Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Bunce, what’s wrong?” Baz asks.

Baz is standing in the kitchenette, staring at Penelope as she walks by clearly distressed. He’s wearing sandals, salmon swim shorts, and an open shirt. It’s blue linen, light and flowy around him, exposing his chest. (When it was suggested we go to the beach, I was afraid of Baz getting too burnt. But now, with his legs and his chest bare, and the promise of lathering him with sunscreen on the horizon—I find my worries flying away.)

He has a tote hanging on his right shoulder. It has sunblock (not for me), snacks (for me), towels, and a speaker for music. It’s also where he’s planned to store his wand for the day, so he can spell up an umbrella and cast protection spells to keep himself from burning.

Penny, however, has just come out of her room in a large old t-shirt and leggings. (I didn’t even know she owned leggings.) Her hair’s resting crazily on top of her head (though that bit’s normal) and she’s got a frantic expression as she reaches for a purple tote next to the sofa.

“I can’t find my swim top,” she mutters. She’s shoving a towel in her bag. (Should I have a bag?) (I hope Baz has it covered.) (I’m sure I’ll end up carrying it.) “I could have sworn I put it in my luggage…” She zips her bag closed, turning around with her purple gem. “I’ll be fine, I’ll just spell for it.”

Baz nods.

“Lost but not forgotten.” She stands for a moment, looking around.

“Do you remember?” Baz asks.

She shakes her head. “Lost and found,” she tries again.

Nothing.

“We could try that hymn again? Like we did in Colorado?” She asks. She reaches her hands out. I see Shepard look over curiously, ready to observe more magic. He’s the only one not yet in beach attire (well, I guess Penny isn’t either).

“If you want it to arrive in 3-5 business days, sure.” Baz sighs, dropping the bag on the ground. (I am sure he won’t be picking it up again.) “Let’s just go to the shops.”

She groans. “No, I don’t want to go buy one. I can just wear this. I can spell myself dry when I’m done.” Baz looks her up and down. “What?!” She shouts.

“Bunce if you go to the beach dressed like this everyone will think you’re mad.”

“They’ll think that already.” She waves him off.

“Bunce.” He grabs her arm as she goes to adjust her ponytail. “I’ll help. It’ll take us an hour or two at most.”

She examines him for a moment.

“I’m not going to beg, Bunce. But I’d also like to not spend a day in the sand next to a run-down Bellatrix Lestrange wannabe.”

She brushes his arm off and finishes messing with her hair. “Fine.” It’s short and final.

When I look at Shepard he almost looks disappointed. (I think he wanted to see more magic.) (He always does.)

“I can help, too?” Shepard offers. Baz looks at him like he’s mad. “Or…not.”

Penny offers him a smile, dissolving some of Shepard’s distress. (I don’t think he’s used to Baz’s cold nature yet.)

“Great.” Baz turns to me. “Don’t cause too much trouble—“ he kisses my forehead. “We’ll be back soon.” I let my fingers graze his arm as he keeps walking.

I’m still getting used to the touching. The always wanting to touch. The empty feeling when he’s gone and I just want him here.

The door closes behind them as they rush out, leaving Shepard and me in silence.

“There’s a match on.” I point to the telly. “Wanna watch?”

He shrugs. “Sure.”

I grab the remote and click through channels until I find what I’m looking for. Shepard grabs his bag and starts digging through it.

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I didn’t think Baz would let me help. I mean, I see how he dresses—luxurious and attractive. I’m not exactly the epitome of high fashion. I’ve got a jean jacket and worn down shoes. Various colors of corduroy pants. It’s comfortable but it’s not exactly chic.

We’re far from being on the same level of taste in clothes.

Besides—I’d like anything Penelope chose.

Even if she wanted to go in her leggings and that old t-shirt. It was cute in a comfortable, hug-me-close kind of way.

(Though I imagine she’d overheat if she didn’t get a suit.)

Simon’s sitting on the couch, remote against his chin and eyes glued to a soccer game on the T.V. I’m digging through my bag to pull out my trunks when I feel something slimy.

“Eugh,” I murmur. Simon looks up at me but I wave him off. “I think sunscreen busted all over my bag.”

Simon wrinkles his nose as I walk my now pale white-covered trunks to the sink.

(Maybe some soap and water will help?)

I run hot water, taking out a sponge and dish soap. (Elbow grease right?) It’s dim, but not impossible.

Simon lets out a groan of frustration.

