Warning for torture.

Maybe if Simon had known that it would be the last time he would see Clary ever again, he would have done things differently. Said something different. Would have told her that he loved her, that he couldn't imagine a life without her, that she was everything he had ever wanted and even more. But he hadn't known the significance of the moment, had he? It was just another death defying moment in a consecutive row of near death experiences their life had turned into after that one fateful night at Pandemonium.

So, as he jumped on Valentine´s back to prevent him from advancing on Clary and Jace, he thought that he would see them at the end of it, because they always made it through, even against all the odds.

"Clary, run!" he shouted as he tried to wrangle the Soul Sword out of Valentine´s grip. But even though he had vampiric strength and speed on his side, Valentine was still more experienced and battle-hardened than Simon, who could barely run a few meters before crashing into something. Valentine grabbed his wrist and suddenly their positions were reversed, with Valentine holding the sword to Simon´s throat, daring Clary and Jace to attack him.

"Brave, but stupid," he chuckled as the little Warlock girl – Madzie, Simon remembered her name – opened a portal behind them. "I´ll see you soon, Clarissa." And then they stepped through the portal, Clary´s scream of "Simon, Simon!" echoing behind them and then suddenly turned off when the portal closed. Valentine´s grip on Simon didn't lessen and Simon was acutely aware of the sharp blade pressed against his throat, the metal cold, but still it felt like hot iron.

They were in some kind of factory, Simon assumed. The wall was lined with pipes, brown with rust, every now and then releasing steam into the empty hallway. Every few meters, light bulbs hung from the ceiling, flickering and illuminating the hallway with their sickly yellow light. Drops of water fell from the ceiling into the pools of water that littered the ground, the only sound besides their steps on the ground. Simon could feel Valentine´s breathing ghosting over his neck as the man dragged him forward and he had to supress the urge to shudder in disgust.

They came upon a thick security door which opened with a wave of the young girl´s hand, making way into a wide hall that looked like it came straight out of a horror movie: Cages hung from the ceiling as well as standing at the walls, their sturdy iron bars covered in rust and other unidentifiable substances – blood, probably and the fear coiling in Simon´s stomach spiked up.

Valentine manoeuvred him towards a cage at the end of the hall and shoved him roughly into the empty space, making Simon trip and fall to the ground. As fast as he could Simon picked himself up from the ground and glared at Valentine with all the hate and disgust he could muster.

"You won´t get away with this!" he exclaimed with more bravado than he actually felt. Valentine just looked at him with that insufferable smirk on his face and chuckled.

"Don´t be so sure about that, little vampire," he replied. "Soon enough, Clarissa will have other things to worry about than you. And besides, only Madzie and I know of this compound and it´s protected by the most powerful wards known." He laughed and Simon never heard a sound uglier. "You´ll never be found unless I want you to be." He turned around, one hand settling on Madzie´s shoulder, like a loving and caring father, and then they walked away.

Suddenly Simon felt all so cold.

Soon the fear was replaced by boredom. You just couldn't be afraid all the time, there needed to be a reason and when nothing happened for a while its grip around his heart lessened until he didn't feel cold anymore. Simon let his gaze wander around, trying to find any weakness in the cage that would allow him to break free and leave this horrid place. But he found nothing, no matter how much he looked, no matter how hard he jolted at the iron beams, even with his supernatural strength. He noticed that there were runes painted on the ground all around the cages and it only added to the feeling of uneasiness Simon was experiencing: Runes never meant anything good for anyone not a Shadowhunter. They warped, corrupted, distorted and destroyed and Simon didn't want to be in contact with the gift the Angels had handed down to the Shadowhunters to destroy his kind. And knowing Valentine, he had probably moved the runes as far away from their original purpose as possible.

Maybe Simon couldn't escape now, but sooner or later someone needed to come (he ignored the voice in his head that whispered of how Valentine may have decided to let him starve to death, because he couldn't give into that voice and the desperation it would bring) and then Simon would escape.

He slumped back, the cold of the metal seeping through the fabric of his shirt.

He had to.

"I think you need to be taught the consequences of defiance," Valentine hissed. Simon tried to move, but Valentine just activated a rune on the ground next to the cage and suddenly the vampire couldn't move anymore, an invisible power holding him into place and locking him into his own body.

Simon should have known from the beginning that his 'escape' had been just a trap, but when he had seen the small rune inside the lock of his cage, a plan had formed inside his head. Carefully, he had scratched the rune away, bit by bit, always watching for violent reactions of the magic contained within the small drawing. Nothing had happened, though, and when he had finally scraped off enough of the rust and metal to interrupt the precise lines of the rune, the door of the cage had opened with a quiet click.

Simon hadn´t bothered to wait and plan the rest of his escape. The thought of getting out of the dreadful complex Valentine had taken for himself and the need to be reunited with his friends had made new strength to curse through his body and with vampiric speed he ran across the hall, sight set on the door on the other end of it…

…only to suddenly collide with an invisible barrier halfway across the hall. The force of the impact was so strong that it threw Simon hallway back. Pain erupted in his chest, making his vision blur.

"Did you really think that I would make it that easy?" Valentine had jeered and had dragged him back to the cage, where he now found himself immobilised and completely at the mercy of the other man.

"One thing I found out before you and your friends robbed me of my ship and freed my experiments –" here Valentine´s face contorted into a grimace of rage before it settled down again "- was that one can still draw runes on Downworlders and you won´t die as long as it isn´t completed." He pulled his Stele out of his pocket and twirled it between his fingers.

