Chapter Text
BAZ
Snow has been following me all evening. He’s been unbearable ever since Bunce was sent home because she has a jackalope herpes virus, which is really just an American variant of magical mono. It’s spell resistant but isn’t dangerous. Well, not dangerous for her. Unless that boyfriend of hers makes a convincing case of accidentally drinking from the wrong glass in a forest, he should probably change his name and move before she recovers.
He followed me through the catacombs, and other various deserted parts of Watford. It was entirely for his benefit because I drained a deer in the woods this morning.
Going up the stairs felt ridiculous knowing Snow’s practically right behind me but I thought I’d let him have a dramatic entrance for once. When I hear him tip toe up to the door, I swing it wide open. He flinches and I gesture for him to come in, which he does, eyeing me suspiciously.
As I close the door behind him, I tell him, “Just because Bunce isn’t here to keep you occupied doesn't mean you can follow me like a lumbering shadow. Hell and horrors, Snow. What is it you’re hoping to find that you didn’t find fifth year?”
“You know what,” He says, like this conversation hasn’t been played out more than Romeo and Juliet.
If you substitute Juliet for a straight boy that thinks a vampire by any other name would be as monstrous, it’s essentially the same.
I don’t want to have it out with him. I’m tired and my leg throbs, so I say, “You’re the chosen one for Crowley's sake. Go save someone or something.”
“Save someone? I don’t save anyone,” he says.
“What are you on about? You saved the school from a dragon less than two weeks ago.”
“No, you saved everyone!” He snaps, getting visibly upset.
I’m always careful not to talk him up or comfort him but this is something different. He looks ready to do something more than kick a door or shoulder check a bedpost. His fists are shaking and I’m not about to let the anathema end this before the third act by defenstrating him so I say, “Snow, you save the school at least once a year.”
Growling, he says, “I put the school in danger. Even The Mage says so.”
I roll my eyes. “The Mage wouldn’t say that about his golden boy. You must have misunderstood him.”
“I didn’t misunderstand! And he’s right! I am dangerous! All I do is kill. All I do is go off or kill. Christ, I even killed Rhys’ parakeet.” His voice falters.
“Snow-”
“ You saved the school and the dragon! You healed Penelope after my magic burned her arm! You get perfect grades, all the girls fancy you, even Agatha. I wish everything I touched turned to gold like you, but it doesn’t. Everything I touch gets ruined!” he yells, picking up a mug and throwing it on the floor.
It hits the ground with a heavy thud.
No shattered pieces but it dented the floor and changed colors. I look to Snow and he looks as perplexed as I feel. He reaches down to grab it and when he shows it to me, it appears to be gold. I could have sworn it was white ceramic.
I slowly reach for it and Snow lets me take it from him. It’s surprisingly heavy. Is it solid gold?
Mages have started to create ways of hiding wealth ever since The Mage started taxing us, but I’ve never heard of a trick mug. Plus, he’s The Mage’s heir. He wouldn’t tax the savior and Snow doesn’t strike me as the tax evading sort.
It hit the ground with a thud, which means it was gold before it hit the ground…
Oh no.
Snow moves to sit on his bed and I shout for him to stop, but it’s too late. His hands fall to his sides and the bed immediately turns to gold.
His eyes light up with delight. How does this glorious buffoon not understand how bad this is?
“I’m going to be rich!” he says, looking like he just found a golden ticket in his chocolate bar.
He springs out of bed to his wardrobe, which turns to gold and again I shout, “Snow, stop!”
With one hand still on the door he looks back at me and says, “Baz! It’s all turning to gold!”
“Brilliant deduction, Sherlock but ignoring the problematic economic ramifications and the fact that we don’t fully understand what’s happening, have you not heard of King Midas?”
His hand falls as he turns to look at me and says, “Baz, it’s gold!”
“Oh. I thought it was butterscotch, ” I practically hiss.
