Snowbaz one shots!

Bound and helpless

The cavernous underground room was cold, damp, and lit only by a few flickering torches. Shadows danced on the jagged stone walls, casting everything in a sinister light. Simon could taste blood in his mouth, his lip split from when their captors had dragged him down here and thrown him against the floor. His wrists ached from the ropes that bit into his skin, binding him tightly to the stone column he was tied to.

But the pain was nothing compared to the fear coursing through him as he watched Baz struggle in front of him.

"Let him go!" Simon shouted, his voice hoarse with desperation. But the words echoed uselessly in the vast room, swallowed by the darkness. The men—they were mercenaries, rogue mages, or something worse, Simon didn't know—paid him no mind.

Baz was on his knees, his usually pristine black hair hanging limply in his face. They had him pinned down, arms twisted behind his back as one of their leaders, a tall man with cruel eyes, stepped forward. Baz was still fighting—of course he was. He was biting and kicking and spitting venom with every word, but Simon could see it in the tight set of Baz's jaw: he was running out of strength.

Simon pulled against his restraints, feeling the coarse rope dig into his skin, but it was useless. He couldn't move an inch. Panic twisted in his gut like a knife. He couldn't just watch this happen. Not to Baz.

The leader, a wiry figure draped in dark robes, approached Baz with a wicked-looking dagger in his hand. The blade gleamed in the torchlight, casting an eerie, cold reflection across the room. "We could kill you," the man said, his voice a low hiss, "but I think I'll take something else from you first."

Simon's heart leapt into his throat. "Don't touch him!" he screamed, his voice cracking. He didn't know why he was so desperate—he and Baz had been enemies for years. But right now, none of that mattered. Right now, all Simon could think about was the way Baz's eyes had met his before they were captured, the flash of fear he'd seen there, the look of trust Baz had given him that he was somehow going to make this right.

Except he couldn't. Not now. He was tied up like a useless, helpless idiot while Baz—

The knife pressed against Baz's throat, just enough to draw a thin line of blood. Baz winced, his eyes narrowing, but he refused to make a sound. He was defiant to the last, even as they held him down, even as the dagger threatened to slice deeper.

Simon's vision blurred with panic. He thrashed against the ropes, feeling them cut deeper into his wrists, but he didn't care. "Let him go!" Simon shouted again, the words raw and frantic. "I'm the one you want! Leave him alone!"

The leader turned to Simon, a slow, cruel smile spreading across his face. "Oh, but he's much more interesting than you, don't you think?" He pressed the knife harder, and Baz's breath hitched, his skin paling.

Simon's heart was hammering so hard it felt like it would burst out of his chest. He couldn't stand it—couldn't bear to see Baz like this. He'd spent so much of their time at Watford watching Baz, but never like this. Never helpless. Never broken.

"Don't do this," Simon pleaded, the words spilling out before he could stop himself. "Please."

Baz turned his head just enough to look at Simon. Even now, even with a knife at his throat, Baz managed to smirk. "Snow," he said, his voice rough but steady, "are you really begging on my behalf? That's embarrassing."

Simon felt a flare of anger, hot and bright. Leave it to Baz to be sarcastic even now. But he could see the fear beneath the bravado, the way Baz's fingers twitched behind his back as if he was still trying to reach for his wand. Simon's own wand had been knocked out of his hand earlier, and now it was lying uselessly on the ground, just a few feet away but impossibly out of reach.

The leader had grown tired of the banter. "I've had enough of this," he snarled. With one swift motion, he drove the knife into Baz's side.

Simon screamed.

It was an inhuman sound, raw and ripped straight from his chest. He watched in horror as Baz doubled over, his breath hitching, his eyes wide with pain. Blood began to seep through the fabric of his shirt, dark and spreading too quickly.

"Bastard!" Simon roared, thrashing so violently that he felt something snap in his wrist. Pain shot up his arm, but he barely felt it. All he could see was Baz, crumpling to the ground as the mercenaries let him go, satisfied that he was no longer a threat.

Baz was clutching his side, his breaths coming in short, pained gasps. His eyes fluttered open, just barely, and for one brief, agonizing moment, he looked straight at Simon.

Simon's heart twisted. "Baz," he choked out. "Hang on. Please."

Baz tried to say something, but no sound came out. His eyes were glazed, his skin growing paler by the second. Simon's vision blurred with tears, hot and stinging. He couldn't lose him—not like this. Not after everything. Not after they'd gotten so close to... to something Simon couldn't even name but knew he wasn't ready to lose.

He pulled against the ropes one more time, and this time, they snapped. His wrist was on fire, but he didn't care. He was on his feet and running to Baz before the mercenaries even realized what had happened.

"Stay back!" one of them shouted, raising a wand, but Simon didn't stop. He tackled the man to the ground, punching him so hard he heard a sickening crack. He grabbed the fallen wand and turned it on the leader, blasting him back with a force that left scorch marks on the wall.

Then he was kneeling beside Baz, his hands trembling as he tried to stop the bleeding. "Baz," Simon whispered, his voice breaking. "You're going to be okay. You have to be okay."

Baz's eyes flickered open, just barely, and he managed a weak, blood-stained smile. "Snow... you're such an idiot," he whispered.

Simon let out a broken laugh, tears streaming down his face. "Yeah, well... I'm your idiot," he said, pressing harder on the wound. "Stay with me, okay? Just... stay."

Baz's hand twitched, reaching up to grasp Simon's. His grip was weak, but it was there, and it was enough.

"I'm not... going anywhere," Baz rasped, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Not if it means leaving you behind."

And for the first time, Simon believed him.

As he held Baz's hand and waited for help to arrive, Simon realized something that terrified him more than anything else in the world.

He couldn't imagine a world without Baz in it.

And he would do anything to make sure he never had to.