WARNING- 'Stubborn' and 'Weather' have triggers for self-harm/suicide. 'Never Alone' has very slight triggers for mental illness.

Stubborn

Will slid a finger across the edge of his father's knife, drawing a drop of blood. He didn't feel any pain, but he almost wanted to.

He wanted to die.

He'd known it for a while- almost since he first came to London, three years ago. He hadn't done it then- it seemed so far off, something impossible. Instead, he threw himself into training and hunting, distantly hoping some demon would kill him so he wouldn't have to do it himself.

But nothing had- quite possibly because his parabatai was always there, guarding his back, and Jem was far too stubborn to let Will die first.

Of course, Will was stubborn as well.

So he would mess up as much as he could in a hunt without the possibility of Jem getting hurt, and then he'd stumble back to the Institute covered in ichor and blood and wishing he could just die. Die, and never have to act cruel again. He wanted to die, but he wanted to do it without the guilt of leaving Jem. Of course, perhaps he wouldn't be able to think at all.

And then James' bloody violin music would come floating in through the walls, and then Will would think that maybe it was a good thing his parabatai was as hard-headed as he was.

Stars

In Wales, you could see the stars every night.

Often, Ella would grab Will's hand and pull him outside with her, to lie down on a blanket together and point out constellations. Ella seemed to know them all- Ursula's Major, Orion, Pegasus, the lot. Will, on the other hand, just knew the Big and Little Dippers, but that was alright with Ella. She always insisted she would eventually teach him the rest.

She never did.

In London, you never really saw stars. Thick clouds on smoke and ash fogged up the sky, and sometimes it was hard to believe there were stars at all. Of course, Will knew they were there- Ella had managed to teach him that much. He just couldn't quite spot them.

Then one days- his fourteenth birthday to be exact- it changed. James Carstairs decided to take him out of the city as a birthday surprise. Will looked out the window at night as they went back, as the carriage bumped up and down. Jem was dozing off on Will's shoulder as he looked, and Will almost considered waking him so he could see as well.

Because oh, were there stars.

Whispers

Will can feel thoughts.

He hears people's opinions of him like whispers. He knows when he has done what he must- with Gabriel, with Jessamine, with Sophie. He knows, with a sinking feeling, when he must be crueler, whatever that may mean- with Charlotte, with Henry. With Tessa-a rooftop flashes through his mind, her expression of betrayal. He shakes it off- he had no choice. It is rare, Will thinks, to have choices.

And Will knows when he has failed completely. A single face flashes through his mind, and the rune over his heart burns. So be it, Will thinks. He has failed, mayhap, but he wouldn't change it for the world.

Never Alone

Will stood alone in what used to Jem's room. The others had finally left him, murmuring things about giving him time to heal. He wondered if they knew they were lying to themselves. Surely they had to realize this was not a wound he could heal.

He slowly ran a finger across Jem's violin, plucking the highest string- The E string, he could almost hear Jem correct- gently. It made a sharp sound, not nearly as pretty as when Jem would play it, but that was no surprise. Jem could make any music beautiful. Will closed his eyes, sinking down with his back against the dresser. He could almost, almost feel his parabatai beside him. "James," he asked softly, "where are you?"

It was almost two weeks later when he first heard it. A violin, singing a soft, happy song somewhere in the distance. He smiled, truly smiled, for the first time in what felt like forever. There you are, my friend.

The Sum of Its Parts

There was a box.

It didn't look like anything special. Just a small, wooden chest sitting on a closet shelf. There was no fancy design or family crest to make it look unique. And the box? It wasn't unique. Not at all.

But the objects inside- they were important, even though they wouldn't look very special either, depending on who you asked.

A cheaply made locket with the initials EMH. A handwritten sheet of violin music. A child's clay warrior, with the paint peeling off so all you could see was a blue sash. A beaten, old copy of A Tale of Two Cities. A scrap of a dress, nearly worn through.

It looked like nothing. But when it was all said and done- it was everything.

Weather

It rained the day they met. It only made Will more sour- the rain in London tasted of ash and chemicals. Back in Wales, life had sprung up from the rain, and it smelt of plants and dirt and creatures.

But Jem didn't seem to mind- in fact, he liked rain. And so later that night, Will decided that rain wasn't so bad after all.

(linea confractus)

The sun shined the day Jem died.

(linea confractus)

It was pouring outside as Will stood by the window in Jem's room. Rain, he thought, and raised the gun to his head. It must be our form of greeting.

Wrapped in Piano Strings

Will glared down at the pages. This is ridiculous, he thought. How on Earth did Jem read this? The notes all looked the same and the five lines were way too close together, so Will couldn't tell which note was which. Not to mention when the notes weren't even on the lines.

Piano was impossible.

He sighed loudly, slamming his hands on the keys in frustration. The notes resonated in chaos, and it felt good, to make that sound. He just wanted to get the piece down- just one bloody piece, and then he could return to his life before, when he slipped out at night to walk around the city, not to play an old piano. But he had to master this piece- it was for Jem's wedding. He knew he hadn't been the most supportive friend when it came to Jem's engagement. God, had he tried, but it was hard enough to smile and act happy for him without actively making a show of support. But this, this was something he could do. Jem had always said Will would be a great pianist, and while that was so far from the truth, Will could at least act like he was. He would do this, for Jem.

(linea confractus)

A few months later, Jem was a Silent Brother, and he was no longer engaged to Tessa. He never married, and Will never played the piano for anyone but an empty room.