“I Won’t”

A fanfic for the Carry On Countdown

Also a continuation, or a part two, of this fic


Baz was in the deepest shit of his life.

           First he’d spent years trying to kill the love of his life.  Then he’d been kidnapped by numpties and held without any actual food for a month, slowly starving to death.  Well, even more dead than he already was.  

           Then who should find him but the Mage.  He, of course, saw the blood dried around Baz’s mouth, the only sustenance he’d gotten all month, and immediately figured it out. Of course, Simon had probably told him of his suspicions, but now he couldn’t doubt that it was true.

           So the Mage brought Baz back to Watford, tied up and gagged in the back of a car, and before Baz knew it, Simon stood in front of him.

           And then Simon hit him.  A lot.

           And then Simon hugged him.  A lot.

           Not with the Mage watching, of course.

           But Simon had stood up to the Mage.  It might have been the first time in his life that he had defied the man.

           It almost made Baz proud.

           But now, not only was he completely found out by the very people who could never find out, now he was so busy mentally replaying the night in Simon’s arms that he almost forgot to be scared.

           So when he saw the note on Simon’s bed, the one from the Mage that said Simon was to go to the Wavering Wood to “finish the job”, Baz didn’t think twice before running out the door.  Because this had to be a trap.

           And Simon wasn’t going to walk into any trap that Baz himself hadn’t set.  Not if Baz had anything to say about it.

 ***

           “I so hoped you’d come.”

           The Mage’s voice seemed to come from all around Baz, like he was hiding behind every tree.  Baz stopped and listened, for once thankful for his heightened senses.

           Somehow, he didn’t hear the Mage behind him.

           The Mage shoved Baz from behind, catching him off-guard and sending him to the forest floor.  Immediately there was a knee in Baz’s back, and he could feel the burn of rope on his wrists as they were forced together.

           “Magic,” the Mage said close to Baz’s ear.  “You may be strong, but we are good.”

           Baz had to laugh.  “You call this ‘good’?” he countered.

           “Sir?”

           Simon.  He was close.

           “Here, Simon,” the Mage called.  Baz wondered if Simon was hearing the voice from all around like Baz had.  Maybe that had been a spell.  Maybe Baz had just been scared.  Not for himself, but for the poor Mage’s Heir.

           Simon appeared through the trees as the Mage took his weight off of Baz’s back.  Baz rolled onto his side, but without his arms he was having a hard time getting upright.

           “What’s Baz doing here?” Simon asked.  He sounded wary.

           “Run,” Baz told him, and he received a smack on the back of the head from the Mage.

           “I fear you didn’t understand me the other night,” the Mage said smoothly.  “You did a good job of making him bleed, but we both know the rightful consequence of Basilton’s state.”

           “You’re asking me to kill him.”

           “Correct.”

           Simon set his jaw.  “I won’t.”

           Baz’s eyebrows flickered in surprise.

           “Perhaps you should rephrase yourself,” the Mage said. “I’m not asking you to kill him…”

           “I still won’t.”

           The Mage sighed.  “Simon, he’s a vampire, we can’t just let him live.  What kind of example would that set?”

           “I don’t care,” Simon spat at the Mage.  “Baz has had every chance in the world to kill me, but he hasn’t.  He might be a prat, but he’s not a murderer, and I won’t become one for you.”

           “You won’t kill him?” the Mage asked quietly after a silence.

           “No.”

           “Alright,” he nodded.  “I won’t make you.”

           Baz’s shoulders fell in relief.

           “But,” the Mage continued, “I will make you watch.”

           He drew his wand.

           “Play with fire,” he murmured, and the tip of his wand started to spark.  Baz shrunk back, but he knew it was hopeless. If even one of those sparks reached his skin, his hair, his clothes, that would be it for him.  The Mage brought the wand closer.

           “Baby, it’s cold outside.”

           A wall of white him them like a truck, and suddenly everything was cold.  Baz couldn’t see past the swirling of… was that snow?  Yes, snow.  Simon had summoned a blizzard to put out the Mage’s fire.

           As it was, Baz couldn’t even see the Mage anymore. He might have been right behind him or a five trees away, Baz wouldn’t have known.

           “Simon, stop,” Baz called over the howling wind, the snow biting his face.  It was driving him breathless, forcing the air from his lungs, and he felt unable to draw any back in.

           Then the snowflakes froze in place, like time had been stopped.  Simon stood at the other side of the clearing, a look of horror on his face.  Baz followed his gaze and turned.

           There was the Mage, crumpled and motionless at the foot of a tree.

           Simon ran to him.  “I must have thrown him backwards with the storm,” he fretted.  “He might have hit something bad.”

           Baz struggled to his knees, and from there he got to his feet and moved over to the other two.  Crouching down, he brought an ear to the Mage’s wrist.

           “No pulse,” he murmured.  Simon pressed his head to the Mage’s chest, trying to hear for himself, but Baz already knew what he would find.  Nothing.

           The Mage had dedicated his life to raising Simon Snow to be his heir.  Snow was to be his greatest accomplishment.  Who would have thought that snow would be his downfall?

           “I’ve killed him,” Simon muttered, emotionless. Baz was quiet.  He knew what was coming.  The realization would eventually dawn on Simon that the Mage was gone, dead, and that he was responsible.  “I’ve killed him,” Simon said again, and already he sounded more panicked.

           “Can you untie my wrists?” Baz asked shyly.  “I can’t comfort you with no arms.”

           Simon summoned his sword and sawed through the rope, his hands shaking.  The second Baz was free, Simon fell into his arms, trembling, crying, squeezing his eyes shut as though the image wasn’t already seared onto the backs of his eyelids forever.  “It’s okay,” Baz whispered, slowly stroking Simon’s back.  “You’ll be alright.”

           “I’m glad you’re alright,” Simon sniffled into Baz’s chest.

           “So am I.”

He knew why he wanted to kiss her. Because she was beautiful. And before that, because she was kind. And before that, because she was smart and funny. Because she was exactly the right kind of smart and funny. Because he could imagine taking a long trip with her without ever getting bored. Because whenever he saw something new and interesting, or new and ridiculous, he always wondered what she’d have to say about it–how many stars she’d give it and why.
—  Rainbow Rowell, Attachments
He knew why he wanted to kiss her. Because she was beautiful. And before that, because she was kind. And before that, because she was smart and funny. Because she was exactly the right kind of smart and funny. Because he could imagine taking a long trip with her without ever getting bored. Because whenever he saw something new and interesting, or new and ridiculous, he always wondered what she’d have to say about it–how many stars she’d give it and why.
—  Rainbow Rowell, Attachments