eyes as he struggles to fill up his lungs, just before his breathing becomes more shallow, and much quicker.
I can see his wound when I glance down, his shirt as ripped as his skin. It’s bleeding so much. Too much. Even if I tried I couldn’t stop the flow.
But if the flow doesn’t stop…
Tears spill out of my eyes as Simon grabs my arm. Or at least, tries too. He’s weak. His grip on me is weak.
“Baz, I don’t want to die,” he sobs, his own cheeks already covered in tear tracks. “I don’t want to die.”
…
Simon
It’s a chilling realization.
I thought I’d be ready, when my time would come. I always knew I wouldn’t live past 18.
But now I’m closer to death than I’ve ever been and I don’t want to die.
I want thousands and thousands of early mornings waking up besides Baz. I want to see him looking dashing in a fancy suit as we both say I do. I want to hold his wrinkled hand in my equally wrinkled hand and watch our grandchildren play in our house.
Fuck being a hero.
I want a fucking house with a fucking fence and a fucking dog and all of those cliché fucking things.
I want to grow old.
I want a life.
I don’t want to die.
…
Baz
What can I say to that?
What can I say without lying? Without giving him false hope?
What can I do ?
The answer dawns on me, like a weight falling on my shoulders, crushing me.
Nothing.
There’s nothing I can say or do.
No way to make it right.
For the first time in my life, I’m utterly helpless.
I always have a solution, an unexpected trick up my sleeve. I always find a way, I can always make up a new plan.
But not now.
I’m in the middle of a burning forest, with no one around to call for help, my wand lost, and too overwhelmed with pain as I watch blood rush out of Simon’s wound to think clearly.
“I don’t want to die,” he cries out again, pushing the knife in my heart a little deeper. “Baz, I love you, I need… I want to stay with you. I don’t want to die.”
...
Simon
I should have stayed with him.
I promised I would
...
Baz
His sentences are more and more jerky, interrupted by his messy breathing and broken sobs.
He can barely keep his eyes open.
…
Simon
My eyelids are so heavy.
But I know I can’t close them.
If I do…
I’ll never open them again.
…
Baz
“I love you too.”
It’s the only thing I can tell him without lying. It’s an absolute truth, it has always been.
“I love you too, Simon,” I say again, cradling him to my chest.
Maybe it’s making the bleeding worse. I don’t know.
I don’t think it matters anymore.
“I love you.”
I can’t stop myself repeating it, as his body sags against me.
I can feel his breathing, but it’s flimsy. So flimsy.
“I love you so much, Simon, you are the best thing that could ever happen to me.
If I can choose my last words to him, it will be these ones.
“I love you.”
…
Simon
My eyelids are so…
Heavy.