If You Must

All That We Are Is Tired

Simon

I can't turn back time. I can't bring dead bugs back to life. And I can't launch myself into outer space like a rocket. I can, however, impale a tree with a bolt of pure magic, fly/float without wings, and block out the sun with a massive bank of clouds.  

By the time we decide to call it a day, I'm terrified and tired. Tired because I've been standing and running around all day in the hot sun without more than a bacon butty to eat. Terrified because... well, because I've been using magic all day and still don't feel drawn thin in the slightest. And because I can do things I couldn't even do back when the humdrum was a problem. When I could turn on lights and conjure wings without even thinking.

I don't think I'm making an evil twin again. Like I told Baz, my magic feels mine now, and it used to feel borrowed. Like I never was entirely the master of it. 

I think Baz can tell I'm scared (I've never been able to hide my feelings from him-- I'm still partially convinced that vampire mind-reading is an actual thing). But he doesn't point it out (I love him for that); just wraps an arm around my waist or tugs on my hand. The only time he left  my side today was to drain a deer (he still won't let me watch). Even as we drove home he kept one hand in mine. 

I start drifting off to sleep as soon as my head hits the pillow at home. I had the sense to undress, so I'm not laying here in my grotty t-shirt and jeans, but I don't bother to drag my beleaguered body under the covers. Baz lays next to me, rubbing my back. It still gets sore where my wings used to be. How he knows it hurts right now is beyond me-- not that I'm complaining. 

"You still okay to go to Bunce's to plot tomorrow?" Baz murmurs, gently pressing his lips against the base of my neck. I nod, not opening my eyes. 

"Yeah."

We're silent for a few moments, and I feel myself falling asleep in the silence. Right as I'm about to, I realise I've got more to say to him than 'yeah'. Jesus, I'm tired. 

"Baz?"

"Simon?" His words are slurring a little, and his breathing is slow and soft. Sleepy Baz is my favorite Baz-- soft and fluffy and achingly sweet. 

"Thank you for helping me today. Nicks and Slick, Baz, thank you for everything." His hand finds mine, his head resting lazily on my shoulder. I can hear the sleepy smile in his voice as he says,

"Goodnight, Simon." Translation: "you're welcome, you idiot". Crowley, I love this man. I grin to myself as I allow sleep to take over. 

"Goodnight, Baz."