Simon Snow may have lost his magic but his words still acted like a spell: “ I want you to go.”
It has been 5 years since Tyrannus Basilton Pitch was broken up with by the love of his life.
Not once did he call him.
Not once did he step foot anywhere near where he would even see him.
To look at Simon Snow was to burn...there was only so much burning Baz could take.
The day Simon told him to go, Baz had driven like a mad man out of London, straight back to the abandoned Pitch family estate. A deadzone. Somewhere he would be safe from himself for a bit.
He stayed at the estate for two weeks; ignoring phone calls from his friends and family alike, hunting the deer that had survived the fire and eating nothing else. He didn't even bother to change his attire. Why should he? He felt untethered. The one thing that he had always orbited, the center of his life had told him to go. So he went.
He was gone.
Not even he could find himself.
His weeks of sleepless solitude was interrupted by his aunt barging into the house, boots squeaking on the dusty floor as she stomped her way to his room. He had been dragged out of bed then. Hauled out of the house like a sack of potatoes, silent and still as he was thrown in the backseat of her car. She lectured him the entire drive to their other house where his parents and siblings were now staying. Nothing his aunt said made any sense. It sounded like her voice was miles away. Baz was somewhere deep under; drowning. He couldn’t breathe.
It didn't matter.
He didn't need to.
It felt like the rest of the year went by while he was under water.Perhaps it was for more than a year...
He got up. He went to classes. He came home. Repeat. He stopped wearing the floral shirts he left at his flat. They stayed in their boxes in his room after his roommate shipped them over. He called upon his catalogue of responses from his youth to interact with his family, to assure his father about his future as the Pitch heir, to berate his sister for being a brat. The script was well rehearsed. His Aunt Fiona dragged him out for drinks with Eb’s brother every now and then (the normal kind). Baz always went. He had no choice, but he felt miles away. Drunk people had always annoyed him, it was worse now. The smile he forced at their antics was stiff. He didn’t care. The world was constantly blurring in and out of focus like waves carrying him out of sight of the shore. Drinking didn't help (both kinds) and the years slipped by.
A breath here or there.
A moment or two of truly feeling something.
A fleeting memory actually preserving itself instead of being washed away like everything else…
Looking back he remembered the random moments of overwhelming panic that seized him and dragged him in the opposite direction at the sight of a flash of bronze hair, a familiar smile,and broad shoulders through a crowd. They never saw him, Penelope or Simon that is. It was always by accident when he saw them . He was careful to avoid places where he might see them. Everytime he did, the fire returned deep in his bones and he could feel it thrumming in his muscles. Now, instead of crashing into it he turned and fled.
He couldn't breathe again.
He wasn’t sure what direction he had been going in the first place...
It took until almost the end of his last year at Uni (he was top of his class still of course ) that he finally breached the surface again -for good. His younger siblings were all at Watford now leaving the house empty, all except the youngest boy. It was this young boy; Linus, that brought him up for air.
It was a weekend like every other weekend that had ever happened since Baz moved back in with his parents. Stale. Baz’s father was gone for coven business, some sort of workshop week that Penelope's mother had insisted every coven member attend. Daphne had left for a day spa trip, or some such bothersome thing that Baz couldn't give less of a shit about, leaving Baz alone at home (he was trying to work on a final term paper thank you ) with Linus, who was all but 6 years old.
Baz tried to avoid his siblings as much as possible, on principle. Mordelia never respected his wishes to be alone and bothered him constantly but he had years of practice with ignoring her or snapping rehearsed retorts for a petty squabble. The other girls always left him alone (He may like them the most of all his siblings.) Linus. Well . Baz never interacted with Linus.
He was never allowed to hold him when Linus was a baby. Baz suspected Daphne feared it wouldnt be safe to hand her newborn child, so pink and full of life, to a young vampire. When the girls were babies, Baz was too young to help with them or hold them. He didn't think there was anything strange about that. It was when Linus was born during Baz’s second to last year at Watford that it became very apparent to him that he was not trusted by step mother, his suspicions were confirmed no matter how many pleasantries she used to try to cover it up.
Anytime he came near the baby he got a look from Daphne and the room went silent and stayed silent until he left again. If his father were in the room, Baz could stay; his father always wanted to plot something new against Snow with him. Daphne probably wanted him gone, he didn't understand why his father insisted on calling Daphne his mother. She was his step- mother, begrudgingly at best. But maybe...his birth mother probably wouldn't want or trust him either…
She hated vampires.
She was killed by them.
Would she have killed him?
Baz went back the next term in a worse mood than usual.
On this specific day though, Daphne seemed perfectly fine leaving 24 year old Baz at home alone with her ‘precious’ baby. Maybe it was because Baz had proven to be uninterested in eating the child and uninterested in him entirely that she felt comfortable with it.
Baz brought the boy with him into one of the living rooms to play while he worked on his paper. It was an easy enough day; Baz focused on his work and only on his work, the same as he had every day for the last 3 and a half years. He was in the zone, mid sentence when a discordant twang broke his train of thought. Looking over the top of his laptop screen to the other side of the room he saw that Linus had pulled the dust covered case of Baz’s violin out from the corner where it had sat propped, untouched, for years. The little brat had pulled it out of its case and was holding it like a guitar, twanging away and rocking side to side. In a flash Baz was on him, ripping the violin out of his hands.
“ This. Is. Not. A. Toy” he had spat in the child's face.
He was so far under he hadn't thought.
He couldn't have thought.
Clutching the instrument to his chest he had turned, making his way back to his computer, ignoring the dark feeling in his stomach that was trying to make its way up to his throat. It was going to suffocate him. It always suffocated him. Before he could get halfway across the room he heard the sound of sniffling. For crowley's sake . He turned around, ready to berate the boy further until he saw the boys face.
That was not the same face his sisters made when they cried.
This small boy had his face all pinched up, eyes glistening yet stubbornly glowering into the floor, not a single tear fell.
What child made such a face?
Where were the dramatics he could expect from his carefree siblings?
Where were the tears Baz was used to from the others?
The boy's pinched expression reminded Baz of his own whenever he looked at himself in the mirror. The look his father had when his mother died. The look his father wore when he yelled at them.
Dropping to the ground in front of the youngest Grimm, his legs crossed, Baz lifted the violin to his shoulder to play for the first time since the sun went out. It was out of tune and softer than he remembered and for the first time since Linus was a baby he smiled openly and genuinely at Baz. Maybe...Baz could survive without the sun. He took a breath in and he kept breathing.