Archive of Our Own

Simon doesn't realize it's Rosh Hashana until they're running through the alleys of Brooklyn a few hours after sundown and he hears a shofar blown from a synagogue.

He slows down to a complete stop and stares. It's not his synagogue – this is an Orthodox one while he's Conservative, although at this point, he should probably rethink that and visit the option of becoming a Reform Jew – they'd probably be more accepting of the undead, right? Besides, it's not like he can keep kosher anymore. Unless blood is filtered –

"Simon – what are you doing – we need to go!" Clary hisses, desperately pulling on his arm.

"Leshanah tovah tikateiv veteichateim," he mutters under his breath.

May you be inscribed and sealed for a good year. Yeah, right.

They have to cross the Brooklyn Bridge and he tries to think of the Tashlich, but he doesn't remember it beyond where it is in the Torah (Michah 7:18) and that he's always remembered the pervasive mental image of chucking the physical manifestation of sins into the water (he pictured sins as phlegm).

שְׁאֵרִית

It's pronounced she-ay-reeth – it means remnant, or remainder, or residue. That's in the Tashlich.

Izzy is taking Simon back to the Institute because Clary won't rest until she finds Jace (or unless she passes out) and Alec is sympathetic to her drive. Also, Alec still hates Simon and doesn't like to spend any extended amount of time alone with him.

"Are you okay?" Izzy asks, a hand on Simon's lower back, her eyes soft with concern. "You've been quieter than usual."

He licks his bottom lip. It's a little dry – he'll need to feed soon. "It's Rosh Hashana. It started at sundown. I didn't realize it."

She furrows her brow. "Rosh…Hashana…" she tries it in her mouth. "What's that?"

He blinks in surprise. "Oh, it's um – it's a Jewish holiday. It's the Jewish New Year, basically, since the calendars don't match up – that is, the Jewish calendar and the Gregorian calendar that most of the world uses."

She still looks contemplative. It's really unfair how beautiful she is. "Oh, yes, right. That's another religion people follow."

He's technically dead – he's not supposed to have any sort of physical response, but he does – he shivers at the ignorance. This is what is feared. "Uh, yeah, Judaism. There are a lot of religions, but the big ones are Christianity, which, I mean, you're familiar with, Judaism, Islam, Hinduism, and Buddhism, I believe. But I mean, Judaism, Christianity, and Islam all start with the same roots and then splinter off,” he rambles. “There are differences, but also some similarities."

She smiles. "So this…Jewish New Year. It must be important, right?"

His skin itches – night is almost over.

"Yeah, I mean, it's a big deal. The first of the High Holidays. It's a happy one. We sound a ram horn and eat apples and honey –" Air hitches in his throat.

"How do you wish someone a Happy New Year in Jewish?" she asks, kindly ignoring his trying to keep his emotions at bay.

"Shanah Tovah – it's Hebrew."

She nods. "Shanah Tovah, Simon." They step into the Institute and he's drained by the florescent lights and the immediate looks of suspicion that come his way.

He goes to the sparse room that he's been (temporarily) given for the time being and ignores the hunger pangs.

The Institute is not in the habit of keeping a blood supply and it's only with Clary standing up for him that he even has a small stash; he has to space it out and it's cold and it tastes wrong.

He's not allowed to go outside without company; they don't know what the vampires will do.

There's bitterness and he feels himself separating.

It's the first time Simon has seen Magnus since Camille's apartment. Magnus has been busy utilizing his warlock contacts to research for The Cause.

Magnus and Alec display no PDA whatsoever, but they stand close enough to each other that their shoulders will brush. Simon finds their story incredibly epic and romantic, even though Alec would rather burrow himself into the floor than draw attention to anything that might remotely make him a visibly happy person.

It's Simon's day to feed, so he's more alert as they plan an attack on a warehouse deep into Brooklyn, bordering on Queens, where it's rumored Valentine has stationed himself.

He quickly notices, however, that his name is not being mentioned at all in this plan.

"Wait –" Simon starts to say. "Where am I in this?"

There's an uncomfortable silence.

"You're…well…" Clary starts.

"You're slow, you let your fangs out – you're a liability. You can't be on this mission," Alec interrupts bluntly.

Clary shoots him a glare, but doesn't disagree. Izzy looks down at the map. Magnus subtly places a hand on Alec's thigh and gives him a now, now look.

"Why don't we reconvene tomorrow? It's rather late," Magnus says once Simon feels infuriated and embarrassed enough to want to float away into the atmosphere.

Simon remains seated and ignores Clary's quiet and pleading, "Simon." Simon can make out Magnus saying to Alec, "I'll see you tomorrow, Alexander. I have something I must do tonight." He stops focusing on his hearing when he hears kissing.

Simon doesn't expect Magnus to come up to him a few moments later and say, "Care for a drink at my abode, Simon?"

Simon looks up to him in surprise. "Uh –"

"You could use a change of scenery at least. I could also use another pair of eyes to judge my interior decorating. I'm changing some statement pieces. It's a win-win."

Simon nods. "Okay, yeah."

"Wonderful!"

Magnus creates a portal and hooks his arm with Simon's and they step through together. Simon doesn't like portals – they make his ears pop and he feels disoriented once he steps through.

"Unfortunately, I don't keep blood here, not since relations ended with Camille, however I do have goat blood used for certain magic tricks. But Camille has told me that any blood other than human blood is rather…unpalatable. Little does she know of the rumored taste of Nephilim blood. To a vampire, it's like drinking sunlight," Magnus says, his voice lofty and comforting and it puts Simon at ease.

He considers declining, but he's a little spiteful and says, "I can give goat blood a try. Thanks."

Magnus moves like a dancer – all grace and fluidity in his body as he searches through his shelves. "Let's see if this can be made presentable…" he hums to himself.

Simon wrings his hands together and busies himself by looking at the lavish curtains by the window and the pattern of the plush carpet under his feet. He immediately takes his shoes off.