“Why are you upset? I bet I can turn your stuff into gold too.”
“Snow, stop touching things!” I don’t know how the anathema would feel about me restraining him for his own good, but I don’t think it’s safe to touch him anyways.
I put my hands up like I’m showing an animal I’m not a threat and say, “Please, don’t touch anything else. I think you have the Midas touch.”
He looks at me suspiciously, like he thinks this might be a plot. As if I actually plot.
“There’s a legend,” I tell him. “King Midas made a wish for everything he touched to turn to gold. That was all well and good until he tried to eat. The food turned to gold.”
“What happened to him?” He asks.
“He died, Snow. He starved and died,” I say dryly.
“So, that’s what happened? I wished for this and now I’m going to die?” He says.
“Don’t be absurd. You can’t just wish things true.”
He looks away, not saying anything.
“You can’t, can you?” I ask.
His silence says it all.
“Merlin and Morgona, you can, can’t you? Even without a wand?”
“You can’t tell anyone,” he says.
“I’ll be as discreet as you are about your vampire theory. Now wish to undo your wish already. And wish The Humdrum away while you're at it,” I say.
“It doesn’t work like that,” he says with a frown.
“Like hell it doesn’t. You haven’t even tried,” I snap.
He huffs and says, “I wish things I touched didn’t turn to gold and that The Humdrum would disappear.”
I look at him expecting something. What, I don’t know. But something.
He just shrugs.
I roll my eyes and take a pen out of my pocket. I carefully hand it to him. As soon as he touches it, it turns to gold.
“I guess we have to go to The Mage,” He says.
“You were right for once in your pathetic life. We can’t tell anyone. Especially The Mage.”
“Penelope isn't here and The Mage can help,” he pleads.
“Even Bunce would tell you we can’t. Remember how adamant she was about keeping your ability to share magic a secret? This is equally as important… Have you always been able to do this?”
“Turn things to gold?”
“No. Wishes,” I say, barely holding in my frustration.
“Oh. I think the first time was at the end of last year. It was when Penelope and I were trying to get away from The Humdrum. I don’t know how it happened…” He says, trailing off.
“Well, what were you doing?” I ask.
“I don’t really want to talk about it,” he says like it haunts him.
“Can you tell me if it went away or anything like that?”
“Penny, she kept casting nonsense and eventually they came off.”
They came off? What could that possibly mean?
“Crowley, you’re a nightmare. Like a child with a gun,” I say, pulling out my wand. He winces.
“ Nonsense! ” I cast.
I pick up a paperclip off his desk and carefully hand it to him without touching. It turns to gold.
“She had to keep casting it,” he says, frowning.
“Hell and horrors. I don’t think you could survive without supervision,” I say, before casting nonsense again.
“I’ve survived this long,” he growls.
“ Nonsense! The Mage and Bunce aren’t here to fix your problems, so be a good lad and be quiet while I do it.”
“They don’t fix all my problems!” He shouts, face contorting into a crazed look.
“ Nonsense! The Mage took you in, Wellbelove clothes you, Bunce makes sure you do your homework on time.”
“Fuck you!” he yells, grabbing my wand out of my hand.
He throws it and it clatters against the wall. I run to it and hear the door slam behind me. My wand is gold.
I pick it up and cast, “ The bigger the better! ” on a paperclip. It doesn’t change size. That absolute fuckup ruined my wand. I’m going to kill him. I gave up on that a long time ago, but fuck the truce, fuck the prophecy and fuck him.
I run after him. The doorknob is gold, the hand railing for the stairs is gold. Merlin knows what else he’ll destroy.
I can’t go as fast as I used to because my leg didn’t heal right after the numpties broke it, and I have half a mind to float like a butterfly out a window but he’s left me a yellow brick road of sorts to follow. That and he fucking ruined my wand.
The whole door out of the building is solid gold and heavy to push open. I push past the fire hazard and look around outside.
