Archive of Our Own ^beta

1.

Simon has always hated working out. He just never understood the point of it. All you did was sweat and get exhausted and possibly throw up, which he could just as well do getting drunk at a festival.

So yeah, he usually sat gym out in the boys restroom in high school and was just really glad P.E. wasn’t a subject in college anymore. He could wave goodbye to that horrible waste of time for the rest of his life.

That is, until he got Turned.

Training with Raphael was hard before he betrayed him. He would kick him around, throw him against walls, make him run until he threw up the blood he’d drank right before (he made a mental note not to feed before training anymore) and throw punches at him until he was dizzy and unsteady on his feet.

But where his training was hard before, it’s ruthless now.

Simon doesn’t blame him. Ever since they got Bonded after Camille died, Simon can feel Raphael’s emotions. Not super strongly and not all the time, but sometimes he’ll feel a flare of anger or frustration or hurt. Raphael is still mad at him for having betrayed him, and he puts all that anger in his training with Simon.

Simon hadn’t expected Raphael to pick up training again when he was finally let into the hotel again. He’d thought the older vampire would just leave Simon to it, make him figure it out by himself. If he’s strong enough to betray the clan, he should be strong enough to continue training by himself.

But, surprisingly, one day after his return to the hotel, Raphael wakes him up by flicking on the lights in his room and throwing a pillow at his head.

“Wake up, fledgling,” he says, already annoyed. Simon grimaces at the return of his old way of being addressed. He’s already missing baby, even though he hated the nickname when Raphael still called him that. The last time he did, Simon was dying in his arms and Raphael saved his life. “Training starts in half an hour. You better be there.”

And then he’s gone again, leaving the door to his room open as he goes.

Simon rolls out of bed, anxiety already building in his chest as he gets dressed. He knows this is gonna be ugly. Raphael is gonna make him sweat and probably also cry and throw up, just to get back at him. He’s just that kind of guy. But Simon knows damn well he deserves it, and he’s gonna do everything in his power to make Raphael trust him again. And if that means playing punching bag for him, so be it.

He makes his way to the professional gym in the basement of the hotel, where Raphael is already waiting for him. He’s wearing grey sweatpants that hang low on his hips and a black tank top, his hands stuffed in fingerless gloves. Simon swallows thickly, suddenly painfully aware of his own worn sweats and Star Wars shirt.

“Good, you’re here,” Raphael says. Then he swings a punching bag Simon’s way, who catches it with a small ‘umf’. “Let’s begin.”

***

Training absolutely wrecked Simon. Raphael barely gave him any breaks between punches, didn’t give him the time to be able to find a weak spot and strike back, worked him on the ground over and over again. It’s like he put all his pent up anger in today’s training session. Simon could feel his rage when they were sparring, almost choked on it when Raphael attacked. But Simon stood his ground, underwent whatever was coming for him. He just wants Raphael to know he can count on him, to know he’ll be there every single day to get beat up if that’s what it takes.

They train every morning, always the same routine. Simon sometimes fights back, but mostly he just lets Raphael have his way at him. Today isn’t any different and Raphael has worked him to the ground and is straddling his hips, his fists repeatedly making contact with Simon’s face.

“Damn it, fight back!” He suddenly spits. He stops beating Simon up and sits back, chest heaving.

Simon doesn’t reply, just tries to squirm from underneath him. But Raphael clenches his thighs around him and holds his wrists above his head, their faces inches apart.

“Why aren’t you fighting back?”

Simon looks away. He doesn’t want to admit that he wants to be beat up, that he feels like this is the only way Raphael will trust him again. If he sees that Simon is willing to get injured by his hand, he must see he’s a loyal clan member now, right?

Raphael lets go off one of Simon’s wrists to cup his chin instead, forcing him to look at him.

“Why are you so self-destructive, Simon? I can sense it every time we train. You want me to hurt you. Why?”

Simon tries to jerk his head out of Raphael’s grip, but it’s too strong. Frustrated tears well up in his eyes and he furiously tries to blink them away. Raphael notices and rolls off him immediately, holding onto Simon’s wrist to pull him to his feet.

“Simon, please tell me what’s wrong. Are you hurt? When’s the last time you fed?”

And he sounds so worried. Simon knows he’s still angry, still blames him for everything. He shouldn’t have any reason to sound so concerned and yet here he is, looking at Simon with such softness in his eyes Simon just wants to fall to his knees and beg him for forgiveness. Raphael is so good, so kind. He didn’t have to Bond him to him through a Sire Bond after Camille died. He could’ve left Simon to die with her. After all, why should he care? Simon betrayed him and the clan, chose the Nephilim over his own kind. He deserved to die.

