A/N: Hi! New story, finally. This is kind of something that I thought up like two days ago and the first chapter was surprisingly easy to write, so here we have it!

So this is set in a no-Shadowhunter-verse, which I figure is fairly self explanatory. The beginning plot is much the same, and this first chapter is essentially a rewrite of Will and Jem's meeting, but as the story evolves there will be lots more original content. It will vaguely follow the infernal devices plot, but i mean that in the loosest term possible. And of course, there is the small matter of heronstairs, which is one of my fave pairings so naturally this story revolves around Will and Jem (slowly) falling in love. It's set in the Victorian era, the same time period as tid, but no shadowhunters...

oops this a/n is long and probably confusing but whatever. Remember there's slash, so if you don't like, don't read

Be sure to leave a review!

Will Herondale was twelve when his life changed forever.

He had been living at the Institute, the house in which the generous and extremely kind Charlotte and Henry Branwell has taken him in, for but a few months and had already settled into a routine:

Annoy Jessamine, who was the other ward of the Branwells and who was a year or so older than Will with perfect blonde hair and a sickly sweet voice. She was so impossibly girly with her doll house and pink dresses, and so easy to make fun of, and Will knew that she despised him.

Annoy Charlotte, who Will secretly thought was amazing; she was clearly very intelligent and the head of the house, even though she was a woman. And though Will respected and admired her, he kept her from forming an attachment to him with the occasional rude comment and avoiding her as much as possible. He knew that Charlotte would never hate him but she would also never love him if he didn't let himself get too close, and that was enough.

Annoy Henry, who spent all day in his laboratory tinkering around with his latest invention. Will kept Henry's affection away by putting down his work every so often, laughing and ridiculing it. It pained Will every time he saw the enthusiastic light in Henry's eyes flicker as Will mocked his latest breakthrough, as Will knew that Henry was a genius and he loved seeing his inventions really, but Will could take no chances.

Annoy the servants, such as Sophie, the girl with the scar across her face, or Agatha and Bridget, the cooks, or Thomas and Cecil. He liked all of them, yet he was often sarcastic and rude towards them, just in case.

All in all, Will annoyed a lot of people. And god, it was exhausting.

He hadn't realised just how easily people formed attachments, which easily turned into some form of love. Keeping them at bay was the worst thing Will had ever had to do in his life. He'd thought that simply running away would solve the problem, but it was something that he had to do in everyday life even here in London, miles and miles away from his family.

But he would continue to push people away, to not let anyone get close. He'd do it for the rest of his life if he had to, even if he was beyond miserable. He wouldn't let anyone else get hurt, not like Ella. And he was scared, so scared of that thing, the blue-skinned creature that had cursed him to be like this. He had no idea what it was, no idea what it wanted. It was like something from a nightmare, something that Will had never even dreamed of existing. It had terrified him, and that fear was part of the reason that he would never allow anyone to love him.

He had ran away from home, from his loving family who he missed achingly, because of that fear. After, surprisingly, being taken under Charlotte and Henry's wing, he distanced himself because of that fear. He had thought that fear would be the strongest emotion he would ever feel.

He had been painstakingly wrong about that fact.

When he had heard that a young boy of his age named James Carstairs would be joining him and Jessie at the Institute, he had such mixed feelings. In any other circumstances he would be delighted to be able to maybe make a new friend. But he knew that James would just be another person he would have to make dislike him. He hoped and prayed that James was dislikeable himself; that would make this whole thing so much easier.

Will was sitting in the training room the day that James was supposed to arrive. Charlotte had explained that he was an orphan from China, and she had known his father's family so when she had heard about the situation James was in, she knew that they had to take him in. The training room was a bleak place with padded floors and a few wooden weapons in the corner. There were so many rooms in the labyrinthine Institute that it made sense to have a room solely for combat training. Will had only used it a handful of times, as there was no one willing to teach him any actual combat techniques, but it was a room without distraction, which was something he was in need of on this particular day. He needed something to take his mind off the new arrival.

There was another dull thud as another knife ricocheted off the target Will had set up and landed on the floor yet again. He wasn't sure exactly what had inspired him to pick up knife throwing on that particular day, and he knew Charlotte wouldn't approve as she would claim it to be 'dangerous for a young boy such as him' but he didn't care. The frustration that accompanied being absolutely useless at it was somehow relaxing, as it took his mind off other things.