Magnus hands him a tumbler half-filled with goat blood. "Apologies – supplies are limited." He looks down at Simon's sock-clad feet and smiles in amusement. "I have preservation spells protecting that Persian rug. It was a gift from a small village in Iran many moons ago. Cheers. And Shanah Tovah, although I'm a few days late on that one."

Magnus clinks his glass against Simon's since Simon is too much in shock to move. "You know about Rosh Hashana?" Simon finally manages to ask once Magnus takes a seat across from him in an ornate armchair.

"You don't live as long as I do without keeping an open mind to all things," Magnus answers.

Jesus, how old is Magnus?

Simon takes a sip of his drink to stop himself from asking the question, which is probably a rude one, somehow. Except as soon as the blood touches his tongue, he's revolted.

He nearly vomits, but he lurches forward, half-drops the glass onto the coffee table and uses his free hand to cup his mouth, tears sprouting in his eyes.

"…I guess Camille wasn't exaggerating," Magnus jokes lightly, but there's concern in his eyes and in the tilt of his mouth.

Simon shuts his eyes and forces himself to swallow. It's so bitter, but maybe it can be an acquired taste. He shudders and peaks down at his hand, only finding a few flecks of blood. He shudders again. "I'm sorry – I wasn't expecting that," Simon croaks, embarrassed.

Magnus waves his hand dismissively. "Ah, no harm done. I wish I could say that in the future I'll make sure to have human blood, but something tells me I'll be denied that request," he replies with a knowing glance.

Simon winces.

"Downworlders typically don't cross paths, as you're learning, but when you've lived as long as I have, you inevitably develop relationships."

Simon's eyes bulge out. "You…and Raphael?"

Magnus throws his head back and laughs. "No, my silly bean. At least, not in the way you're imagining. Nothing romantic whatsoever. He probably wouldn't even call it a friendship, but it's something to be respected."

"…I have…so many questions," Simon thinks out loud. Like, how, for one, and two, how old are all these people? He assumes Raphael is at least a couple hundred years old, but if he's familiar with Magnus – is there a club, or like an Immortals Anonymous in which beings over the age of two-hundred come together and complain about the state of the world, like super old baby-boomers? Or –

"You are certainly something," Magnus says, interrupting Simon's thoughts. He's smiling though, and it's always a surprise to Simon. He's gotten rather used to the annoyance on everyone's faces, but Magnus never seems to find his babbling irritating.

"I'm afraid I can't answer your questions, though," Magnus continues.

"Not even about Immortals Anonymous?" Simon blurts. "Like…people older than two-hundred…meeting…complaining…?" he trails off.

Magnus exhales in amusement, his smile widening. "No, that hasn't been established yet," he responds teasingly. "An interesting idea. But no, I won't delve into my relationship with Raphael. It's not something to be discussed over cocktails and it's not my story to disclose. And I don't think Raphael would appreciate my telling you when you've gravely betrayed the clan."

Simon tries again to drink the goat's blood and now that he's expecting it, it's not as disgusting…but it's still pretty disgusting.

"I didn't – I just needed to save Jocelyn," Simon says quietly, looking down at his glass.

"Oh, I agree – waking up Jocelyn is imperative to stopping Valentine once and for all. However, vampires are extremely loyal. It's something I admire about them."

"Yeah, they are loyal. But only to themselves, their own."

"History has not been kind to them. You're a bit of an anomaly."

"Great." Simon drinks some more and it's still terrible, but at least he doesn't wince too much. "Have you…" Simon stops himself before finishing the question, knowing this sounds incredibly childish.

"You want to know if Raphael has spoken of you?" Magnus prompts, eyes twinkling. "As I said, we're not friends in the traditional sense. Although we are due for our quarterly meeting soon. Perhaps at the end of the month."

Simon is unbelievably curious about this particular relationship and why it sounds like a forced business acquaintance (quarterly meeting?), but he can tell from Magnus' eyes that it's not even close.

"Well, in any case, I try to mind my own business as much as I can. I've spent enough time meddling. And I'm a rather big proponent on fixing your own mistakes," Magnus continues. "It builds character."

Simon attempts to bring the glass to his mouth, but he just can't, so he places it on the table and officially abandons it. "I just don't know what could be said – 'sorry not sorry' is basically the TLDR version of whatever I'd manage to babble in the moment."

Magnus hums in thought, sipping his cocktail. "I don't think that's ultimately what you want to get across. If it was, you wouldn't feel so genuinely upset about it."

Simon looks up at Magnus and has no idea how to respond to that. It's true, Simon can figure at least that, but it feels like acknowledging something that he's been trying so hard to hold onto since he first crawled out of that grave.

Magnus smiles, an immediate balm on Simon's turbulent thoughts. "But I suppose you'll have plenty consider with the High Holidays culminating in Yom Kippur. Rather excellent timing to come to terms with everything."

That's one way of looking at it, Simon supposes, even though it's a little grandiose, considering this is his life and not something that's perfectly planned like a novel or television show – actually, scratch that, a lot of television shows aren't excellently planned, so maybe more like –

"I've met a lot of people in my life, but none are quite like you, Simon Lewis," Magnus says, interrupting his train of thought that was ultimately going nowhere.

"…I hope that's a compliment," Simon says, looking back down at his knees. His jeans are looking worn at the left knee and he loathes ripped jeans.

"Of course it is. Do you know how difficult it is to discover anything new?" Magnus stands up, finishes off his cocktail and asks, "So, what do you think?" Gesturing towards his apartment.

Simon takes that as his cue to stand up and look around his place. Honestly, he has no flair for interior decorating, so he awkwardly says, "It has good vibes." He stuffs his hands into his pockets. "It feels safe," he adds.

Simon makes the mistake of catching Magnus' gaze, which is filled with sympathy or pity or sadness – Simon doesn't want to decipher it and he doesn't want it.

