A/n: Written completely on whim because I've been aching to write heronstairs fanfiction for days and under the influence of listening to nothing but Daughter while creating this.

No beta so I apologize for any mistakes you might stumble upon.

This can either be seen as platonic or romantic. I had no particular preference when writing it.

Still with feet touching
Still with eyes meeting
Still our hands match
Still with hearts beating

...

There is an expectation of a heavy and dreamless sleep, one that Will has grown accustom to having over the years. Such is his nature, to run himself ragged throughout the day, making his mind too weary to even conjure up dreams. It is partially the reason he prefers lingering around London past the times when most would be sleeping, intermingling with night life of the town.

Tonight he dreams despite normal routine and weary body – he dreams of fire and brimstone, blue daemons with savage eyes and a family he has pushed away dead at his feet. There is blood everywhere he walks and the smell chokes his throat and clogs his nose and everything and everyone he touches is left with red dripping from their skin and crumbling into nothingness, their screams cursing him.

The Herondale is lucky to rip himself before it gets too much to bear, and he awakens with a gasp like after being submerged in water for too long. He can feel his hair curling and clinging to his head, damp with sweat and pretends not to notice how his fingers shake or the fact that his heart beats wildly in his ribcage like a trapped bird.

There is a sigh as the youth drags his hands down his face, forces his eyes shut and wills the images out of his mind, but knows that they'll linger on the edge of his periphery like they always do.

He doesn't know how much time passes, be it seconds or minutes or maybe even hours, but he forces himself out of bed finally. A walk would do him good even if he only decides to take up residence in the attic for the rest of the night. No one would particularly worry if he didn't show up for breakfast in the morning. However, his feet do not take him to the attic, but instead he finds himself hovering outside a familiar door and mentally curses his subconscious.

Jem would be sleeping by now no doubt, just like everyone else in the house, just like how Will wished he could be sleeping. Finally he gives in, pushes the door open with a silent ease practiced from the many times he snuck inside the other's room when throughout the years.

It's completely dark when he enters, save for the soft streams of moonlight that are able to slip past the curtains. He doesn't need a night vision rune to maneuver himself around the room, knows it as well as his own and doesn't have to think about where to put his feet. He settles himself down in the chair next to the bed and can just make out the outline of Jem's face and the steady rise and fall of his sleeping form.

He dozes off just like that.

Will isn't aware of how long he's been sleeping, but he feels the light shaking of his shoulder and hears his name being called. Of course Jem would be waking him up; actually he had monetarily forgotten he was inside the other's room.

"What is it, Jem?" question comes out heavy with sleep and is followed by a yawn and a minor stretch.

Jem raises a brow and speaks. "Shouldn't I be asking you that?" Will can detect some parts confusion and some parts concern in the tone of the question. "I'm usually the one wandering into your room, not the other way around."

"I feel hurt; can't a man visit his parabatai without being questioned about the simplest of actions?"

"Will," Jem sighs and momentarily tightens his finger's grip on the other's shoulder. "It's late and I'm honestly tired and you're tired." A pause, probably for thinking sakes. "Come to bed and I won't ask any questions."

With that, Will feels the weight of the hand leave his shoulder and hears the rustling of fabrics as Jem crawls back in bed. Despite the simplicity of the proposition, it does take some consideration. They used to sleep in the same bed when they were boys, but that became less frequent once they hit fourteen. One because it was improper (not that Will cared about what most considered proper or not, but he had grown tired of Sophie's tut, tut, tutting whenever she found them sharing the same bed, though it was mostly directed at Will than Jem because Jem can do no wrong in that woman's eyes.) The second because that was the age when Will took to frequenting the streets a bit more each night and felt somewhat guilty every time he woke the other up with his rustling.

Mental consideration continues on for maybe a few more minutes before Will finally decides to agree to it, slipping himself between the sheets on the other side of the bed. It smells of Jem with hint of fresh linen, familiarity of the smells providing some form of comfort for the male. He feels himself dozing off in a matter of seconds, only to be disturbed by more rustling coming from Jem.

Mouth opens to vocalize sleepy protests at all the accursed shifting, but words stop short upon feeling a pressure on his forehead. Tired silver eyes make contact with his own blue and Jem is close enough that burnt sugar smell is detectable on his breath.

"You had a nightmare didn't you?" is the question whispered.

Answer is whispered back, slightly amused. "I thought you promised no questions if I came to bed. It's not good to break your own promises."

Jem gives a thoughtful hum or maybe it's a tired one – it's hard to tell – and presses their foreheads closer together. "You don't have to answer it if you don't want to."

They lull into a comfortable silence right after, eyes half lidded but still awake enough to properly comprehend things, like the fact that Jem had located Will's hand and touched lightly with the tips of his fingers. Will takes that hand before it can slip away, intertwines their fingers and places them palm to palm like a prayer.

Will remembers his nightmare, how Jem was crouched at his feet, coughing up blood that stained his hands and his mouth and his teeth, how it he choked on his own blood in a matter of seconds and the only thing that Will could do was watch helplessly.

Will knows Jem will die long before he does, knows it like it's engraved in his bones. He fears it though, fears it more than anything in the world, fears the day when he will wake up and there will no longer be a James Carstairs attached to this world and the parabatai rune over his heart will be nothing but a faded scar with a painful reminder of that.

"Go to sleep, Will." Once again that familiar voice draws him back to reality with just simple sentence. "I will be here throughout the night and in the morning if you need me."

Those are the type of words one would give a worried child and Will supposes he is like one in some ways when it concerns Jem. A worried child afraid of being abandoned by the only person he knows loves him and the only person he will ever allow himself to love fully. It's frightful how much his life revolves around just this one person, a person whose time will end sooner than any other.

"I know you will, but I'll go to sleep soon, don't stay up for my sake." He counters and takes a chance, placing a brief but chaste kiss on the other's lips which are soft and cool to the touch.

The only reaction he receives is a sleepy sounding noise that sounds neither like denial or approval of the action. Since the gesture of affection is not returned, the matter is not pushed. Will does however, adjust himself until his head is resting on the junction of Jem's neck and shoulder and breathes in the smell unique to only his parabatai and finally wills himself into a dreamless sleep.

Will Herondale is full of vices and Jem is his greatest sin.

A/n: Jem is too tired to accept Will's love so maybe next time, all the boy wants to do is sleep.

Lyrics found in the title and before the fanfic even start are from the songs Run and Still respectively, both by the band Daughter.

This was also posted on ao3.