"You´re insane," Simon hissed, trying to mask the terror he was feeling with courage that he didn't.

"No, I´m not insane," Valentine contradicted him as he crouched down next to Simon, the Stele hovering over Simon´s exposed stomach. "I´m merely a man with a vision." And before Simon could think of anything else, Valentine brought the Stele down on his skin.

For a short moment, nothing happened. It confused Simon, for he had – knowing Valentine and his sadistic streak – expected the worst. He couldn't budge, couldn't even move his head to see what Valentine was doing, his field of vision filled by the far-away ceiling and Valentine´s face who looked down on him with cruel indifference.

And then, as if a wrecking ball had been flung into him, the pain suddenly exploded into his abdomen. If Simon had been able, he would have recoiled from it, scrambled back into one corner of the cage, but the only thing he could do was to scream as the pain began to spread through his whole body, from his toes to the tip of his hair, setting his every nerve ablaze.

Unmoved by Simon´s anguish Valentine continued to draw the rune on the vampire´s skin. Simon didn't know where his body ended and the pain began; he felt like he had been set afire, the flames licking at his skin greedily from within and without. He could feel tears leaking from his eyes, but he didn't care; he just wanted for the pain to stop. But it wouldn't. Time lost its meaning: So entangled in the pain that Simon couldn't even tell if only seconds had passed or hours, the moments bleeding into each other. One second of pain or one hour; it felt the same anyway.

After a while (or maybe after a few seconds) his voice gave out, but Simon couldn't stop screaming, turning it into a pathetic wheezing. It was the only outlet the had left, the only way at least some of the pain could escape his body. Simon couldn't stop screaming because otherwise the agony would tear him apart, rend his mind asunder and leave behind nothing but an empty husk. So Simon screamed and screamed and screamed to keep himself alive.

He didn't notice when the pain stopped, only noticed that the haze over his mind was suddenly lifted and the tears stopped from falling. Simon just laid there and tried to breath (even though he didn't need to, be he needed to feel human, feel alive).

Valentine stood up and the force that had held Simon vanished, but no matter how hard he tried, Simon couldn't follow suit, his body to weak for even the smallest of movements, so he just laid there on the ground, the smell of burnt flesh creeping into his nose and making him want to vomit, but there was nothing in his stomach. Everything in front of his eyes blurred and Simon wondered if it was because of the Rune or because of his tears. It didn't matter in the end, though.

"Why are you doing this?" he managed to croak out and he hated himself for how pathetic he sounded. "I have no worth to you."

"Oh, on the contrary," Valentine replied. "Soon, you´ll be worth very much, Simon." It was the first time Valentine had addressed him with his name and somehow Simon felt tainted by it. As if the syllables coming from the other man´s mouth would cling to him like oil and never come off again. "Just remember: No one is coming to get you."

Simon didn't reply anything and as Valentine left he continued lying on the ground because he was afraid that the pain would come back once he tried to move. But Simon wasn't one to give up that easily (even though he wanted to, the voice in his head promising peace and silence if he just laid down and gave up). He managed to prop himself up, leaning back against the side of the cage, wincing when small bouts of pain shot through his body.

Simon looked down on his body, where Valentine had put his Stele to work. If the situation wasn't so desperate he would have laughed at seeing the first Rune Clary had ever drawn and shown to him now marring his own skin: Enkeli, the rune that induced Nephilim into the Shadowhunters. The only difference was that this one was not finished, cut in half along its symmetry axis.

Suddenly overcome with disgust, Simon pulled his shirt down again, covering the testament of his weakness with it, even though he knew that he would carry this shame for the rest of his life, no matter how long that would be.

Shortly after, the exhaustion finally took its toll and Simon drifted into an uneasy sleep.

Simon felt like he was dying. Waves of cold and heat washed over his body alternately, making him either want to tear his clothes of his body or coiling into himself to preserve as much body heat as possible, even though that wasn't even possible as vampire. In one of his rare moments of clarity, Simon assumed that he was experiencing the side effects of Valentine´s Rune on his body, his body fighting against the foreign matter in his body, the angelic magic that didn't belong there.

Sometimes he could see Valentine hovering over him, watching him with an eerie kind of detachment. Simon realised that to the rouge Shadowhunter he was not an equal being with feelings, thoughts, desires and fears, but a piece of meat – an animal – he could experiment on to his hearts delight.

He didn't know if it was real, though, because sometimes Valentine´s face morphed into that of Clary or Jace (a few times even into Raphael´s), grinning down on him, their faces distorted into ugly expressions of hate and disgust. Simon tried to stretch out his hand to reach for them, begged them to take him away from here, begged them to take him home, but then their faces would change back into Valentine´s who just kept observing him.

The illness faded after a while (or after an eternity, Simon couldn't tell), leaving the vampire tired and hungry. His throat ached for blood, a dry heat wrecking his stomach and the intense yearning for a fresh vein to suck on. But there was no one coming.

Simon supposed that Valentine would let him starve after all. But when that prospect became a real possibility, the door cracked open again and Valentine marched through, holding two blood bags in his left hand. Simon couldn't help but zone in on them, his fangs elongating on instincts.

"Down, boy," Valentine mocked him as if he was a dog. Simon wanted to rip the other man´s throat out (because of revenge and because he wanted that blood, it would feel so sweet). But then Valentine flashed his Stele at Simon and involuntarily Simon flinched back, covering his stomach with his hands while hating Valentine (himself) for it. Valentine threw the blood bags through the gaps in the cage and the he was already leaving again.

