Work Text:
Baz
The catacombs are frigid and bleak – sort of like me I suppose. In some twist of irony, they’re one of the only places I’m free of ghosts these days. I haven’t been to my (our, always our) room for more than a few minutes since he died, now I just dart in for clean clothes and a shower. Even then, it’s too much and I feel my heart breaking every time. Pathetic.
The first week back at Watford, I did sleep in the tower. In his bed. It was pathetic, so I promised myself never again and I’ve been sleeping on hardened dirt and stone ever since. I fit in here, among the rats and skulls. What’s another creature of the night to an underground graveyard?
There’s a fat, stupid rat staring at me from behind a pile of bones, its eyes reflecting the little light from the flame in my palm. I should drain it until it’s just an empty sack, teach it a lesson. I’m so thirsty. But I can’t get up from where I slump against a clammy wall. When did the basic necessities of life become such work?
I really shouldn’t let myself handle fire right now. It’s too much a temptation. It would be so easy to close my hand into a fist around it and watch my life go up like flash paper. I tried once before, but Simon saved me. Part of me wants to see if it will work again, if Simon will materialize in front of me like a guardian angel to stop me. To tell me I’m worth it. (I’m not.) To tell me that I mean something to him. (Hearing those words might just kill me on the spot anyway – point moot.)
I let myself fantasize for a moment, but I quickly extinguish the flame before it gets to be too much. The world goes dark, and here’s the other side of my fucked-up coin: I forget for a moment where I am. The walls press in on me and the acrid mix of piss, blood, and sweat stings my nostrils. I close my eyes and try to breathe, but I can’t, I can’t. I’m suffocating, I’m paralysed, I’m dying . (At least I’m already in the coffin.) I’m dying. I try to pull up the vision I held onto last time –
Blue eyes.
Bronze curls.
But Simon Snow is dead now, and this vision isn’t as comforting as it used to be.
The fire ignites once more in my trembling hand. There’s a minute after the light comes back that I’m able to cling to that feeling of fear – of not wanting to die – but it fades as my breathing slows and then I’m back where I started, holding the weapon of my own destruction in hand with only my decayed willpower holding me to this life.
The rat is still watching me like I’m some sick comedy routine. (I am.) “Get lost,” I rasp. It stays for another second then lumbers away, no cares in the world. Some vampire I am; unable to scare even a rat.
The sun will be up in a few hours, I should really try to sleep. Sleep feels like my only friend these days, it pities me enough to let me dream of sweet memories and of the life I’ll never have. But I put it off for as long as I can every night because nothing is worth the feeling of waking up and knowing I have to go through the motions of another meaningless day.
I stare into the flame once again. I can’t do this anymore. I pull out my wand and point it upwards. “ Let there be light .” The fire in my hand goes out and I let my head lull against the catacomb wall behind me. I truly am pathetic, hiding from my empty room and unable to sleep without a nightlight.
A breeze whispers cool air against my cheeks. I realise that they’re wet, and I don’t know how long I’ve been crying. I miss him so much. He wasn’t even really mine. Well, technically, he was my boyfriend, but that word doesn’t seem to mean anything anymore. No one word can describe what Simon is to me. We were enemies for most of our lives, and maybe that never stopped. (The last words we exchanged were in anger, after all.) Obsession might be the closest. Or lifeline.
He was the star that my life orbited, then one day he disappeared, and here I am floating through deep space, without a light or any sense of direction. I’m lost.
There’s someone else in the catacombs. I can hear them creeping around in the dark and suddenly I’m back in fifth year, Simon following me down here every night. I thought that those nights hurt – in hopelessly unrequited love – but now I would give anything to have them back.
I don’t open my eyes. Whoever is out there can just come find me, I’m not going anywhere. If I’m lucky they might just put me out of my misery and stop this morbid game I play with myself every night.
The footsteps grow closer and come to a stop. “You truly are pitiful,” says Penelope.
I sigh and roll my head off the wall. “Why are you here, Bunce? This isn’t your school anymore.”
“I came here to find you.”
I arch an eyebrow. Surely she can see that I’m useless. I can barely sit up at this point.
Penelope steps into the circle of light emanating from my wand. The feeble light source accentuates the dark shadows under her eyes making her look like a ghoul. God knows how long it’s been since she brushed her hair and the rumples in her blouse tell me that she slept in it. “You look awful,” I tell her.