Simon clears his throat. "So, I'm sure you'd rather spend the night with Alec…"

Magnus gives him a look, but allows the change in topic by saying, "I actually have some business to do before I can indulge in pleasure." He creates the portal with flicks of his wrists and then offers a hand. "Things will get better, I promise."

It's rather pointless to argue with someone who is probably at least a thousand years old – he would know better than Simon, right? Besides, Simon is tired and needs to wash out this nasty goat blood out of his mouth and probably vomit a little; it's just not sitting well in his stomach at all.

"Hopefully," Simon says and takes his hand.

It really does seem hopeless – finding Jace, stopping Valentine. He hears Camille's thoughts sometimes, sees her in a passing reflection, always smirking. Calling him.

They leave him at the Institute because they need to be out during the day and –

It's Yom Kippur. Simon was supposed to start fasting an hour ago, but he's really been fasting for three days. He usually lights the candles with his mom and sister. And his sister would recite the two blessings in better Hebrew than he can speak. He's wearing socks because he only has leather shoes on his person and he can't wear them. He has twenty-four hours of fasting left to go and he refuses to break it for any of this. He's been doing it since he was thirteen and he plans on honoring the tradition.

"Good luck," he says to Clary, to them. He considers saying he needs to pray throughout the day anyway, but he doesn't want to prompt Clary's memory – he wants her to just remember because it's important to him.

Clary hugs him and it's torture, so he gently pushes her back and tries to smile without showing teeth and fangs. He's more often than not considered what Nephilim blood tastes like now that Magnus put the idea in his head.

Izzy smiles at him, but it's quick and they leave in all their half-angel glory that makes him feel alone.

He's used to being a misfit – being Jewish and Latino and not being accepted as either, being bi and not recognized as legitimate – but having it happen in this new life is…aggravating, una pena, bosheth. Overall, disappointing.

He has to leave – he can't not try to attend a service. Besides, it seems like more of a spit in the face to remain inside an old church all night.

It's funny how death is giving him a sort of resurgence in religious fervor.

He's just happy that it hasn't rained lately, so the sidewalks are just unspeakably dirty and not also wet.

He knows he can't go to his synagogue, so he searches for a Reform synagogue within the general area. The problem is, Brooklyn doesn't have a lot of Reform synagogues…wait, Reform Jews call them temples…but he's determined. Even if he is also tired and trying to keep his fangs away when people walk past him.

"Baby is alone at last."

He tries not to jump, but he does, because he's too focused on figuring out if he's supposed to turn left or right.

He looks to find Raphael alone, standing a safe enough distance away. His dark eyes assess Simon, from his too-pale face to his sock-clad feet. Simon is rather impressed that Raphael is giving nothing away, especially since Simon knows he looks absolutely ridiculous.

"You haven't been feeding," Raphael notes.

Simon swallows. "I'm fasting."

"That's not fasting, it's starving," Raphael counters coolly.

"It's Yom Kippur and I'm supposed to fast for twenty-five hours, so, yeah, I'm fasting. And okay, maybe I didn't have the afternoon meal before the fasting, or any meal the past two days, but –"

"Ah, Yom Kippur. The Day of Atonement. I take it you don't have a spare pair of shoes at the Institute?" Raphael grimaces briefly at 'the Institute,' the only emotion he's given away.

Simon is almost pleasantly surprised. "Yeah, uh – you know Yom Kippur?"

"If you chose to stay with your kind, you might've learned that a few of us are Jewish, or at least have Jewish upbringings."

Right. "Well, if you're going to kill me, or lock me up in Camille's coffin, could you wait until after a service? I'd like to, y'know, atone."

Raphael opens his mouth to say something, maybe argue, but instead, after a tense, silent moment, he says, "Alright."

Simon wordlessly shows Raphael the map on his phone and Raphael directs them to the left.

Just when the silence is becoming unbearable, Raphael inquires, "So where are your friends tonight?"

Simon rubs the back of his head. "They heard a rumor about Jace. And I'm a liability now."

"Yes, I can see that. Although you do realize this is infinitely worse than running off with them on a life-threatening mission?"

"I don't care," Simon retorts rather childishly. "I've been doing this since I was a little, as far as I can remember, and I'm not going to stop now because I'm muerto."

Raphael exhales in amusement, but doesn't respond.

It takes them about ten minutes to finally find the synagogue and Simon stops short. Raphael takes a step close to him and that prompts Simon to raise his foot onto the first step, but as soon as he touches the cement, it sears and he hops back right into Raphael's chest.

"It hurts," Simon says stupidly.

"Lo sé," Raphael sighs, his hands on Simon's waist to steady him back on two feet. Simon winces, feeling like he has a severe sunburn on the bottom of his foot.

"So I can't go in there."

"Not without a lot of practice. And definitely not in the state that you're in."

Simon thinks he's done a pretty good job not crying about his new life, at least until now because he's crying and it's embarrassing and fuck, the tears really are blood, that's gross.

"This is really gross," Simon laments out loud, wiping his face, but he's sure it's not helping at all.

He ends up in Raphael's arms, his arms squashed into his chest since his hands are still hiding his face. Raphael keeps an arm steady around him while one hand rubs up and down his back. Simon thinks Raphael is muttering something in Spanish, but he can't make much out besides maybe estará bien – it'll be alright.

It takes time for him to stop crying, mostly because he doesn't have a lot of blood to waste, but it takes him longer to stop feeling like all the sorrow and stress and everything else is going to crush his chest and kill him.

But once Simon has managed to pull himself together, Raphael mutters, "You just had to ruin another suit."

Simon laughs, lifting his head up and is shocked at the feel of Raphael's skin and hair against his cheek.

Raphael drops his arms and takes a step back, reaching into the jacket of his suit to pull out –

"Is that a moist towelette?" Simon asks, amused.

Raphael gives him a warning look. "They're very useful." He hands the packet to Simon, who takes it gratefully to wipe his face clean.

"Thanks." Simon wrings the towelette with his hands, staining it further.

