Work Text:
“Please,” Simon whispered. “I know I fucked up—
“Fucked up? You gave up everything, Simon. What for? The Nephilim starved you in their righteousness.”
“I know,” Simon replied, his ribs ached with it. “Tell me how to fix this. Tell me how to make this right.”
“I don’t know if you can, Simon. How can the clan ever trust you?”
The voice broke, breaking Simon into pieces. “How can I, Simon?”
“I’m so sorry for everything,” Simon scrubbed at his face. “I’m so sorry. I just want to come home.”
Silence. A dark figure he could only just see.
Love, all encompassing.
An impossible warmth engulfed him. A soft mouth was pressed to his neck. The heat of bloodied tears. The touch of a hand pressed flat to his back.
Rocking, rocking, rocking—
Simon woke up, crying, the dream had rattled him to his core.
He stretched his arm across the bed and found nothing. No one.
“What the hell,” he whispered. The sobs continued, shaking him, unstoppable in face of the unfeasible loneliness that suddenly engulfed him. “What the fuck.”
-
“Hey—
Simon blinked at Lily sitting behind her desk; something in him almost expected someone else.
“Simon?”
“Yeah,” he laughed, shaking his head to clear it. “Sorry, totally spaced out. I have the documents you asked for. The New Jersey clan royally fucking sucks, no pun intended, please never send me back there.”
“Come on, Simon.” She leaned back in the pretentious ass leather chair and grinned wide. “The baby of the clan doesn’t get to choose, you know that.”
Something in him lurched at the way baby slipped –wrong– past her lips. He rubbed the place over his heart absentmindedly.
Lily narrowed her eyes.
“Simon” she tried, again. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah,” he rasped. “I just haven’t been sleeping well, s’all.”
Lily’s sharp eyes watched him.
Wrong wrong wrong.
-
Soft fingers trailed shapeless figures along the length of his back.
Simon borrowed deeper into his pillow, hiding his grin.
What had he done to deserve this? Love, all encompassing.
“Te amo como se aman ciertas cosas oscuras,” The low voice recited, smooth as anything. Gentle lips pressed kisses into Simon’s shoulder, his back, the base of neck, the soft place just behind his ear. “secretamente, entre la sombra y el alma.”
“God,” Simon exhaled, overwhelmed, as the others’ body engulfed his. Overwhelming. “God. God.”
Disoriented and alone alone alone, Simon gasped himself awake.
He felt phantom breath against his neck.
Simon pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, and pressed tight tight tight, painful—
The loneliness felt like a gaping wound in his chest.
Wrong.
“Enough,” he whispered. “Enough. Whatever this is, enough.”
-
Simon slammed the door to the hotel behind him.
He fucking hated Shadowhunters. Simon hated the Clave with a burning so intense he thought it’d choke him. Vampire ashes littered Brooklyn, and the assailant was unknown. But as long as the Clave’s hands were clean, it didn’t matter to them –this was strictly vampire business, nothing to do with them.
Simon exhaled sharply; willed the red tinge on the edge of his vision to disappear.
“I’m guessing it didn’t go well,” Stan drawled lazily from his sprawl on the coach. Lily watched Simon silently, lips pressed into a tight line. “Just like we warned you it would.”
Simon worked his jaw minutely, his fangs filled his mouth, his words were muffled in his rage. “They don’t care. We could all burn up and die for all the attention they gave me.”
“Oh, baby.” Lily sighed. She sounded so tired. “Of course they don’t.”
(Wrong.)
He suddenly felt as exhausted as Lily sounded, Simon settled in the space between them. He shut his eyes tight tight tight against the hurt they had all been suffering. Against the image of Clary’s beautiful eyes, wide with regret.
Largely, entirely, unhelpful in the face of the Night Children’s calamity.
Stan pressed a warm glass of blood into his hand.
“Drink, fledgling.” Stand ordered him. “Can’t have your temper tantrum spiraling into actual violence.” Simon glared at him over the glass, but drank nonetheless.
(Anger pulsed through him like a living thing. How dare they? How dare they?)
Lily threaded her fingers through Simon’s hair and tugged lightly.
“We’ll figure this out on our own, we always have.” she said. “But thank you for trying.”
Simon smiled weakly in reply. “I think I’m just gonna go to bed.”
He pressed a kiss to Lily’s cheek and squeezed Stan’s shoulder before making his way through the halls of the hotel.
