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The muted pink of crushed fruit clearly visible through Becky’s transparent glass contains none of those weird sparkly highlights that make “Enchanted Forest” smoothies so popular with (and only safe for) Seelies and Warlocks. Simon’s own drink comes in a “to-go” paper cup, the lid carefully snapped in place, because Maia is Go-aw-khem(*) – is a wonderfully understanding friend.  Simon – because he, as Raphael would put it, is a ridículo fledgling who refuses to acknowledge what he has become, – tries to pull it off anyway, as he used to do when he could still drink coffee. Luckily, he catches himself before he can reveal that there is definitely not coffee in his cup; and then he remembers that his sister could recognize the smell, and hastily puts the cup as far away from himself as the tiny table would allow.

‘Relax, Monkey,’ Rebecca says in that gentle voice that makes her sound like his mother, except their real mother is never that nonchalant, ‘I understand you need to drink blood, I’m not stupid.’

‘I know you are not,’ Simon replies miserably, putting the cup in front of himself again, but still refusing to take a sip. ‘That’s just Clary is always disgusted when I have to,’ he chokes on the hated word, ‘feed in front of her. I mean, she tries to hide it, but – ‘

‘Clary?’ Becky’s teasing smile freezes into a scowl, as if she simultaneously expected and can’t believe what she’s just heard. ‘You told Clary, but not Mom – or me?!’

‘I didn’t tell Clary,’ Simon hastily reassures her. ‘She was there.’

And immediately curses his lack of brain-to-mouth filter, but it is too late.

 ‘What do you mean “She was there”? Is she also a vampire now? Does her mother know?”

Simon remembers that look in his sister’s eyes, back from when she was barely a teenager: old enough to be left in charge of two seven-eight-nine-year-olds, not old enough to enjoy the responsibility, yet unwilling to admit she was in over her head.

Rebecca doesn’t approve of Clary – probably because she was the one who had to break it to Simon that what he feels for Clary goes beyond friendship, but Clary doesn’t seem to feel the same; and then she was forced to repeat the painful lesson again and again, but her brother still kept doing increasingly stupid things hoping to make his red-haired dream see him in a new light.

Simon has no desire to lie to his sister when he no longer has to, but there are things Rebecca doesn’t need to know: like Jocelyn Fray’s death, and the Circle, and the never-ending war; and she really, really doesn’t need to know about Camille, but G-ahem, who knows what his sister might discover if she starts asking wrong questions to the wrong people. So Simon takes an unnecessary deep breath and starts talking, trying to keep it as vague as possible:

‘No, Clary is not a Vampire. She is a Shadowhunter. They’re like supernatural police, they protect Mundanes – ordinary people like you, from m – not people, like me. Apparently, she was born this way, but also didn’t get the badass training other Shadowhunters have because her Mom didn’t want her to be a Shadowhunter? That’s all very confusing, but the point is, when Clary’s Mom decided to leave the Shadowhunters, she took some Cup which is pretty important – somehow. Anyway, once the word got out Jocelyn had the cup, everyone suddenly wanted it for themselves, and they also assumed Clary had to know something about it, so the Vampires kidnapped me and told her to bring them the Cup, even though she honestly didn’t know anything about it back then, but she came to save me anyway.’

Vampires can’t spontaneously develop telepathic bonds (as Raphael would sarcastically claim despite always knowing exactly what was on the fledgling’s mind), but Simon can just see his sister thinking about the time when ten-year-old Simon jumped into the pond they were not allowed near to begin with in order to retrieve something Clary had dropped in the water, – and ended up slipping and hitting his head; and Clary, instead of calling an adult for help, kept trying to “save” him herself till they both nearly drowned. He can feel Becky itching to wonder why Clary didn’t just tell someone, because one might not be able to approach a random policeman with a story about your friend being kidnapped by vampires, but Luke was with the police and surely could help? – and so he hastily adds:
‘Not alone, obviously. With other Shadowhunters like her.’

Becky is not fooled:

‘You mean, with other teenage girls?’

‘Not girls, I mean, sure, Izzy is a girl, but Jace and Alec are not.’

Simon belatedly realises he should have tried harder to deny the “teenage” part, which was, unfortunately, undeniable; so, to make sure the hole he has dug himself into is truly nice and deep, he continues:

‘Admittedly, I’m not sure what the four of them were planning to do against two dozen Vampires if Raphael hadn’t let us go.’

‘But not before you were, what do they call it, “turned”,’ Becky concludes sadly.

‘What? No! That’s not when I was turned, even though for a while I thought I was, but in fact I was just, well, drugged. The effect fades off on its own in a few days. Unfortunately, it’s almost impossible to wait off on your own.’