Raphael nods before looking at the synagogue with a pensive expression. "The service will be ending soon, we should walk back," he says after a moment.

Simon bites his lip, accidentally piercing it with a fang. He wants to try again, but his body aches like he has a fever and his skins feels taut over his muscles. And his foot still hurts. So he looks up at the Star of David carved into the stone. He doesn't need the synagogue, but he wants it, wants to be around fellow believers and hear Hebrew and lean into his sister when he inevitably gets tired.

He hasn't tried to say G-d since he first dug himself out of that grave – not in English or Spanish or Hebrew. He's afraid of it getting stuck in his throat; he doesn't need another reminder that he's not welcome to this existence.

"I used to force myself to walk on holy ground for months. It took years until I could handle a midnight Easter mass comfortably," Raphael explains. He unbuttons the first two buttons of his shirt, revealing a vivid burn of a cross in his skin. Simon winces.

"Saying God also takes time. You're certainly cabeziduro – you'll get there."

Simon slows down a little. "So you don't plan on killing me?"

Raphael snorts. "Not tonight, Simon."

Simon's tired. His steps are sluggish and he knows when he breaks fast tomorrow at sundown, the blood that's left at the Institute won't get him back half the energy he's lost.

"You shouldn't be alone."

Simon shrugs. "I'm alone even with them."

Raphael shakes his head and says nothing else. Doesn't need to, really.

"When I was…alive…a mundane…whatever…I didn't – even for a city as diverse as New York, there are still limits. You can be Jewish, you can be Latino, but not both. Both is too weird. You don't know how many times I've been asked if my mother converted for marriage or asked how it was possible and aren't all Latinos Catholic?" Simon sighs. "Not to mention the sexuality argument – I'm almost always half-convinced bisexuality is made up. It was bullshit, defending who I am. And I don't even know if I'm bi, I just. I don't know why people couldn't accept all of it, why it bothered them. And now I'm here and it's more of the same, just another shitty layer."

Raphael takes his arm to redirect Simon to avoid a broken bottle.

"The mundane world is gone to you. It's not the same as it was. It seems that way, but it'll change," Raphael says after a moment.

"How long?"

"Hm?"

"How long until it changes," Simon clarifies with a hint of desperation.

Raphael swallows and his jaw clenches briefly. "A long time," he admits.

Simon brings a finger to the corner of his eye to catch a tear, but there's barely a drop of blood. "How old are you? Three hundred?"

Raphael hides his face for a moment before obviously schooling his expression. "No," he answers.

"Older?" Simon presses.

"Younger," Raphael says.

"…Two hundred?"

Raphael sighs and shakes his head. "Dios mio," he mutters. "I'll be eighty in a few months."

Simon's eyes nearly bulge out of his sockets. "Are you serious? I literally thought you were hundreds of years old. You seem a lot older than you are, which…sounds a lot like I'm insulting you, but that's not my intention. I just mean you carry yourself well," he suddenly closes his eyes and stops walking. "I'm tired."

Raphael turns to face him. "When does Yom Kippur end – tomorrow evening?"

Simon nods.

"And you don't plan on breaking your fast until then?"

"Shouldn't you be more understanding of masochistic behavior being a Catholic?" Simon questions.

"It's not masochism. I know what it really is and I do understand it." Raphael stares at Simon for a while. "I'll respect your religion and allow you to come back until your day of atonement is over. You can break your fast and then you'll have to go."

It's sort of embarrassing how he loses whatever energy he has and just falls into Raphael’s arms.

He comes to in Raphael's room. He has a really comfortable casket and it smells like a home.

"I almost forgot what an utter nuisance you are."

Simon slowly pushes himself up to rest against the makeshift headboard, finding Raphael sitting at his ornate wooden desk. He's writing a letter.

"You're not nearly old enough to be able to go without feeding for so long," Raphael adds.

"I don't have a lot of options."

"Hm, I suppose you don't."

Simon shuts his eyes.

"Would you like some privacy to pray?"

Simon tries to swallow, but his throat his dry. "Yeah, uh, thanks."

"I'll be right outside the door. I don't suggest trying to leave. Many here aren't happy with you."

Simon would laugh at the thought his trying to fight his way out on his own, but he just nods and watches Raphael leave and shut the door behind him. He's locked in.

Simon forces himself to get out of the casket, surprised to see that his socks were changed. His foot still hurts though. He sort of slides off the side off the rim of the casket to the floor and contorts himself so his elbows are resting on the casket and he's sitting on his heels, but after a few minutes, he's sitting on the ground and his knees are apart, his arms resting against his thighs.

Last year he tried to atone for little things – thinking poorly of Clary in dark days, for not doing chores, for arguing with his sister.

He figured it would be more of the same this year, but now he doesn't have a pulse and he's almost attacked innocent people and he craves blood on a nearly constant basis. He's had more terrible thoughts of Clary lately and he's betrayed the only people who may have had a chance of understanding him, or maybe they already did before he realized.

He only regrets the choice he made in the sense that he wishes they'd understand that he can't give up his old life. Raphael seems to get it, but Simon knows he doesn't have the best interest of the clan, he can admit that. And he's sorry because he wishes things were different. He wishes he wasn't the youngest vampire by decades.

He regrets signing that document exonerating Camille and he hates that the price he pays is feeling her like a constant invasion. He's sorry, he's sorry, lo siento, he doesn't know the word for sorry in Hebrew, but he feels it.

He thinks he's crying again, but there's nothing to show for it.

He thinks he dozes again at some point because he's jolted to consciousness when he hears a sharp knock on the door. He can't get up. Simon snorts. "I've fallen and I can't get up," he croaks and then giggles.

Raphael enters and for a moment, Simon can see a few the clan trying to peek in. They don't seem murderous, but what does Simon know.

"The sun is going to rise in an hour. I'm going to rest. I'm assuming you don't need to be told again that it's within your best interest to remain here until the sun sets," Raphael says.