Simon clearly remembered Clary’s warm hands clasped his cold ones. Hesitant words spilling past her lips, words declining Simon’s desperate pleas for help.
“We’re dying,” He’d told her. “Something is out there killing vampires, vampires, Clary. We’re literally the thing everyone else is scared of. I am officially asking you for help on behalf of the New York Clan—
“We can’t, Simon.” She whispered. “The Clave won’t allow it.”
“So go on an unsanctioned mission,” his voice had risen enough that the Shadowhunters surrounding them tensed, waiting for the wild uncontrollable Downworlder to snap and attack one of their own. “Or is that only okay when it’s one of yours? Not when it’s my Clan, my family on the line.”
Simon shook his head roughly. With every passing day, the space between him and Clary grew wider; they were oceans away from one another. He opened the door to his bedroom only to lurch to a stop.
“Huh,” in his muddled state of mind, he’d walked into the room directly in front of his, one of the many abandoned suites in the hotel.
An overwhelming sadness engulfed him, burning away the anger.
“What the hell,” he whispered. He wiped at his wet cheeks and they came away red with tears. “I’m seriously going out of my mind.”
He felt an impossible breath across the back of his neck and quickly turned—
There was nothing. There was no one.
-
“Say it. Come on, Simon. I know you can.”
“It hurts,” Simon replied, shaking his head. “I choke every time, I can’t—
Cushion-soft lips suddenly pressed to his. Simon gasped against the warmth of them, lips parting against the others’ tongue.
Love, all encompassing.
“Come on, baby.” hands found their way underneath Simon’s shirt, pressed hot into the length of his back. “Say it.”
“God,” Simon whispered against the other’s lips. Reverence in every exchanged touch. “God.”
He stared up at his bedroom ceiling.
Simon’s bed could’ve been miles, miles long for how empty it felt.
Alone alone alone.
“G—
He cleared his throat roughly.
“G—
The word stuck, burning and holy, in his unholy throat.
His bed was still empty.
Simon was still alone.
-
Simon watched Lily pace the length of her office once, twice, again, again, again—
“Advisor to the Interim Chapter President,” she muttered low under her breath, he’d only barely heard her. “Who the fuck came up with that?”
“Lily,” Simon snapped. “What’re you doing?”
She threaded her fingers through her long hair and tugged.
“There is something seriously wrong,” Lily replied. “Simon, I keep turning to speak to someone who isn’t there. I keep looking for something I can’t find.”
He gaped at her –if his heart had still been beating, if only.
“I’m not crazy,” she snapped at his expression. “I’m not, Simon. I know what I’m feeling.”
“No, no.” He rushed to reassure her. “No. Lily, I’ve been feeling it too.”
Her eyes were wide, wide, wide. She twirled the blue strands of her hair between her fingers.
“This could be part of whatever’s been going on,” she wondered. “Whoever’s been targeting the Night Children. Maybe.”
“The Seelie’s?” Simon asked her, goose bumps erupted across his skin at the mere mention of them. He really wasn’t a fan.
“Maybe.” Lily stared blankly. “Maybe.”
“I’ve been having dreams,” Simon rasped, the words crawled out of his throat. “Walking into rooms that aren’t mine.”
“Oh, Simon.” Lily whispered. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
He smiled weakly, “We have enough going on.”
There it was, the phantom breath along his neck. The aching constrain in his chest.
I feel you, he wanted to say. I know you’re there, whoever you are.
Love, all encompassing.
-
“Magnus,”
“Seamus,”
Simon rolled his eyes, “You know what? Close enough,” He tossed a grinning Magnus the bag of ingredients Simon knew the warlock had been searching for, for some time now.
“Ah,” Magnus exclaimed, wonderfully. “You are the single best thing to ever happen to me.”
Simon snorted. “I’ll let Alec know you think so.”
Magnus sent him a lecherous wink and set about completing his work. Simon settled in on the couch, drink in hand, and desperately tried to ignore the permanently dislodged feeling that he carried around in his chest.
“So,” Magnus drawled, “are you going to talk about it or am I going to have to coax you like a toddler?”
“That’s very comforting. Thank you, Magnus.” Simon replied, scathingly. Magnus tried to hide his grin into his work but Simon secretly thought they were best friends. “It’s stupid.”
Magnus raised a brow. “This is novel. You have never not wanted to share your thought before.”