‘But you were not on your own,’ Rebecca frowns. ‘Clary was with you, wasn’t she?”

‘Clary had a lot on her plate,’ Simon replies, habitually jumping to his best friend’s defense, ‘I think. I don’t really remember that time all that well.’

He does remember. The never-ending hypnotic pull clawing into his mind, the invisible laceration in his mouth that kept reopening, coating his tongue in revoltingly delicious metallic taste, Camille’s bloodied fangs and cruel laugh, the cold agony of dying with Clary’s name on his lips and one last jolt of pain as Raphael lifted him into his arms with a muffled “Idiota!”. He remembers kneeling over a fresh grave, sucking on a bag of blood as if it were a juice box, and Clary swearing he was the same person as she looked him straight in the eyes so that she didn’t have to see the incriminating traces of red running down his chin. He remembers realising that the blood bags Raphael kept showing into his hands were the only thing keeping him from biting into Clary’s carelessly exposed neck – and the horror of not being horrified by the urge. But, cinematic merits aside, he would prefer his sister to think of him as Robert Pattinson, rather that Max Schreck. So all he says is:

‘Raphael intercepted me the first time I showed up in the Vampires’ hotel and scared me away, but I guess he wasn’t there when I came back. He found me – after, and took me to the Institute: that’s sort of like Shadowhunters’ headquarters.’

He briefly wonders if Raphael would have taken him home if his last thought had gone to his family.

‘So that’s where you’ve been staying? In the “Institute”?’

‘Sometimes. But Downworlders aren’t really allowed in there. Anyway, it’s not safe for me to be around people,’ his eyes involuntary dart to the side of Rebecca’s neck, where his bite thankfully didn’t scar. ‘It was even worse in the beginning. I couldn’t retract my fangs at all for, like, a week, and then they would pop back out every time I heard a heartbeat, which, in case you were wondering, I can do from across the room without even trying. All in all, it took me over a month to be able to talk to Clary face to face without seeing her as a giant snack.’

The memory still makes him shudder, and he feels Rebecca reassuringly touch his cold hand:

‘Well, I’m glad she managed to help you take it under control eventually.’

For a moment, Simon is generally confused:

‘What? Oh, no, it wasn’t Clary who helped me,’ he clarifies, – apparently, for the third time in a row; and, as the realization settles uncomfortably in his chest, gravely concludes:

‘Raphael did.’

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(*) “God-sent”, in case you couldn’t tell.

Chapter Text

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‘Ok, tell me about this Raphael,’ Becky demands when the silence turns from awkward to oppressive.

‘Well, Raphael is – ‘ Simon starts enthusiastically, and then promptly shuts up not knowing where to begin.

He thinks of the marble-like features that seem an epitome of ancient wisdom despite Raphael having been younger than Simon when he was turned and still being pretty young for a Vampire; of Raphael’s ethereal grace where Vampire speed only makes Simon more prone to stumbling and walking into things; of the crucifix-shaped scar burned into Raphael’s chest and necrotic marks on Raphael’s fingers and forehead that take hours to fade if he gets a chance to attend the Mass, whereas Simon still can’t say “god” even when he doesn’t mean it; of Raphael turning from a poor neighbourhood kid with next to no education into a slick politician, a skilled businessmen and an accomplished musician, while so many Vampires get forever stuck in whatever dark century they come from and Simon’s own resolve to go back to college lasted for all of two days; of Raphael’s infinite patience in the face of Simon’s stubborn lack of desire to do things the Vampire way, – and of how he could possibly explain it all without sounding like he is carrying a huge torch for his snarky mentor.  

‘Raphael is brilliant,’ he finally concedes. ‘Kinda makes you understand why someone could possibly want to be a Vampire. He doesn’t stand for whining and self-pity, but if you’re in real trouble, you’ll want him on your side. Best head of clan ever.’

‘Well,’ Rebecca says with a smile which, Simon knows, mirrors his own goofy grin, ‘in that case, I’m glad he is looking out for you.’

And he knows he should leave it at this, to let Becky believe her geeky brother is watched over by one of the most badass individuals alive (well, undead). Reconnecting with his sister should be about having some of his old life back, the Downworld thing staying between him and Clary. But Clary’s Downworld experience seems to be so different from his own, and he can understand how the world stopped turning for her when her mother was missing and in coma, but now Jocelyn was found, and revived and gone again, yet Clary still behaves like the loss of first his family and then what was supposed to eventually become his surrogate family should not bother him as long as he still has her. And Simon gets that nothing seems particularly important compared to the constant threat of Valentine, and Lilith, and Jonathan, but he, perhaps selfishly, wants to talk to someone to whom his personal problems will matter. So he lowers his eyes and whispers:

‘Not anymore. He kicked me out.’

