"Father please," he felt his voice catch in his throat. A sign of weakness, something Jace had always kept pushed down and well controlled. That was what his father had taught him after all; absolute control of everything.

But this was different, this was Clary. Sweet Clary; annoying Clary; the girl who had turned Jace's world upside down in a way Jace never thought he could love. But he did, he loved the chaos that had followed Clary's arrival, because it meant Clary was there, that she was present, and a part of his life. He found it hard to imagine a life without her now that she was there, and he did not want to.

"Do not worry Jonathan," his father turned to him, a small smile pulling at his lips. "I would never hurt her."

That took him by surprise. He had listened to his father talk about clearing out the Council and the Clave, to rid the ruling body of weakness. Clary was a part of that. She was working with the Clave, she was against his father. Clary would never side with his father, not after what happened to her mother.

"Clarissa, come, give your father a hug," his father held his arms open for Clary.

And Clary, by the Angel, Clary spat at him. "You're not my father," she seethed, the fire Jace loved in her burned brightly in her eyes. "My father would never do the heinous things you've done!"

Jace sat up quickly, his heart racing as he fought to catch his breath. The nightmares, by the Angel those nightmares were driving him mad, always about Clary and his father Valentine. That night still burned in his memories, the night he learned the truth. He had been raised by a monster.

He ran his fingers through his hair as he kicked the blankets on his bed aside. He had to go, he had to do something. He had always been a man of action, one to vent his frustrations in the training room or running his swords through demon flesh on a hunt. He could not just sit there in the dark, remembering what he had almost done.

The cold water shocked his senses, freed his mind from that horrible night. His sister, he had a sister. And he was madly in love with her.

Jace's hands wrapped around the edge of the sink his knuckles turning white under the pressure of his grip as he tried to regain control. What kind of man did that make him? What kind of person loved their sister in the way that he loved Clary? A monster?

A monster raised by Valentine.

Jace released the sink, turning away from the mirror and reentering his room. It was a mess; he had not cleaned it since that night. Not that he had spent much time in the Institute since that night. How it had gotten into such disarray was beyond him, but it seemed fitting.

Jace's life was shattered. Everything he thought he knew had turned out to be a lie. His father was Valentine, the man sought by the Clave for crimes against the Clave, for breaking the Law and trying to stop the Accords. Jace had been raised in a lie. He was not a Wayland, he was a Morgenstern. Jonathan Morgenstern, the child of a monster and a coward. His own mother had abandoned him, in favor of the unborn child she had carried at the time.

No wonder he had such a hard time going down to the mundane hospital with Clary. Why would he want to go see the woman who had abandoned him? How could Clary think he would want to see her? She had not been abandoned; she did not understand the hurt he felt.

All she could see was that he now had a mother. But Jace could not see things like that, it was too simple, and Jace was hardly simple. The woman in that bed had left him to be raised by the monster, favoring an unborn child. Jace could never bring himself to see her as anything more.

This is your sister, Clarissa.

The words rang in his ears as Jace scrubbed his head roughly with his fingers. Why was he still thinking about the nightmares? Why was he so fixated on this?

Because he loved her.

Jace loved Clary in a way he never thought could have existed. Being with her felt so right, so good, even if a little chaotic. But they were siblings, of the same blood. He could never have her, not in the way he longed for. She was off limits, the one thing off limits he really could not touch.

"Jace."

Jace turned quickly to face the man standing in his room. How had he missed the sound of the door opening? How had he not noticed he was being watched? He was literally falling apart, and now they knew.

"Alec," his voice caught in his throat, the name came out almost in a strangled sob.

Of course it was Alec, his parabatai. Alec would feel Jace's anguish, even if he did not understand it. Alec would be able to tell that Jace was in a panic, that Jace was hurting. Jace had not even realized it, he was so good at hiding it. But Alec would know, Alec always knew.

"God, Jace. Are you okay?" Alec entered the room, closing the door behind him. Alec always knew what to do; he had for as long as Jace had known him. "You're a mess." His blue eyes spoke volumes. Jace could read those eyes as easily as he read a book. Alec was concerned, his best friend was in shambles and he wanted to help him.

Jace ran his fingers through his hair, tugging at it in frustration. He was a wreck, and total disaster. Unable to sleep, incapable of talking about the problem, he was running on nothing. "I don't know what to do Alec," he felt a wall crumbling, the ground giving beneath his feet. Jace was strong, he did not need help. But this was more than Jace could handle. His world was falling apart.

Clary was gone. His father was a monster, alive and a monster. His mother was—that woman was, she was tearing Clary's world apart and had no idea. Everything he knew was a lie. And Jace had no idea how to handle that.

Jace fell back on his bed, cradling his head in his hands. How far the mighty fallen, he thought grimly while his body shook in frustration. "How do people do this?" he asked quietly, knowing Alec would hear him.

"With help," Jace felt the mattress shift as Alec sat beside him. He felt Alec's arms around his shoulders, and he was tempted to fall into him. He was tempted, but he could not bring himself to do it. "Jace, you can tell me. You can talk to me."

Jace's head shook slowly. He could not tell Alec what was bothering him. How could Alec understand? Alec did not love his sister, his father was not the most sought after man in the entire Nephilim race, his mother had not abandoned him for Isabelle before she was born.

"Everything is falling apart," so much for not telling Alec anything, "and I don't know how to handle it this time," he breathed, releasing all the air from his body and taking more in a great shuddering gasp.

This was not the first time Jace's world had shattered. Six years ago, when his father had supposedly died, Jace had been orphaned and sent to New York. At ten, Jace had been perfectly capable of dealing with it. It had all been black and white back then, his father was dead and he was alone, end of story.

Now, now there was no fine line. There was no black and white, just various shades of grey circling him. Drowning him with options, and possibilities… He had a sister, a mother, a monster, all waiting for him.

He wanted none of that.

He had never wanted any of that.

"It's okay Jace," Alec soothed him, his hand holding Jace's arm tightly. "You don't have to know how to do this. No one would know how to do this."

"I need a plan, Alec," Jace responded pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. He had always had a plan before. And if he ever needed one, this was the time. "I need something I can do, to try and fix this."

"I don't think this can be fixed, Jace," Alec said slowly.

Jace pulled away from Alec, standing as he ran his hands over his hair, smoothing it back in place. He could not do this; he could not fall apart, even if his world was shattered. That was not the way he had been raised. Control: that was what the monster had taught him.

Monster…

It felt wrong to say that about his father. The Clave might be after Valentine, but he was still the man who had raised Jace. The man who had cared for Jace as a child, trained him to be a soldier.

"It has to be fixable," Jace responded, taking a deep breath to clear his head as he straightened pajama shirt.

Even if his world was only held together with string and futile ideals, it had to come back together. He had to get over it and move on. He had to regain his control.

"It has to be."