I'm in Japan, guys. I only get to write 20 minutes every week day, so it's taken me a week to write this in my notebook then on my phone. I probably won't be responding to any reviews I get, as a turn my email on once every Saturday. I'm here till August, so there may be a one shot more but nothing big. Sorry! すみません！Also, I have no idea if this is right or not because I left my books at home. -.-

The Last Straw

Robert Lightwood didn't like his son. It was a secret he'd kept hidden, sometimes even from himself, and surely from his whore of a wife. It was her fault Alec hasn't grown up properly. He'd never been a proper member of the Order anyway. If he had grown up proper, maybe Alexander would be a true warrior, not a wimpy excuse for a shadow hunter with too light a heart. Alexander should not have had a higher book count than demons slain by the time he was 18.

It was pathetic, really. He wasn't deserving of the name Alexander, much less Lightwood.

By the time the boy was five, nervous and often giving way to his little sister- Robert knew. He wanted to be rid of the boy, but that hadn't been socially acceptable in a long, long time. He wished his son were more adventurous, more curious, more interested in killing things. He'd wanted a strong boy, not a weak one.

At least his daughter was strong. He could rest at night once she'd survived getting her marks. He had her; his line wouldn't completely fail.

When Alexander was eight, Robert took him out on a hunt, to "watch." There was another adult shadow hunter with them, and when Robert killed an arachnid demon that was crawling over a small body he'd hoped both were dead.

If he wasn't dead, Robert would have easily left his son to die by poison in the alley. He might have gone to have a coffee, knowing it would be a long night with Maryse crying very much, and come back to the carnage where a little dead body would be, patiently waiting. He could have, if his partner hadn't rushed to the body and given an iratze. The damn boy wouldn't die. It was frustrating.

He was on bedrest for weeks by wouldn't die. Hodge had gotten all of the poison out of his system but he was recuperating for what seemed to be ages. Robert was considering poisoning the boy in his own right. If Robert were going to kill it didn't have to be with his hands wrapped around Alexander's neck. Hodge would know, though.

The urge to kill his son lessened nearly completely, yet amplified, when he looked at Isabelle. She was strong, intelligent, independent (maybe a little too much, but he remembered himself and Maryse at that age), and she sure knew what she wanted. She wasn't finicky.

Then, Max was born. He was a bit of a surprise to everyone, really. He and Maryse hardly ever had sex. But Robert loved the boy, put all of his energy into making him stronger. Making him a proper Lightwood. He put everything into Max that he'd hoped Alexander would be. He wouldn't be getting another chance.

Even as Max grew and wasn't any better than Alexander had been in regards to his physical prowess, maybe he was even worse, Robert loved him more than anyone. More than Maryse. It was on him this time to raise his second son right. He didn't need or want another Alexander.

By the time Alexander had turned 14, things had cooled off for Robert. His feelings were becoming less prominent. He no longer felt the need to strangle his oldest son, useless as the boy had been. He didn't love him, either. He never would. There was too much between them on the one sided battle. Alexander was, more or less, just there, to Robert. He hid himself in the shadows fairly well without Robert having to forcibly remove him from his vision like a strange dark spot. It might have made Robert proud if it weren't such a stupid thing for a Lightwood. They were supposed to have presence, not melt in with the scenery.

But he got a son that he could truly be proud of in Jace. There was no blood between them, for better or worse, but it didn't matter. Jace was more his son than Alec was, second only to Max and competing with Isabelle. Jace was more of a Lightwood anyway. That wit, annoying as it sometimes was, was a sarcasm that he could appreciate, no Alec's awkward, flailing attempts at humor. Th boy should have just kept his mouth shut, nevermind that he was the quietest of the lot.

Robert had heard, more than once or twice, that parents were supposed to love their children unconditionally. He didn't agree. They'd never had children like Alexander, obviously.

When Jace and Alexander decided to become parabatai, Robert felt another frown crease into his life. His son would only drag the golden boy down. He tried to get both boys to back out of it without being obvious, but to no avail. They wanted it, Alexander for once putting his foot down. Maybe Jace would rub off on the oldest Lightwood child.

Time passed, and Jace was killing demons, but Alexander hadn't slain a single one. It was ridiculous. He was older than his (far superior) parabatai. At least Isabelle was on top of her game.

Robert decided to ignore the Alexander disaster again and focused mostly on Max for a while, taking him to Idris and making sure he didn't turn out so bad.

Then, Max died.

Because his oldest son wasn't strong enough, a good enough shadow hunter. He was an adult, and he'd let his nine year old baby brother be slain while under his protection.

Robert couldn't remember a time when he'd wanted to kill the boy more, that was, until the last, absolute last, straw had been pulled. They were all still in shock over Max's death, still grieving, and Alexander had had the nerve to lean up and kiss Magnus Bane, a warlock, worse, a man, in front of everyone important. Such perversions shouldn't be practiced even privately.

Robert didn't care what anyone thought anymore. He hadn't lost control like that in ages, but his vision was tinting red. How dare he... Robert couldn't take that fucking amount of disgrace, fucking disrespect.

He marched over to to his 'son,' pulling him off of the warlock. They both made surprised sounds, but Robert had already pulled him into the nearby fountain and had his hands wrapped around that pale neck, exposed throat, pushing him into the water. The pitiful boy gasped in vain for air, getting only water, thrashing, trying desperately to not faint, not lose consciousness and ultimately die.

The last thing Robert remembered before being knocked out were unruly blue flames. When he woke up, he couldn't believe he'd failed. But then, he'd been tactless. He should have done it privately.

He never got another try, unfortunately. He was visited in his cell by his son once after the trial. It was just to ask why, and Robert never answered. That was the last time he saw his son. He had four years in that cell. When he got out, his son had already died, in one way or another.