I was never too into soccer. More of a football fan—Go Big Red—what with living in Husker’s territory. But I can appreciate it. Mom had me play as a kid. There’s a magnet on the fridge where I’ve got a ball resting against my hip and shorts that go past my knees.

It’s a hard sport. I couldn’t play it today if you asked me to. (I think Baz did though. Simon’s always wearing some jersey that has Pitch written on the back.)

“Someone fuck up?”

“Missed a penalty,” he mutters. “It’s always painful to watch when it’s the goalie and the kicker, no one in between.”

“You really need to be good at not wigging out I guess.”

“Wigging out?”

“Yeah! Like letting your head get too busy in the moment. Kinda just shut it off and let your muscles do the moving.”

He snorts. “I like that—wigging out.” I laugh too—it sounds different with his accent.

When I look over I see it—a switch.

Thank God, a light.

I let go of my trunks, letting the water still pour over them, to flip it. There’s steam hitting my face (free facial?) and my hands are sudsy from the soap.

I flip the switch and no light comes on.

Instead, I hear a horrible grinding noise.

“What the fuck?” Simon stands up to look over. I’m frozen for a moment as it dawns on me what’s just happened.

I look over and see my trunks being pulled into the drain and I quickly flip the switch back up in a panic. “I thought the UK didn’t have garbage disposals!” I shout.

“We don’t—“ Simon says, walking over. “What kind of house are we staying in?”

My heart is beating a thousand miles a minute. I reach into the sink and give the fabric an experimental tug.

It feels stuck and I let out a cry. “No no no no no no.” I beg as I pull it more and feel it rip on the blades stuck on it.

Simon reaches over and pulls too, harder. It comes out in shambles—a torn-up reminder of what once was. Some of the fabric sticks out of the drain, reminding me of my mistakes.

There’s silence as Simon and I look at the torn-up shorts. I’m at a loss for words. (Which Penelope would say is impossible. I’ve always got something to say.)

He clears his throat. “I-it’ll be okay, Shepard.”

I open my mouth to respond but all that comes out is a strangled whine.

“Baz can spell them, easy!” He pats my back.

“Oh no—“ I turn on him and his wings spread out behind him. (It’s like he’s a cat whose tail just poofed out in fear.) (I have to stop my brain from thinking of other natural responses his wings might give.) “I can’t let them know I did this. Penelope can’t know, Simon.”

His eyes are wide as he reaches for my shorts. “Okay, okay.” He’s talking me off the edge. (I can’t remember the last time I needed to be talked off the edge.) “We could go to the shops?”

A breath.

“What if we run into them?”

”Er—“ he looks down and then back up. “I know the types of shops Baz goes to. We can just avoid those places and hope for the best?”

I exhale and nod. “All right.”

“Great.” He reaches into the drain (what the fuck—who does that?) and pulls the remaining bits of fabric caught in it. “Grab your shoes, let's go.” He drops it in the trash can as he walks towards the door. I watch his wings curl up as he lifts a sweatshirt over his head.

He always looks a bit odd. But it’s kinda cool. Like there’s a secret underneath the fabric that literally no one else would know about. (Who would guess that the young man walking around had dragon wings under his hoodie.)

I hope he never gets rid of them.

I let my eyes wander back to the trash can. The orange fabric stares at me, a neon sign shouting Shepard screwed up.

I grab a few paper plates and place them on top.

(Hide the evidence, Shep.)

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I check my watch as we walk into a shop down the road. “We’ve got an hour before they beat us home.”

Shepard nods. “I’ll be quick.” He pushes open the door and a bell dings. I feel myself flinch, waiting for my wings to pop, before I realise there’s no spell cast on them. (Not for a while.) (Right now they’re tightly packed under my sweatshirt.)

The shop is some kind of mix of souvenirs and clothes.

“Welcome to Beach Bumz Apparel and Gelato! If you’re not Bumming then you’re not coming!” A laugh chokes in my throat.

“Merlin, this man needs to work on his slogan,” I whisper to Shepard. He smiles but doesn’t seem to find the same amount of awkwardness I do.

I give a wave and continue on to the swim shorts on the other side. I don’t want to spark more conversation with him.

Shepard, of course, has a different idea.

“Hello there!” I hear his voice chime out. “My name’s Shepard—“ I feel myself mouth along with and I’m from Omaha, Nebraska. I smile. It’s sweet, really. Much different than anyone else in our group. Makes me wonder if we’re mean or if Shepard’s just overly friendly.