“No seriously,” Simon went on, ignoring the jab. “Considering the last few months? This is nothing. This is dreams and a weird feeling.”
“Lily called,” Magnus said, slowly. “She said you’ve been having nightmares.”
“All vampires have nightmares.” Why couldn’t he just tell him? What was he so scared of? “We all died violent deaths. It’s a miracle any of us even function.”
Magnus leveled him with an unimpressed look.
“You’re in a safe space, Shannon.”
Simon snorted.
“Magnus, there’s nothing to talk about,” Simon repeated, despite himself. “They’re not even nightmares—
“Simon.”
“I think I’m going out my mind,” Simon found himself whispering. “Or maybe Camille is fucking with the Sire bond all the way from Idris, I don’t know, can she even do that?”
Magnus slowly set down the ingredients he’d been working with and sat beside Simon. “Okay, you’re going to have to start from the beginning.”
Simon gestured vaguely. “That’s just it, I don’t remember when this started. I feel like I’ve been living with it my entire life. Something’s off. I feel like I’m walking around missing something huge –colossal even.”
“Simon,” Magnus started slowly, “the realization of immorality sometimes feels—
“No, no.” Simon replied, quickly. “No, it’s not that, I swear. I feel like something’s staring me in the face and I just can’t see it. I don’t know how to explain it.”
Magnus hummed, thoughtfully. “Go on,”
“You know that moment,” he said “when you wake up and turn over to put your arms around someone –someone you love, someone who means everything to you.”
Magnus’ expressive eyes were soft, soft, soft. “Oh, Simon.”
“I feel so alone,” Simon whispered. “Not in the post-Clary sort of way, either. In the way that I’m supposed to wake up to someone and they’re not there.”
“I’m missing something,” Simon went on, voice cracking. “I’m missing someone but no matter how hard I try I just can’t fucking remember.”
Magnus stared at Simon hard enough that the other fidgeted nervously under the immortal’s gaze.
“Do you believe me?” Simon asked.
“Oh yes.” Magnus answered immediately. “If only for the fact that I’ve felt something too.”
“Magnus, what the hell.”
He shrugged, minutely. “I thought it was just Time. Every couple of hundred years I go through an odd spell, I couldn’t be certain the origins of it.”
“What do you think it is? Seelies?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. There are whispers,” Magnus said, thoughtfully. “Of old, dark magic that some especially cruel warlocks still partake in occasionally.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s nothing worse than being forgotten, my friend.” Magnus replied, ruefully. “Even in death, our memories are loved and cherished by those we leave behind. But to erase someone from existence? All that potential, all those days lost. All of those memories. It’s bound to leave some sort of mark, somewhere.”
“Magnus,” Simon said, frustrated. “Magnus, what do I do?”
“Embrace the dreams,” Magnus replied. “Let your body lead you to where it needs to go. Something –or, someone rather, is trying to tell you something.”
A sad smile graced Magnus’ face.
“Whoever they are,” Magnus mused and pressed the place over his heart, “they’ve left quiet an imprint on many of us. You especially, Simon.”
Magnus’ ancient eyes found his and stared him down long and hard. It was like he was trying to find something specific.
“You need to remember, Simon.” Magnus finally said. “For all of our sakes.”
~
It was probably cold; going by the way Clary shook slightly.
“Hey Simon,” she whispered into the dark of the Brooklyn bridge. “It’s good to see you.”
He smiled as best as he could through the regret that clogged his throat.
Simon wished for so many things. But for some reason, he no longer wished for Clary.
He wondered when that had changed. When had he gotten from point A to this? Or had he forgotten that as well?
Her smile had fallen into something small and sad –something understanding.
(Still his best friend, despite the scarring.)
“I’ve been doing some digging,” Clary said. “With everything going on at the Institute, I couldn’t ask anyone for help so it took me a while.”
She pressed a file into his hands.
“Nathaniel Acton,” she said. “A Shadowhunter that had once been in the Circle. He was pardoned after the Uprising but record says he was especially vicious towards the Night Children. He moved back to New York a few months ago.”
Simon’s jaw worked around his lengthening fangs.
“I’m not a hundred percent that it’s him that’s been killing vampires,” she went on, “but I’m sure enough to bet my runes on it.”
He nodded. Simon was so tired. Why couldn’t they leave them alone?