Simon waited until the door closed behind the Shadowhunter before he grabbed the bags and tore into them. At least that small piece of dignity he would preserve for himself, even though it would only ever matter to him. But Valentine wouldn't see how he gulped down the blood, wouldn't see the red liquid gushing out of the corners of his mouth, wouldn't see Simon licking the plastic clean until there wasn't a single drop left; no, he wouldn't see Simon gorging himself on the stale blood that tasted to much like medicine and death and for now that was a small mercy for Simon.

"Do you know what sets me apart from those fools in Idris?" Valentine asked the next time he was in the room with Simon.

"It can´t be your dashing looks," Simon japed back, a comment, which failed to elicit any kind of reaction from Valentine.

"I´m inquisitive while they are not," Valentine continued, speaking over Simon as if he didn't even exist. "They cling to their traditions, to their laws and to their lore, never recognising that to stagnate is to go under. Only the most adaptive survive, and the Clave has long since given up on being adaptive." His lips curled in disgust.

"And I guess you are?" Simon sneered.

"Indeed," Valentine smirked. "For example, when I managed to get my hand on Angel blood I didn't lock it away like the Clave would have done; no, instead I used it to make my children even purer Shadowhunters." Simon glared at the man with utter contempt. "And the few drops I have left I won´t hoard, but instead I will use them to answer the live long question on whether Downworlders can be delivered from their demonic blood or not."

"You´re insane!" Simon spluttered, dread pooling in his stomach at Valentine´s words.

"Isn´t that what they tell all visionaries?" Valentine replied, activating the runes on the cage that would immobilise Simon. "You´ve been Clarissa´s friend her whole life, haven't you? Her most stalwart companion, even against foes far greater than you could ever hope to be."

"Wow, that´s low," Simon interjected, trying to use his sarcasm to calm the storm of fear that raged within him. Valentine just smiled at him patronizingly.

"Such loyalty should be rewarded," he continued to inform Simon. "Either this will turn you back human or it will kill you, both fates much better than this pitiful half-existence as vampire." He spat out the last word as if it was the foulest curse he knew. Simon guessed, for someone like Valentine it truly was.

"I kinda like being alive, though," Simon replied. "So maybe, we could rethink this whole 'either he dies a gruesome death or maybe something else' plan and go back to antagonising each other from safe distance?" From Valentine´s continued advancement Simon could deduce that the man wasn't a fan of his much better plan.

For a split-second, Simon could feel the cold metal of the syringe on his skin, then there was only a short sting and then…nothing.

"Uh," Simon commented, still expecting either some kind of hellish pain or sweet salvation, but when nothing of that sort happened to him over the next few seconds, he dared to hope that he may dodged the bullet on this insane plan of Valentine. Going by his disappointed expression, Valentine, too, had expected a different outcome from his experiment.

"Guess, you wasted that precious Angel blood after all," Simon taunted. Fury contorted Valentine´s face and suddenly Simon´s head snapped back, hitting the ground under him. Valentine had hit him, but Simon didn't care, because Valentine had failed and so he was laughing all the while the blood from his nose flowed down his face; laughing as Valentine left the hall and even laughing when there was no one but him in the room.

After a while, the laughing ebbed away, leaving behind only exhaustion. Simon wiped away the blood with the sleeve of his shirt and wondered if Valentine would even bother with feeding him any longer. It would be kind of sad to survive he injection of Angel blood only to die because of Valentine´s pettiness. But somehow, Simon didn't have much hope that Valentine would somehow bethink himself of his humanity and bleeding heart, so his biggest chance was that Valentine still needed him as hostage to leverage against Clary.

As Simon let his gaze wander over the hall again – by now he had memorised everything, from the rust on the cages to the Runes inscribed on the wall and ground; he knew every speck of dirt, every particle of dust – he noticed that somehow the whole room appeared to be brighter, the light illuminating it warmer and more welcoming. The particles of dust that floated in the air reflected the light like thousands of diamonds, sparkling like the stars on the night sky. And then they began to move.

Wow, now I´m definitely hallucinating, Simon thought to himself. Guess the Angel blood needed some time to kick in.

Simon didn't mind though: the spectacle in front of him was beautiful. The lights would jump through the whole room, forming abstract patterns and forms, only to dissolve and start the whole thing again. At first Simon didn't recognise any of the forms, but slowly and surely he could make out small animals – butterflies, dragonflies and small birds – that grew bigger and bigger as time passed by. Suddenly there was a majestic eagle flying through the room only to turn into a stag with imposing antlers who then in turn transformed into a lion that held its head high as it opened its mouth for a magnificent roar. All this with nary a sound, which only added to the serenity of the whole situation.

Then, when the lion had roared its last, the lights began to move again, and somehow Simon knew what animal would be the next to come: After all, there was only one that came after the King of the Savannah. And indeed, after the lights had stopped flinging themselves throughout the room, they slowly began to reassemble themselves as human. Only that this time Simon could make out distinctive features of the form, unlike the animals that had come before.

Simon´s heart leaped into his throat when he finally recognised who the person in front of him was.