And yet, Raphael saved him. Again.

Simon breaks down.

He can’t remember the last time he cried this hard. The sobs ripping through his throat almost sound animalistic, wailing like a wounded wolf. Not even death had caused such a reaction. His legs give away underneath him and his knees buckle as he falls to the ground.

Raphael is next to him in the blink of an eye, worry and uncertainty on his face. He doesn’t know what to do or say, so he just pulls Simon in an embrace and strokes the back of his head as he cries.

A small, ugly voice in Simon’s head tells him he doesn’t deserve this – will never deserve this. Why is Raphael comforting him after everything he’s done, why did he take him back, why did he Bond with him? He should’ve let him to die on the streets. He wished he had.

But, though the voice in his head is probably right, Simon just heaves: “I just want you to forgive me.”

Raphael’s arms momentarily freeze around him before he presses him even closer to his chest. One of his hands is in Simon’s hair, pressing his face in Raphael’s shoulder. The other one lies flatly on Simon’s back.

“Simon, I forgave you the night you killed Camille for me.”

Simon hiccups and pulls back, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands like a child.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Raphael breathes. He reaches out to wipe away a tear dripping down Simon’s cheek. “But you have to understand I don’t trust easily. Having lived as long as I have, you realize only a few people in your life deserve your trust. I thought you were one of those people, but I was wrong. I know you want me to trust you again, but it’ll take more than for you to let me beat you up to achieve that.”

Simon bites his lip and nods. Raphael’s words are still ringing in his ears, momentarily drowning out the ugly voice telling him Raphael would be better off without him.

I forgave you the night you killed Camille for me.

There’s still a long way to go for him, but forgiveness is the first step.

Raphael cups his cheeks and brings Simon’s head to his lips to press a soft kiss to his forehead. He murmurs something in Spanish before pulling back.

“I think that’s enough for today. Why don’t you go fetch us some blood and we could sit down and watch a movie?”

Simon sniffs pathetically before getting to his feet. A sudden feeling of embarrassment washes over him when he realizes he just broke down like a child, but Raphael doesn’t look too bothered with it. If Simon didn’t know better, he’d even think the fondness Raphael used to have in his gaze is slowly returning.

But, much like his trust, Simon has to earn that fondness back. And he’ll try his damn hardest to do so.

2.

At first, Simon doesn’t know why Raphael wants him to accompany him to a Clave meeting. Surely there are more respectable vampires in the clan, those who actually have something to offer in the meeting. Simon barely knows all the laws and rules and restrictions put on Downworlders (in his defense, there are a lot) and he’s still a fledgling, young and inexperienced. He doesn’t have any status to brag with, won’t automatically gain anyone’s respect by simply stating his name like Raphael.

But twenty minutes into the meeting, Simon realizes this was a punishment.

He has to give it to Raphael: the man knows how to get back at him. If there’s anything Simon hates (besides working out) it’s sitting still for hours on end, having to pay attention to something he doesn’t even understand. Well played, Santiago, well played.

In the short amount of time Simon knew about the Shadow world when he was still a Mundane, he preferred the Shadowhunters over the Downworlders. From what he’d seen, the Nephilim protected humans and Downworlders alike against evil. They served and protected without expecting anything in return. They were just and good, while the Downworlders mostly caused trouble and made their work harder to do.

But being Turned into a vampire had changed his opinion on them. He quickly came to realize that Shadowhunters only agreed to include Downworlders in their oath to protect because of the bloodbath Valentine caused almost twenty years ago. A lot of Downworlders had died back then, and the Nephilim felt responsible. After all, one of their own had almost managed to wipe out entire species. So they agreed to protect Downworlders too from now on, but only if they were restricted to rules and laws to make sure they wouldn’t turn around and betray their loyal protectors the first chance they had. And if a Downworlder were to die in a demon attack, the Shadowhunters wouldn’t be the ones to mourn the lost life. They reminded Simon a lot of the American police force: sworn to protect civilians, only to shoot the innocent black man in the back.

Their prejudice and dislike for Downworlders is painfully obvious at the Clave meeting. Not only are the Downworlders unfairly underrepresented (only two representors for each species) but the Shadowhunters are also unfairly overrepresented. For every two Downworlders, there are four Shadowhunters. It’s basically like an ancient indignation meeting, where royalty and priests were heavily represented in comparison to the few peasants allowed to speak their word.

There is power in numbers, and that’s something the Shadowhunters like to take advantage of.

