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Jace has always been an effective fighter, inflicting the maximum amount of damage with the minimum amount of effort. It doesn't matter whether he's using a seraph blade or words; he knows exactly how to cut someone wide open. He used to believe that it was training but maybe it's really in his blood. Valentine's true legacy: a never-ending capability for casual cruelty.
"I'm a big boy, Clary, I don't need my little sister holding my hand every step along the way," he snaps. Watches the emotions flash across Clary's face, the sadness and the pain and the anger. Each of them feels like a punch to his gut, but if he doesn't push her away now, he never will. If he can't make her understand that he's poison that will slowly consume her, maybe he can at least make her hate him enough to keep her distance.
There's a moment when she seems ready to argue, but then she just shakes her head and the fight visibly drains out of her. "Fine. I'll get out of your hair."
She's out of the door in a flurry of red hair and words left unspoken, and the room instantly feels a little duller and smaller and colder.
Simon stares at him, frowning, and Jace expects an outburst that doesn't quite come. "Wow, you're a dick," is all Simon says. He sounds oddly restrained.
Jace forces a nonchalant shrug. "You're only realizing that now? You must be slower than I thought, Downworlder."
Simon rolls his eyes at him and follows after Clary. There's a joke in there about puppy dogs and bats that Jace wants to make, but he's spooked by Simon's uncharacteristic lack of response in the face of his insults.
*
Since he's become a vampire, Simon has been spending more time at the Institute than he did when he was a mundane. The Clave didn't approve then, and they sure as hell don't approve now. No Downworlders allowed in those hallowed halls, not that Jace or his siblings have ever played by the rules.
Jace doesn't really give a fuck if Simon's a vampire or a mundie or a fellow Shadowhunter; it just pisses him off that no matter how hard he tries, Simon refuses to be pushed away. Even Izzy and Alec have learned to leave him alone. It helps that Alec's spending all his downtime with Magnus, while Izzy and Clary seem to be closer than ever. Jace knows it's for the best, but he can't help to feel a stab of jealousy at their easy affection.
He, in turn, is stuck with an annoying baby vampire who seems to have forgotten that he doesn't like Jace. "Don't you have a home, fang boy?"
Simon lies on the floor and stares at the ceiling, managing to look both relaxed and like a tightly-coiled ball of awkward energy. "Raphael said I shouldn't go home until I have a better grip on those vampire urges."
There are so many things wrong with that statement, Jace doesn't even know where to start. "Okay, one, I actually meant the vampire hotel, not your mundie home. Two, how do you figure hanging out here is a good idea when you don't have those urges under control?"
Simon shrugs. "I figured you guys are trained to defend yourselves if I get all bitey on you."
"Pretty sure that's not a scenario you'd like to try out. All the Downworlders we have to defend ourselves from end up dead, and I'd rather not have to explain to Clary why we killed her best friend."
"Except you don't talk to Clary," Simon points out, and it's Jace's turn to shrug. It's not really true. He and Clary talk. They just don't talk, not anymore.
"I don't want Izzy to have to explain why you're dead either," he finishes lamely, relieved when Simon doesn't call him on it.
*
Valentine remains a larger-than-life presence, haunting the Institute even when he's not making any obvious moves to further his plan.
He's everywhere.
He's reflecting in people's eyes when they glance at Jace. He's in every mirror Jace looks into. He's in the way Clary holds herself a little too rigidly, like she'd fall apart if she allowed herself to relax.
Hating his father is not a new emotion for Jace, but there's a difference between hating Michael Wayland and hating Valentine Morgenstern. Just as there's a difference between hating Valentine the villain he only knew in name, and Valentine the father who raised him in his image. That kind of hatred runs deeper, more personal, burning into his skin like runes and poisoning his blood.
*
It takes Jace about two minutes into the session to realize that sparring with Simon was a bad idea. It seemed to be a decent plan, making a virtue of necessity. If Simon was insistent on hanging about, he might as well make himself useful, and it meant Jace could beg out of fight practice if Izzy or Alec tried to badger him. Except Simon has somehow learned precisely how to land his blows, and the worst of them aren't physical.
He ducks under Jace's blade, backing out of reach while relentlessly chattering away, his words hitting a little too close to him. "Aren't you getting a little tired of the 'woe is me' act, dude? I mean, I get it, Valentine's your dad, and you're afraid of whatever crazy-ass mass murderer genes he brought into the mix. But you're forgetting one thing."
Jace should know better than to take the bait. And yet... "And what's that?"
"You're also Jocelyn Fray's son, and she's one of the kindest, most loving people I've known in my life."
"Well, maybe that's not enough to balance out the bad." Jace kicks his foot out, hitting Simon in the shin and making him stumble.