"Dad?" Simon stretched out his hand, but stopped short before he could actually touch his father. What if he wasn't real? What if he would turn to dust under Simon´s touch, reveal himself to be nothing but a figment of his own imagination? So, Simon let his hand just hover. His father looked exactly like Simon remembered him: The same tousled hair, the kind, brown eyes (Simon´s eyes) and the laughing lines all over his face that showed that this man went through life always happy. He wore the ugly Christmas sweater that Simon had gotten him when he had been six because he had been fascinated by the reindeers which noses would blink red in many different rhythms. It was hideous, but his father had worn it every Christmas since then.

"It´s good to see you, son," his dad smiled and it hurt so much, seeing his father standing there, his smile full of unconditional love, but knowing that all of this wasn't real.

"You aren't real," Simon whispered. "You´re just in my head."

"Why does that mean that it can´t be real?" the spectre of his father wanted to know. Simon pulled a face.

"Are you pulling Dumbledore on me?" he asked incredulously.

"Well, Rowling may have been far off when it came to magic, but there are a few things she got right," his father remarked.

"I miss you," Simon confessed. He wanted to say so much more; he wanted to tell his dad how sometimes the most random objects he saw throughout the city would remember him of his father – the bench in Central Park where they had started reading Harry Potter together, the ice cream parlour that had the only banana ice cream that both of them liked – wanted to tell him of the self-doubts that sometimes plagued him, wanted to ask his father all the things that he had never dared to ask his mother because he knew that his dad would instinctively understand him, without the need for Simon to explain himself.

So much to say, but Simon couldn't bring it over his lips. He didn't need to. In his father´s eyes he saw the understanding, all the answers to his unasked questions, the knowledge that his father was aware of each of Simon´s questions.

"I know, son," he spoke softly. "All those years I´ve watched over you and you never failed to live up to my expectations. You were kind, you were loyal and you were brave – and you still are. Never doubt that I´m proud of you, do you hear me, Si, never doubt it." Simon wanted to say something, but he was so overwhelmed by his emotions that he just couldn't. He could feel his eyes water and the tears running down his cheeks, but he didn't care. Even if this wasn't real, even if it was just an effect of the blood Valentine had injected him with, it was those words that he needed to hear. Within Simon, hope rekindled anew and suddenly the world didn't look so dark and grim anymore; he could feel the confidence that Valentine had managed to erode coming back.

"Will you stay with me?" Simon asked, for the first time since forever feeling like he could let go of his responsibilities for a short moment.

"Until the end," his father assured him.

So they just sat there – father and son, spectre and vampire – until tiredness overcame Simon and his eyes were slowly dropping. The last thing he saw, was his father slowly dissolving into thousand pearls of light.

Simon didn't feel different when he woke up. He had assumed that once the blood had run its course it would change him, make him into something different (kill him, burn him from the inside out, purging him from the demonic influence he had carried with him ever since Clary and Jace had buried him) but he felt exactly as before.

He stretched out his hands, moved his fingers, but Simon couldn't say why. Did he expect webbing between the fingers, or even an additional one? The back of his hands appeared to be hairier, but that was probably just imagination.

Simon could still feel the hunger burning at the back of his throat, this desire for blood, and if this most paramount of his vampiric features was still there, then had he even changed at all? He tried to elongate his fangs, which was more difficult than it looked, but he managed it. What had the Angel blood even been good for, then, when it didn't even manage to give him his humanity back at least?

On the other side, he was still alive, and Simon counted that as definite win, so maybe the glass wasn´t half empty, but half full instead. And Valentine would be pissed that the blood hadn't done anything, so there goes another plus point.

"Sorry to disappoint, but I´m still alive." Simon waved cheekily at Valentine after he had closed the door. "And still very much a vampire." He flashed his fangs at the Shadowhunter. Valentine, though, didn't seemed to very concerned by this development. He just activated the by now to Simon well known rune and with resignation Simon felt his body being locked in place.

"Has no one ever told you, that it is the inner values that count?" Valentine asked him. Panic began to rise in Simon´s mind when he noticed the Stele Valentine was holding in his hand. He wanted to jump up and run away, preventing Valentine from using that blasted instrument on him again, but his body wouldn't move, wouldn't heed his command.

"What do you think about becoming fireproof?" Valentine continued. "I think, as a vampire it would be pretty advantageous to you." He grinned, all teeth. "Never let them say I´m not generous." Simon had never felt as violated as he did in those few minutes: Valentine reverently pushing aside his shirt, exposing the skin of his collarbone, appraising it like an artist would look at an empty canvas. Then slowly (tenderly, caressing) he put the Stele on his skin and began to carve the rune into his skin and like the first time immeasurable pain and the stink of burnt flesh came into existence nearly simultaneously.

And when it was over, Simon had a perfectly drawn rune decorating his skin. He could feel the power contained within it, thrumming like a second heartbeat. Valentine looked at him with some sick kind of pride and Simon just wanted to coil up, wanted to make himself as small as possible, to escape the gaze of the rogue Shadowhunter which clung to him like an oily film that he just couldn't get rid of.

"You´re something completely new," Valentine proclaimed. "And I am your maker."

Right in this moment, Simon wished for nothing more than for someone to unmake him.

It was like the moment before a storm set in: deceptive silence and calm – too silent, too devoid – as if the whole world was holding back its breath for something that was about to come. Every hair on his body stood up, a feeling of uneasiness and anticipation creeping down his spine. If Simon still needed to breath he would hold it now, afraid that the next time he exhaled something would break loose.