Simon is only faintly aware of the topic of the meeting. Something about wanting to change a law that allows the Nephilim to kill a Downworlder if they deem them as a threat for either their mission or their own life. Of course the Downworlders want to change this law, considering the Shadowhunters could say whatever the hell they want and get away with murder, just because the Clave solely consists of Nephilim. Of course they won’t punish their own kind if they insist that they were forced to kill.

Raphael turns into a whole other person at meetings. Though he looks young (only having reached the age of nineteen before being Turned), the whole room listens when he talks. Even the werewolves, who throw him nasty glares, keep quiet to listen to what he has to say. Raphael forces respect upon him simply by speaking.

And yet, despite his strong personality and the way the entire room seems to hold its breath when he speaks, there are still some who disagree with his arguments.

“Camille knew how important this law was,” a Shadowhunter rudely interrupts. Raphael glares at him.

“Camille is dead,” he states ice cold. “I’m in charge of the New York Clan now. She should not be taken into consideration anymore.”

“And how come she died?” The Shadowhunter wonders with tilted head. He’s ugly. Simon has never seen an ugly Shadowhunter (they are all children of the Angel, as they like to remind everyone, and angels can’t possibly be ugly) and yet he is. His face reminds Simon of that of a rat.

Rat lets his gaze drift to Simon.

“Your little fledgling there killed her. I wonder if he did it for you. So you could take charge of the New York Clan once and for all. Considering you’re his Sire, I only have more reasons to believe you used him as your personal hitman.”

“Those are some dangerous accusations to make, Shadowhunter,” Raphael warns. He’s tense in his chair.

“Prove me I’m wrong,” Rat dares. Raphael hisses lowly in the back of his throat, only loud enough for Simon to hear.

“Simon was Camille’s fledgling. He killed her to save my life and almost died himself. I broke his Bond with her and made him my own to save him.”

“I don’t believe you,” the Shadowhunters says, an arrogant smile creeping up his face. Simon can’t believe nobody is stopping him from riling Raphael up. But then again, maybe they’re just waiting for Raphael to snap and attack him so they have a reason to kill him. One more vampire gone, one more problem solved.

But Raphael seems to have calmed down. In fact, the smile on his face is almost identical to that of the Shadowhunter.

“Look, just because you’re full of self-loathing because you fucked a Downworlder, a cold corpse even, doesn’t mean you have to accuse me of things I did not do. That’s not very professional of you. Keep your relationship with Camille out of this.”

Implying to be having any kind of relationships with a Downworlder is one of the biggest insults you can possibly throw at a Shadowhunter. They usually don’t want anything to do with them, think they’re too good for them. the Lightwood siblings are an exception to this rule, but Rat is getting red and puffy in the face.

“Tread lightly, you vile blood sucker,” he warns. “Unless you want to be staked through the heart.”

Raphael raises an eyebrow and tilts his head.

“Is that a threat?” He wonders.

The Shadowhunter growls and stands, his Seraph blade already in hands. Simon is on his feet before he even realizes it, having positioned himself in front of Raphael before he can all but blink.

“I dare you to try and touch him, Shadowhunter,” he snarls. The last word comes out like bile, like something nasty. It’s not a title, it’s an insult.

Rat quirks an eyebrow.

“Hitman and bodyguard? I must say I’m impressed. Too bad you don’t seem old or trained enough to protect him.”

“I will drain you of every last drop of blood in your useless body if you hurt him.” Simon’s voice is ice cold. It sounds strange even to his own ears. Threatening. Dangerous.

Raphael pushes back his chair and curls his hand around Simon’s bicep to hold him back. The touch has a calming effect on Simon’s rage, and he can feel his fangs retract as he relaxes under Raphael’s hand.

“My fledgling and I will be leaving now, before one of us gets killed. Which would be, by the way, a crime. We were not directly threatening his mission nor his life, as plenty of witnesses will be able to agree on. Though I’m sure he will not be punished for this since he bears the mark of the Angel and is by extend untouchable. I would very much like to discuss a new law at the next meeting, one about Downworlders being able to kill Nephilim if they feel like they threaten their life. Till then, I sincerely hope every single one of you rots in Hell.”

And with that, he promptly pulls Simon out of the room and out of the building. They use an already opened Portal to travel from Idris back to New York, and only when they’re safely back at the hotel does Raphael turn to face him.

“You didn’t have to stand up for me, Simon.”

“But he was threatening you!”

“I get threatened all the time. They’re mostly empty and meaningless.”

“But still. He can’t talk to you like that. Who even was he? Some unimportant Shadowhunter –” He spits the word again, like he can’t wait to get the ugly taste out of his mouth, “talking like that to the leader of the New York Clan? That’s – that’s unacceptable.”