"I've fallen and I can't get up," Simon jokes again.

Raphael is trying hard not to smile, Simon can see. "I gather praying helped."

"I don't think I've sealed my fate for the Book of Death."

"You're not wicked, Simon. You're just incredibly short-sighted."

"You know, psychologically, I'm not fully capable of planning far ahead, given that I'm eighteen and the brain stops developing at around twenty-five, although there are studies that show it's actually thirty, so is it really that surprising?"

"I suppose not."

"You changed my socks."

"I wasn't going to allow the remnants of Brooklyn to contaminate my nice casket."

"I technically didn't follow the halakhah though – I washed my face when I shouldn't have."

"It was either that or scare mundanes and we don't need the attention. Besides, I think you've humbled yourself enough."

"I didn't go to a single service."

Simon hears Raphael walk over to him and feels a hand on his shoulder. "That'll change." The hand drops.

"If I make it the next year."

"You're very morose when starved."

"Be grateful I'm Jewish and not Catholic. I don't know how you deal with the concept of Hell."

When Raphael doesn't respond, Simon twists his body to look at him. Simon thinks he struck a nerve because Raphael is back to having no expression on his face.

"You're not wicked either. I mean, I definitely thought you were when you kidnapped me, but now, definitely not," Simon rambles. "I obviously don't think Hell exists the way people imagine. Like that Dante nonsense or the devil being all red with horns and a pitchfork. If it did, it would be for the likes of Hitler and evil people like that, but not you."

Simon doesn't know how to read Raphael's expression. "So you don't believe in Hell at all?" Raphael asks, his voice oddly flat.

"Not as a place of eternal suffering. I don't know what it is about Christians always wanting to suffer. It's more like…a place of cleansing. It's called Gehinnom. Then once your soul has been cleansed…" He thinks of שְׁאֵרִית again. Residue. "Then you're ready to enter Heaven. But that only happens when you don't feel remorse for the bad you've done." He tries to swallow again but it's hopeless. "I think we realize we punish ourselves through remorse more than any higher power could."

Raphael's eyebrow quirks. "That's a thought."

"You don't think that's true?"

"I think I'm capable of punishing myself thoroughly. I can't speak for God."

Simon nods. "That's fair."

"The remorse I experience may not be enough."

"You don't think it is?"

"I question it."

Simon takes his time to get up so he can sit on the edge of the casket. He's a little dizzy when he says, "I don't know what you've done to think that you need…" He takes a deep, unnecessary breath, "His wrath, but –"

"I will face God's wrath willingly when the time comes," Raphael interrupts him.

Simon closes his mouth.

'God, Dios, Adonai' – he has three ways to go about speaking His name and he's incapable.

"How long did it take you to say…" Simon trails off.

"A few months. It takes some years."

"Can you write it?"

Raphael frowns a little. "Yes, you can."

Simon snorts. "Figures. Jews aren't supposed to write His name. It can be desecrated that way. It's like whoever was fucked up enough to create vampires were anti-Semitic on top of it."

"Doesn't the Torah have a stand-in for God's name?"

"A stand – oh, it's Y-H-W-H. Yeah, but, it's just…it's not the same. We're supposed to say His name."

Raphael nods, even though Simon doesn't think he's making much sense. "Let's get you back in the casket. As soon as the sun sets, you're feeding."

"I've fallen and –"

"Stop making that awful joke," Raphael interrupts him, easily manhandling him so he can be lifted bridal style. Simon automatically rests his head against Raphael's shoulder. It seems vaguely familiar.

Raphael is gentle in placing him inside and tucking him in with a blanket. It makes Simon smile.

"Buenas noches, Simon."

Simon prompts passes out.

Simon can feel the sun set distantly, but he's too tired to lift the casket door open. Maybe this will be his punishment. Trapped in a casket forever, chained up, like Camille, like –

The door is flung open.

"Time to feed you. Yom Kippur is over," Raphael says, manhandling Simon out of the casket. "And there's no way in hell in you're staining my casket with blood."

Simon's fangs are already out.

"Control, Simon. If you spill a single drop on my floor, I'm going to chain you up and throw you into the sun. Comprende?"

Simon nods lethargically.

Raphael shakes his head, looks at the sky, probably muttering a prayer to G-d before going over to his fancy-looking wardrobe, opening it and oh, there's –

"Perks of being Chapter President," Raphael explains, opening the chrome storage container and –

Simon is pressed up against Raphael's back, hissing. He doesn't know how he made it across the room so quickly.

"Simon," Raphael says warningly, his arm out like a steel pole. Simon grabs onto it and almost whines – he needs –

Raphael exhales sharply, something Simon hasn't heard or seen him do ever. "I'm such a good Catholic," he mutters, shutting the storage container. Simon actually whines this time. "You're not to tell anyone what I’m about to do." Raphael turns around, their chests brushing for a moment before he nudges Simon to step back with a strong hand. Raphael unbuttons the cuff of one wrist, deftly rolling the sleeve up his forearm. He offers his wrist to Simon. "This will curb your hunger."

Simon has enough of a grasp on himself to say, "Huh?"

Raphael wordlessly holds his wrist closer to Simon's face and Simon doesn't have a choice: he takes hold of Raphael's arm, trying not to squeeze tightly, and he bites down.

Simon can feel the tendons in Raphael's wrist spasm.

The first taste of blood makes him moan so loudly and pornographically that he would be so embarrassed if he were remotely in his normal state of mind, but all he can focus on is life flowing through his veins.

It's funny, considering.

He feels things, though. It was different with Camille – he felt drugged and not present, out of control. Here, this, him – it's –

For a moment, Raphael puts a comforting hand on the back of Simon's neck, almost warm, and it makes him feel safe. But then he gains a grip and urges Simon off his wrist.

"You're not to tell anyone," Raphael repeats, his hand still resting on the back of Simon's neck. He thinks he can feel his fingers trembling against his skin.

