Clary was running.

Her red hair was flying out behind her and she was dressed in a grubby shirt and black shorts. Mud streaked her pale, freckled skin and she was giggling.

"Jonathan!" she called.

"Clary." He appeared from seemingly nowhere and smiled down at her, his green eyes sparkling. He tugged at one of her curls. "Did Mom try and braid your hair?"

"It hurt," Clary replied stubbornly, crossing her seven-year-old arms over her chest. "She was yanking too hard at my hair."

Jonathan laughed. It was warm and full of sunshine, and Clary laughed, too. Then Jonathan's face twisted and warped before her eyes, his features as sharp as daggers, eyes black and inhuman. He grinned, face full of malic, and unsheathed a knife.

And Clary let herself fall.

Clary jolted up in bed, the covers slipping from her shoulders, her heart racing in her chest. She looked down at herself. Tank top and flannel pajama pants. No blood. No knife. She was filmed in cold sweat, and the sheets were twisted up around her waist. Just a dream, she told herself, sucking in gulps of air. Just a dream.

"Clary?" The sleepy voice of Jace made Clary turn her head- his eyes opened drowsily, pale and tawny in the moonlight. "Is something wrong?"

Clary shook her head. "I'm fine," she whispered, immediately feeling guilty about waking Jace up. He had been exhausted when he had arrived to their tiny apartment and had fallen straight to bed, with his shoes, pale grey shirt, and jeans still on. "Go back to sleep."

But Jace's eyes were fully open now and he was sitting up. "Is something wrong?" he repeated softly.

Clary shook her head as convincingly as she could. Just a dream.

Jace tilted his head. "You were saying something in your sleep."

"Oh." Clary swallowed. "Just… a, um, nightmare."

Concern immediately clouded over Jace's face. He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I thought you weren't having them anymore."

Clary looked down at her hands.

"You can tell me the truth," Jace pressed.

Clary swallowed hard. "Well… I was seven," she said slowly. "And Jonathan was my brother. My real brother. Like at the end, in Edom. And in every dream, he becomes Sebastian and stabs me. And I let him stab me. And I wake up…" Clary's voice shook and she swallowed. "And I wake up thinking about how it might've been different. If…"

Jace's face was stony. "If he had been your brother," he said flatly.

Clary nodded, mute.

Jace's lips thinned and he swung himself swiftly out of bed, shaking his hair back- it caught the moonlight spilling in through the window, turning the golden glint to silver. "He's not," he said in the same remote tone.

"I know," Clary hastened to say. "And I hate him, for what he-"

Jace's fists were clenched by his sides. "It won't be different. Sebastian is a monster. He will always be."

"I-"

"He's not your real brother, and if you keep wishing or whatever-"

"Jace, I-"

"If you keep thinking about it, then-"

"I KNOW!" Clary's voice rose to a shout and Jace turned to look at her, shocked. Clary was stunned herself- she unclenched her hands from around the blankets bunched up in her fists and tried to calm her breathing. "It's just, I keep replaying that scene over and over again in my head. Where he was dying and was Jonathan. And I keep thinking that it was my fault, and I know it's my fault, truly, I do, it's not yours. And I shouldn't be thinking about how things would've turned out-"

"I know," Jace interrupted. His face was closed. "I'm going to take a shower."

The bathroom door clicked shut behind him and Clary tucked her knees under her chin, hugging her legs to her chest. She pushed thoughts of Sebastian out of her mind and focused on the apartment. She and Jace had done everything to make the tiny space their own, with butter-yellow walls and a fraying carpet, with the Angel rising from the lake embrodiered on it. It was painstakingly neat, due to Jace, with pictures tacked up all over the room- Clary and Jace in Central Park- Simon and Isabelle, Simon with his arm around Isabelle, flashing the world's lamest thumbs-up, Isabelle with a sweet scowl and a silk kimono that only she could ever look good in. A picture of Alec and Jace, Jace in Alec's ratty pullover sweater, Alec in Jace's crisp shirt and jeans. Alec and Magnus in Peru. A photo of Jocelyn and Luke and Maryse, all laughing together, their faces bright and happy. Then a picture of Isabelle, Clary, Magnus, Alec, Simon and Jace, all on Alec's birthday. Alec was blushing, the tips of his ears bright red, but grinning helplessly.

The door closed behind Clary, jerking her out of her reverie- she turned to see Jace coming out of the bathroom, sliding on a black shirt. "I'm sorry."

Clary was suddenly reminded of another time, when Jace had come out of a bathroom and apologized, in Valentine's apartment. She nodded. "It's all right."

"It's just.." Jace sighed and pushed his hands through his hair in frustration. "All my life, I've wanted to make things better for the people I love. And I can't hurt or kill nightmares or painful thoughts and memories." He gave her an agonized look through his fingers. "Am I making sense?"
Clary nodded.

"Well… I just want to make things better for you." He dropped his hands into his lap. "That's it. I'm sorry if I made you feel terrible."

He looked so vulnerable, all of his armor down, sitting there, that Clary reached out and laid her hand across his arm. He looked down, and so did she, at her slender fingers, pale against his golden skin. "You have," she promised him. "You've made my life so much better. It's true," she added at Jace's doubtful look. "You have. You will."

Jace smiled and Clary leaned over and kissed him on the lips, a light touch of comfort. "Now go to sleep," she ordered, drawing back. "You're tired."

Jace grinned reluctantly and kissed her on the cheek, then lay down and closed his eyes. Clary lay down too, but her eyelids didn't drift shut. Instead, she stayed awake, watching Jace breathe until morning came.