Simon catches himself before he slams into the wall, evading Jace when he comes for him with the seraph. "Yeah. Sure. And maybe you're just looking for a convenient excuse for all your bad behavior. 'Boo-hoo, it wasn't really my fault, it's just Valentine's bad genes and my multitude of daddy issues.'"
"You know nothing about me, so why don't you shut the fuck up," Jace hisses and comes at Simon with everything he's got, blades sizzling through the air. But Simon's outgrown his slow mundane reflexes and weak punches, and Jace barely blinks before he finds himself with his back on the floor, held down with vampire strength.
Simon's teeth flash in the neon light, and for a moment Jace expects to feel them at his neck, razor sharp and hungry.
"I know all about self-loathing and insecurities, I practically wrote the book on them. And FYI, that was before I dug myself out of a grave and turned into a blood-sucking monster." He frowns down at Jace. "I think I liked you more when you were being an ass because you thought you were better than everyone else rather than being an ass because you think you're a terrible person who needs to push everyone away to save them from your bad influence."
It's a scarily accurate description of what Jace is doing. He isn't sure if he's become so transparent or if Simon has come to know him well enough to see through his facade so easily. Either option makes him uncomfortable, so he hopes it's something else. "Are you reading my mind? Is that a skill the vampires managed to keep from us?"
Simon huffs out a laugh and rolls off him. Absurdly, Jace misses the weight pinning him down. Perhaps Simon's vampire mojo really is messing with his head.
*
He looks at Jocelyn and tries to see his mother.
He looks at Clary and tries to see his sister.
He fails, every time.
*
Simon gets himself kidnapped, because clearly, that's his thing: Izzy flirts and kicks ass, Alec gets cranky and shoot arrows, Clary takes stupid risks for the people she cares about, Jace makes bad choices, and Simon gets kidnapped. They're like a group of dysfunctional superheroes.
Alec rolls his eyes. "Must be a Tuesday," he quips, and Izzy elbows him in the side. "Be nice. Simon's our friend."
"I wouldn't go quite that far," Jace drawls with a nonchalance he hopes no one can identify as fake. But he's had his blade out, ready to chop Camille's pretty head off if she so much as given Simon a scratch, from the moment he heard what happened, and no matter how hard Jace tries, he can't make his words speak louder than his actions.
A couple of hours later, he and Clary are half-carrying, half-dragging Simon's barely conscious body between them from Camille's latest hiding place, and it's almost like a déjà-vu except that everything has changed since that morning at the Hotel Dumort.
Simon's head lolls back and forth, finally coming to rest of Jace's shoulder. He's looking at Jace through heavy-lidded eyes and his voice sounds garbled when he speaks. "Guys, I'm really really hungry."
Over Simon's head, Jace and Clary exchange an alarmed glance – united, however momentarily, in their concern.
"We'll get you to Raphael as fast as we can," Clary promises at the same time as Jace says, "Just drink from me."
Two pairs of eyes snap towards him, both identical in their expression of shocked surprise. Jace snorts. "It's not that big a deal. Mundanes donate blood all the time."
"Admit it, you just want the free juice and cookies," Simon snarks. His voice is still weak, but at least his terrible humor is clearly intact, so he's probably going to be alright.
When his fangs pierce the tender skin of Jace's wrist, the pain is brief and sharp, like a pinprick, barely worth mentioning compared to the deep, lingering burn of the stele on his skin, or the cut of a badly blocked blade during a practice session or a fight that turned out to be just a little too close.
There's a odd rush of euphoria when Simon starts drinking, and a part of Jace wants to cling to the sensation, ride it out and never have it end, but it's over before he can latch onto the idea. Simon has broken away, looking slightly less dead and watching Jace with a frown. "That should last me until we can get to Raphael and his blood bags, I think. Thank you."
Jace pulls the sleeve of his leather jacket back down over his wrist. "Like I said. No big deal. Just don't expect it to become a regular thing."
*
The first time is rushed, life or death, a shameful necessity that doesn't make it into anyone's post-mission report and no one ever speaks of again.
In an ideal world, there would be no second time.
But Jace looks at Simon and keeps remembering the way his blood was pulsating as it was flowing into Simon's mouth, feels the phantom pain of those fangs sinking into his flesh, and he wants.
The second time happens in the training room, late at night because Jace can't sleep and Simon may bitch at him all he wants for dragging him out here at 2am, but vampires are in fact nocturnal creatures. Simon's back is against the wall, Jace's blade not even an inch from his throat, and the smile Jace flashes at him is victorious and a little cocky and almost like the old Jace, who hadn't yet learned the truth about his parentage.