She scoffs. “You’re one to talk.” Fair.
We stay there for a minute, neither of us moving. We haven’t seen each other since Simon’s funeral. (I wasn’t invited, but I didn’t let that stop me.) I wonder if she blames me for what happened. If I hadn’t gone Numpty hunting we might have gotten there in time to save him. (I blame myself, too.)
“I need your help,” Bunce says.
“Well, you’ll have to find someone else because I’ve got class in a few hours.”
“Please, Baz.” She looks like she might cry. “Remember when your mum came back? You needed help and Simon was there, even though you hate each other.” I could never hate him. Only what he’s turned me into. “I’m asking you to do the same now. Help me.”
She looks like a lost little girl, standing there before me with her wobbly lips and crumpled chin.
“Okay,” I say, “it’s okay. What do you need?”
“Promise you’ll let me finish, okay? I think I found a way to bring back Simon.” Resurrection? I suppose if anyone was going to find a way it would be Bunce. But still, resurrection ? “I know that look,” she continues, “but let me finish. I’ve scoured the written world, looking for words powerful enough to bring someone back, but magicians have been doing that forever and none of them found anything. If I’m going to do something impossible, why not disregard the rules altogether?”
“So you invented an entirely new magic system just to revive your best friend?”
“Basically, yeah.” The corner of her mouth curls just a bit. “It was that, or write a bestselling fantasy novel.”
“Come.” I pat the ground next to me. She makes a face but sits on the musty tile. “What’s your plan?”
“Magic comes from Normals, yeah? Their language gives certain, well-known phrases the power to change reality. But words don’t actually have to be old and famous to work, those are just the most powerful ones. Any phrase should be magic if enough people are thinking it at the same time. And even if it doesn’t stick, the magic should still exist in that moment.”
“It should be more powerful in that moment.”
“Exactly!” She’s getting excited now. It reminds me of that day in her father’s study, when I connected Simon and the Humdrum. (Maybe that’s what killed him.) “Any phrase should be most powerful the first time someone hears it,” she continues, “so if a lot of people hear it for the first time – all at once – there should be a surge of magic in that moment. And if I’m right, a big enough surge should be enough magic to bring someone back to life.”
“That’s brilliant, Bunce.” I reach over and place my hand on hers, trying to find a remotely tactful way to ask her what I’m about to say next. “But are you really powerful enough?”
“Thanks, Basil. No, I’m not. But I think we can work around that.”
“Is that where I come in?”
She grins a wicked grin. “No. You’re one of the ingredients.”
“Ingredients?”
“Yeah. I was thinking that if we go back to old-fashioned witchcraft, bubbling cauldron and all that, would make it more powerful. It would emulate all the visions that Normals have of us. So, the things I need are the body of a hero, an enemy’s blood, a lover’s kiss, the tears of friendship, and the killer’s bone.”
I blink. I honestly don’t know what to say to that. “So what, you’re going to dig up the Mage’s grave, steal his bones? And I’m the enemy, I take it?” She nods and I feel a twinge of something unpleasant about that. “So you steal my blood, and sacrifice me, like a goat? Because somehow I don’t think Simon would feel too proud about you murdering someone.”
“I'm not going to murder you, Baz!” She looks appalled, as she should. “I just need some of your blood.”
“ Do you? Because I’m pretty sure you invented this spell and you can make the ingredients whatever you want.”
“Trust in the process, Basilton. I’m the expert here.”
“Whatever you say. And who’s the lover?”
“Agatha, of course.”
“But they broke up,” I remind her. It comes out like an accusation.
“Well, she was his only girlfriend. They were together for years . I don’t think the spell will care.”
I care (quite a lot, frankly) but that hardly matters. If Bunce can do this – really bring him back – I’ll do everything she says.
She gets up to leave. “Thank you.”
“You forgot to tell me when,” I say.
“A week today, the vernal equinox. An auspicious day, and we can take all the help we can get. I’ll meet you by his grave in the evening.”
“I’ll see you then. Good luck coaxing Wellbelove out of America.”
“Oh, she’ll come. Don’t worry about that .”
“Okay.” I watch her disappear back into the shadows, like a dream come morning. “Take care of yourself,” I call after her.
