Nightmares Word count: 855 Genre: Mostly angst, but also fluff! Summary: Baz is plagued by nightmares, and Simon is there to comfort him.
Based off of this post by @carryonsnowflakes! Basically, it gave me so many feels that I word vomited my very first Snowbaz fic. I hope I did your idea justice, and I hope the rest of you like it as well!
The moon is high up in the sky outside Snow’s bedroom window, and shining like the sun. It hangs gracefully in between the few twinkling stars you can see through the city’s air pollution, and I stare at it, absently, lying on my back in Snow’s bed; he’s curled up against my side, an arm slung over my waist and his head nuzzled into my shoulder. I can feel his curly hair against my chin - it tickles every time I move even the slightest bit – and feel him breathing against my skin.
It’s comfortable, and safe, having him here.
But I can’t fall asleep.
I don’t know why. I don’t know why my mind has chosen tonight of all nights to torment me with every memory I’ve tried to suppress, every question I don’t have an answer to. But it has, and I can’t shake them out of my head.
Are you going to live forever?
The woods. The Humdrum. Simon, exactly the way he looked, the first time you met him.
Are you sure you’re even alive?
The numpties. Ebb’s brother, telling you it was the Mage. It was always the Mage. And then Nicodemus running after you, begging to follow and fight. For his sister.
You’re just another one of them, aren’t you? Just another dead soul, wandering.
The White Chapel. Wind. Ebb’s dead body in the middle of the room. Simon falling down. And you, thinking he was dead.
I let out a shaky sigh and squeeze my eyes shut, desperately willing myself to drift away. I feel the softness of the pillow beneath my head, the warmth from Simon’s body against mine. Just drift away.
There is blood. Blood and darkness and a voice that shakes the insides of my skull. Its words are venomous, and there’s a high pitched whine underlying it all. The wind from the White Chapel.
Nothing, I think the voice says.
You are nothing at all.
And then I feel that void, that horrible nothingness that had flowed through me, that time the Humdrum placed his hand on my back. I twist and scream and beg for it to stop, but it doesn’t stop.
And then I’m in the woods, back on my family’s estate, in Hampshire, but the trees are black and bent and wrong around us - the Humdrum, Simon and I - and suddenly I see glowing eyes approach from the darkness behind him, behind Simon. I recognise Nicodemus the moment he steps out from the trees.
“I have to save my sister,” he says, and looks hungrily at Simon.
I try to lurch forward, to block his path, to do anything, but I can slowly feel myself becoming less and less. It’s almost as if I’m close to non-existence. But now I feel that hunger. That same hunger in Nicodemus’s eyes. For blood. For magic. For Simon.
And Nicodemus smiles at me, fully displaying his fangs, because he knows. “You’re just another one of us, Basilton,” he says, moving closer.
And even though the hunger is consuming me now, and this time I pull forward to attack Simon instead of shield him, I manage to yell for him to get away. Get away, now. Go! Please!
Before I hurt you.
And then the Humdrum is by Simon, when he used to be here, and the Mage is standing over them both, screaming and tearing at them, and Simon is falling, falling, falling…
I startle awake. Snow’s face is right here, right in front of me. His nose is touching mine, and his hands are at my cheeks, which are wet with tears. All I can see is the blue of his eyes, and they are so alive, it makes a small sob escape from my lips, involuntarily, and I immediately try to push him off of me.
“Baz, what-” He falls back slightly, frowning, before catching my wrists in his hands. “What are you doing? Baz?”
“Get away from me,” I whisper, closing my eyes against the sight of him. “I don’t want to hurt you. Please.”
There’s a brief silence, and then I feel him lean back into me, gently pushing my arms away from his shoulders and cupping my face with his hands.
“Shhh,” he whispers, so softly. “It’s okay… it’s okay. You’re not going to hurt me.”
“You can’t know that,” I say weakly.
“Yes, I can. And I do. You would never do that. Okay? I trust you. I love you. It’s okay.” His fingers brush away my tears, and he kisses me gently, silencing my hiccups. I breathe him in, deeply, warm and sweet and so real. So much more real than the dream that tortured me.
My fingers find the back of his neck, and I pull him closer, so that I can feel his heartbeat thumping slowly and steadily against my chest. His mouth, warm against mine, whispers those words of reassurance, over and over and over again.