A frown tugs at Raphael’s eyebrows as he replies: “He thinks he’s entitled to talk to me like that because he thinks he’s entitled to talk to any Downworlder like that. He thinks he’s better than us, but truth is – he’s actually worse. At least we know what respect is.”

“I hate him,” Simon says, and he means it. “I hate how they treat us. It’s not fair.”

Raphael nods, pats Simon’s cheek.

“I’m glad you’re finally realizing that. I’m proud of you, Simon.”

Something unfamiliar and hopeful flutters in Simon’s chest at his words. He stood up for Raphael in front of a whole room of Shadowhunters, clearly showing where his loyalties lie. And he didn’t even have to think about it; protecting Raphael came as easily as blinking. It would be easy for Simon to blame it on their Sire Bond, but that never stopped him from killing his previous one. No, this need to protect the older vampire comes from somewhere else, somewhere more personal.

“I want you to come with me to the next meeting,” Raphael states.

Just mere hours before, Simon would’ve tried to get out of it. He would rather die than to sit through a meeting like that again. But that was before someone threatened Raphael. The thought that it would happen again without him there to protect him makes Simon feel sick to his stomach, so he nods and offers Raphael a smile.

The older vampire returns it, and suddenly the space between them feels so intimate Simon can barely breathe. He wants to curl up in that smile and cling to it forever, hold up the corners of Raphael’s mouth himself so he’ll never be sad again.

But then Lily interrupts to discuss some urgent clan matters and the moment is gone just as fast as it came. She barely offers Simon a glance before dragging Raphael with her, which Simon guesses is an improvement to how she reacted when he first set foot back in the hotel.

It makes Simon remember that he doesn’t just have to gain Raphael’s trust back. He betrayed the entire clan, and he’ll have to earn their trust back too.

3.

Sometimes it’s easy for Simon to forget he shares a Sire Bond with Raphael. The older vampire – unlike Camille – never uses it, and Simon is grateful for that. When he dreams about Raphael, it’s purely because he wants to, not because Raphael invaded his dream with their Bond. He sometimes senses emotions that aren’t his, like a foreign touch in his brain, but he knows Raphael doesn’t do it on purpose. He never tells him about it, about the sadness or anger washing over him like unfamiliar waves. He doesn’t want to embarrass him.

So, when Raphael does reach out to him, Simon startles awake.

“Raphael?” He says aloud. He doesn’t know why because he knows he isn’t in the room with him, but he feels like he’s there anyway. There’s a tugging in his mind, urgent and nervous, and Simon throws back the covers to get out of bed.

“Raphael?” He tries again, softer this time. He feels panicked without having any reason to be and knows it’s Raphael who feels like this.

“Simon.”

Simon is sure he heard his name, but there’s nobody around to say it. He looks around in confusion, feeling ridiculous and like he’s being pranked.

“Simon.” There it is again, more urgent this time. The panic is building in his chest. Simon realizes with a shock that Raphael is reaching out to him through their Bond and he puts all his concentration and effort in forming a reply, imagining the words forming in the air as he thinks them.

“Raphael?”

“Finally. Simon, I need your help.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m trapped somewhere. I can’t get out and I don’t know what’s happening.”

“Okay, I’m coming to find you. Do you know where you are?”

“No, it’s just dark. I can’t see anything.”

“That’s okay – it’s okay,” Simon says, trying to calm him. He’s almost suffocating on panic now, his tongue feeling thick and heavy with it.

“I’ll find you, don’t worry. I’m on my way.”

It’s quiet for a moment and Simon thinks Raphael has broken the connection, but then he says something else.

“Hurry.” It’s soft and scared, totally unlike how he usually is, and Simon feels his own panic creep up to him now. This must be serious.

He scrambles out of his room and looks through the hotel to find Lily, who’s sitting in the lounge. She glares at him when he approaches her.

“Lily,” Simon says urgently. She averts her gaze, as if the sight of him bores her.

“Lily!” Simon repeats. He bends over and puts his hands on either side of the armrests of the chair she’s sat in, trapping her between the chair and his body. She snaps her gaze back at him, a barely visible snarl on her lips.

“What is it, fledgling?” She growls.

“Did Raphael say where he was going?”

The question seems to catch Lily off guard, the snarl faltering on her face.

“Why?”

“Just tell me!” Simon snaps. Lily squints at him.

“Careful, fledgling. Raphael isn’t here to protect you.”

“As if you’d ever hurt me. You know Raphael will kill you if you try.”

“I’ve been one of his closest friends for decades. And who are you? Some reckless fledgling who’d betray us at the first chance he gets?”

