I've wanted to write something for the Infernal Devices since I finished Clockwork Prince. I'm just sorry that it turned out to be angst. Thankfully, it's sort of AU so it's not as bad. This is an outcome that I honestly don't see ever happening, but what the hay. There are really no spoilers so even if you haven't read the latest book, you should be fine. I hope you enjoy!
Standard disclaimer applies.
Lost eyes stared forlornly into the cup of tea that had been placed before them. An ugly frown marred an otherwise beautiful face.
It had been several months already and nothing had changed. Nothing would ever change from the look of things. The future seemed bleak and gray just like the London sky when it had rained or was still raining. There was no hidden silver lining in the dark clouds this time, and there probably would never be one again. Why try to see the good things the world had left to offer now? It wasn't worth it, not after what had been so cruelly and unjustly been taken away.
No one had really expected it to happen when it did. Everyone had been taken by surprised that night. And everything beautiful that was left in the world was broken.
Slowly, the pieces started to glue themselves back together, but some of them had been shattered too finely to be fixed. The fire and the light and the passion that had once been found in the London Institute had been extinguished and in their places came the fog and the darkness and the anguish that accompanied losing someone important.
After a while, the inhabitants had moved on with their lives; they had gotten back to doing the jobs they had to do in order to keep the Mundane world safe from demons. All except for one, that is.
No one could have guessed that the blow would hit so hard and fast that it would leave one of their beloved members rendered incapable of recovering. Nor could anyone have understood why. It wasn't just the loss that had caused it. It was the guilt. It was the gnawing, unyielding, agonizing guilt.
So, those lost eyes would just continue to stare and the frown would continue to mar the beautiful face. The teacup would remain where it had been placed until it had long since gone cold, untouched by anyone but the person who had put it there.
They were all trying their best to get some kind of reaction, just once, but there was nothing. None of the words they said, none of the actions they performed ever seem to penetrate the depression. It was like they were dealing with the shell of what was once a living person, although the owner of the shell still lived. Well, if living could be used to describe what was left.
It had been a routine walk of the city to make sure nothing was amiss. But, it had gone so, so horribly wrong. Nothing bad should have happened. They weren't the naïve seventeen year olds they once were. They had grown, matured, gotten stronger.
If only he had been paying attention…
When he had gone back, carrying the broken and cold body of his parabatai, he'd been sure that everyone would blame him. But they all knew that he would never hurt him, because really who could hurt the person who was like an extension of yourself, the only person that truly understood how you worked even if they didn't know that themselves. No one blamed him. It was the job of the Shadowhunter after all.
But, he blamed himself. That fact would never change no matter what the people around him did. And the guilt from that night was slowly destroying him from the inside. It was eating at his heart the most; it felt weaker and weaker each passing day as if it would just give out one day from the pain and for no discernible medical reason whatsoever.
It was like he was dead already anyway. The day the second half of his soul had been torn away from him might as well have been the day he died, too.
In an odd sort of way, he had seen this coming: the pain and the numbness to the rest of the world. He just hadn't counted on it lasting so long; it seemed like it was lasting forever. He had thought that he would recover eventually, going back to living life not quite the same but as close to it as he could have. However, at the moment, life didn't seem very up to being lived.
Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, he had never even thought of the option to take his own life and end the grief, the sorrow, the agony. It would have been wrong of him after everything to do so.
Finally, the eyes looked up from the teacup. It was breakfast time and everyone was seated around the table as usual. The empty gap was still there in between two of the people. There was no one who would dare and try to fill it again. Glancing around at the faces of the others who were still trying to act as though things were normal, he shook his head and stood up. The action caused everyone in the room to turn their attention to him, because he hadn't voluntarily moved in so long, but it was wasted on him.
Sick of seeing the gap, of seeing the faces around the table, he fled the room. But, he did not return to his room. Instead he headed for that familiar room where most of his time had been spent recently.
Sitting on the bed once he was inside, he looked around the room. Even now, nothing had been touched. A layer of dust had gathered, but no one dared disturb the room to clean it off. It was likely that no one would ever use the room again, at least not until all of the current residents had long since gone away and were replaced.
Closing his eyes to block out the images and the memories that always came flooding to his mind every time he entered the room, William Herondale whispered, "I wish you were still here, Jem. I miss you so much. I'm sorry that I was so reckless."
They were the first words he had spoken since he'd explained what happened and no one would ever hear them but the ghosts of the past. That was just how he wanted it.
You guys probably saw that coming. And I'm sorry if it was too sad. Review anyway?