He picked up another knife, and flung it across the room with all his strength, only for it to miss the target by about a metre and clang against the floor. A cry of exasperation flew from his lips as he angrily went over to retrieve the damn thing, cursing under his breath as he moved across the room.

'You know, you're shockingly awful at throwing knives. It's quite sad really."

A smooth, musical voice had spoken from the door, a voice that Will had never heard before. It had the lilt of an accent, and if a voice could be beautiful, then his voice was. The melodic quality of it sent a shiver running down Will's spine, unbidden and surprising. He froze in his tracks, and slowly turned to face the boy who that voice belonged to.

He was neither tall nor short for a twelve year old; Will suspected he would be taller but not by very much. He stood by the door, his very slender frame leaning slightly on the door post. The clothes he wore hung off his body in such a way that could not be entirely healthy, His hands were clasped in front of him with long fingers. Musician's hands, Will thought immediately. Only musician's hands were as refined as that. His hair was shockingly silver, throwing Will's expectations of a dark haired Chinese boy out of the window. He did not know how such a shade could possibly be natural. He wouldn't have believed it, until he saw his eyes. His eyes were impossibly light, silver lamps shining out to match his hair. Those eyes unnerved him, but in a thrilling sort of way. Mystery and sadness were wrapped around within them, and Will had never before been so captivated by someone's eyes, or appearance in general for that matter. He had never seen someone like him, and he knew that he never would again. He was truly unique, in such a dazzling sort of way.

A smile tugged on the boy's thin lips, a smile that lit up his entire face, morphing it from something that could so easily be sombre and haunting into something that was delightful, and maddeningly beautiful. Will found him wanting to study that smile for the rest of his life.

"You are William Herondale, I presume? Mrs Branwell told me I could find you in here, and I must admit I was impressed to hear that you trained in physical combat, though I must say I'm disappointed at you quite obvious lack of skill. Although it is rather amusing, I must admit."

He spoke with a confidence that Will could not seem to associate with his almost sickly body. The boy looked like he should be in a hospital, not standing here chastising him about knife throwing.

And no one talked to Will like that. Will was not used to being teased, in fact he was used to being the one doing the teasing. He felt like the control of the conversation had already been snatched from him before he had even uttered a word. It was a new sensation to him.

Will put the knife down and strode over to him, trying to inject some confidence in his gait. First impressions count, after all. "I am indeed William Herondale, though most people call me Will. And you are James Carstairs? Charlotte told me of your arrival today. And I do not see why you are scolding me about the skill of knife throwing. You look so sick that I fear you would not even be able to pick up a knife, much less throw one."

Sarcasm that verged upon rudeness was his friend, he knew it well. He had grown to master it within the months he had been staying here, and though he felt awful using it on this seemingly innocent boy with the mysterious colouring, he knew that he had to lest James actually started liking him.

James dropped his smile, seriousness taking over his whole physique. He was still so striking, though Will found himself missing the smile. Just as he thought this, James walked over to him, his strides confident of not a bit weak. There was no denying that the young boy before him was ill, though in what way Will could not decipher.

James stopped when he was facing Will, close enough to touch. He found himself resisting the urge to reach out and touch James's face, which was extremely peculiar and he had never had an urge of that sort ever before, which sent butterflies swirling in the pit of Will's stomach. Then James reached out and plucked the knife out of Will's unresisting hands, weighing it up in his beautifully dexterous hands. Without warning the knife was flashing across the room, and with a deadly accuracy it embedded itself in the heart of Will's target, dead centre.

He couldn't help himself: he gulped and stood staring at this silver mystery of a boy. He wouldn't have been surprised if his mouth had been open.

Looking annoyingly smug, James turned back to him. "Do not presume to know anything about me just yet, Will. It seems that just because I am obviously sick in some way, I am completely disabled in your eyes. Which is so clearly untrue." He took another knife from beside Will's feet and hurled it at the target again, landing it virtually on top of the first, as if to prove a point. This, unfortunately, only made Will like him more.