There it was, that sad little smile again gracing the curve of Clary’s lips.
“I’m sorry,” Clary whispered. She pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’m sorry, Simon. For everything.”
“Me too,” he rasped in reply. He circled his arms around her and held her tight. “I wish you well, Clary.”
“Oh, Simon.” Her tears felt like a white hot burning against his skin. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too,” he replied.
It was no longer enough, they knew that.
But they held each other, in the darkness of the Brooklyn Bridge, regardless.
-
Simon wrapped his arms around the figure, pressed smiles and kisses into the base of his neck.
“Simon,” the voice mumbled, heavy and gorgeous with sleep. “For the love of God, let me sleep.”
“Sorry,” Simon whispered, not the least bit sorry. “I woke up and I loved you.”
The figure stilled minutely before shifting in his arms to face Simon.
“You,” the voice breathed, cool breath heaven against Simon’s open mouth, “are the single most infuriating man in the world.”
Simon’s laugh was loud in the dark, in the silence of the DuMort.
Love, all encompassing.
Kisses where pressed to Simon’s grinning mouth, to silence him, to love him.
“and I love you,” the voice went on between biting kisses. “I love you so much, Simon Lewis.”
Simon kept his eyes closed tight, held on with all of his might.
He wished he could trade whatever was left of his soul for a permanent place in that dream.
In the arms of a man Simon could not remember no matter how hard he tried.
“Please,” Simon whispered, tears heavy in the back of his throat. “I don’t know what to do.”
Thoughtlessly, Simon found himself –boxers and Star Wars t-shirt— in that empty suite again.
He settled on the floor and crossed his legs.
“Tell me your secrets,” he said to the empty room.
Nothing. No one.
“I know you’re here,” his voice broke, something awful. “I feel you everywhere.”
He swallowed down the desire to scream, and scream, and scream—
Something glinted at him in the dark. Something that hadn’t been there a second before.
Simon rushed to it like a man dying.
The golden cross glinted in his hand and for a single, awful moment there was nothing and then, like a tidal wave, there was everything, everything—
Raphael, Raphael, Raphael—
Meeting Raphael. Loving Raphael. Betraying Raphael. Loving Raphael all over again. No longer a single moment in his life that Raphael didn’t color as bright as sunlight and then—
“Oh,” Every bit of breath rushed out of his body. Between one blink and the next the room had returned to the way it had once been –Raphael’s room. Raphael and Simon’s room. The room they shared.
Raphael, Raphael, Raphael.
“Oh,” Simon knees buckled at the sight of him and hit the carpet hard, jarring his teeth. “Oh.”
Objectively, fucking objectively, Raphael was the single most beautiful thing he’d ever had the fortune of laying eyes on.
Raphael stood there, real and whole, the greatest thing to ever happen to Simon—
“Look at you.” Simon wondered, out loud. “How could I have ever forgotten you?”
“Simon?” Raphael’s voice was hoarse with disuse. “Simon, I kept trying—
Simon rushed towards him on heavy feet.
His arms were full of Raphael, Raphael, Raphael—
(He didn’t realize how empty his arms had been until Raphael was back in the circle of them. He didn’t realize how deep the ice had seeped into his bones until Raphael brought warmth back into his life.)
“How could,” Simon pressed kisses into Raphael’s soft hair, his temples, his cheeks and his jaw. “How could I have ever—
Raphael’s hands, like always, found their way underneath Simon’s shirt and pressed to the length of his back.
“I tried to reach you, Simon—
“I felt you,” Simon replied, hysterical, against Raphael’s mouth “You impossible man, I felt you every time.”
Raphael laughed and laughed, and Dear God the sound of it, the most beautiful thing Simon had ever heard. The sight of it a balm to the horror of the past weeks.
Everything about Raphael was so much, so much—
“I’m never letting you out of my sight,” Simon pressed kisses to Raphael’s knuckles, his wrists. There wasn’t an inch of him that Simon didn’t want to touch. “I’m never letting you go.”
Raphael, Raphael, Raphael—
He pressed a hard kiss to Raphael’s smiling mouth.
“Likewise, baby.” Raphael said, real and whole and there. “Te amo, mi amor. Te amo.”
(finally, Right.)
They’d be fine. Simon could fight the Clave and the Shadowhunters and Nathanial fucking Acton as long as he had Raphael. He’d defy everyone and everything.
Love, all encompassing.