(It’s gotta be the latter.)

I look through racks of clothes. They all have various slogans written on them. There are several union jacks. All touristy garb, really.

I’m picking through shirts, waiting for Shepard to make his way to the rack of swim shorts. I find one that reads I’m with stupid.

“Simon!” Shepard says with enthusiasm. (Everything he says is with enthusiasm.) “This is Nathan.” He points to the man. Seeing him standing now is overwhelming. He’s taller than Shepard by at least a head. (And Shepard isn’t short by any means.) I have to crane my neck to look him in the eyes.

Shepard leans in, cupping a hand around his mouth. “His mom’s Bigfoot!”

He frowns. “Well, one of them.”

“Don’t be bashful!” Shepard playfully taps his arm. The man (Nathan) smiles. “Your mom’s basically the Bigfoot. The one everyone talks about! She’s famous.”

He waves him off. “She’d love to know I met a fan.”

“A fan,” Shepard breathes. “Oh man, I’d love to meet your mom someday. Is she in England now too?”

He shakes his head. “Nah. I moved to get away. Living in her shadow and all was a beast.” I have to stifle a laugh. (I mean isn’t Bigfoot supposed to be a kind of beast?) “I mean I love her. She’s great—but I’ve got to build a life of my own, you know? And my dad was from ‘round these parts.” He shrugs. “Thought I’d give it a shot.”

I frown. “Wait, but shouldn’t you be—“ I pause. (How can I ask this without being insensitive?) (Baz’s voice is filling my head right now, calling me a tactless moron.) Nathan raises an eyebrow. “Well I mean… er—“ I look at Shepard.

“Nathan’s dad is a centaur!” He says excitedly. I look quickly around us, worried someone will hear, but realise no one’s around. “Somehow he got the human bits from both.”

“Just have the unnaturally tall frame and the extreme body hair.”

I look at his arms.

“You caught me on a post-wax day. If you see me tomorrow you’ll see it coming back up.”

I nod.

“Anyway,” Shepard continues. “Nathan here offered to help us find clothes so I decided to take him up on it!”

Of course, he did.

How does Shepard always find these creatures?

I swear he’s a magnet for the magickally inclined, cryptic, and any other kind of other that could possibly be found. It’s like they find him, honestly.

“Great!” I say. I look down at my watch. “We have about forty-five minutes until we should walk back.”

“Easy!” Nathan exclaims. He and Shepard walk to the swimwear section gabbing about some man named Ken in Nebraska. (Mutual friend?) (Foe?) (I’m not sure.)

I grab the I’m with stupid shirt off the rack.

🏖🏖🏖🏖🏖

Simon checks out first, purchasing some shirt he says Baz will love. (I’m not sure Baz will like anything from this store.)

“Nathan, it was an absolute joy meeting you,” I say as I pass him the swim shorts he helped me pick out. (Blue. 5-inch inseam.) (I’m not sure about it but he says it’s important I get the 5-inch.) “Thank you for your help, too.” He places them in the bag along with a button-down that he insists I wear unbuttoned. Says Penny will love it.

“Of course! And if you ever find yourself in this area again come over! We can swap horror stories of monsters across America.”

I beam. “I would love that.”

We exit, a soft bell dinging behind us as we go.

“How do you do that?” Simon asks. “Just… be friendly all the time.”

I shrug. “I dunno. Just kind of am.”

He nods. “Do you think the rest of us are mean?”

Our feet hit the sidewalk and we hang left towards our home for the weekend.

“Christ no,” I laugh. He looks at me like I’m crazy. “I think y’all have a cold shoulder attitude sometimes, but for good reason.” I dig into my pocket to pull out my phone.

Headed back now!

“Oh, Penny!”

Did you find something you liked?

Simon clears his throat. “You know. As Penny’s best friend—”

I swallow.

Oh fuck is this the talk? I’ve not gotten the talk.

(Well from him.)

(I think Mitali’s response to finding out I was a Speaker was enough of a talk for Penny’s family.)

Is this where he threatens my life if I hurt her?

“Y-yes?”

“It’s just—“ he brushes his hair back with his fingers. “It’s nice to see her happy like this. With you.”

I pause. He stops. “What?”

“I—I expected some big talk about how you’d kill me if I ever hurt her.”

He frowns. “I assumed that was implied.”

I swallow. “Ah.”

