When intentions are lost in translation
For @snowbaz-feda day 29. Baz takes care of Simon, and Simon accuses Baz of plotting.
I didn’t want to go off and kill them all, I thought I could fight the beasts and chase them away, but there are too many of them and none of my spells are coming out right and there are cuts across my body where they’ve slashed me with their claws and I can’t. I can’t fight them. The sword drops from my hand, the magic spills over, and I feel the explosion at the same moment I hit the ground.
Snow barely makes it through the door and to his bed before he collapses, his upper body slumped across the bed with the rest of him still hanging off it, knees scraping the floor. I wait for him to heave himself the rest of the way up, but he doesn’t move. I can smell blood, and his shirt is torn in a few places.
I ignore the sensation of my fangs filling my mouth and cautiously step closer.
There’s no answer, not even a groan, and he’s still not moving. I take in the dishevelled state of his hair and the scars on his back, visible through the tears in the fabric of his shirt, and I forget all about keeping my distance and rush to his side. I grab his wrist.
There’s a pulse, but it’s slow and irregular, and he seems to be struggling to breathe.
Up close the smell of blood is stronger, and I can see that he’s unconscious. Whatever it was has seriously hurt him. He starts to slump back towards the ground and I catch him with an arm around his shoulders. I try to figure out how to move him onto the bed with the least physical contact possible. In the end, I scoop him up with my other arm under his knees, and I try not to hold him too close as I lift him up and gently lay him on his back on the bed.
I take out my wand and spell away the tattered remains of his shirt, dropping them onto the floor for him to deal with later. There are cuts and wounds all over his chest, some bleeding quite badly, and his face looks pale underneath all the blood and grime and he looks like he could be dead. There’s a strange ache in the pit of my stomach, and I won’t pretend I don’t know what it is. (It’s the feeling of seeing the one you love close to death, and realising how close you are to losing him.)
I cast every healing spell I can think of, repeating them over and over, until the scars finally start to shrink and the colour returns to his cheeks.