“I’m the one who has a Sire Bond with him and knows he’s in trouble. So you’re gonna tell me where he said he was going so I can go and get him. Unless you want to have his death on your conscious.”

Lily growls, then pushes him away to stand.

“He told me he was going to see Magnus,” she finally says.

Simon nods and walks away. Before he can leave the lounge, Lily stops him.

“Simon?” She asks. Simon turns around to her. “Bring him back.”

“I will.”

***

After having rung up Magnus to make sure Raphael isn’t at his place, Simon goes out to look for him. He has no idea where to start or how to find him, but he has to do something.

He tries catching his scent, but he's unable to find it no matter how hard he tries. So then he tries reaching out for him again, pushing the words out of his mind in the hope of them reaching Raphael.

“Can you tell me anything about your surroundings?”

He tries not to panic when Raphael doesn’t reply. After all, he would know if he was dead. He’d probably be dead too.

“Raphael?”

“I – I don’t know. It’s just dark.”

“Okay. That’s okay. Just hang in there, it’ll be fine.”

Raphael falls silent. He’s still panicking, but the feeling seems to have subsided. Simon just hopes he’ll find him before Raphael finds a new reason to freak out.

Simon tries to track him down almost the entire night, exhaustion tugging at his limbs every step he goes. He almost gives up, almost tells Raphael he’ll try again next night, when there’s a sharp pain in his head. He gasps and reaches for his forehead, trying to massage it away. But the pain doesn’t stop, only grows stronger as he keeps walking. Somehow, he knows it’s Raphael. It’s almost like the pain is guiding him: for every step he takes into the right direction, the pain gets stronger. If he goes into the wrong direction, it grows fainter.

It eventually leads him to an abandoned warehouse on the edge of the city. A bad feeling washes over him as he takes in the building.

Simon knows he shouldn’t enter unknown territory alone. He knows he should always have back up in case things go south, but he doesn’t really have the clan to rely on anymore and after the fiasco at the Clave meeting, he doesn’t have much desire to ask the Shadowhunters for help either. So he goes in alone anyway, hoping that he’ll find Raphael and they’ll get out of here unbruised.

Of course, being who he is in the world like it is, that is just wishful thinking.

He should’ve known it would be that Shadowhunter rat. It’s always them, in any scenario where his kind is in trouble. But he hadn’t given the ugly man a second thought after the meeting, thinking he’d relieve his anger on some demons and be done with it.

But there he is, casually leaning against a chained coffin as he inspects his nails on possible dirt. His Seraph blade is lying on top of the coffin.

Simon can feel his blood heat in his veins when he realizes Raphael must be in there. How dare that scum, that glorified police officer put Raphael in the same position Camille had found herself in? How dare he treat him the same way as her?

“I’m here,” Simon sends to Raphael.

“I know,” he replies almost immediately. “I can sense you.”

“That Shadowhunter is behind this. He’s here too. What do I do?”

“Get him away from the coffin. Distract him. You’re faster than he is, so you should be able to free me if you’re fast enough. Then we’ll take him down.”

“You got it, boss.”

He rounds the corner he was stood behind and calls out to the Shadowhunter. He snaps his head up and immediately reaches for his blade, holding it in front of him defensively.

“What'cha got there?” Simon wonders. He walks towards him slowly, hands raised in feigned surrender.

“None of your business,” Rat snarls. Simon raises his eyebrows.

“Oh, but it is. You see, I think you have my Sire in there. And holding a vampire captive who hasn’t done anything to you… that’s against the Accords, my pal.”

“The Accords shouldn’t exist in the first place. You Downworlders only cause us trouble and distract us from our real job with your problems.”

“And yet here you are, wasting time on dealing with one vampire when there are so many demons who should be dealt with instead.”

The Shadowhunter growls deep in his throat, almost like an animal.

“I should’ve taken care of you at that meeting.”

“Yeah, I guess you should’ve.” Then Simon opens his arms invitingly, daringly. “I’m right here now, though. And not a Clave in sight to stop you. After all, who’s gonna care about one more dead vampire? Not the Nephilim, that’s for sure.”

“You really do have a death wish.”

“I do. And right now, I’m begging you to fulfill it.”

Rat smiles, an ugly, yellow-toothed grin.

“Your wish is my command.”

And then he lunges forward, Seraph blade held out in front of him. Simon easily dodges the attack and darts away, tricking the Shadowhunter into following him.

Simon guides Rat away from the coffin and then shakes him off, hiding until he passes him and then stealthily retracing his steps. He has plenty of time to unchain the coffin and help Raphael out before the Shadowhunter returns.

