Memories and Meanings (Saphael Oneshot)

I'll just leave

"Dios Simon!"

Simon staggered backwards, away from the gaping hole in the blood cabinet of Hotel Dumort. The painting which usually hid the cabinet was torn apart and the metal was twisted in a variety of direction. The some glass vials within it were broken and a few bloodbags had been ripped by the glass when the vials broke. Shards of glass were still embedded in Simon's palms and knuckles from the accident, but they were the least of his worries. He turned hesitantly to face his glaring Sire, quickly meeting the dark flashing eyes of Raphael Santiago.

The leader of New York's vampire clan was eyeing the mess of the floor warily. Then he sighed, rolling his eyes and turned to his fledgling.

"One night, Lewis. Why is it that you cannot go one night without destroying something in this Hotel?"

Simon ran his fingers through his hair, tugging at it nervously.

"At least it wasn't one your suits this time?" He offered, with a goofy smile. His humour always worked with his mum when Simon wanted to get out of trouble. He'd crack a joke and she'd have to laugh, and hey presto, he'd be innocent again.

Raphael however, was a whole other story. The older vampire just stared at him, unimpressed and then switched his gaze back to the lake of blood pooling up behind Simon.

Simon's smile faded at the completely exasperation on his mentor's face and he stepped back from the mess, "I'll......I'll just leave....."

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Raphael sighed again as he watched the retreating form of his newest fledgling disappear down the hallway of Hotel Dumort.

"Idiota" He hissed under his breath before walking over to examine the damage to his precious cabinet. The locker was almost completely destroyed but thankfully, most of the blood had been saved.

Raphael ended up calling a few other vampires to deal with the mess, since he felt too drained by his ordeal with Simon to clean it himself. He went to his room and sunk into his plush divan, leaning his head back into the material with a loud lengthy sigh.

Dealing with Simon Lewis, was turning out to be way more taxing that he'd assumed it would be. It had only been a few weeks in and Simon had already managed to completely destroy three of Raphael's best suits, four wooden chairs, two sofas, a tv and now the blood cabinet, all while training with his Sire. How he did it was beyond Raphael and he'd started to wonder whether the fledgling was doing it on purpose. That suspicion however had faded as soon as he saw how completely broken and distraught Simon looked when he realized what he'd done.

Raphael sighed again. He found himself sighing alot these days. The word Idiota too had become increasingly frequent in his dealings with the young vampire. Simon was an idiota and that was a fact but unfortunately Simon was his idiota, and with Raphael being his Sire, Simon was his responsibilty as well.

No matter how annoying the brat was, Simon was his to train and mentor. And that had been what Raphael had attempted to do that fateful evening when the poor blood cabinet met its end.

They'd been testing out Simon's new found speed, to help him get more of a grip over the ability so that he could learn to control it and not end up a mile away when he was trying to take a step forward. The evening had consisted of Raphael throwing Simon an object, which with his strength, travelled at the speed of a bullet and Simon catching it using his speed. An hour had passed uneventfully and Raphael had become rather pleased with Simon's progress when the fledgling somehow managed to miss the catch altogether and dive straight at the blood cabinet with his hands outstretched before him. And unfortunately, Simon's new strength was something they had yet to work on. Thus began the vanquishing of the wretched cabinet.

And as usual, Simon had gotten flustered and run off into the night.

Raphael massaged his temples slowly for awhile, running his thumbs over them in a calming, circular motion before hesitantly leaving his spot of his divan. Then he slipped quietly out through the doors of Hotel Dumort following the scent of his young fledgling.

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Simon kicked at small grey pebble in front of him with the tip of his damp sneakers as he walked down the silent streets of New York. The pebble whizzed forwards like a bullet at a speed that even he found hard to follow and a loud crash of breaking glass echoed through the night followed by a scream and a colourful rant of swearing. Simon decided to make himself scarce from that location.

The next thing he knew, he found himself walking aimlessly through a thick wall of overgrown greenery, wondering vaguely about his location. The soft murmer of the trees as they whispered quietly to one another in the wind surrounded him and he shivered, more out of the habit of being cold than the actual sensation.

Simon didn't know how long he'd walked. He just kept going and the scenery around him didn't change.

Trees, trees and more trees.

All he could think of was how lonely he felt. He knew that with everything that was going on, self pity was the last thing that would help him but he couldn't help but wallow in the emotion, growing more and more depressed by the second.

He had nowhere to go. Clary, Isabelle, Alec and Jace were at the Institute and he couldn't go there because he was a downworlder and a downworlder couldn't enter without the invitation of a Shadowhunter. Somehow the idea of begging Jace to let him into the Institute didn't really appeal to him. He couldn't go to his mother because well.....the idea of being burnt by holy water didn't appeal to him either. He couldn't go to Magnus because the Warlock couldn't even get his name right and that would just be weird. And now he couldn't go back to Hotel Dumort because he'd mutilated that poor blood cabinet and Raphael hated him. Not that that was anything new.

And so, Simon kept walking, through the wood, ignoring the shards of glass prickling in his skin preventing the healing process and the splinters he was getting from wading through the unkept shrubs.

He kept walking till he got to a clearing where the wood ended and a long plain stretched out before him. He continued across the plain, too preoccupied by his thoughts to notice anything else.

It was not until he felt the searing pain of the burning shooting up through his feet to every part of his limbs, that he realized that he was in a cemetry. A christian cemetry where holy water had been sprayed upon on every inch of the ground and where every square inch had been blessed. It was not until he felt the sensation like daggers shooting into every fibre of his body that he realized that he was walking on holy ground.

And by that time all he could do was scream.