Simon nods.

Raphael inspects his wrist, the wound already closing. "Not bad, Baby. We still have work to do, however." He gestures towards Simon's mouth. Simon brings a hand to wipe off the remnants of blood.

"Sorry."

Raphael goes back into the storage container and this time, Simon can wait. Drinking from the bag still reminds him of first digging himself out of the grave and he'll always somehow taste dirt when it's from the bag, but this is stored at the right temperature and it's so much more palatable.

(Or maybe it just has to do with being here.)

He drains the bag and he licks away a stray drop of blood from the corner of his mouth.

"Better." Raphael says, handing him another one.

After finishing the second bag and half of the third, Simon says, "Thank you. For, um, all of this. Everything. And I am sorry, for what it's worth, which probably isn't anything." He sucks down the last of the blood. This time his mouth is clean – he checks.

Raphael's nostrils flair for a moment before he hands Simon a fourth bag. "However, you don't regret it."

Simon pauses. "Jocelyn is like my second mom. She's always been family. If my mom can't know…I mean, at least I have the next best person who does and still loves me. That it would be enough, that just having Clary and Jocelyn would be all I need, but." Simon shrugs, hating how his eyes well up. "It's not. But, it's not about me. There's a bigger picture, so. I'm going to do whatever I can to stop Valentine." He drinks from this bag more slowly than the others, finally feeling like his hunger is being sated.

Raphael licks his bottom lip and Simon is transfixed. He does have a nice mouth. "During your admittedly brief time here, did you manage to do any research on sire bonds?" Raphael asks suddenly, handing Simon another bag once he finishes his fourth.

Simon shakes his head a little to redirect his thoughts. "Uh, no, didn't get to that yet."

Simon hears Raphael mutter, 'of course you didn't,' under his breath. "As you're undoubtedly experiencing," Raphael says at an audible volume, "sire bonds are powerful. However, they're not indestructible. Giving you my blood has its benefits beyond saving me the hassle of cleaning up after your messy feeding."

Simon can actually feel himself flushing, his blood rushing to his cheeks. He hastily drinks to hide it.

"It dilutes the power of the bond. You'll notice the pull to her has significantly lessened. She'll notice it too," Raphael continues, looking at Simon expectantly.

Simon gets it. "You think she'll try to trap me."

"She's possessive about her property," Raphael says with distaste. "And even though you've exonerated her – oh, yes, I know about that – there's still the risk of your going against your word. Especially with your having friends in high places."

Simon looks down at his feet and furrows his brow. "I can't kill her," he admits quietly. "I know I can't."

"You don't need to kill her. You just need to attract her."

There's no way any of the Shadowhunters, including Clary, will waste time on this. Valentine is the bigger threat, that much Simon can agree on, but Camille is still important, a mess that they made that they have to clean up.

Simon nods and looks at Raphael's face. "Okay."

Raphael blinks in surprise. "That's it? No questions, no asking your family?"

Simon swallows. "I'm responsible for Camille. I don't want anyone else suffering the way I do. And if that means doing it without Clary or anyone else, then fine. The big picture is being taken care of – someone should worry about the…little picture. I guess. I don't know what the opposite of 'big picture' is – I think it's being detail-oriented, but that might just be limited to thinking, like big picture thinker or detail –"

Simon stops himself short, almost as if he heard Raphael telling him to stop talking. Simon narrows his eyes in thought.

Raphael smirks. "Another perk of my blood mixing with yours. It'll make trapping her a smoother process."

Simon fiddles with the empty blood bag. "So…that's why you brought me here. Found me."

Raphael takes it from his hands, and gives him a sixth one. Simon hasn’t been this full in weeks.

"The clan is my first priority always, Simon," Raphael says finally. "Even though you betrayed us like Camille, I know you're nothing like her. And our differing religions do have one thing in common."

"…Beyond Abraham playing a prominent role in both religions?"

Raphael sighs. "Forgiveness, Simon. We all want forgiveness for the sins we commit in this life."

"Oh…right." Simon bites his bottom lip while Raphael rolls his eyes. "So…how long will this…connection last?"

"About a week."

"Great, zero time to plan."

"You were very gung-ho about doing it a minute ago," Raphael says amusedly.

"I was making a statement, okay, I didn't quite consider logistics with the minimal information I was going on. I still want to do it, but I'm a little more wary than I was before."

Simon swears that for a hot second, Raphael looks at him fondly.

"I'll text you instructions once the clan adjourns on the matter." Raphael nods at the blood bag. "Shall I put that in a to-go cup?"

"…Is that a joke because I genuinely do want that."

Raphael rolls his eyes. "Let me walk you out. But first – we can't have you walking around in just socks around New York. It's unsanitary." He opens his wardrobe and inspects his shoes lined up along the bottom shelf and pulls out a pair. "These should tide you over."

They're dark leather and way nicer than anything Simon has ever worn or owned. "Thanks, Raphael. I'll give them to Magnus or something."

Raphael's eyes narrow in suspicion.

Simon swallows. "He didn't…tell me anything. He just – I know you know him and that would be a sure way to get them back, right?"

Raphael's nostrils flair as he searches Simon's face for a lie. Jesus Christ, what is up with those two. "Not necessary," Raphael says with forced lightness. "I'm you'll manage to scuff them beyond repair by the time I leave you."

Simon takes the shoes and bends down to put them on. They're a good size bigger, but he ties them tightly and he thinks he'll manage without tripping too much.

"Alright, let's go."

It's almost like a comedy when they open the door and at least half the clan is looking guilty, standing way too close to the door. Simon tries not to smile, but his first concern is trying not to cry.

"Alright, alright," Raphael sighs, bringing a hand to the middle of Simon's back to lead him out.

Simon sneaks glances at the clan, but they all look away once he meets their eyes. Simon may curl a little into Raphael's arm, but he swears it's (mostly) because he doesn't want to inadvertently provoke anyone.