Then, all of a sudden, the lights began to flare up. At first it was only one and a few seconds apart, but then more and more light bulbs began to flicker in random intervals, the interval between them becoming shorter and shorter until the ceiling of the room looked like hundreds of supernovae were exploding. And all around him the runes on the ground and on the walls did the same, glowing in a dark orange in a rhythm Simon wasn't privy to. Even through all the apprehension Simon was feeling, he had to admit that it made for a striking picture. But as sudden as it had started, it stopped, the light bulbs turning back to their normal function the runes fading back to black, and yet the queasy feeling wouldn't vanish, instead only coiling tighter around Simon´s heart.

The force came suddenly and unexpected: First there was nothing, but then the air around him was abruptly charged with electricity, sending jolts of pain through his body, making the nerves throughout Simon´s body tingle. With every passing second the atmosphere became more oppressive, gravity suddenly becoming stronger and stronger until Simon laid on the ground, unable to move, afraid that if it would last one more second his rib cage would cave in, that his blood would start to boil. But just as the pain was starting to become unbearable, the force receded, leaving the room behind untouched and looking like nothing had happened.

Simon couldn't help but wonder, though, what had just occurred.

"Congratulations." Simon looked up only to see Valentine staring back at him, this time with an especially smug smirk on his face. Elation and vindication was practically pouring off the man and Simon dreaded whatever made his tormentor feel such emotions.

"What for?" Simon knew that he shouldn't engage Valentine in his mind games, but not to would just mean another rune etched into his skin and as much Simon wanted to be noble and brave, he didn't know how long he would be able to last.

"You´re officially the last Downworlder on this planet," Valentine replied, some twisted kind of smile appearing on his face.

"What do you mean?" Simon demanded to know.

"You noticed it, yesterday, didn't you?" Valentine said, not bothering to acknowledge Simon´s question. "The energy that saturated the air, the magic that swept over the whole planet, cleansing it from taint." He barred his teeth. "I bet the runes around the cages flared up, didn't they?" Simon just nodded quietly. "Finally, I managed to activate the Soul Sword: Downworlders are no more." He stretched out his arms, as if he was graciously receiving the applause of an excited crowd, but Simon could only concentrate on the maniac glint in Valentine´s eyes, the blissful smile on his face.

"No, no, no," Simon denied. "You didn't. Dot…Madzie…you need them."

"They fulfilled their purposes," Valentine remarked disparagingly. It felt like a bullet had hit Simon straight in the chest; he stepped backward, wanting to bring as much space between him and this madman as possible, but soon his way back was blocked by the cage´s grid.

"You should be thankful," Valentine taunted. "You´re only alive because of the Angel blood I injected you with." Suddenly, there was this rage coursing through every single fibre in his body; a red haze that wrapped itself around his mind and made Simon want to tear out Valentine´s throat with his bare teeth. He could feel his fangs elongating, his nails sharpening and his mind consumed wholly by the desire to rip, to tear, to kill. Yet, Simon was still aware enough that he recognised that Valentine was protected by the very metal bars that caged Simon, so he just stood there, poised to attack, emanating hate so fierce that it couldn't be expressed in words.

"That´s the animal you all are deep down," Valentine sneered. "No matter how much you try to hide it." With one last contemptuous look, the Shadowhunter turned around and stalked out of the room. The moment the door closed behind him, Simon collapsed to the ground, like a puppet whose string had been cut all at once.

He was shaking, but he couldn't make (care) himself stop. The walls suddenly felt even more oppressive than before, closing in on him and making Simon feel as if he was suffocating (he didn't need to breath, but to breath was to be human) and for a short moment it was as if an invisible hand had wrapped itself around his heart and was slowly squeezing the life out of him.

Valentine´s a liar, Simon tried to tell himself, and he wanted nothing more than to believe what he was telling himself, but he couldn't, because why would Valentine need to lie when the truth hurt so much more? And not even Valentine´s 'tools' had been spared. Disgust swelled within Simon when he thought about how Valentine had murdered a child – innocent, pure, wholesome – for his mad beliefs. Simon couldn't blame Madzie for helping Valentine with her powers; she had been just a child, shielded from the worst of the world by Iris until Valentine had taken her and manipulated her like warm wax in his hands. She had just wanted to go back home and now she was dead.

And Dot! Shame joined the disgust, because deep down Simon knew that they had never made any real attempts at saving Dot from Valentine´s clutches because there had always been something else, something more important than the woman that had read Simon the Tarot cards when he had been eleven, who had had always something sweet for both him and Clary and who had offered shelter and warm words whenever Clary and he had tried to hid from the responsibilities of the real world.

She had deserved better than Clary and him. So much better and now she had died, maybe still hoping that someone would come and save her, whisk her away from this nightmare and deliver her from her suffering.

But no one had ever come. Dot died abandoned and forgotten.

Magnus and Raphael. Simon hadn't been that close to both of them, but he had glimpsed the caring and fatherly sides of the Warlock underneath the veneer of the flippant and flamboyant fun-addict and had witnessed the ferocity with which Raphael would defend those under his protection, even if it had often run against Simon´s interests. They had both been great leaders of their people, a unifying force against the bigotry and open racism of the Clave.

They all had deserved better.

"Argh!" Suddenly overcome with rage, Simon flung his fist against the cold iron bars of his cage. They didn't budge and he could feel the bones of his hand break underneath the force of his hit, but he didn't care – it would heal anyway. Again and again he beat against the confines of his cage, screaming and letting his rage and hurt flow out of him until he was shaking, until he could feel the tears running down his cheeks, until he broke down and could do nothing but cry.

They all had deserved better.

