It takes us seven minutes to turn the hellhounds into scraps of puppy fur. The floor is slick with tar black demon blood. It's almost a shame, the mess we've made of the art gallery, but we were just doing our jobs. Demons have to die.
It wasn't easy, I'll be honest. They were vicious and there were so many of them fighting so few of us. I hastily apply a rune to the bleeding gash on my arm where I was clawed and look around, taking in the carnage. Izzy and Clary sit back to back, cleaning off their blades in a puddle of ichor. Alec checks warily around corners for more demons. And Simon, he just-
He just lies there.
My legs are running before I can think, slipping clumsily on the wet floor but I'm barely registering it. Clary is calling out to me but my world has narrowed and all I can hear is his name, and all I can see is his body. I drop to my knees beside him, but I can't see any injury at all but he's unconscious and all I can think is what if he's dead? What if Simon's dead? My hands shake as I slap him hard in the face.
"Jesus!" He yells as he bolts upright, clutching his face. I grin. The idiot fainted at all the violence. "Nope. Just me." His face darkens.
"That's my joke," he says seriously and I hear Clary laugh behind me.
"You looked almost worried then," Izzy says, her voice smug. I exaggerate a shudder at the suggestion that I have any kind of affection for Simon, but he doesn't look too offended. There's a bold pink patch spreading across his cheek where I hit him and I feel smug and apologetic and like I want to reach out and touch it all at the same time, which is weird. "I knew we shouldn't have brought the mundie along," I mutter as I pull him to his feet. His hands are warm, and a little bloody, and I have to grip him tight to stop him sliding right back onto the floor. He giggles like a child. I hate to admit it, but he's really growing on me. I almost like him.
__________
The night before we go and see the faerie queen, there is a knock at my bedroom door. It's late, and I groan as I get up from my bed. It's a little cold, and I shiver, pulling on a shirt. I open the door and am immediately confused. "Simon?" He's shifting on his feet, and he looks nervous. Scared, even. He bites his lip. "Hey, are you okay?" I say gently, more concerned than I'd like to admit. He nods, and then shakes his head, and I gesture for him to come in, shutting the door behind him.
Simon goes and straight away sits down on my bed, staring at nothing and chewing his lip. Suddenly, he turns to me, his eyes panic-stricken. "I think I'm turning into a monster," he whispers, and my heart breaks a little at the words. It's Simon. He's infuriating, and he makes me inexplicably mad, but he's Simon. I don't there's a single part of him that isn't truly good. I furrow my brows, my face a thousand questions, but he takes his time to speak again. "When- at Magnus's party, when I got turned into a rat and those vampires took me and did all that stuff to me-" he shivers slightly, and I wonder if he's given us the full story. I'm starting to wonder if he was actually conscious when they were biting him and whatever the hell else they did. He takes a deep, shaky breath. "I think I'm turning into a vampire. Is that possible? Could they-?" He shuts his eyes and groans like it's hurting him to say all this out loud. I shake my head. "It's not possible," I say firmly, even though there's is a tiny possibility, even if I'm lying just a little bit. "Impossible." He nods, but he doesn't look convinced.
"It's just- the other day, when I passed out at the gallery and there was all that blood everywhere, I..." He looks ashamed. His eyes fill with tears as he forces out the truth. "I wanted it. I wanted that blood so, so badly. No- I needed it. And I was fighting it and swallowing this desire until I couldn't take it and then I blacked out." I tell him it's impossible, that he's imagining it, and I'm dismissive but there's a tiny little nag inside me telling me to listen, but I ignore it as I always do because he's Simon. He's not a monster. Simon's fine.
I'm too caught up in my own thoughts that I don't notice the tears pouring silently down his face. I sit down next to him on the bed and pat his back awkwardly because I'm not quite sure what to do. He stops after a while, and takes off those ridiculous glasses and scrubs at his cheeks. "Sorry," he mumbles, embarrassed, but I'm feeling this intense something that I can't put a finger in. It's not irritation. It could be protectiveness. It might even be love.
He stands up to go, and I do too. I impulsively pull him into a tight hug, and he thanks me for helping him, even though I've done nothing. For a moment I don't know why he came to me tonight, when his best friend is staying in the next room. I don't know a lot in that moment. I don't know why Simon's still in my arms and I don't know why I'm feeling guilty and I don't know why the hell I want to kiss him. But the moment is only a moment, and it's over before I want it to be. And as Simon pulls away, I almost think his lips brush my cheek. Almost.