But they seem to have no qualms about following behind them. Simon smiles a little to himself.

"I'll be back in an hour or so," Raphael informs the clan. "So you can all wait here."

Some of their shoulders drop in disappointment.

"Come on," Raphael says in a low voice.

Before Simon can stop himself, he gives an awkward wave goodbye before stepping outside. He may not have mastered any heightened senses, but he does manage to overhear someone muttering, "Kind of miss the weirdo."

He'll take it.

"Thanks, Raphael, for everything," Simon says, fiddling with his hands in front of him, but his gaze is steady.

Raphael nods. "I'll contact you when I can narrow down Camille's location."

Simon takes a deep breath. "Okay."

There's a moment where Simon wildly considers hugging Raphael, but Raphael disappears as soon as Simon figures out that maybe a handshake would be more appropriate.

"What were you thinking, Simon? You could've been killed, I was so worried," Clary explodes as she paces back and forth in front of Simon.

"I can't believe he wasn't killed," Alec says, deadpan. Simon isn't sure if he's mostly disappointed or not. Probably is. Izzy smacks Alec in the chest in reprimand.

"Look, Downworlders can be flexible with loyalty when it's necessary to survival," Jocelyn points out.

Simon wishes she would sit down next to him and ask if he was okay. Magnus and Izzy narrow their eyes at her, but Jocelyn doesn't notice.

"Simon, you weren't forced to do or agree to do anything, right?" Luke asks.

Simon straightens his back and says, "No."

"Are you okay?" Jocelyn asks with concern. She's still standing a safe distance away.

"Yeah, I'm –"

But they're all still talking over him and after a certain point, Simon mentally checks out.

It's very early in the morning; the sun is about an hour away from rising, and Simon is staring out the stained glass window when he senses someone walking up behind him. He straightens his back, preparing, until he hears a chuckle.

"I see replenishing was helpful," Magnus says, standing beside him, leaning against the bars. His hair is wild and he didn't bother buttoning his shirt. G-d, Simon would like to get laid again.

"It's like that Joni Mitchell song that was masterfully covered by Counting Crows featuring Vanessa Carlton," Simon says.

"Don't it always seem to go, you don't know what you got 'til it's gone. Yes, she is very lyrically gifted. Interesting woman."

Of course he's met Joni Mitchell.

"Camille is clever. She'll know it's some sort of trap."

Simon shrugs. "She can't be running around New York doing what she wants. I'm responsible."

"We all had a hand," Magnus allows. "And you should…cut yourself some slack. Considering the fact that sire bonds are nothing to scoff at. Ancient, ugly form of magic."

"It doesn't have to be," Simon says and regrets it immediately.

Magnus gives him a sharp, searching look. "Right. Best to be careful."

Of course. Careful.

Simon receives a brief text from Raphael instructing him to go to Magnus' apartment and to meet him there. Then Magnus texts him about timing and it's a constant back and forth for a few minutes until Simon starts a group text with the two of them and says, "If we're planning on taking down an evil vampire bitch, it will be much more efficient to plan in a group text."

From Magnus Bane:
I'll aid however I can, but I'm afraid Camille knows me too well at this point. I would most likely be a detriment.

From Raphael Santiago:
Your magic to seal Camille away for eternity is the only thing that's required in this plan to prevent misguided babies from freeing her again.

From Simon Lewis:
Does this mean you're starting to forgive me? :D

From Raphael Santiago:
Don't push it.

From Raphael Santiago:
And what is that thing? Is that supposed to be a face?

From Simon Lewis:
It's a classic, okay, sometimes the emojis don't encompass what a colon and a letter or a parenthesis can.

From Raphael Santiago:
It's just ridiculous looking.

From Simon Lewis:
:O

From Raphael Santiago:
Would you knock it off, this is serious.

From Simon Lewis:
:C

From Raphael Santiago:
SIMON.

[Magnus Bane left the conversation.]

From Magnus Bane:
While excellent in theory, the group text is only useful when it's not being used to antagonize/flirt with someone.

From Simon Lewis:
That was NOT flirting. Raphael borderline loathes me. I mean, not as much as Alec hates me, but still.

From Magnus Bane:
If you think Raphael hates you for even a second then you're not very bright.

Simon flushes and exits out of his texts and pulls up Candy Crush for the first time in a few months.

The plan is relatively simple, but effective: leave with Clary, Alec, Izzy, Lydia, Jocelyn, and Luke, follow the original plan of parting ways, but instead of going to his mark near the Brooklyn Bridge, he'll head further north to Dumbo.

He passes by a synagogue and quickly prays to G-d that this will work and hopefully maybe not be terribly injured in the process –

"Aw, my sweet caramel."

Simon stops in his tracks and tries not to shudder.

So, the good news is that G-d possibly threw him a bone in that Camille does, eventually, lose the fight and she's secured by Magnus, whisked away to the Hotel Dumort to be trapped forever in a cursed casket.

The bad news is, Simon isn't really at his best, bleeding all over the pavement with his guts half hanging out.

Raphael is cursing in Spanish, the words blurring together that Simon can't make any of it out, but then again, things seem to be sort of muffled and a little blurry. But Simon can definitely read the emotions on Raphael's face.

"You like me," Simon slurs a little.

Raphael hisses, "I will hate you if you die on me."

"I dunno why I thought you were two-hundred. You're a child."

Raphael shakes his head in disbelief. "You're aging me enough."

Simon shuts his eyes when Raphael's hand that's not staunching the blood flow comes to Simon's cheek. "You're warm."

Simon has never seen Raphael scared. Then again, this is the first time he's been so close to death and actually being aware of it. The first time was pretty quick. He really wouldn't like to die, though. He's been…rather high key fighting this vampire existence, but he really doesn't want to die…again. He wants to actually develop his skills and use his powers for good. Sure, it's a cliché, but at least it's a good one. Besides, the world could use further reminding that Jews created the damn comic industry and as a Jew he must do his part.