The next time Valentine came, he was followed by two of his Circle followers, dragging between them a lifeless body. Valentine just pointed at the cage next to Simon and without saying a word they dropped the body within it unceremoniously. Now Simon recognised who exactly Valentine had let his goons dispose beside him: The blonde hair, the specific runes, the – now torn and dirtied – black leather: "Jace." Enraged Simon turned towards Valentine.

"What did you do to him?" he shouted furiously.

"Nothing that will last," Valentine replied nonchalantly. "I´ll leave you to your reunion."

"Jace?" Simon spoke frantically. He couldn't reach through the cage and shake the Shadowhunter´s body, just to ensure that he was still alive and that was driving him mad. "Jace, can you hear me? Can you speak or move?" He ran his fingers through his hair, biting his tounge. "Anything to indicate that I´m not speaking to a corpse? Because, man, that would be desperate, wouldn't it? So lonely, that I have to resort to speaking to dead bodies..." A groan escaped through the curtain of blonde hair that was obscuring Jace´s face from Simon´s view. Simon let out a breath of relief, that was bigger than he liked to admit. Apparently, his annoying rambling managed to even rouse the dead.

"Simon?" Jace asked confused.

"Yeah, me," Simon replied, unsure as to what to say.

"You´re alive," Jace said, relief in his voice. "I...We thought you were dead."

"So, it´s true? The Downworlders are gone?" Simon tried to speak the unspeakable out loud, but it felt like the words weren´t even his own, as if some stranger was asking the question through his mouth.

Jace´s silence was more than enough.

"Oh my god," Simon whispered in horror. Up until now, even though he wouldn't admit it, he had still clung to that small, dying ember of hope in his chest that told him that his friends had managed to stop Valentine – again – against all odds, that they would come in and save the day and with it the Downworlders, but to have Jace – bruised, battered, but not broken (never) - confirm his worst fears felt worse than all the torture Valentine had put him through.

"Oh my god," Simon repeated, because what else was there to say? How do you express the inexpressible, how do you convey the devastation that consumed your very self, how do you speak of grief so vast that it could fill the whole universe? You didn't. You would try and you would fail, but you would never have this one word that could express to the world the utter desolation that reigned supreme within your soul.

"No, Valentine didn't succeed," Jace replied. "Not completely."

"What do you mean?" Simon asked confused.

"We found a way to save the Downworlders, at least some," Jace told him. "Magnus and Maryse did."

"How?" Simon wanted to know, hope blossoming in his chest.

"We sealed off Idris from Earth," Jace confessed. "We cut it off and now they can never return."

And then he told Simon everything: How Magnus and Maryse had come together and combined their knowledge of the arcane to create a ritual that would seal off Idris, making it immune to the effects of the Soul sword. How they only told Alec and Jace, because Clary was too emotional and Izzy too fierce. How they managed to create a temporary truce between the various Downworlder fractions and the Clave, how they had started to evacuate everyone to Idris ("The Sword needed to charge first, take all the energy from the Institute, we only had an hour."), even though some Shadowhunters protested ("Alec shut them up quickly," Jace would tell him and Simon had to avert his gaze from the pain that he could see behind the blonde´s eyes, the suffering from knowing that he would never lay eyes on his Parabatai again). How Clary had refused to leave up until Jace had lied to her and promised he would come after her ("I told her that it was only temporarily, that we´d see each other again soon." Simon´s chest felt like it was about to implode.) and how Magnus had been the last to walk through the portal, how he had looked back once ("He looked at me and didn't say anything. But he nodded at me, and I knew that this was his way of saying goodbye, of showing his respect for me, even though I don't deserve it.) before he, too, vanished.

Jace told him that he couldn't remember the ritual, because he had been on autopilot, every memory of it blurred, distorted, but he could remember being suddenly cut off from Idris, could remember the agony of his Parabatai bond snapping ("It felt like someone tore a hole in my chest, as if someone had cut out my heart and shattered it into thousand pieces. I wanted to die, and maybe I still do, but at least I knew that they were save; that I made up for some of the suffering I caused."). He told him of how he had laid there on the cold and wet concrete, staring at the pillar of light that was the Soul sword ("It reached from the Institute up to the sky. It was horrifying in its beauty.") until it slowly turned into a dome, growing bigger and sweeping over the whole surface of Earth and Jace just knew that wherever the light touched the ground it would kill all the Downworlders that they hadn't managed to bring to Idris ("Too many.").

"I was ready to die there," Jace confessed. "I wanted to. But then Valentine appeared and took me and now here we are: The last vampire and the last Shadowhunter on Earth." He laughed: A hollow and broken sound. "We lied to them all. We told them that it was only temporarily, that they could come back after the Sword had run its course, but we knew that it would be forever; Magnus, Alec, Maryse and I. And we knew that whoever would perform the ritual would stay behind. I volunteered because it was my fault. I touched the Sword and thought I could destroy it, but in the end the only destruction I wrought was upon my friends." A single tear ran down Jace´s cheek and soon after others followed. "I´ll never see them again." He was crying now, the sobs wracking through his body.

Simon didn't need to think long: Through the metal beams that were separating, he gripped Jace at his shoulders and held him through the all the grief and the pain that the other boy hadn't been able to work through until now. He wanted to do more, wanted to press Jace close to his chest and soothe his hair and tell him that it wasn't his fault, but the separate cages they were in prevented that.