“Not really the smartest one, are ya?” Simon asks.

“Or maybe I just wanted both of you here,” Rat replies with an ugly grin. Then he jumps towards a rope Simon had deemed as part of the building when he’d entered and a wooden cage comes crashing down, trapping Simon on the spot. He wants to reach out and snap the wood, but there are holy symbols crafted into it. He can’t touch anything without being burned.

Raphael moves to free him instead, considering that he can touch holy symbols, but the Shadowhunter doesn’t give him the time to before surging forward again and engaging in an attack.

It’s like a twisted dance, one Simon is forced to watch in his cage. Raphael and Rat dance around each other like two caged lions, occasionally making a move to strike but never actually doing it. Simon’s heart would be hammering with anticipation if it were still beating.

It all happens so fast.

One second, they’re still walking around each other to see who dares to strike first. And then Rat makes a diversion, moving his body to the left and speeding to the right when Raphael is momentarily distracted. He grabs him in the hair, kicks at the back of his legs and forces him on his knees. He holds the Seraph blade against his throat like this is an execution instead of a fight.

Simon knows he’ll kill him. He sees it in Rat’s eyes, in the way he licks his lips. And he’s so desperate to do something, to save him, that he wraps his hands around the bars of the cage and ignores the burning as he shatters the wood. He lunges towards them, only focusing on Raphael on his knees and the look in his eyes, like he already accepted his fate and then –

He should’ve paid attention to the blade.

Simon has thought about dying a lot since he Turned. He’ll admit he used to have suicidal tendencies, often starving himself until Raphael basically forced the blood down his throat. And when those passed, he wondered when he would come to his end. It was just impossible for him to think about literally living forever. He had to die one day, right?

When he was still human, he’d thought he’d die of old age. When he became a vampire, he always felt like he would die a heroic death. Probably while trying to save someone he loves.

And as the blade gets ripped out of his chest, only having barely missed his heart, he thinks he succeeded in that. Distracting Rat had given Raphael enough time to scramble back to his feet and rip his head straight off his shoulders.

It hits the ground as Simon does.

Raphael is by his side in seconds, pulling him onto his lap and flapping his hands over Simon’s chest, not sure what to do.

“Can you please stop dying to save my life?” He asks, voice shaking. Simon tries to laugh, but he only coughs up blood.

“You seriously need to consider getting a bodyguard,” he gurgles.

“You’re usually pretty good at it when you’re not getting yourself killed.” Raphael tries to keep his voice light, but Simon notices the tears forming in his eyes. Is he crying? Would he really shed some tears if Simon died, even after everything he put him through?

“Can’t Bond with me again to save my life, can you?” He mutters, already struggling to remember how to use his mouth. Where dying as Camille’s fledgling had come fast and painful, dying as Raphael’s is slow and almost like he’s being lowered into a warm bath. Death doesn’t seem so scary as it once did. Simon is almost okay with it, but then a cool tear lands on his face, dripping from Raphael’s eyes, cooling down his burning body. And he realizes he can’t leave this boy behind. The boy who struggles with his own demons when he forgets Simon can feel what he feels, the boy whose heart was broken when Simon betrayed him and still picked up the pieces to offer it to Simon again, the boy who has fondness in his eyes when he looks at him, maybe even love.

So Simon fights. He clings to life like he has never done before, refusing to give in to the darkness tugging at his vision. He has to stay awake, even if it’s just to comfort Raphael.

It’s a coincidence, really. The way one of Raphael’s bloody tears lands on Simon’s lips, the way his tongue darts out out of reflex to lick it off.

Raphael must’ve seen the movement, because suddenly he jerks his head up and lifts his hand.

Simon watches as he bites into his own wrist, dark blood immediately welling from the small wound. Then he presses his wrist to Simon’s mouth.

“Drink,” he insists. “Sire blood has healing abilities. I don’t know if it’s enough but – we have to try. Please, Simon. Just drink.”

And so he does, sinking his fangs into the wound Raphael has already left for him to suck the blood into his mouth. The liquid feels warm on his tongue, despite the fact that they are both cold creatures. Weirdly enough, the warm blood cools down his hot insides until he feels like he’s lifted out of the warm bath and placed under a pleasantly cold shower. Raphael is panting above him, his head hanging as Simon drinks.

When he finally feels like death isn’t pulling him down anymore, he gently parts with Raphael’s wrist. The bite will leave a scar, as all vampire bites do, but he licks it closed with his healing saliva anyway.

Raphael presses their foreheads together and takes a shaky breath.

“You’ll be okay,” he whispers.