And then, suddenly, their positions are flipped and Jace finds his seraph knocked out of his grip, flying across the room. As Simon's teeth ghost over his neck, barely grazing the skin – nothing more than a tease – Jace's mind blanks out. For a moment, he forgets about Valentine, about Clary, about who he is and what he may be destined to become, and his entire universe narrows down to this room, to Simon's body pressing into him, to the razor sharpness of Simon's teeth so tantalizing close to his skin.
"Do it," he grates out, his voice barely recognizable.
Simon stills. "Jace –"
"Simon. Do it."
There's a moment when Jace is afraid that Simon will pull away, that this will finally be the thing that succeeds in pushing him away for good – and wouldn't the irony of that be bittersweet as blood? But then he feels Simon's breath cool on the skin of his neck when he exhales, followed by the soft pressure of lips – almost a kiss but not quite – and then, finally, fangs dropping and that sweet endorphin high of feeding.
It's not like the first time – there's nothing perfunctory about it now, it's all drawn out and languid, sensual, a hazy floating sensation rather than a sharp rush.
Jace's fingers tangle in Simon's dark curls, and when Simon stops drinking despite Jace's little mewl of protest, he doesn't move away, his face buried in the crook of Jace's neck and his tongue softly lapping at the bite marks. It takes a long time for either of them to move.
*
Lydia returns from Idris, looking more tired and worn out than she did when she left, and Jace's heart aches for her because he knows what it feels like to have a home where you don't feel like you belong anymore.
She shows up on his door one night with a bottle of vodka and two shot glasses, fresh bruises from sparring blooming on her arms and the tell-tale thin, red mark of an arrow soaring too close against her neck. Jace invites her inside without arguing.
The bottle is half-empty when she asks the question no one has dared to ask him since they found out who he really was. "Do you still love her?"
"I don't know," he lies. "What about you?"
She doesn't pretend to misunderstand. And unlike him, she has the courage to be honest. "There's a part of me that will always love him, even if nothing's ever going to happen. I'm not in love with him anymore, though."
Jace nods, understand a little too well what she means. He doesn't want to talk about Clary, but that doesn't mean he doesn't have some secret of his own to offer in exchange for hers. Quid pro quo just seems fair, he tells himself, but the truth is that the alcohol loosened both his tongue and the fences he's build around himself.
"Simon and me, we're... I don't know. Something." His lips curl in a wry, self-depreciating smile. "He's a Downworlder, but at least we're not related."
Lydia snorts out a laugh. "I'm sure the Clave would have to say something about appropriate love interests."
"I'm Valentine Morgenstern's son. I'm sure in the eyes of the Clave, there's nothing appropriate about me."
Her smile becomes gentler. "And if they said the same thing about Clary, you'd fight tooth and nail to tell them how wrong they are. Don't sell yourself short, Jace. You once said there's always gonna be a place for me here. You need to know that the same thing is true for you."
She reaches out and squeezes his hand. Maybe one day, he's going to believe that what she said is true.
*
In the end, Valentine dies by Jocelyn's hand.
There's some poetic justice in this, probably. Maybe some kind of closure. Jace only feels tired and hollow, overwhelmed in a way that has nothing to do with the physical exertion from fighting.
Simon comes to find him later in this room. "Are you alright?"
Jace flashes a bright smile, full of confidence and 100% fake. "You know me. I'm always alright." He pulls Simon down by his stupid print shirt – dying and coming back as a vampire hasn't changed his tragic lack of fashion sense – and kisses him, tongue teasing the edge of his teeth until he feels the fangs drop.
"I know what you're doing," Simon tells him between kisses, sounding astonishingly breathless for a creature who doesn't by definition need to breathe. Some human habits die harder than others. "And I'm not saying that your efforts to distract me aren't, fuck, somewhat successfully, but that doesn't mean this discussion is over."
"Feels over to me," Jace says, because he sometimes likes being an asshole, pulling off his shirt and leaning back on his arms, knowing exactly what kind of picture he makes sprawled on his bed.
Simon's eyes skip from the vein at the side of Jace's neck down to his naked torso, following the line of blonde hair from his belly button to where it disappears in the waistband of his jeans, and then back up again. He takes on a determined expression. "Well, I told Clary and Jocelyn that we're gonna have breakfast with them tomorrow."
"I don't –"
Simon straddles him, long, pale fingers wrapped tightly around Jace's wrists, pinning him to the soft covers, and Jace finds his favorite tactic of distraction turned around on him. From a tactical point of view, he appreciates the move. Personally, not so much. "They're your family," Simon says, and his teeth scrape a precise line across Jace's neck and shoulder, making him shiver. "You can't avoid them forever, so how about you stop being a coward about it and get it over with?"
Jace grunts. You're the most annoying person I know, but I'm in love with you anyway, he thinks.
"You're the most annoying person I know," he says, without bite, and trusts Simon's vampire mind-reading skills to figure out the rest.
End.