"You saved them," Simon said and he looked at Jace with all the gratitude he could muster. "Valentine came down here and boasted to me how he´d killed then all and I felt like I was dying, too, knowing that I had survived while Luke, Magnus, Raphael and Maia hadn't, but you saved them. Jace, you saved them!" Simon laughed, because the relief he was feeling couldn't be expressed in any other way.

"We´ll never see them again," Jace mumbled.

"I don't care," Simon replied and right now at this moment it was true. "They´re alive. And you´re wrong, one day we´ll see them again, either in this life or the next." Jace looked at him and Simon saw that the other boy so desperately wanted to believe him but didn't dare to. "And besides, when have you ever known Clary, Magnus and Co. to lay down and just accept their fate?"

"You really believe that?" Jace asked with something akin to hope in his voice.

"I do," Simon replied resolutely and for the first time he felt like the future wasn't just bleak.

There wasn't even fear the next time Valentine came back, Stele in his hand and a sadistic smirk on his face. Just resignation and a bone-deep tiredness, because Simon knew what was about to come. But Jace didn't.

"What are you doing?" he hissed at Valentine as he activated the rune to immobilize Simon. The man ignored Jace as he kneeled next to Simon and exposed his collar bone where the other Runes were burnt in his flesh.

"What did you do to him?" Jace asked horrified, his eyes focused on the familiar symbols that shouldn't be etched on Simon´s skin. This time Valentine didn't ignore him.

"Oh, Jonathan," Valentine tutted. "He´s as much an experiment as you are. A Downworlder infused with Angel blood. He can even be runed." He turned back to Simon. "Here, I show you."

Even though Simon was used to the process by now, the pain still came as unexpected. The world around him narrowed down to the fire burning in his chest and the smell of burning flesh. Dimly, he was aware of Jace shouting something, but he couldn't understand it over the pounding of pain in his head. It gave him a reference of time, though: Four shouts until Valentine finally stopped and looked at his new work with pride.

"Now you´re waterproof," he taunted Simon. "If you excuse me, I have a new batch of new Shadowhunters to train." And with that he sauntered out of the room.

"Simon?" Jace spoke frantically. "Simon, are you okay?" He felt so tired and he wanted nothing more than to fall asleep and forget the pain, but Simon managed to turn his head around and look at Jace, who watched him with worry etched in his face.

"I´m alright," Simon whispered. "I´ve had worse."

"How often…?" Jace didn't need to finish the question.

"Five times," Simon answered. "I´m not only water- but also fireproof and a lot of other, useless things." He chuckled weakly. "I never get the cool stuff."

"What would you like to have?"

"Time travel," Simon replied wistfully. "So, that I can go back and prevent all this from happening."

The Rune Fever, as Simon had started to call it, started soon after. He fell asleep only to dream of falling, running and a world folding into itself, stars falling from the sky and runes that turned into black snakes that wound themselves around Simon until he was suffocating.

Every now and then he would wake up, but the light bulbs hanging from the ceilings had turned into supernovas and their light shone so bright that Simon had to close his eyes because otherwise he would have gone blind. He heard voices, whispering in a language that he couldn't understand. He wanted to shout at them, asking what they were trying to say, but his mouth wouldn't open and when it did the only waves of blood poured out of it.

Simon never knew how long the fever would last, but in one of his rare and short moments of clarity, he noticed that Jace had gripped his hand and that he was telling him something. Simon couldn't make out the words, but he let himself be lulled back to sleep by them and for the first time his mind stayed blissfully quiet.

"How long was I out?" Simon asked when he found himself able to speak again.

"I don´t know," Jace replied. "Maybe an hour?"

"It felt longer," Simon remarked to no one in particular. "It always does."

"Is it always like this?" Jace inquired. Simon nodded.

"Yeah. I think it´s the Downworlder part in me that´s rejecting the rune," he tried to explain. "But the angelic magic always wins in the end."

"Tell me a story," Simon asked Jace after the silence around them had become too oppressive, too suffocating, to endure any longer. The blonde looked at Simon in confusion.

"What do you wanna hear?" he wanted to know.

"Don´t care," Simon shrugged. "But we´re stuck together for God knows how long, so we might as well do something." He was silent for a few seconds. "Maybe something funny." Jace thought about it for a short while, then he started:

"One day – I was eleven and Alec was twelve – we were play-acting: We were both fearless Shadowhunters, descending into the deepest pits of Hell to reclaim some mysterious artefact which the demons had stolen from the Clave. The hallway that led to Maryse´s and Robert´s bedroom was the last demon-ridden obstacle on our way to honour and glory. We fought valiantly against Lucifer´s forces, me with my blade and Alec with his bow, until we stood in front of the door behind which the artefact was. We opened the door to the empty room, secure in the knowledge that we were alone, but then the monsters came upon us: Their skin was deathly white, their eyes a sickly green, on their heads an unidentifiable bulge and they were wrapped in white shrouds. They let out a bloodcurdling scream which made Alec and I scramble out of the room and run to Robert´s office where we told him that demons had infiltrated the mansion.

Robert shed his seraph blade and ran towards the room, while Alec and I followed cautiously behind. Robert entered the room, sword held high, but then he started to laugh so hard that he had to grip the door handle for support. Turned out, the monsters were Maryse and Izzy on a beauty cure, you know, the ones where you put some crème on your face and slices of cucumber on your eyes and they had their hair wrapped in towels and were wearing bathrobes."

"No!" Simon guffawed.

"Maryse wasn't really enthusiastic about the whole thing," Jace grinned. "Alec and I got a lecture and kitchen duty for two whole weeks." By now Simon was shaking with laughter.