“Thanks to you,” Simon whispers back. “Again.”

“You’re not allowed to ever almost die ever again, you hear me? I can’t bear it.”

“That’s the easiest promise I ever had to make.”

They sit like that for their own little eternity, their foreheads pressed together and Simon’s body in Raphael’s lap as it heals itself. Simon can feel his flesh stitch together again around the wound of the Seraph blade and the blood dry on his skin and shirt.

When the sun starts rising, Raphael lifts him in his arms and carries him to the coffin. It’s a tight fit with the two of them, but they make it work by lying on their sides and facing each other. Raphael closes the lid just as the first beams of sunlight drip into the room.

Though it’s too dark to see anything, Simon knows Raphael is watching him – or at least, looking into his direction. The older vampire can’t stop touching his face, moving from his forehead to his cheekbone to his chin and up again.

“I’ve read about people dying from worry,” he murmurs in the dark as his thumb traces Simon’s lip. “But I never believed such a thing could actually happen until I met you.”

+1

Simon is sent to trial for killing a Shadowhunter.

It’s ridiculous, really. Because when has a Shadowhunter ever been to trial for killing a Downworlder? When are they ever actually punished for their endless crimes?

But Simon faces it heads on. He doesn’t regret taking the blame for killing Rat – or Oliver, as the Nephilim call him. It made more sense for him to kill him than Raphael, especially because everyone present at the Clave meeting a few weeks ago knows how far Simon would go to protect his Sire.

That’s how he ends up not being punished. Magnus insists it was because he’s just a great lawyer (who was bribed into defending Simon with expensive draperies and jewelry by Raphael), but Simon knows it’s because all Downworlders and even some Shadowhunters from the Clave meeting testified for him. They all agreed that Oliver had publicly threatened Raphael and they all also know how strong the Bond between a fledgling and its Sire can be. Simon has the scar of the Seraph blade to prove that Oliver attacked him and almost killed him and not a person in their right mind would ever question Raphael on his word.

Simon is the first Downworlder in a long time who was sent to trial and walked out of it without punishment, and that leaves an impression with the other Downworlders. Suddenly he’s the one who broke the Shadowhunters’ precious rules and got away with it, the one who almost died to protect his own. Maybe the best thing about it is his clan finally embracing him again. They’re all grateful for him having saved Raphael’s life, especially Lily, and they agree to forgive him for his betrayal because he’s made up for it.

Or maybe the best thing about it is the way Raphael looks at it him now. Not just with fondness, but with unhidden, unfiltered, raw love.

It had taken Simon almost dying twice and being saved by Raphael the same amount of times to pick a side, to choose his own people over Clary’s. And when he finally does, it is as if there’s a weight being lifted off his shoulders. No more following the Nephilim around, not even Clary’s friends, no more nasty looks people at the Institute used to throw him, no more feeling the need to apologize for just being alive. It’s like someone cut the strings holding him up like a puppet, and that someone is Raphael. He freed him in more ways than he will ever know, and Simon is so grateful for that.

He thought other people caught up on his change of character, but, as he’s come to realize more and more, the Nephilim are quite thick for being the children of a heavenly creature. That’s how Clary and company end up at the DuMort again, and for the first time in his life, Simon isn’t happy to see them.

“Simon,” Clary says with a relieved sigh, as if she thought he wouldn’t be here. She moves to give him a hug and Simon briefly hugs her back, but it just feels awkward now. She’s from the same kind that almost killed Raphael, will always continue to try and kill their species. How can he ever feel comfortable loving her when he still sees the Seraph blade pressed to Raphael’s throat when he closes his eyes, when the scar on his chest still stings from time to time?

“What are you doing here?” He asks. It sounds sharp even to his ears, but he won’t apologize for his tone.

“We need your help –” Clary starts, but Simon is already holding up his hand to stop her.

“No,” he says simply.

“What do you mean, ‘no’?” Alec asks. Simon lets his eyes flicker to the tall Shadowhunter.

“No, the opposite of yes, a negative, to refuse,” Simon says, his gaze cold.

Clary wants to say something, probably explain the situation, but suddenly Raphael is by his side and snarls at them.

“Your kind is no longer welcome here,” he hisses.

“Raphael, listen…”

“I will do no such thing,” Raphael cuts Clary off. “This is vampire territory, and since we no longer have an alliance, that means this is enemy territory for you. We are allowed to kill you on our ground if you refuse to leave. So – leave.”

Clary glares at Raphael. Simon notices how she grips her Seraph blade just a bit tighter and instinctively takes a step closer to his Sire, pulling back his lips in an almost-snarl.

