of divine stock

by twentytwentytwo

Summary:

“Fuck me,” Snow says. “Am I dreaming?” He steps closer. “I must be. You look一” he shakes his head.
“What?” I press.
“Worried.”
~
Or, what if after the fifth year chimaera incident Baz showed his hand

BAZ

Snow sleeps like the dead.

He’s almost tolerable like this; none of the usual tossing and turning from nightmares. It’s a side effect, either from the barrage of healing spells that have been cast on him or the chimaera venom. His pallor is definitely from the venom; if it weren’t for his hair, lashes, and frankly concerning number of moles, he’d be camouflaged against the white sheets of the infirmary bed.

I watch the slow rise and fall of his chest and take it back. Nothing about Snow is ever tolerable. 

It’s the middle of the night, the only time Bunce or any of the other members of his fanclub aren’t keeping vigil by his bedside. Not that I'm any better. I’ve been coming here every night after I hunt to一 I don’t fucking know. Mope? Reassure myself he’s still alive?

I should be elated. And at first, I was. I relished having our room to myself by taking extra long showers and eating salt and vinegar crisps in bed. But after seven Snow-less days the silence started feeling oppressive. Watford doesn’t feel like Watford without Snow’s smoky magic filling up every classroom or stomping feet waking me up each morning. Morgana knows I’ve lost the plot if I’m missing watching him shovel it in at every meal. 

He looks far too thin…. Bunce has taken to eating all her meals by his bedside, like she can tempt him into waking with the smell of roast beef. There’s a veritable mountain of stale scones waiting for him, if the mouth-breathing sleeping beauty ever bothers to wake up. Honestly, I’ve half a mind to cast True Love’s Kiss.

Then, like I’ve shocked him by even thinking it, Snow gasps awake. His hand goes to his throat, right where the chimaera bit him. Then he sees me and scrambles to his feet. Between one breath and the next he’s backed up until his legs hit an empty bed and summoned his sword, magic crackling around it like lightning. 

“Neat trick,” I say, far more mildly than I feel. 

He scowls and lifts his sword higher, arms shaking from the effort.

I roll my eyes. “Honestly, Snow. I’m not fighting you while you’re in your pyjamas.” I slip my wand out of my sleeve and make a big show of setting it out of my reach. 

Slowly, he lowers his sword and lets it blink out of his hand. “I guess plain killing me’s a bit boring after the chimaera,” he says, voice hoarse. 

I take the pitcher from his bedside table and pour a glass of water. Then I cross the room and hold it out to him. 

He hesitates. 

“Poisoning’s dead boring next to a chimaera,” I say. 

He lets out a raspy, surprised laugh. Then he grabs the glass and takes a long drink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

I take the glass back and he studies my face. “Fuck me,” he says. “Am I dreaming?” He steps closer. “I must be. You look一” he shakes his head.

“What?” I press. 

“Worried.” 

That’s an understatement. And uncomfortably close to the truth. “Well the World of Mages has been without a Chosen One for a week, so you can imagine the stress一” 

Snow blanches. Honestly, at this rate he’ll be paler than a vampire (I would know). “A week?” he says weakly and I feel a stab of guilt for telling him this way. “The Humdrum一? There haven’t been any一?” Sparks crackle around his fisted hands. 

“Everything’s fine,” I say quickly. “Everyone’s okay.” 

Slowly, he nods, relief evident in his eyes. “I can’t believe I’ve been out a week,” he says, after a moment. “And I’m still tired.” He starts to laugh, a little deliriously. 

“Almost dying has that effect.” 

“Your fault,” he says, but it’s undercut by a yawn. 

He makes to walk back to his bed but adrenaline and pure will must have been holding him up because he starts to sway, blinking like his vision’s gone wonky. When his legs give out I’m there to catch him. We’re in a pantomime of a hug, Snow collapsing most of his weight against me. 

“Dizzy,” he says, head resting in the crook of my neck. 

“Yeah, I got that.” Everyone feels hot to me, but even I can tell he’s running a fever. He smells like magic and blood and Snow. Someone must’ve taken his cross off. I take an unsteady breath, willing my fangs not to drop. 

“‘M okay,” he says after a moment, lifting his head.

I must look like I want to eat him (and Merlin, I do, just not in the way he thinks) because he tries to pull away. I hold him by the arms. “Don’t even think about it,” I say. “If you fall and crack your head, it’ll be the stairs all over again.” 

“I know you pushed me,” he mutters, but allows me to support him as he walks.

He settles in and I stand like a reaper at the foot of the bed. His blinks are long and slow and he looks about a second away from falling back to sleep. He fights it though, eyebrows scrunching together. “If you weren’t trying to kill me,” he asks, “what were you doing here?” 

I shake my head, grab my wand, and start to leave. “Night, Snow.” 

“Baz.” He’s pressed up onto his elbows, face expectant, like he can stop me just because he says my name like it’s a freezing spell. 

And it works (the tosser). I pause in the doorway. “Just… wake up tomorrow, okay?” 

He blinks, shocked, and I leave before I can do something really stupid like admit that I missed him.

Notes:

once again I am captivated by fifth year snowbaz

title is from the iliad where the chimera is described as "...of divine stock not of men" which... simon?? is that you??? also did not know the word chimera can also be defined as "a thing that is hoped or wished for but in fact is illusory or impossible to achieve" which how baz thinks about simon in carry on is that you????

anywho thanks for reading and if you're a snowbaz sickfic enjoyer you might like my other fic in which baz actually does cast true love's kiss