His miserable look alone will tell Rebecca it was his fault, and he is fully prepared to start on his “I had to help Clary save her Mom” defense speech. But Becky doesn’t ask “What did you do?”. She simply asks “Why?”, and the best answer Simon can come up with is:

‘I did something he explicitly told me not to do because Clary asked to me to.’

‘Like the time I asked you to leave me alone with Chett Donnelly, but you came home anyway, because Clary wanted to watch cartoons and there was no Cable in her place?’

‘More like when she convinced me I had to stand up to those bullies that had been quite content to call me names. Except this time I’m not the one who ended up in hospital.’

Becky’s eyes momentarily widen in involuntary horror, and Simon decides he’d better start talking before she imagines him as the one pushing his classmate standing on the top step without realising it would send the smaller kid flying down the stairs.  Except, laying out the Camille situation in front of an unbiased third party makes him uncomfortably aware that the comparison might have been more accurate then he intended.  

Since Camille had been locked up in order to not let her get control over the new fledgling (another life debt that conveniently slipped said fledgling’s mind), Simon sincerely believed letting her back out was his prerogative: like, sure, he was terrified to face his killer again, but for Clary he would endure; and, sure, he wrote away his only chance to see the justice done, but, again, it was for a good cause. And when Camille chose to disappear without a trace instead of coming to torment him, as far as Simon was concerned, the situation was successfully resolved. Now, as he strives to talk Becky through the intricacies of Vampire politics he barely understands himself, it slowly dawns upon Simon that Camille didn’t come after him because she doesn’t give a damn about her latest toy. What she cares about is Raphael overthrowing her power and the clan members who supported the new leader. Also, the Clave’s interest in an abused fledgling would only go as far as his status of a freshly killed Mundane. And, frankly, the Clave didn’t care all that much about Mundanes either, unless they made a fuss or turned up suspiciously dead. So, Simon might tell himself he can’t be the only person Camille has killed, but the truth is, after over half a century of Raphael’s perfect “incanto” making sure Camille’s victims left the hotel technically alive and unaware of their terrifying experience, Simon might very well be the only one in any position to accuse her; meaning that he didn’t only help her escape, but literally let her go free. And when it was time to answer for his actions, instead of proudly standing by what, he still claims, had been the right thing to do, he rejoiced Aldertree’s lack of interest in his humble self and happily pointed the man who very openly didn’t shy from torture in Raphael direction.

And then there is this whole “Daylighter” business. And, yes, Simon is also still convinced keeping the secret is a right thing to do. Raphael surely deserves to walk in the sun again, but there is just no ethical way to get him the cure: which, worst of all, Raphael might actually understand; especially as it also requires the Sword that kills any Downworlder in the vicinity, – something Raphael would definitely understand. But Raphael doesn’t know; all he knows is that Simon’s miraculous transformation has something to do with the Shadowhunters: that Simon has once again chosen them over his own kind.  

The thing is, Simon misses Raphael fiercely: partly because Raphael was the only one who didn’t treat him like he still was a helpless Mundane, but mostly because Raphael, despite his penchant for sarcasm and insults, makes Simon feel safe and comfortable in his own skin. If only he could talk to Raphael, if only he could explain, – but there never seems to be a right moment, with everything that’s been happening about Camille, and Aldertree, and Lilith, and Izzy, and Jonathan. Plus, Clary still needs him – except she does not: because Clary has Luke, and Jace, and Izzy, and Magnus and, reluctantly, Alec and Meliorn; and there is nothing that an undertrained fledging, who, despite a few lucky breaks, is, frankly, still just one step away from a Mundane, can add to their collective skill set. And Simon suddenly realises that, underneath all his noble and sensible excuses, he is just being childish: that the true reason why he is so reluctant to go back to Raphael’s side is that, constant mortal danger aside, running around with the Shadowhunters saving the world is fun; supporting Raphael through his trouble with the clan, and primal urges, and mortal family (shit, how familiar does it sound?) would be – not fun.

‘But that,’ Simon perks up with new-found resolve, ‘would truly be the right thing to do!’

‘You do realise it’s not me you should be talking about all this, don’t you?’ Rebecca asks softly. ‘Or, better yet, you shouldn’t be talking at all, you should be doing something!’

And Simon’s mood plummets back down.

‘Except it’s too late now. I don’t even know where to find Raphael. Izzy made him go away.’

As soon as the words leave his mouth, Simon knows that’s just another excuse. But, instead of calling him out on it, his sister unexpectedly asks:

‘Izzy? Clary’s friend, the girl Shadowhunter?’

‘Yes.’

‘But isn’t she, like, your age?’

