#kfc writes

“Tell us what you know about the Hotel Dumort. Are the vampires planning a revolt as well, Daylighter?”

 Simon shook in his, exhaustion and pain painted onto his features. He looked up at the shadowhunter who had spoken.

 “Please” He rasped out, wincing at the raw feeling of bits of his insides in his throat, parts of his vocal cords temporarily dismembered. “I don’t know, please.”

 The shadowhunter in question scoffed, motioning for the others to repeat the process again. Simon whimpered as his head was roughly yanked back at an inhuman angle.

 “It’s pointless to try and defend them, Daylighter, we’ll eventually get the truth out of you. Though I’ve got to admit forcing a beast like you into a crying, pathetic mess has been by far the most exciting thing I’ve done as a shadowhunter. Now be still, you filthy, fucking bloodsuck-”

 Jace finally snapped out of it, forcing himself into the room with the urge to kill. The shadowhunter he’d he looked up at him in shock.

 “The hell Wayland? Came to save what’s left of your whor-” A swift kick to the head rendered the shadowhunter unconscious as Jace whipped around to glare at the others.

 “Get out.” He snarled, causing the other two shadowhunters to scramble out, shaking in fear.

 Jace continued glaring at them while they ran, until he heard a whimper from the man in front of him. Suddenly, he was on his knees in front of Simon, hands reaching up to gently hold his face. The boy in question coughed, before rasping out the blond’s name.

 “Shh, don’t speak. It’s over, I’m here. It’s going to be okay, okay? I’m here, you’re safe. Shh, you’re safe.” He whispered as he wiped away the tears that didn’t seem to have an end. He became aware of just how much blood was on Simon, how much of his blood was on him, on the floor, on the chair. The blood the soaked in his pants was suddenly a larger presence. And the burn marks that littered the vampire’s face and neck, his chest. All sharp reminders that Jace had let this happen to him.

 He had stood there as his grandmother made plans to bring in certain downworlders for questioning. He stood there as they brought in Simon, knowing full well that he wouldn’t be a part in any major coup in the shadow world. He turned his head when they took him away, into this cell, the vampire calling his name as he was dragged down the hall to this. And he foolishly asked his grandmother not to hurt him, to which her response had been that Herondales seek justice. What he forgot was that justice to a Clave member meant using any means necessary to get information, it meant torture, it was a justice covered in the blood of innocent downworlders for a supposed better tomorrow.

 Here before him, head cradled in his hands, was the aftermath, the Clave’s sacrifice for a better tomorrow. Jace felt his eyes burn and the tears fall over the brim as he held Simon closer.

 “Just make it stop, please.” He heard the other practically whisper, wincing as he saw more blood pour out of the wounds in his neck.

 “I will, I will. I’m so sorry, Simon. Here.”

 He took of his jacket, throwing it carelessly onto the floor, his attention focused on stopping Simon’s pain. He rolled up the sleeve of his shirt, exposing his wrist to Simon’s mouth.

 “Here, drink. It’ll make you feel better.” He insisted. Simon looked longingly at his wrist, but was too exhausted and weak to puncture it. Panicking, Jace pulled out a dagger from his ankle holster and dragged it across his wrist, creating a fresh wound. Bringing it up to Simon’s mouth once more he begged the vampire to drink.

 “Please.” He whispered. Slowly, Simon lips found the wound and began drinking. A few long and languid sips later and Jace felt Simon’s fangs dig into the wound, venom shooting up into his bloodstream, causing him to throw his head back and moan. A replica of the first time Jace had saved the vampire in this same way. Jace was determined to die like this, in this blissful euphoria, especially if that meant saving Simon.

 Except that Simon had always been a good man, and he feels his fangs retract once he death feels too close. A tongue laps at the wound, allowing it to close and heal. Jace’s wrist falls, like lead, at his side and he raises his head up to look a Simon.

 The burn wounds from his neck, face, and chest are gone save for a few lingering scars that may or may not heal over time with more blood. His skin is still pale, but no longer glassy as it had been when Jace burst through. The tears are still running down his cheeks though and Jace finds himself, despite the fatigue of being used dinner, bringing his hands up to wipe away at them.

 Simon startles, the chains on his wrists jingling as he focuses on Jace’s face. Worry is evident in his eyes and it makes Jace want to laugh, because of course this boy. This amazingly, insufferable, wonderful boy would worry about him even after he’s been tortured.

 “Are you okay?” Simon asks, his voice still a bit raspy due to the shreds of his throat that have yet to have healed. Jace nods his head before resting his forehead against the vampire’s.

 “I’m so sorry, Simon.” He sees the boy open his mouth to speak, but he stops short and Jace knows it because he’s remembering what Jace had been. His pleas for help, for understanding, a last desperate call for help being met with silence and cold eyes looking at anything but him. He feels Simon tense and try and pull away. He deserves it. Jace sits back and watches as Simon shrinks into himself, undoubtedly remembering the betrayal he felt at his hands.  

 All Jace wants to do his hold him, tell him he’s sorry, and that he’ll never let it happen again. He’ll give him that hug he wanted. He’ll trust him. He won’t ignore him. He come when he calls.

 He knows it’s too late. The damage is done. Afterall, he’s been here himself. He knows what this type of pain, the betrayal of a loved one, feels like. So he does what he can do.