"That´s not funny," Jace grumbled, but there was no heat behind his words.

"It is!" Simon laughed. "It is!"

It continued like that: Now that Valentine had 'won' against the Downworlders and the Clave, he sent Circle lackeys down to feed Simon and Jace, secrecy no longer paramount. Simon was glad for it, as it meant that Valentine was preoccupied by other things. Simon told Jace of how he met Clary as little child in kindergarten –

"Well, you haven´t matured much since then, have you?"

"Shut up, Jace!" –

how she had beaten up some bullies who had torn apart the comic Simon had brought with him that day and then told Simo that it was her favourite as well. He told Jace of the strong friendship that came into existence that day and would weather everything; he told Jace of their first time drinking –

"It tasted so bad, but we told us that we needed to finish the whole bottle," Simon admitted sheepishly. Jace just chuckled. "Jocelyn and Luke found us in the bathroom, Clary vomiting into the toilet and I into the garbage can." The mirth turned into full-blown laughter. "Man, they were so mad." Bittersweet melancholy gripped Simon´s heart. –

and of their first forays into romance and the heartbreak that ensued. Of sleep-overs, family dinners and the sense of belonging, of the knowledge that no matter what curveballs life was throwing at him, he had people that stood by his side and the security and confidence that came with it. And when the atmosphere was especially serious, Simon told Jace of how he realised that he was bisexual: The confusion, the conflictive emotions, the realisation and then the stammering confessions to his family and Clary.

Simon couldn't tell exactly why he was trusting Jace with all of this. But Clary, Luke and Jocelyn were gone and his mother and Rebecca only knew the Simon he had been before all of this – before Pandemonium, before Shadowhunters, Vampires and Warlocks, before Valentine – and he just wanted one person to know him completely, without secrets, without masks. He was afraid that he would die any moment, that Valentine would decide that he didn't need his little experiment anymore, and if Clary was gone he wanted at least one other person to remember him as he was and had been. Simon feared nothing more than being forgotten, but he would never be if he gave Jace all the parts that made him.

It wasn't romantic. Not yet and maybe never. Simon´s heart still ached for Clary, still remembered her skin under his touch, her lips on his; remembered the sunlight reflecting off her red hair and her smile echoing through his mind. The memories were sweet, and yet each of then chipped away a little bit more of his heart. But Jace was here, the last one of his friends who were hidden by arcane forces that very well may never be weakened, and that needed to count for something.

Maybe Jace had the same reason when he reciprocated to each of Simon´s stories with one of his own. The loneliness and crippling anxiety that were constant companions when he had still been raised by his 'father', the story of the falcon and how it ended –

"He knew his falcon loved him, and when he was certain it was not just tamed but perfectly tamed, he went to his father and showed him what he had done, expecting him to be proud.

"Instead his father took the bird, now tame and trusting, in his hands and broke its neck. 'I told you to make it obedient,' his father said, and dropped the falcon's lifeless body to the ground. 'Instead, you taught it to love you. Falcons are not meant to be loving pets: They are fierce and wild, savage and cruel. This bird was not tamed; it was broken.'

"Later, when his father left him, the boy cried over his pet, until eventually his father sent a servant to take the body of the bird away and bury it. The boy never cried again, and he never forgot what he'd learned: that to love is to destroy, and that to be loved is to be the one destroyed." Simon listened and silently burned with the hate for Valentine. –

He told Simon how he was so confused by the Lightwoods when he first came to live with them. Confused by their carefree laughter, their unguarded smiles, their open gestures of affection (Simon couldn't imagine Maryse ever being open or unguarded but maybe she had been different once) and the unconditional love between all members of the Lightwood family –

"They loved me, too, I never doubted that, but I always knew that when it would come down to it, they would choose their own children over me every time," Jace said, more stating an indisputable fact than some heartbreaking, emotional revelation. "Because that´s what family is, after all. Love and sacrifice." –

and Jace told him of his training, of the first demon he had slain, of his first rune and of his first foray into the Mundane world (Confusing). Their talks were lights in a sea of darkness, but, alas, all good things must come to an end.

"You sealed Idris away," Valentine shouted as the door behind him shock from the force with which he had slammed it shut. "You stranded me amongst Mundanes; I, who was to be the one to raze the Clave to the ground." Jace just sneered at Valentine with all the hate and contempt he could muster and or one short moment, just a split-second, father and foster-son looked more similar than ever before.

"I may still have need of you," Valentine sneered. "But that doesn't apply to the creature whose comfort you sought. I think you need another lesson in falconry." He stepped forward, sword in his hand and Simon scrambled backwards until his back pressed against the confines of his cage. Yet, before Valentine reached his cage, there was a hissing sound and Valentine suddenly stopped mid-step, an expression of surprise on his face as he looked down on his chest from which the point of a sword protruded.

The Shadowhunter made no sound as he fell on the ground, no last remarks as his body hit the cold concrete and the blood slowly began to cover the ground around him. His unblinking eyes staring at Simon still left with an imprint of the confusion Valentine felt in the split-second before he was dead.

Simon tore his eyes from the corpse of his tormentor towards the source of his sudden death. A boy, barely older than him or Jace, clothed in black, his shoulder-length blonde hair hanging loosely from his head, an arrogant smirk on his face, leaning on his sword, soaked with Valentine´s blood.

"Whazzup," the blonde drawled. "Name´s Sebastian and I´m here to save you. We´ve got some work ahead of us."