“Right back at you.”
I smile and rest my head back against the wall. I close my eyes and, for the first time in months, let hope take hold.
Agatha
I don’t know what I’m doing here. I shouldn’t even be in England, let alone Watford, let alone by the grave of my ex-boyfriend, standing next to his sworn enemy who happens to be a fucking vampire .
We’re covered in grime because Penny insisted that we need the Mage’s bone and he was buried in an unmarked grave so we’ve been rooting around in the mud all day looking for his corpse. I suggested that she just change the ingredients in the spell but the both of them looked at me with identical dismayed expressions, even though I know Baz was thinking the same thing.
It doesn’t matter, we found the bone. Penny’s holding the Mage’s finger in one hand like a wand and Baz has a knife, ready to slice open his own hand. I’m standing empty-handed, awkward and ready to give the lover’s kiss.
“What does that even mean ?” I asked Penny when she called me. “You don’t expect me to kiss a dead body, do you?”
I swear I could hear her rolling her eyes through the phone. “No, Agatha. It’s a symbolic kiss.”
So when it’s my turn, I will symbolically kiss Simon. Whatever that means.
Penny brought a handheld radio and it’s sitting next to the tombstone. Its mutterings are recognisably music, but the static masks any individual songs. Every so often a lyric will float out in haunting clarity, like songs from a dream.
Blame Simon! ‘Cause he said you've got two lives down and one life left.
Blame Simon! ‘Cause he said you could think better with a hole in your head.
Oh, you could think better with a hole in your head!
I shiver. “Is it much longer?”
“Yes,” says Baz, “eternity.”
He isn’t smiling and I’m not sure where the joke is. I wonder how Penny convinced him to help. I’d have thought he would be happier now, with Simon gone. Maybe he’s just peeved that the Mage got to Simon before he did.
Penny reaches over Baz and he lets her turn his wrist to see the face of his watch. “I paid for a time slot at half past five, and it’s nearly then already. This is probably the last song.”
We wait on stand-by for the song to finish, hypnotized. It finally crackles to a finish and a car advert plays. And then the static dissipates and Penny’s voice rings out like a prophecy from the radio. The three of us raise our instruments and speak in harmony with the recording.
“ The body of a hero.
“ The killer’s bone. ” Penelope sets down the Mage’s finger on top of the tombstone
“ An enemy’s blood. ” Baz slashes at his palm and rests his bloody hand on the grave.
“ A lover’s kiss. ” I hesitate and bring my fingers to my lips. I press the kiss to the stone next to Baz’s hand.
“ The tears of friendship. ” Penny is already crying. She sniffs wetly and wipes her face with her hand. She settles her hand in between the two of ours and we stand there, in a sort of triangle around Simon’s grave. Then Penelope steps back and holds out her hands. Baz and I each take one then close the circle. Penny’s hand is hot and sticky, like a child’s, but Baz’s is as cool and firm as I remember.
“Now,” Penelope says shakily, “we have to make sure it worked. We each have to think of a powerful memory of Simon. The one with the most emotion, the one that truly captures your relationship – the Simon-iest one you have.” She closes her eyes and takes a breath. Then a scene is projected above the grave.
Simon’s lying on the ground in a forest somewhere and Penelope is sitting over him murmuring some healing spell. Then all of a sudden, he sits up and looks around, a little confused. “What?” he says when he sees her.
“Oh Simon,” she says.
“What?” he asks again. Then he notices how scared she looks. “Hey,” he says softly, “hey, it’s okay, Pen.” He looks kind of lost then awkwardly reaches out and wraps his arms around her. It was a rare occasion that Simon initiated physical contact and I know he thought he was bad at it. But he’s hugging Penny here, and patting her back.
“You smell like smoke,” she says into his chest.
He smiles. “Yeah. I always do. The kids in the homes always think that I’m a chain smoker. And religious.” When she looks confused he points to the cross hanging from his neck.
He hardly ever spoke about his summers to anyone.
“You wear that thing all summer? What, you think Baz is going to pop out from under your bed and whisk you away to his vampire dungeon?”
He shrugs. “You never know.”
She exhales, not quite a laugh. “I’m glad you didn’t die.”
“Me too.”
The scene fades and we’re back to being three people holding hands in a dim graveyard.