The sun is setting and west of the building is a tree gold that glows like a beacon.
I stomp over to it, considering how to kill him. If he can just go off or wish me away, it would need to be quick.
I think about his eyes. Boring blue, always glaring at me. I sigh because I want them to keep glaring at me. I can’t close them forever. I don’t think I can even stand by and let it happen.
By the time I reach the tree, I know I have to help him still. Those eyes saved me when I was in the coffin. I’m not being weak, I’m just returning the favor.
He’s on the ground on the other side, sitting against it, crying. Magic is wafting off him dangerously. I don’t know what to say. I’m not here to provoke him further but it’s not like I can apologize.
I pull out a handkerchief and toss it to him. When he tries to pick it up, it turns solid. He lets out a huff and just stares straight ahead, letting his tears flow from his reddened eyes, down his face and I have to resist the urge to wipe them away myself. But I’m worried it would turn me gold, and more importantly, it would make my thinly veiled secrets that much clearer.
I refrain from telling him he’s the embodiment of pure ineptitude, which he is, and say, “Come back to the room.”
“Why?” He asks.
“So I can help you,” I say.
“I don’t want your help,” he says defiantly.
I try to stay impassive and say , “That doesn’t matter. You need it.”
There’s a pause, and he says, “I don’t keep the clothes Agatha’s dad gives me. I only borrow them,” sounding defeated.
“What?” I ask.
“After events, I mostly have donated clothes when I go back to care.”
“What are you talking about? You’ve been The Mage’s heir for years.”
He looks at me with his eyebrows knit like I’m the one that doesn’t make sense.
“You live with The Mage,” I say, “so why would you have donated clothes?”
“I don’t live with him.” His voice is quiet and the magic seems to be done spilling from him.
“You’re saying all this time, every Summer, you go to care?” I say, not sure what to make of it.
He sniffles and says, “Well, yeah,” like it’s obvious.
“Simon… “ I say, unsure of what to say next. I think I might have had things wrong for a long time.
The Mage is all about equality, and he didn't give the chosen one a home? His own heir? What else don’t I know?
I feel feverish. My blood is boiling with rage and I feel a chill as pieces about Snow fit together. I want to destroy The Mage completely until there’s nothing left and I grieve for the things Snow should have but doesn’t.
He looks exhausted and his hands fall to his lap, turning his trousers gold.
I freeze as Snow begins rocking side to side, his trousers completely solid.
“Baz! I can’t move my legs! Baz!” He screams.
“Snow! Don’t touch anything!”
He continues rocking until he falls onto his side and yells, “Baz! Baz! I’m stuck.”
“Be still!” I tell him.
“I can’t move! I can’t breathe!” He says and he’s hyperventilating. Is he going to go off?
“Snow!” I yell, trying to snap him out of it.
“I think I’m going to die! I can’t breathe!”
This isn’t going off. This is a panic attack.
“Snow! Put your hands together like you’re praying!” I tell him.
“What?” He yells.
“Just be the pious fuck you are and do it!” I say.
To my surprise he does it.
I grab his arm and shove him forward. When he puts a hand out for balance, I remind him, “Hands together!” and he complies. I pull him upright, get behind him and sit with him between my legs.
“What are you doing?!” He asks in alarm.
“Helping you. Let me. ”
He doesn’t argue and I wrap my arms around him tightly.
“Take slow breaths in and out,” I tell him. He seems to think on it for a moment, then does it.
“Now, imagine there’s a ball of light in front of you.” I tell him. “Focus on the ball. Imagine it’s radiating warmth and safety… Are you doing it?”
He nods and his breathing slowly becomes more even.
“Nothing can hurt you. Nothing. Not even me,” I tell him, keeping my arms firmly around him but making sure it’s not enough to constrict his breathing.
We sit like that for a few minutes. The sun fully sets and he seems calm now.
I’m about to tell him we need to go back to the room but then he sets a hand over mine.
Is this how I die?