"I'm sorry," Will found himself whispering, words which he had not been intending to speak. The tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them, and they certainly weren't helping his seemingly futile attempts at unnerving or annoying the other boy. What was he doing? But he could not think of anything to say that would heckle James, so he found himself continuing. "You are sick? I did not know, not really."

James looked down, sadness and pain clouding over his eyes. "It is not something that is easy to speak of; I am not surprised you were not told of it."

"Will you tell me? Is it the reason for your hair, and your eyes? They are of the most extraordinary shade…" His voice was much more eager than he wanted it to be. He wanted to sound cool, and indifferent, almost cruel, but it came out as caring and sympathetic. Sometimes you just couldn't hide your true intentions.

James hesitated, and then let out a breath before saying quietly, in that tuneful voice of his, "The man who killed my family, Yanluo, he was evil beyond words. Thinking about him, it sends my blood boiling. He…he murdered my mother and father in our house in Shanghai, but he did not kill me. He did something much crueller."

James paused, gauging Will's reaction to is story so far, but Will managed to keep his face stony. His eyes were sad though, he knew they were. He couldn't control that sadness from washing over him.

"Instead of killing me that night, Yanluo poisoned me. There is an ancient Chinese drug, yin fen, a silvery substance that he forced down my throat. It was the most painful thing I have ever endured, and the aftereffects of it will haunt me for the rest of my life. Yin fen is an addictive drug, you see, much like opium or other drugs. And though I hate the sight of it, though the sickly sweet smell disgusts me to my very core, I cannot live without it. I would die if I did not take it, and yet by taking it, I am dying anyway. It is a slow, painful torture, one that I must face."

The words seemed to strike Will at his very core; he could not move or think beyond the wave of sorrow and rage that washed over him. How could this boy, so young like him, be affected by such sadness? He had been sitting in here moping about his unfortunate curse, but he knew that James's was much, much worse. The steely look in his eyes as he'd talked about it, as though he'd already accepted his cruel fate, almost physically pained Will. Something like this should not be allowed to happen; it was simply unfair that James should have been orphaned and then left to die an excruciatingly slow death, addicted to substance he hated.

Will swallowed. "That shouldn't have happened to you, James. It's not right."

James looked surprised. "People don't usually say that to me. Mostly they say 'I'm sorry'."

"Would you have preferred it if I'd apologised, even though there's not really anything for me to apologise for?"

And then James's smile came back, and it pervaded through the sadness on his face, and, ridiculously, Will felt a little hopeful for this boy. He wasn't dead yet after all.

"No. In fact, it would've put my opinions of you far below par. As it is, you've only raised my liking towards you."

Will grinned, and then caught himself. He liked this boy, already, he could tell from this short conversation that they would get along swimmingly. And Will had been so lonely, since running from the only people who loved him into this strange city. All he wanted was a friend.

He could be your friend, a treacherous voice within his head whispered. He's dying anyway, you curse wouldn't affect him, not really. You could let him get close. He's the only person you can let get close.

Will wanted to listen to this voice so badly. He had resigned himself to a life of annoying people, of distancing himself from everyone so they would not get hurt. And yet this silver-haired boy had waltzed in with a sad story, and now Will had the opportunity to have a friend again.

It would be so selfish though, to allow James to get close to him. He knew the risks, he knew that he would be a bad person in doing this.

"Do you think you could teach me? How to throw knives, that is, not how to take yin fen. You're quite extraordinary at it."

Will was too selfish. He always had been.

A blush crept in through James's pale face, injecting life into those cold cheeks. He was clearly a modest person, not used to being complimented. Will was used to the compliments flowing to him freely, half of them from himself but still.

"Only if we can train here together. And be friends. I'm not used to having friends of my own age."

There was clearly more to James's story than he was letting on. But now was not the time to pry.

Will stuck out his hand. "It would be my pleasure, James Carstairs. I have a feeling we're going to be the best of friends."

James reached out and took Will's hand, his hand surprisingly warm within his own. He didn't know why he'd expected it to be cold, maybe as an aftereffect of dying, but he reminded himself that whilst James was ill, he was more alive than ever.

"Me too." He shook will's hand, firmly and confidently. "Oh, and you may call me Jem. It is the name I have always preferred for myself."

Will's blue eyes were twinkling. "Jem it is. Will and Jem. It works, doesn't it?"

Jem nodded. "I like it. Will and Jem…"