“Agatha,” Penny says and I close my eyes. I wish she had told me that I would have to do this. I can’t think of any Simon-y memories right now. I don’t think I have any truly good memories of Simon during his last year. I mean, our relationship had already started going sour before he saw me in the forest with Baz, then we didn’t see each other until the next school year when he refused to talk it out. Then we broke up, he died, end of story. There was no happy ending – or a tragic one at that. We didn’t have an ending, it just kept stretching thinner and thinner until there was nothing left. He didn’t die in my arms, whispering my name to his last breath. We didn’t run into an embrace after realising how lost we were without each other. I didn’t even go to his funeral.
But Simon was my friend and I did care for him, and I know that I have memories of him that are good – I just can’t think of any right at this moment.
“Agatha,” Penny hisses, “think of something.”
“I’m trying,” I hiss back. And I do. I think back to the day I met Simon. (I barely remember it honestly. We only became friends once he started coming to my house for holidays.) I suppose the beginning of our relationship was good. We were young and nervous and it felt like an adventure, even though I’m not sure that we were all that attracted to each other. I focus on a memory and I see the glow of the magic projector lighting on my closed eyelids.
It was a few weeks before we properly got together. Simon had just saved me from some monster or another and we were walking back to Watford together. I was sopping wet and chilled to the bone, so Simon took off his jacket and I wore it like a cape. The sun was just starting to come up with the morning so the trees had a lovely orange glow about them.
Then he reached out and took my hand in one of his big warm ones and we just kept walking in silence like that. It was nice, even though we were tired and cold and wet. This was the part I liked about dating Simon, the quiet moments like this when I had someone to hold my hand or dry my tears and tell me it would be okay.
I don’t know whether this memory is my Simon-iest (whatever that means) and I doubt that it’s powerful enough to raise someone from the dead, but it’s all I have and it feels right. Authentic. I open my eyes and the scene fades to darkness once again. Penelope and I both look to Baz. We probably shouldn’t have left him for last, whatever his most powerful memory of Simon is, I doubt it’s a positive portrayal.
Baz
Bloody Bunce. Why couldn’t she invent a normal spell? I can think of dozens of powerful, emotion-drenched memories with Simon – none of them suitable for someone who hated him. And I have to stay in character, I have to play my part, because if I don’t… Well, I don’t rightly know, but there’s no way the spell will work the same if the supposed sworn enemy casually reveals the time he fell asleep in the hero’s arms.
But this is too important to get caught up over. I’ve known Simon for almost half his life, and we weren’t a couple for even a week of it. I just need a memory from any year before this one. There was that time with the chimera. Not my finest moment, but I remember the day clearly and it captures the raw power of Simon, his selflessness, his willingness to do what’s right – even saving me, the bastard who sent the monster after him. So I concentrate on that day, crouching behind that rock with Simon. He was unbearably pretty, so I yelled at him.
Something clicks and I feel the scene lighting up like the last two did. I hear my own voice. “Fucking unleash, Snow!” But then, before Simon can snap back, there’s a zoop , like an old television turning off and we’re back in darkness.
Does this mean it worked? I open my eyes and look at Bunce. She looks confused. “I think that means it wasn’t the right one,” she says. “Not powerful enough.”
I close my eyes again. Now what? I didn’t realise that the spell would reject anything it deemed unworthy. Fine, then. Our first meeting, when the crucible cast us together. Again, the scene lights up. It starts when I first lay eyes on him and I realise that I’ve been paired with the Chosen One, the boy my family told me to keep an eye on, the one who even then I knew was destined to be my enemy. Our eyes meet and he looks strangely relieved. He sticks out his hand and – zoop . It stops again.
“Don’t you have anything more villainous?” Penelope asks. “This memory is supposed to capture your relationship with him.”
I wasn’t that villainous. Not in recent years at least, and I only tried to kill him a few times before that. I mean, I did try to steal his voice. I don’t know if I want Penelope and Wellbelove to know that, but this is more important than that. (Plus Simon probably told them, anyway.)
This one barely catches, we just hear his voice call my name (the effect it has on me is shameful) and it stops.
I don’t wait for Bunce this time, I just jump straight into the next memory. Pushing him down the stairs was fairly cruel, even if it was an accident. The screen lights up to Simon sitting on my chest, fist pulled back and ready to strike. I grab his wrist before he hits me and deliver my own punch. Zoop .
