while rereading City of Glass, the story of Jace and Max's little Shadowhunter toy jumped out at me, and i had to write it.
december 24, 1998
the wayland manor, idris
Michael Wayland meticulously wrapped the box in festive red-and-green wrapping paper, the creases thin and even. When it was all taped up, he allowed himself a rare, soft smile. Jonathan was sure to love it. Michael had carved a set of wooden Shadowhunters for his son, and wanted to see the look on Jonathan's face when he opened it.
Almost soundlessly, Michael descended the stairs and put the gift under the brightly lit Christmas tree he and Jonathan had set up together a few nights before. There was a muffled snore and a rustle of blankets then, and Michael started. There, on the overstuffed couch, lay Jonathan, his rumpled golden hair askew, covered in blankets. He had been asleep, but Michael's approach must have wakened him. "Father?" he mumbled, sitting slowly up.
"Merry Christmas, Jonathan." Michael smiled, a rare treat for Jonathan. It was Christmas, after all. Feeling generous, Michael added, "Would you like to open a present now?"
"Really?" Jonathan's amber eyes lit up as he grinned, his little boy's face stretching happily.
"Really," Michael said firmly. He retrieved the box he had just wrapped from under the fir's spiky blue branches and handed it to Jonathan.
The boy tore through the wrapping and got to the box. Eagerly, he pulled out the first figurine. A wooden Shadowhunter, wearing painted-on black fighting gear and brandishing a slick silver sword, was in Jonathan's hand. Michael felt soft at the expression on his son's face, an emotion that he rarely felt. "Thank you, Father! Oh, thank you!"
"Merry Christmas, my son," Michael repeated. "Merry Christmas."
******
march 4, 2000
the institute, new york city
Maryse Lightwood's heart melted the second she saw Jonathan Wayland. The boy was ten years old, she had been informed, and he looked it, though the tough expression on his face tried to suggest otherwise. He looked nothing like Michael with his smooth gold monotone looks: matching skin, hair, and eyes. And in his fist was a toy—a wooden toy. It was a Shadowhunter, with black clothes and a still slightly shining blade in its hand. Jonathan would not let go of this toy, Maryse was told, despite much coaxing.
With this little boy's quirks and imperfections, he was beautiful. And he was hers.
******
july 18, 2003
the institute, new york city
Jace Wayland stared at the toy lying sideways on the table before him. It had been a companion to him for over three years. The first of those three, Jace had hardly spoken, traumatized by the memory of his father's death played over and over in his brain, like a sick horror film plaguing Jace's every thought. The good old toy Shadowhunter had gotten him through some mighty tough times, that was certain. And now, maybe, it was time to let go.
Max, Jace's five-year-old brother, was playing in his bedroom, having fun with some toy or another. Without a word, Jace marched in, placed the toy at Max's feet, and marched back out, closing the door behind him. But he didn't leave. He waited until he heard Max's oohs and aahs, letting him know he'd done the right thing, before he headed back to his own room.
******
september 9, 2007
the penhallows' house, idris
Max Lightwood sat tensely on the thin sofa, his knees tucked up under his chin. His big sister, Isabelle, and her friend, Sebastian Verlac, were outside, drawing intricate runes all over the house. Max was nervous. He didn't like Sebastian; he had never been nice to Max, and he didn't trust him outside with Isabelle. When Isabelle and Sebastian returned, steles in their hands, Max let out a sigh of relief and decided that maybe Sebastian could be trusted after all.
Suddenly, there was a flash of movement. The door whipped shut behind the teenagers, and then Sebastian had Isabelle against the wall, his hand cupped around his throat. Max tried to scream, but no sound came from him. "I got you now," Sebastian growled, pushing Isabelle against the wall harder. Her eyes watered, veins popping in the whites, and a feeble, dry sound escaped her throat.
No longer able to take it, Max stood up, reflexively feeling for the Shadowhunter toy in his pocket that Jace had given him four years ago. It was sort of Max's good luck charm, something that made him feel brave with just one touch. "Stop!" he cried. "You're hurting her!"
Very deliberately, Sebastian slammed Isabelle's head against the wall. Her bloodshot eyes closed, and when he let go of her throat, she slipped to the floor, unconscious. "You stupid little boy." Sebastian's words snaked around Max as the teenager stepped closer to him, until their eyes were level. "It would be more fitting to make you pay than your stupid bitch sister." And then there was a knife out of nowhere, pointing at Max's neck. "Any last words, little Shadowhunter?"
Unable to hold it in, Max started to sob. He was going to die, right here, right now. He didn't remember the last time he had told his parents, his siblings, told Jace that he loved him. His fist closed around the figurine in his pocket and he drew it out, taking a shaky breath. "I hate you," Max told Sebastian evenly.
This didn't appear to startle Sebastian, except for a little widening of his black eyes. "Fair enough," he responded, rapidly moving the knife to the vulnerable spot between Max's shoulder blades. He drove it in fast, and Max's eyes bulged. An incredible pain ripped through him, and then he felt nothing except for the Shadowhunter in his hand as he fell forward.