Vale

Valentine's sword — the Angel's sword – pierced Jace's heart in a single, underhanded thrust, the cold metal sliding up into his ribcage and slicing through him like butter. Then with a sickening noise it withdrew, the gleaming blade now stained in scarlet. Drops of the dark liquid fell and sank into the ground.

Jace collapsed to his knees, then fell, the grass cool pressed up against his cheek. His father in front of him was nothing more than a blurred photograph, a determined yet oddly remorseful look on his aged face. He lowered the sword back to his side.

Distantly, Jace found a certain poetic irony in it – in the knowledge that he should be killed by not just any weapon, but by a Mortal Instrument. That he should die by the hand of a blade that represented everything he'd spent his life fighting for.

The dying itself – it wasn't so bad. Not as bad as he thought it would be, anyway. He was a Shadowhunter – the prospect of death was something he was intimately familiar with, something he practically breathed. It never strayed too far from his mind – death, and whatever came after, if anything (Heaven? He was certain that wasn't for him). It was what every Nephilim was brought into the world knowing – how to fight, and how to die.

There was a moment – a fraction of a second where his chest felt like it was on fire and nothing else mattered apart from the fact that he couldn't breathe – and then the flames licking at his insides cooled, until he was left with a feeling so cold he could feel the deathly chill seeping into his bones. Then, darkness, and then nothing.

His breaths ceased. His pulse slowed, then stopped. And Jace Wayland – Jace Lightwood, Jace Morgenstern, Jace Herondale – was gone. His heart beat one last time as Valentine kneeled and shed tears for the son he had felled.

And miles away, fighting the same war, a different battle, Alec Lightwood doubled over in agony and fell to his knees as his soul tore itself apart.

It was unimaginable. Indescribable. A hand had shoved itself inside his chest, pried his ribs apart, and ripped. Pain felt like a sharp-toothed creature eating him from the inside – shredding and clawing and slicing. A fist had wrapped around his soul, squeezing and tearing until it was a warped and broken thing; until it shattered to pieces and scattered across the ground. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe. He had forgotten how.

He clutched at his chest, gasping at air, but his lungs felt like they were shriveled and dead. There was no blood, no wound, but the sensation of a sword sliding up into his ribcage was all too real. He felt the strike of the fatal blow as though it were him who'd been impaled through the chest. For a moment, he thought it was.

The sudden, invisible blow had sent him to the ground immediately, on his hands and knees as he choked on his own breath in the middle of a battlefield. His first disoriented thought was that a demon had managed to slip past his defenses, but this wasn't that sort of pain. This was deep, raw. It seared itself into his skin, like a stele branding him, only a million times worse.

Blood thundered in his ears. Everything blurred into the periphery of his vision. The sounds of the battle, metal and magic alike, clattered around him, but all of it was lost to him. His fingers scrabbled at the material of his shirt, digging into his chest, desperate to make it stop.

Stop stop stop please –

Someone – someone was screaming. The world tilted and distorted, and someone was screaming, but he couldn't –

"Alec!"

His name. Someone yelling his name.

"Alec, move!"

That voice. He knew that voice. Why couldn't he remember –

Something – someone – slammed into him, just as a demon's curved claws sliced through the air, so close he felt them brush against the top of his head. He impacted hard with the ground, and in the tumble he caught just the briefest glimpse of his savior's familiar green-gold eyes.

"By Lilith, Alec!" said Magnus, in a breathless sort of voice. "Do you have any idea how close that was? You would be dead right now!"

His cat-like eyes narrowed into slits, anger was painted across his face, but Alec knew him well enough to see the fear the anger was covering. Still, he couldn't respond; even Magnus, usually so vibrant, was dull and muted compared to this pain, pushed into the background behind a thick pane of glass.

One look at his face had Magnus's anger morphing into frantic concern. "What happened? Are you injured?"

Alec shook his head mutely, face contorted. He opened his mouth but words wouldn't form. Everything was wrong wrong wrong –

"Alexander!" Magnus prompted sharply, when Alec failed to answer.

Alec didn't answer, couldn't. His fingers fumbled with the end of his shirt, shaking violently as he attempted to pull it up. Needed to see… to make sure it wasn't what he thought it was, what paralyzed him with fear, please no…

Seeing it was like a fist through his gut, a bullet to his chest. Despair rose up thick in his throat, and he choked on it, felt himself drown in it. He looked down at his side, where his parabatai rune should shine a sharp black against his skin. The twisting lines burned permanently into his skin, into his soul – a mark that, unlike all others, never needed to be reapplied, never faded.

Only in death, would it fade. Would the bond be severed so totally and completely. Like ripping a single soul into two.

Alec stared down at it, numb. A faint imprint was all that was left of the mark, and Alec gazed at it, not really seeing it. Refusing to see it.

Magnus seemed to finally reach his quota on the amount of time he was willing to kneel in a battlefield defenseless, because he heaved Alec up with his arm thrown over his shoulder, dragging them both to find cover.