Maybe it isn’t supposed to be something antagonistic. (I was in love with him after all.) Our relationship wasn’t any one thing. We were roommates and peers and, yes, we were enemies, but I don’t think we wanted to be half the time. I’ve helped Simon defeat more than one monster and he’s saved my life countless times. So I concentrate on our most recent truce, the one that finally stuck. We were in bed the night he told me about my mother and he whispered into the dark. It felt like a dream – zoop . Still not right.
I open my eyes and snap at Bunce, “This is your spell, what exactly am I doing wrong?”
“I don’t know.” She looks thoughtful. “But if for whatever reason there’s a memory that you’re holding back because you’re ashamed of it, that might be the problem.”
Well, here goes nothing.
Penelope
Baz has a strange look of determination when he closes his eyes, and I know it will work this time. A scene crackles to life just like all the others, and at first I’m not sure what I’m seeing. It’s Simon, sleeping in some gaudy bed with silk sheets with his arms wrapped around a black-haired girl. My first question is ‘who is that?’, and my second is ‘what on earth ?’ Why is this one of Baz’s memories? Unless he’s about to show up and break them apart.
Then the girl shifts slightly and I hear Agatha suck in a breath. Because that is not a girl, it’s Baz . In bed with Simon. With their arms wrapped around each other. Snuggling , even. Simon and Baz. They were supposed to hate each other! I glance at the real Baz, and I see his cheeks are tinted slightly pink. (He must have drained some animal from the woods to be able to blush like that.)
The other Baz – the one with soft eyes and puffed lips – reaches up and delicately runs his fingers along Simon’s cheek, as though he’s afraid that Simon might break. I’ve never seen this side of Baz, and it feels like an intrusion. Then it gets worse.
“Snow,” he breathes. “Simon.” Simon doesn’t wake up, and I sense Baz doesn’t want him to. “I know you hate me. Obviously, you’re a hero. The hero. I’m the bad guy, the vampire. But you make me feel like I’m not, even though I know you’re going to kill me one day. You’re my hero too. I love you, Simon. Whether this was a fluke or the start of eternity, that will always be true. It always has.”
Unbelievable. How did I not figure it out? I think about how Baz showed up at Simon’s funeral uninvited and looking a wreck, and the state he was in when I found him in the catacombs. I think about how his eyes always lingered on Simon a little longer than normal, and how hard he tried to break up Simon’s relationship with Agatha. How did we all think that was normal enemy behaviour?
In the vision, Baz ghosts a kiss against Simon’s jawbone and buries his face in Simon’s chest. Simon yawns and pulls Baz tighter. “You say somethin’, Baz?” he slurs.
“Sleep, love.”
The scene fades and is replaced by a heavy silence. I realise I’m still holding Baz’s hand so I give it a ginger squeeze. “You okay?” I ask.
He snorts weakly. “Just tell us the next part of the ritual.”
“That’s it.”
“So what are we waiting for?”
Before I can answer, the ground shakes and a heavenly light emanates from the dirt beneath the tombstone. We all hold our breath and then it stops. We look at each other, confused. Then, with dawning horror, Agatha drops to her knees. “Help, we have to get him out!”
Baz and I exchange a horrified glance then get down and join Agatha in frantically digging up Simon’s grave.
So stupid . How could I have forgotten what is arguably the most important step, actually getting Simon out of the grave? I mean, I’ve seen Buffy the Vampire Slayer , you’d think I’d have been better prepared. But in this moment, all I can really focus on is Simon. I’m certain the spell worked, but it still somehow doesn’t seem real. I’ve spent so much time thinking about this moment that I’m not entirely certain it isn’t a dream. I don't know what I would do if it was. I can’t go through this again.
After what feels like an eternity, my hand brushes something firm and slimy. Wood. I gasp and push as much mud and grime off of the coffin.
“ Simon! ” I call out, “We’re coming, it’s okay!”
Finally we manage to clear off the coffin and so we all pry the lid off together. A moan echoes from inside and my heart stops because it is finally dawning on me how real this is. This isn’t some crazy pipe dream I tricked myself into believing; I’m actually going to see him again.
And then I do. Simon Snow, destined hero of our time, my best friend.