That seems to catch the redhead off guard.

“Simon, it’s me!” She exclaims, as if he could ever forget. “I’m your best friend. Why are you acting like this? Like we’re enemies?”

“Because we are! Or did you forget how your kind almost broke the Accords by trapping both Raphael and me and wanting to kill both of us?”

“You can’t judge all Shadowhunters by one rotten apple, Simon.”

“Why not? You seem to do it with Downworlders. We’re all the same to you. All slaves to our own instincts, all a burden, all half demon. Now, Raphael won’t say it again so I will. Leave.”

“Si, we can be a new generation of Shadowhunters and Downworlders. We can show everyone it is possible to live together in peace, to like each other. But only if you help us –”

“That’s enough, Clary! We always have to help you and you’re never available when we need your help. You’re not really good protectors if you need help from the people you’re supposed to protect, are you?”

Raphael puts a hand on Simon’s shoulder. Only then he realizes he’s inched closer to Clary, almost snarling in her face now. He relaxes under his touch like he always does.

Clary’s bright eyes flicker between him and Raphael, and then her expression turns hard.

“You’re in love with him,” she says. Simon doesn’t know why it sounds like an accusation. “Look, this is way bigger than your little crush. There’s a war, in case you haven’t noticed. And quite a big one, too.”

“Our kind is always at war with yours,” Raphael says. “This one won’t be any different.”

“Except it will be. Valentine is coming for you and he won’t stop until the Shadowhunter race is pure and all Downworlders are dead.”

“Well then,” Raphael smiles. “I’m looking forward to seeing you back in hell. Till then…” He motions to the door, calm as ever. Clary glances at Simon once more, a plea in her eye, but he avoids her gaze. This time, she’s on her own.

She seems to understand, promptly turning around to walk away. The rest of her company follows suit.

Simon lets his shoulders slump when he hears them leaving the hotel. He suddenly feels like he aged fifty years in the few moments the Shadowhunters were here.

Raphael’s hand is still on his shoulder, squeezing it lightly.

“I must say I’m impressed,” he confesses.

Simon turns to him.

“Why?” He questions.

“Because you chose your kind over the Nephilim.”

Simon knows it goes deeper than that. He didn’t just choose the vampires over the Shadowhunters; he chose Raphael over Clary.

“I learned from my mistakes,” he mutters.

“I know you did. You’ve proven yourself.”

He’s quiet for a moment, chewing his lip. Simon finds himself mesmerized by the movement.

“You’ve proven you’re willing to die for me twice, Simon. If that – if that doesn’t earn my trust back, then I don’t know what will.”

“Does that mean –”

Raphael reaches out to stroke his cheek, then nods.

“Yes, Simon. I trust you with my life. I hope that isn’t a mistake.”

“It isn’t, I swear,” Simon stammers. Raphael nods again, but doesn’t move his hand away from his cheek. And, well, Clary basically just exposed his feelings to Raphael, so he might as well do something about it. So he turns his head to press a kiss to the palm of Raphael’s hand.

The older vampire takes a shaky breath, then slides his hand from his cheek to his neck and brings up the other one too to cup it.

He brings their faces impossibly close. Simon notices Raphael has faint freckles spread across his nose and cheekbones, so pale he didn’t even see them until now. He feels the sudden urge to trace them and lifts his hand to do so, but changes his mind at the last moment and just settles his hand on Raphael’s cheek instead.

Raphael’s eyes flicker over his face, from his eyes to his lips and back. And Simon has wanted this for so long, has dreamt this exact scenario, he almost whimpers with want.

“Raphael,” he whispers.

And then they’re kissing.

Simon doesn’t know who initiated it, who pulled the other one in. All he knows is that Raphael’s lips are moving against his, that their bodies are pressed together, that there are sounds coming from either of them – he doesn’t know who. And then Raphael parts his lips, licks into his mouth, and Simon thinks he sees sunlight, as terrifying as it is beautiful.

The kiss is slow, exploring. There is no heat in it, no need for more. They’re both perfectly content just like this, slowly mapping each other’s mouth, memorizing it. By the end of it, when Raphael pulls back to gasp for air he doesn’t even need, Simon feels dizzy.

“Wow,” he breathes.

“I know,” Raphael replies.

He reels Simon in for a second kiss when he caught his breath, as tender and soft as the first one. Simon briefly remembers his first training session after he’d betrayed him, how Raphael had put all his anger towards him in his punches.

Now he seems to be putting all his affection in his kiss, wanting to make sure Simon knows he’s loved and wanted and trusted.

And Simon knows. Oh, how he knows.