"Alec, darling. C'mon, get up, we have to get out of here…"

Alec couldn't move – didn't move, as Magnus hauled him up and dragged him away from the battle, away from the bloodshed. He should have fought him, tooth-and-nail; if he was going to drag him away from a battle, have him abandon his fellow Shadowhunters to die – his comrades, his friends, his family – then Magnus should have had to drag him away kicking and screaming because there would be no other way Alec would flee the battle like a coward. He had a duty.

But he didn't fight. He didn't offer up a token of resistance. He let himself be dragged away, because he didn't have the will to do anything else. He felt empty. Hollow. Someone had taken a scalpel and scraped something out of him – not everything, but the most important thing. The most vital. And without it, he didn't know who to be.

Jace was gone. Jace was dead.

And Alec – Alec maybe wished he was dead, too.

Ω

Alec pulled Jace aside the first chance he got.

"What happened with Valentine?" he demanded, foregoing subtlety and cutting straight to the point. He saw his brother open his mouth and, anticipating his words, said, "And don't say nothing, because we both know that's not true. You were dead, Jace. I felt it."

He allowed the agony of the memory to show on his face—that overwhelming feeling of loss, of despair, when he'd felt his parabatai ripped away, leaving nothing but a bleeding, gaping wound in his place. For a moment he thought Jace would lie, but something in his eyes made Jace waver.

"I shouldn't tell you," he said halfheartedly. "If the Clave discovers what Clary did—"

"What Clary did?" Alec repeated sharply. Jace glanced back at the celebrations nervously, from the tiny alcove where they were hidden. Alec softened his voice. "Sorry. What do you mean?"

Jace remained hesitant. Alec sighed in frustration. "Jace, you died! My rune disappeared, I didn't—I deserve to know what happened."

Alec's heart curled in on itself at the memory. He'd never felt pain like that before. He never wanted to again. He hadn't been able to fight like that, and Magnus had been beside himself. Magnus had told him before that he'd seen what happened to parabatai that were ripped apart. Magnus had known there was nothing he could do—but that hadn't stopped him from gluing himself to Alec's side, pulling him into his arms and trying futilely to soothe the hole inside his soul.

"You died, Jace," he whispered. Tears pricked his eyes. "You died."

Jace, his golden eyes pained, hesitated only a moment before pulling Alec into his arms. He wrapped Alec around him, like when they were children, and Alec wrapped his own arms around the other boy's back, holding him close and soaking in the warmth of his body. He could feel Jace's heartbeat through his shirt, and it beat in-sync with his. Two halves of a soul, attuned to each other.

Proof that he was here. That he was alive.

"I'm sorry," Jace said softly. After another moment, he pulled away from Alec and repeated, "I'm sorry. I didn't think about how it would feel to you. I can't imagine…"

Alec remembered the excruciating feeling and cringed. He hoped Jace would never have to experience it… but he also knew, that if it meant keeping him alive, Alec would sacrifice himself in a heartbeat.

"He killed me," Jace said bluntly, and Alec didn't need to ask who. The undercurrent of pain in Jace's voice answered that question. Alec couldn't imagine the betrayal of being killed by his own father—because Valentine had been Jace's father, despite his evil and their lack of shared blood.

"I was dead and—Clary killed Valentine after he summoned Raziel. She used the Angel's wish to bring me back."

Alec processed that information with no small amount of awe. He understood now Jace's need to keep it a secret. Clary would no doubt face consequences from the Clave if they discovered she used her wish to save the life of one soldier. A soldier who, in the eyes of the Clave, was inconsequential.

Hell, had it been anyone else, Alec would have probably found issue with it as well. To put one life above the entire world—it was an undoubtedly selfish decision.

But it wasn't anyone else. It was his brother. And Alec had never been more relieved for Clary Fray.

"Well then," said Alec, attempting at levity, "it seems I owe your girlfriend a thank you."

Jace gave him a narrow glare. "She's not my girlfriend."

"She's not your sister, either."

Jace paused, blinking, as if he was only now coming to terms with what that might mean. His lips twisted up as he considered it. "No. She isn't, is she?"

Alec clapped him on the shoulder. "I'm glad. And I'm glad you're here." He looked out around the corner, where the celebration of Valentine's defeat was still in full swing. "Should we rejoin the party?"

"We probably should," he agreed, smirking at something across the room. "It looks like your boyfriend might need a bit of saving."

Alec's eyes locked onto the glittery beacon that was Magnus, who seemed to be on the receiving end of a heavy interrogation from his mother. Maryse looked stern and severe; Magnus looked like he was half a second away from bolting.

"Damn," Alec muttered with a wince, and Jace laughed.

"Go deal with Maryse," he said. "I'll be fine. Promise."

Alec darted off through the crowd to rescue his warlock, glancing one last time back at Jace. He was grinning, his eyes gleaming like molten gold, and Alec's parabatai rune thrummed with their connection, like a pulse going through him.

He clung to that feeling, as he joined the rest of the crowd.

I've been meaning to post this story for years, but after I finished the first half I sort of forgot about it. Now I've finally gotten around to finishing it, but I haven't read the series in years, so if the events seem inaccurate or the characters OOC, that's probably why.

Also, this story is based on the books not the show, however I couldn't remember where Alec's parabatai rune is located in the books, so I just used where it was in the show.

Hope you enjoyed :)