He’s lying in the bottom of that same wretched coffin I remember from the funeral, eyes closed and mouth twisted, but otherwise completely fine. I don’t know what I expected – for him to be covered in moss and rot somehow. I’d mentally prepared myself for the inevitability that he would essentially be a living corpse when we dug him up, but he’s not. He looks even healthier than when we buried him, for Merlin’s sake.
He stretches and rubs his eyes before opening them, then they lock on me. “Penny?”
And that’s when I throw myself at him.
Simon
I don’t rightly know what’s happening right now. One minute I was cold and stiff, surrounded by the smell of mud and wood. I think I felt something scurry over my tummy, but I didn’t really pay much attention to it because next thing I knew, someone shot me with the brightest light I’d ever seen in my life and before I could get my bearings Penelope was crawling all over me. I’m still feeling a little confused to be honest, but it feels good to have her hold me without any expectation I try and hug her back or anything.
She’s crying a little and she keeps saying my name over and over like it’s a spell. I reach around and give her an awkward little pat.
“Hey,” I say, “Penny… hey.” because I can’t really think of anything else to say, so I decide to take this moment to peer over her shoulder and take a look at our surroundings. It’s all pretty much just black, with a few stars and the moon visible in between the trees.
I think I see Agatha’s face peering in at me. “Agatha? Is that you?”
“Hi Simon.” She gives a little half-smile. Cute. “How are you doing down there?”
I’m not really sure what to say to this. Agatha’s never really been one for jokes, but this definitely feels like one of them.
“Um, I’m fine. A little confused actually. Do you know what’s going on?”
That’s when Penny un-buries her face from my neck. “Simon, do you not remember?”
“I mean, a bit. Watford. I remember being in the White Chapel and uh…” The details are fuzzy, but as I talk things start sliding into place. The thing I remember most is how frightening it all was. “Ebb was there. And the Mage. And the Humdrum.”
Penny’s still looking at me with big soft eyes. “What else?”
She’s using the same tone she always had whenever we studied together. Like I’m forgetting some crucial detail. I try to think of something else that she might be after. “Baz?”
Agatha lets out a breath of air almost like a laugh.
“No, Simon.” Now Penny looks disappointed. “We can talk about that later. Are you sure you don’t remember something else in the White Chapel?”
What the hell does that mean, ‘we can talk about that later’? Did she find out about me and Baz?
“Where is he?” I demand.
“Simon, think .”
I love Penny, but sometimes I wish she’d just let things go. “Penelope. Where is Baz?”
It’s already pretty dark, but somehow the night gets darker. I look up and see that someone is blocking the moon. His hair is longer than I’ve ever seen it, and the simple black suit he’s wearing hangs off him like a skeleton. Even so, the rigid stance is unmistakable. Baz.
“Simon.”
Baz
I’m not sure what Bunce thinks she’s doing. He’s been underground for months, dead, rotting, probably ill with more things than we could list – not to mention the psychological effects this must have had on him. I have to physically restrain myself from scooping him up out of that hole and running him immediately to the nearest infirmary.
But it’s not up to me. This is Penelope’s spell, her moment. While I was moping around losing hope in life itself, she had been fighting tirelessly to bring him back, so I think if I tried to intervene in this reunion I just might get staked through the heart.
At first I’m not even sure he remembers everything that happened between us. He seems groggy, and answers basic questions about what happened in the White Chapel. I remember more than he seems to, and I wasn’t even there .
When he says my name it’s like my legs stopped working and it’s all I can do just to stay standing. Then he says it again and now it’s my heart that won’t beat properly. I step over to the grave and look at him for the first time. He looks so pathetic, blinking up at me like the moonlight is hurting him (I know the feeling), and he doesn’t even try to hide his shock when he sees me. I’m not sure whether it’s the weight I’ve lost or if I still have some blood on my lips, but either way I can feel the weight of his gaze.
Seeing him like this hurts me in ways I didn’t know were possible, while simultaneously healing little pieces of me I thought I had lost in the catacombs. He’s even more beautiful than I remember. Blue eyes, bronze curls, and mine . Finally.
I kneel down next to the grave (I don’t even care that the mud is soaking through my suit), and I extend my hand down to where he and Bunce are huddled.
“Come on Simon, let’s get you home.”