He pats my shoulder and smiles. “But I don’t think that’ll happen. You’re not like Micah.” He continues walking and I keep on with him.

“Thanks.”

He nods.

“What’s this shirt you bought for Baz?”

“Oh no, it’s not for him. It’s for me.” He grins like he’s made of trouble. (And I think, in this moment, he is.) (Though maybe he always was.) “You’ll have to wait and see. No spoilers.”

🏖🏖🏖🏖🏖

Penelope Bunce is the epitome of a purple girl. I thought I could steer her towards this adorable yellow and orange number, but she found a purple suit and had heart-eyes immediately.

But Crowley, she looks good in it.

“Shepard won’t think I look stupid will he?” She whispers. “I’ve only done one-pieces before—not two pieces.” She pulls at the band of the bikini, pulling it higher on her waist.

“Bunce, Shepard had heart eyes even when you were wearing those terrible leggings.” I slap her hands off her waist. “You look great.”

She sighs. “Thanks, Basil. I appreciate it.”

I push a strand of hair behind her ear.

We’re standing in her bedroom. When we arrived home we shouted hello and closed doors behind us. They were on the sofa—I heard some kind of laugh track playing. A sitcom or some other trashy television program for Simon I’m sure.

And I’m sure Shepard is only eating it up.

When we get to the living room they’re both already in their swim clothes. Simon in his shorts (deep blue, small palm trees that he insisted upon.) a shirt with something I can’t quite make out, and a short-sleeved shirt with none of the buttons done. His wings must be curled up under it.

Shepard stands up when he sees Penelope walk in. “Wow, Penny! You look great!” I swear everything he says has an implied exclamation point on it. Like you’re talking to an overly peppy receptionist.

She smiles, eating it up.

I take Shepard’s spot next to Simon, leaning my head on his shoulder.

“Those shorts look…”

“Are they too short?” Shepard asks. “Nathan said I should get them but I worry.” He starts pulling them down his thighs.

“Watch it!” Simon says as it starts to sink into arsecrack on display territory.

Shepard readjusts. His cheeks are flushed when he gives Simon a grateful smile.

“No, they're great! I like them.” Penny says.

“Did shopping go all right?” Simon asks. He wraps his arm around my shoulder as he clicks off the television.

I nod. “I picked something out for you.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. A shirt for when you have dinner with me in Oxford next weekend.”

I can almost hear him hold back a groan. (But he does hold it back, so I’ll let it slide.)

“I got you something, too,” he says. He slips his arm back from around me and slips off his shirt, letting me see the words underneath.

I’m with stupid. A giant arrow points in my direction.

My face goes flat. “Snow, this shirt better be referring to Shepard.”

He grins. “Nope.” And he pops the p even. “I was planning to stand next to you the whole time.”

I pinch his side and he yelps. “Certainly not.”

“Are you saying you want to wear it?”

“Crowley, no.”

He leans in and kisses me softly. “Well, I need something to cover the wings.”

“I’ll spell the whole beach stupid if it means you won’t wear that shirt.”

“Would you really?” Shepard asks.

Penny has her head in his chest and he has her held close. “He wouldn’t,” she says as he pulls back.

“I would, Bunce. Do you see the shirt he bought?” She looks over and snorts.

“I think he means he’s with stupid, Basil. I don’t know how much clearer it could be.”

I grab a throw pillow and let it live its life’s purpose as it pummels towards her face.

Shepard catches it, and I’ve never wanted to spell him stupid more than now.

I can do that now, I think. If Penelope decided she was done with him, that he was causing trouble. He doesn’t have a demon’s curse to keep him safe anymore.

“Let’s go!” Shepard says excitedly, taking Penelope’s hand. It’s a smart move on his part. Get out before I can do anything too dangerous.

Simon stands up, too, reaching for the bag.

I was planning to make him carry it anyway, but now I wish I had an anvil to drop in it.

But he’s smiling, and he’s reaching a hand out for me. So I let him have a moment before I decide what wrath to push onto him.

“Shit, Baz,” he says as we walk out the back door. “Can I borrow your sunblock? I couldn’t find mine and Shepard’s exploded.”

“Burn,” I smirk.

I kiss his cheek, digging into the bag for the bottle. When I find it I pull it out and wave it in front of his face.

“Baz!” He whines. “You don’t need to wig out!”

Wig out?

“Sorry, who’s stupid now?” I ask before sprinting ahead of him.