Disclaimer: These characters belong to Cassandra Clare. I make no profit from these drabbles.
Author's Note: Hello again, friends! It's been too long and I have seriously missed posting. Here's a little something that has been sitting on my hard drive for far too long. It's almost finished, so I should be posting regularly. I apologize in advance for the hardcore whump, but I seriously cannot help myself from ripping poor Will's heart out - I hope you forgive me. Enjoy!
If Will had one regret, it was that he had not been there the night Jem collapsed. It was not his fault, of course. He could never have known how bad Jem had been getting. His parabatai was something of a prodigy when it came to concealing his own pain. So Will could not have known, that evening he opted to stay out well past closing time, that Jem was back at the Institute, clutching his chest and wondering if it were indeed serious enough to wake Charlotte and the others. Nor could Will have known that while he was toasting the good health of his indulgent warlock barkeep, Jem was shuffling to Will's bedroom door before any others, knocking and calling for his parabatai with a soiled handkerchief pressed to his lips. And of course Will could not have know that as he left the bar in the early breaking light of dawn that Sophie was happening upon Jem, deathly pale with only the slightest trace of a pulse, collapsed in the middle of the hallway. Sophie had screamed to find Jem thus – in his dressing gown, limbs askew, with one hand still canted towards Will's bedroom door. But Will had not been there to hear Sophie scream, nor Jem sob.
If Will had a second regret, it was that he had originally laughed when Charlotte met him at the door and told him she had news. That wasn't really his fault, either. His head was swimming in gin and the sight of Charlotte on the steps, all frowns and nervous hands, just did not make any sense against the beautiful spring morning, the clean orange sunrise. But as soon as Charlotte said, "It's Jem," Will's giggles died away and the grin slipped from his face so abruptly it made Charlotte's breath catch.
"His bedroom or the infirmary?"
"The infirmary," Charlotte confirmed, and jumped out of the way as Will pushed past her to take the stairs two at a time. Charlotte ran after him, trying to fill him in as he went. Something about Jem's yin fen supply, something about sending Thomas for more, something about a possible scarcity. But Will was barely listening. He was seeing Jem in his hazy mind. Jem lying lifeless in bed; Jem laughing as Will skipped stones like Jem had taught him; Jem coughing up blood; Jem dancing at the Christmas ball; Jem crying; Jem smiling; Jem dying.
When Will got to the infirmary, it was to find Sophie sitting by Jem's bedside. "Get out," he told her, and felt no remorse at his cruelty. She squeezed Jem's hand once – an action that infuriated Will, though he could not have said why – and took her leave. Will saw the tears in her eyes as she passed but could feel no sympathy. However Sophie thought she loved Jem, it was nothing compared to how Will loved Jem. The two loves could not even be considered to be akin to one another.
Will approached the bedside and stood still for a moment. Without turning to look, he asked Charlotte: "How long has Thomas been gone?"
"He left immediately after we found Jem. Perhaps two hours ago."
"Fine," Will said. He knew Thomas was at least capable. And anyway, Will did not think he himself could have left Jem now for all the world. "Leave us, then."
And Charlotte did not question or condemn Will for his brusqueness, but ghosted from the room with all her silent discretion.
Will looked over his shoulder to make sure that the door had shut, that they were indeed alone. Then he toed off his boots, shrugged out of his jacket, and stripped off his vest, lying each over the arm of the chair in the corner. He watched Jem as he rolled up his sleeves. His parabatai was paler than usual, but otherwise looked completely at peace. They had obviously washed his face and hands and changed his clothes. Will had seen Jem suffer fits before and knew what a bloody mess his friend could work himself into. But to look at him then, Will saw only clean lips and clean hands, if you didn't count the dried blood beneath his fingernails and the diluted smudge under his left eyebrow.
Will took the two additional steps to Jem's side and ran a steady finger over the back of Jem's hand as it rested in the bed sheets. Jem's eyelids stirred in sleep, but otherwise he made no indication that his unconscious mind registered the touch. Will smiled, sadly, and pulled back the covers just enough to allow himself to wiggle in beside Jem. His movements were clumsy and his progress was slow. He was, after all, much bigger than Jem, and the bed was really only meant for one. But once settled, Will sighed in contentment. Jem was on his back with Will curled around him like an extra quilt.
With lips close to Jem's ear, Will frowned and said: "I am so sorry, James. I should have been here."
And that was enough, and Will closed his eyes and let himself relax. And if he kept his fingers on the pulse point in Jem's wrist, no one was there to condemn him for his worry or absurd sentimentality.