Genre: Angst/Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 906

Rating: K+

A/N: And we have finally come to the end of my very first angst fic. Will someone be amazing and tell me where I can improve, because by the end I swear this was/is just fluff. Enlighten me on where to improve? PLEASE?! Cass Clare owns these amazing characters, but I can dream right? Enjoy the end of the story!

Skipping breakfast had been on his mind; it wasn't like he'd been eating all that much recently anyway, but with all the training planned for the day, doing a quick and late dash through the dining room before Sophie cleaned up was the best he could do.

It was quite, as he sat there absently stuffing his face. At least, it was quiet until Tessa entered. The doors creaked open, and she walked in looking pale and set. There were tears tracks on her face, and red marks around her eyes. She looked as though she had put no effort into her appearance what so ever; just kind of rolled out of bed as it were. She seated herself across from Will and proceeded to eat a bowl of porridge without so much as looking at him.

And it made him furious. His first encounter with the girl in days, and she pretends he doesn't exist? He hoped that there was someone suffering just as he did and he knew that Tessa was! Being angry was all that was left in the end, because if he wasn't angry, he was sad. And if he was sad, he was heartbroken.

"Enjoying your porridge there Tessa?" he asked quietly, take a swig of tea from his cup and looking directly at her, daring her to glance up. She didn't. Instead she shook her head a little, surprising him. He thought she would lie.

"Was that a no?" he asked her, wanting... no, needing to hear her voice. Sassy, mouthy Tessa either would not, or simply could not speak.

She nodded into her porridge. Will studied her for a moment. There was something different in her grief. Something that had altered her as it had him.

"Tessa?" he reached forward and laid a hand on her arm. She flinched but did not move. Instead, Will felt her shaking. She looked up at him then, and she really was crying. Tears pouring in hot torrents down her cheeks.

"Oh Tessa," he sighed.

"I can't..." she gasped out, her voice shaking with her words, "I can't live without him. You, Will, you are getting better. As the days go on you are slowly letting go because you know that this is what you have to do. You have a purpose and that is to protect the world from demons," she took a great shuddering breath before continuing, the tears still falling, "My purpose was Jem, he was the only reason I got up in the morning. And now he's gone. He's left me."

Will looked at her blankly for a moment, completely at a loss of what to say for the first time in his demon riddled life.

"I can't, I don't want to..." she seemed to fold in on herself then. Folding her arms into the table, she rested her head and began to sob none too quietly.

He had no idea how to approach the situation, crying women weren't something he handled all that often. And what had she meant by the fact he was getting better? Jem was still gone, and there was still a massive gaping hole in his chest where his brother had once resided. It wasn't getting any smaller, and any less painful. Maybe it was because he was getting used to it now; the pain, the way his chest ached and throbbed at random moments of the day and then he'd remember how it was Jem making him feel like this. And he'd become angry again at Jem, at Tessa, at the Enclave, and Charlotte, and Henry, and Jessamine, and Sophie. He'd be so angry, that he'd have to turn around and go back to the training room, and then that wasn't enough; he'd recklessly go and take on every demon he could find by himself. No backup.

Because then if he died, he'd be away from it all; all the pain, and sadness, and sorrow.

"Will," she choked, looking up at him through tear-stained eyelashes, "He told me to look after you, and to look after myself."

"Well," he said, trying to be as gentle as possible, "I don't need looking after Tess."

"But I do!" she wailed, "I can't do this anymore!" she stood from her seat and streaked out of the room. Will stood there shocked for a moment before following after her. He knew all her hiding places, and had been avoiding them for days, but he found her in the first place he looked.

The attic.

"Oh Tess," he mumbled at the obviously pain riddled girl, and that's really all she was, a girl, before taking a graceful seat beside her on the floor and wrapping his arms around her, drawing his slight frame towards him. She didn't resist.

"Make it stop," she muttered, "make the pain stop Will."

He shook his head and the pitiful site in his arms, and rubbed soothing circles into her back, but her crying was relentless and stubborn. It was like she couldn't stop.

They stayed like that for hours, or possibly days. It didn't matter. Because whatever she was feeling gave him the courage to feel it to. And it didn't matter that she couldn't stop, because he couldn't either.

That was it, all there was. There was no bringing him back. And no stopping the grief. They would learn to live with it eventually, but for now they weren't. And that was fine too.