‘Technically, she is Clary’s age, so a little younger. Why?’ Simon asks confusedly.

‘Well, isn’t it strange that she just asked him – ‘

‘They had that – thing,’ Simon interjects awkwardly, the very idea of Raphael and Izzy being romantically involved making him wince for some reason, but after months of worrying about him doing drugs his sister truly doesn’t need to know one could be a Vampire – and still get addicted, ‘I guess she didn’t want him around.’

‘No,’ Becky shook her head emphatically, ‘what I mean is, a random eighteen-year-old girl told the most influential Vampire in the city to basically get lost and leave his clan behind – and he listened? That doesn’t make sense.’

‘He did, supposedly, kidnap and torture Heidi.’

‘Excuse me if I find it hard to feel sympathetic,’ Rebecca scoffed, rubbing the side of her neck subconsciously.

‘She hadn’t done anything wrong back then.’

‘But since then she has done plenty. If she were put in front of the Jury, Clave or whatever you call it, it would be the word of a deranged criminal against that of an upstanding citizen.’

‘And,’ Simon continues enthusiastically, smelling a riddle and momentarily forgetting that they are discussing a real and not particularly pleasant situation, ‘Vampires can’t heal from ultraviolet-induced damage. Not without horrible scarring or a Warlock’s help, – and there were no marks on Heidy besides that coin-sized spot on her wrist. Of course, they might have been under clothes, but she wasn’t wearing all that much to begin with, and, anyway, undressing someone is so not Raphael’s style. Even Aldertree went straight for the face.’

The name brings back memories of a deceptively friendly face and a sleek voice crooning “turning unsuspecting Mundanes is against the Accords –”:

‘ “frying a Vampire in the sun is not”,’ Simon finishes the quote aloud (**).

‘Is not what?’ Rebecca asks gravely.

‘Not illegal. Well, I mean, tying one up and leaving to burn is, but, like so many things in Downworld law, as long as no one ends up dead, it’s not a big deal.’

‘Does becoming a Vampire count as ending up dead?’

‘Undead,’ Simon huffed. ‘Obviously, turning a Mundane without their explicit – written – consent is a big “no-no”. But, the thing is, Heidi was killed by Quinn, not Raphael. And,’ the chill he is no longer supposed to feel settles into Simon’s very bones as he finally processes the implication, ‘I let Heidi drink my blood. I didn’t mean to, I didn’t even notice, but, technically, I was the one who turned her into a Vampire, – Raphael just made sure she would not be left suffocating in her coffin for eternity.’

‘And yet, by skipping town Raphael pretty much pleaded guilty,’ Becky murmurs incredulously. ‘Why would he do that?’

‘Because he blames himself,’ Simon replies with sudden clarity. ‘For dragging me into this world, and maybe even Heidi as well. Because he believes he is giving us another chance.’

Raphael grudgingly shared the story of bleeding his closest friends dry upon crawling from the grave, – it was obviously an old pain he was used to living with and it scared the fledgling into trying harder to control his hunger. Other Vampires happily told Simon “the whole story” – it’s hard to get new listeners when you’ve been living together for decades.

Supposedly, before entering the hotel for the first/last time, Raphael had prayed for God to grant him strength to protect his loved ones from the monster residing within. As he came back from DuMort, now a monster himself, for a while he was sure there must be no god after all, because, surely, He wouldn’t have let it happen; until someone pointed out that it was, in fact, becoming a Vampire and killing all his friends that gave Raphael the power to defeat his sire.

As far as Simon is concerned, the story sounds like a fairy tale, and also very like Raphael, except he wouldn’t have shared something like this with anyone. The point is, there are only two things that are important in Raphael’s life, mortal and immortal alike: his family and his faith. And now that he no longer has Rose, or his clan, or Izzy, or even Simon, who knows if faith will be enough to keep him going.

Simon thinks of the last time he saw Raphael – angry and exhausted, bloody tears drying on pale cheeks, arm hanging lifelessly in the aftermath of the “Mark of Cain” display (shit, did that even heal OK?) – and shudders.

‘What are you thinking of?’ Rebecca touches his cheek gently, to make him look away from the tablecloth and meet her eyes.

Simon gives her an over-cheerful smile, still unwilling, but now determined to go through with what he should have done weeks ago.

‘I’m thinking,’ he replies, running his hand pensively through his messy locks, ‘that I need to go beg Magnus for a portal to wherever Raphael has gone. And I’m not sure I have enough vampire hair for this kind of favour.’

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END

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Obviously, there needs to be a tearful reunion (“WTF, fledgling, not in public, don’t you know your tears are bloody?”), but I am utterly incapable of writing emotional scenes, so, if anyone wants to do it in my stead, be my guest.