Snowbaz one shots!

Taken-part 3(final part)

Simon's legs were shaking as he stumbled through the rain-soaked streets with Baz's weight slung over his shoulders. The chill from the downpour had seeped into his bones, but all he could focus on was the boy in his arms. Baz's breaths were shallow, each one more ragged than the last, and every step Simon took felt like it might be his last chance to save him.

Simon was terrified that if he looked down, if he let his eyes linger on Baz's pale face, he'd see the life draining out of him. So he kept moving, sheer willpower propelling him forward.

"Stay with me," Simon kept whispering, over and over like a mantra. "Stay with me, Baz. We're almost there."

He didn't know where "there" was—only that he couldn't stop. If he stopped, if he gave in to the exhaustion and the fear clawing at his mind, he'd lose Baz. And losing Baz wasn't an option. Not now. Not after everything they'd been through.

He rounded another corner, his eyes frantically searching for any sign of help. And then, like a miracle, he saw it—a faint light flickering in the distance, coming from the window of an old house tucked away at the end of the street. It was their last hope.

Simon's arms were burning with the effort of keeping Baz upright, but he forced himself to keep moving. "Hold on," he murmured, barely aware that he was speaking. "We're almost there. Just... just hang on."

He kicked the door to the house with the last of his strength, praying that whoever was inside wouldn't turn them away. The door swung open, and Simon was greeted by a startled-looking older woman, her eyes widening as she took in the sight of the two of them.

"Please," Simon gasped, barely able to form the words. "He's hurt... He's dying... Please help him."

The woman's eyes softened with understanding. Without another word, she stepped aside, gesturing for Simon to come inside. The house was warm, the scent of herbs and something magical lingering in the air. Simon collapsed onto the floor, gently lowering Baz onto a worn rug.

The woman was already moving, her hands deftly gathering supplies—herbs, potions, strange objects that Simon didn't recognize. He watched with wide, desperate eyes, clutching Baz's cold hand as if it were the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.

"Can you save him?" Simon asked, his voice cracking with desperation.

The woman looked at him, her eyes sharp but not unkind. "I can try," she said. "But you need to trust me."

Simon nodded furiously, unable to speak as his throat tightened. He didn't care who she was or what she needed to do—as long as it brought Baz back to him.

The woman knelt beside Baz, pressing her fingers gently to his neck. "He's lost a lot of blood," she murmured. "And there's dark magic poisoning him. It's a miracle he's even breathing."

Simon's heart clenched at her words. He squeezed Baz's hand, leaning down to whisper in his ear. "You hear that, Baz? You're too stubborn to die. You're going to be okay. You have to be."

He didn't know if Baz could hear him, but he hoped that, somewhere in the darkness, Baz could feel him. Could feel how much he needed him to stay.

The woman was moving quickly now, murmuring incantations under her breath as she worked. Simon couldn't understand most of the words, but he could feel the air hum with magic—old, powerful magic that made his skin tingle. The woman poured a dark, viscous liquid into Baz's mouth, and Simon held his breath, watching the way Baz's throat moved as he swallowed reflexively.

Minutes felt like hours. The world around Simon narrowed to the sound of Baz's labored breaths, the woman's whispered spells, and the frantic beating of his own heart.

"Come on, Baz," Simon whispered, his voice raw with emotion. "Please. Don't leave me."

Then, after what felt like an eternity, Baz's eyes fluttered open. They were hazy and unfocused, but they were open. Simon's heart nearly stopped at the sight.

"Baz?" Simon's voice trembled as he leaned closer, his fingers brushing against Baz's cheek. "Can you hear me?"

Baz blinked slowly, as if the effort of focusing was almost too much. But then his gaze settled on Simon, and a ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. "Snow," he whispered, his voice hoarse and barely audible. "You look... awful."

A breathless laugh escaped Simon's lips, a sound that was half-sob, half-relief. "You absolute git," he choked out, his eyes welling with tears. "You nearly died, and that's the first thing you say to me?"

Baz's smile widened, though it was weak. "Wouldn't... want you to get a big head," he managed, his voice a whisper of its usual sarcastic drawl.

Simon couldn't stop the tears now, but they were tears of relief. He pressed his forehead against Baz's, his breaths coming in shuddering gasps as he let himself feel everything he'd been holding back. The fear, the pain, the sheer terror of almost losing the boy he loved.

The woman stood up, wiping her hands on a cloth, her expression softening as she looked at the two of them. "He'll live," she said, and Simon thought he might collapse from sheer relief. "But he needs rest. And he'll need someone to look after him."

Simon nodded, his hands never leaving Baz's. "I'll take care of him," he promised, his voice fierce with determination.

Baz's fingers tightened around Simon's, his eyes fluttering shut again, but this time, it wasn't from pain. He was just exhausted, his body finally giving in to the rest it so desperately needed.

Simon leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to Baz's forehead. "I've got you," he whispered. "I'm not letting go."

And for the first time since Baz had been taken, the fear that had been gnawing at Simon's heart began to fade. Because Baz was here, alive, breathing, and Simon would make damn sure it stayed that way.

Outside, the storm began to clear, the rain turning to a soft drizzle. The world was still dark, but for the first time in what felt like forever, Simon could see a sliver of light breaking through.

Baz was safe. And they were together.

For now, that was enough.