Snowbaz one shots!

Broken

The wind whipped through the desert, sending clouds of sand skittering across the cracked earth. The sun was sinking behind jagged mountains in the distance, leaving the sky awash in a mix of purples and oranges that would have been breathtaking if anyone had been paying attention. But there were only two people out here, and neither of them were interested in sunsets.

Simon Snow sat on the hood of their dusty rental car, staring into the horizon with a vacant look in his eyes. His once-messy blond curls were now limp and dust-ridden, and his face was pale, almost gaunt. The leather wings on his back were folded tightly against him, a painful reminder of everything that had changed.

Baz stood a few feet away, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket, his eyes never leaving Simon. Baz had always been good at pretending—pretending he didn't care, pretending he was too composed to be bothered by anything or anyone. But right now, his mask was slipping, cracks forming beneath the weight of everything unsaid between them.

Simon hadn't spoken in over an hour. The last words he'd thrown at Baz had been sharp, a jagged edge to every syllable. Words that were meant to cut, and they had done their job. Baz was still bleeding inside from the things Simon had said—things that, deep down, he feared were true.

"I don't even know why you bother with me anymore," Simon had spat. His eyes had been blazing with a fury that had nothing to do with Baz and everything to do with himself. "I'm not your Chosen One. I'm just... broken."

Baz had wanted to scream, to shake him, to tell him that it wasn't true. But he hadn't. Because in the end, what good were words against that kind of pain? A pain Simon carried like an anchor around his neck, dragging him deeper into an abyss Baz couldn't reach.

Now, as the desert grew colder with the setting sun, Baz couldn't take the silence any longer. "Are you just going to sit there all night, Snow?" he said, trying to inject some of his usual snark into his voice, but it came out flat.

Simon didn't respond. He just kept staring out into the distance, as if he could find an answer to all of his questions somewhere on that endless horizon. Baz's chest ached at the sight. Simon had never been the kind to stay still, to let silence hang heavy between them. He was fire and chaos, always moving, always fighting. But now, he was like the remnants of a fire reduced to cold ashes.

Baz took a step closer, his boots crunching on the gravel. "You can't just shut me out, Simon," he said, his voice softer now, almost pleading. "Not after everything."

At that, Simon finally looked at him, and Baz almost wished he hadn't. There was something hollow in those blue eyes, something that made Baz feel like he was staring into a void that used to be full of life and laughter. The Simon he loved had always been so alive—even when he was a mess, he had burned with a kind of reckless passion. But now? Now, it was like Simon had burned himself out.

"What do you want me to say, Baz?" Simon said, his voice a whisper that barely rose above the wind. "That I'm fine? That I'm happy? You know that's not true." He let out a bitter laugh, the sound twisted and raw. "I can't even pretend anymore."

Baz took another step forward, and another, until he was standing right in front of Simon. He reached out as if to touch him, but his hand hovered uncertainly in the air, afraid that Simon might pull away. "I don't need you to pretend," Baz said, his voice cracking despite himself. "I just need you to talk to me. Let me in, for fuck's sake."

But Simon shook his head, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "What's the point, Baz?" he muttered, looking down at his hands, which were clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. "I'm not who I was. I'm not the hero you fell in love with. I don't even know who I am anymore."

Baz's heart shattered at that, the pieces scattering in the wind like so much desert sand. He couldn't stop himself from reaching out this time, his hands gripping Simon's shoulders, desperate to ground him, to hold him together even if Simon couldn't do it himself.

"You're still you," Baz insisted, his voice fierce and choked all at once. "You're still the boy who saved my life, who saved the world, who—" He cut himself off, his throat tightening. "Who saved me."

Simon looked up at that, his eyes full of anguish. "And what did it cost me, Baz?" he whispered. "What did I have to give up to save all of you? Everything. I'm just... I'm so tired." His voice broke on that last word, and he looked away, blinking furiously as if to banish the tears threatening to fall.

Baz's grip tightened, his nails digging into Simon's jacket. "You're not alone," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I'm right here. I've always been right here."

But Simon just shook his head again, his eyes going distant. "Maybe that's the problem," he said, so quietly Baz almost didn't hear him. "You deserve someone who's whole, Baz. Not someone like me... not this broken thing."

"Fuck that," Baz hissed, his breath hot with anger and desperation. "You're not broken. And even if you were—" He swallowed hard, his eyes burning. "Even if you were, I'd still choose you, every time. I'm not leaving you, Simon."

For a moment, Simon just stared at him, searching Baz's eyes for some sign that this was all a cruel joke. But all he found was raw, aching sincerity. And it hurt, because Simon wanted so badly to believe him, to let Baz's words fill the emptiness inside him. But that void felt too deep, too consuming.

Simon pulled away, gently but firmly, leaving Baz's hands hanging in the cold air. "I... I can't do this," Simon whispered. "Not right now. I just need to be alone."

Baz stood there, frozen, as Simon turned his back and started walking away, his wings rustling softly with each step. The setting sun cast a long shadow behind him, stretching out like a scar across the desert floor. Baz wanted to run after him, to grab him and hold him and refuse to let go. But he knew Simon. He knew that chasing him now would only drive him further away.

So, Baz stayed where he was, watching as Simon disappeared into the fading light, the distance between them growing wider with every step.

And for the first time in his life, Baz Pitch let himself cry.