"Baruch dayan emet," he mouths. He's only been to three Jewish funerals, but he knows what blessing is said in the face of death.

He doesn't think he'll get to do his part.

His vision goes gray and he can hear Raphael praying in Spanish. It really is a beautiful language that he wishes he could be properly fluent in. Maybe Raphael could've taught him, perfected his knowledge. Maybe Simon could've found out who was Jewish in the clan and they could've had Passover Seders, even if they couldn't stomach the food. Lighting the menorah together at Hanukkah and exchanging presents. Maybe, tal vez.

Dying to the sound of Raphael's voice isn't the worst thing in the world, considering.

…Except he's not actually dead. Apparently.

He wakes up in Magnus' apartment – barely – and he can smell Clary's blood, can feel her hands squeezing his. Izzy is close to Clary’s side. Jocelyn is near – it's interesting how she and Clary smell sort of similar. Raphael is by the foot of the bed, conversing with Magnus in quick Spanish and Alec is sitting somewhere too far away. Luke's pacing is a constant, almost reassuring beat.

"Simon!" Clary cries in relief. Simon winces at the volume.

"I really outdid myself," Magnus sighs in relief.

"Oh, he's alive," Alec says without emotion. "He can be used for bait again since he's good at that, at least."

Simon forces his eyes open, blinking past the blurriness.

"Alec," Magnus counters.

"Cabrón," Raphael hisses.

"Hey," Izzy snaps at Raphael.

"Shut up," Clary orders at them. She whips her head back to look at him. With a hand, she plays with his hair, cupping his cheek. "I'm so glad you're alive, I was so scared."

He can only squeeze her hand tightly.

"How are you feeling, my little bean?" Magnus asks.

Simon is rather surprised by his lack of feelings with Clary's face being so close to his. "Weird," he admits.

"Well, he did drain quite a bit from Jace," Alec drawls. "Let's hope he doesn't become one of them."

Simon furrows his brow. "Huh?"

But then he remembers.

He almost dies of embarrassment thinking that he was witnessing a golden angel reaching out to him, offering his arm, but – oh, his blood –

He remembers experiencing whiplash into another dimension as he swallowed sunlight.

He jackknifes forward, surprising Clary. "Jace?" he repeats hoarsely. Izzy’s hand is quick to rest on his back comfortingly.

It was an admittedly weird coincidence, that Simon, Raphael, Camille, and their respective clans were in Jace's way.

"He still cares," Clary says, like she's reminding herself, exhausted but smiling in relief. Izzy smiles at Clary.

Simon's grief is swift and sharp, tearing him apart. Raphael narrows his eyes at Clary with unmasked contempt.

"How much longer until Simon is healed?" Raphael asks Magnus, his eyes now focusing on Simon.

Magnus takes a few steps toward Simon, gesturing Clary and Izzy to leave his bedside with a few flicks of his hands. Simon is entranced as Magnus inspects his body. "Hmm…perhaps another day. He should still rest. Jace's blood is doing interesting things." He glances to Alec, who immediately rolls his eyes.

"He'll be returning to the hotel," Raphael states, almost daring Clary to argue.

She immediately accepts the challenge. "Oh, now you want him back? How dare you –"

"Yes," Simon says, returning Raphael's gaze. "I'd like to."

The corner of Raphael's mouth twitches, but Simon doesn't have that kind of self-control, so he smiles.

Clary turns to Simon. "Simon –"

"Why don't we give you two some privacy?" Magnus interrupts her, wordlessly signaling everyone to move away from them.

Raphael takes his time moving, unlike everyone else. He stops close to Simon's side and says, "Tomorrow is another Jewish holiday, I'm told."

Simon doesn't know what day of the damn week it is. "Is Sukkot over?" he guesses.

"It's a day of assembly."

He's been out for three days. "Shemini Atzeret."

"We'll celebrate with the clan," Raphael says to him before leaving him and Clary alone.

Clary looks between them in lost confusion.

"Clary, I love you, you know I do. But I think it's pretty obvious I can't live with you at the Institute," Simon says, resting against Magnus' grand headboard. He doesn't know what Jace's blood is doing to him, but it does feel a little weird. But in a good way. He wiggles his toes.

"But you can't stay with them –"

"But I am one of 'them.' I'm a vampire, Clary. And it's okay, I think. At least, I know it's going to be."

She's in near tears.

"You're still my best friend. And of course I'm going to help you find Jace and stop Valentine. But I just…have other family, too."

She's gentle when she hugs him, but what Simon finds particularly strange is that he's now intimately familiar with the smell of Jace's blood to the point that he could probably smell him from a mile away – and in New York City, that's a valuable thing – but Clary doesn't smell like him. Not at all.

He'll have to talk with Raphael before sharing his outlandish theory so he doesn’t end up getting Clary's hopes up. He thinks he's starting to come to terms with them, with everything.

He smiles into her shoulder.

"The clan will be thrilled to have two days of partying," Raphael says as they make their way back to Hotel Dumort.

"I suppose we'll take liberties with the holiday," Simon says. After a few moments, he adds, "First night of Hanukkah is Christmas Eve this year."

Raphael shakes his head in amusement. "I think we can handle it."

Maybe it's a little grandiose to think that he'll be able to pray the way he'd want and go to a synagogue come the end of the year, but for the first time in a while, he's feeling a little hopeful.

He bumps shoulders with Raphael and tries not to grin like an idiot. Judging by Raphael's exasperated expression, he does a terrible job.

He spends the rest of the journey telling Raphael about Shemini Atzeret and Simchat Torah, how it's different from Sukkot and how it's even happier than Sukkot. Raphael seems interested about the celebration of attained atonement – Simon wishes he had the words or knew Raphael enough to let him know that he's sure G-d wouldn't want him to punish himself forever. But Simon supposes he has a lot of time to do both, which for the first time, almost makes him excited.

L'chaim means 'to life' – he’ll mentally hold up that glass and cheer to it.