Snowbaz one shots!

Taken-part 1

The cottage was too quiet.

Simon had always found something comforting in the silence of the countryside—a welcome contrast to the chaos of London and the endless cacophony of magic that used to fill his ears when he was the Chosen One. But tonight, the silence was suffocating. It pressed against him from every side, amplifying his heartbeat until it was the only sound left, a panicked drumbeat echoing through his skull.

Baz was gone.

It had happened so fast. One moment they were outside, arguing like they always did, the way they both secretly enjoyed, the tension between them the only thing keeping Simon's fraying nerves from snapping. Baz had been rolling his eyes, arms crossed, his dark hair blowing in the cool evening wind. And then... gone.

One blink, one breath, one shift in the air—and Baz had disappeared.

Simon's mind had short-circuited at first, disbelief paralyzing him. He'd spun around in circles, calling Baz's name, expecting him to appear from behind a tree, to smirk at him for being so gullible. But the seconds ticked by, then minutes, and Simon's chest tightened with a cold, clawing dread.

He knew magic when he felt it—dark, cruel magic had swept through the air, like a knife slashing through their quiet evening. A teleportation spell, something Simon had never been able to master. But it wasn't just that. It was tainted, vile, and Simon could still taste it in the air, like copper on his tongue.

That was when the panic set in.

Now he was back inside the cottage, pacing furiously, his fingers twitching with the urge to grab his sword. But what good would it do? He didn't know where Baz had been taken. He didn't even know who had taken him or why.

How could I have let this happen?

The thought kept pounding through Simon's head, each repetition like a hammer to his temples. Baz was always the careful one, the one who saw danger coming long before Simon even noticed a shadow. And yet, it was Simon who was supposed to protect him. He was the hero, the one who was supposed to save the day. But now, he was just standing here, useless.

"Think, Simon, think," he muttered to himself, running his hands through his already-messy hair. But his mind was a blur, a swirling mess of fear and rage and something that felt a lot like heartbreak. The room was spinning, the walls closing in, and he couldn't catch his breath.

He thought of calling for help, but who would he even reach out to? Penny was back in London, probably buried in some research at Watford. He didn't have time to wait for her to apparate here. And even if she could help, Simon couldn't bring himself to ask. Because that would mean admitting that he had failed—again. That he had let Baz slip through his fingers, just like everything else in his life.

"No, no, no..." Simon whispered, shaking his head as if he could will away the reality pressing in on him. His vision blurred as tears filled his eyes, but he swiped them away angrily. There wasn't time for that. Baz needed him.

Without thinking, Simon bolted for the door, grabbing his sword on the way out. The cold air hit him like a slap to the face, but it did nothing to clear the haze in his mind. He was running on instinct now, the way he used to in battle—before everything fell apart. Before he lost his magic, before he lost himself.

But this was Baz. Baz, who had always been there, even when Simon didn't want him to be. Baz, who had somehow wormed his way past all of Simon's defenses, who had made Simon believe that maybe, just maybe, he deserved to be loved.

Simon's heart pounded louder than the crunch of gravel beneath his boots. He needed to find Baz. Needed to see him, to touch him, to know that he was okay. Because the thought of a world without Baz in it was too painful to bear.

He reached the spot where Baz had been taken, dropping to his knees, his breath fogging in the cold air. The remnants of the spell still hung there, like smoke clinging to the air after a fire. Simon closed his eyes, trying to focus, trying to feel something—anything that would tell him where Baz was.

But nothing came. He was just a broken boy, kneeling in the darkness, surrounded by shadows that seemed to mock him.

"Please," he whispered, his voice cracking. "Please, let me find him. I... I can't lose him. Not again."

A flash of silver caught his eye, something glinting in the dirt. Simon's heart lurched as he reached for it. It was Baz's pocket watch, the one he always kept on him, a relic of his vampire family's old-world elegance. The chain was snapped, the metal bent, as if it had been torn from Baz's hand.

The sight of it nearly brought Simon to his knees again. It was proof that Baz had fought, that he hadn't gone quietly. But it also meant that wherever he was, Baz was in real danger.

Simon clutched the watch to his chest, his breath hitching. "Hang on, Baz," he whispered, tears slipping down his cheeks, hot against his cold skin. "I'm coming. I swear, I'll find you."

But as he stood there, alone in the dark, he couldn't shake the gnawing fear that he was already too late.