Alright so this my idea of what will would experience after Jem dies. It wasn't easy to write, because I've never done tragedy before but here it is.
I do not own anyone in this; they are the work of Cassandra Clare.
Also, many thanks to Tam Jem Carstairs, for excellent beta work. Thanks.
We spend our whole lives surrounded by death, it is our creed. Pulvis et umbra sumus ,we are dust and shadows, if Will is to be believed it is all that we are. I choose to believe in something else, in a life after death, or rather, in more than just an ending. We serve and die in a fight, a fight that we are only winning with the help of heaven; because of this I am able to contemplate my own death without feeling fear.
I wouldn't say that I can think of it and be one hundred percent at peace about it, but I can say with complete honesty that death does not frighten me as much as it seems to terrify everyone else. Death is like any other journey and at the end of it we always see the friends and loved ones that we have left behind, and we leave them behind knowing that they will be saddened by our distance, but we also know that they will go on without us, because we want them too, because we expect nothing less from them. Yet we fear being forgotten, and always will and that is my deepest fear.
I have lived for seventeen years, and what have I to show for it? It is not enough to only live, but we must also love, is it not better to have lived and died for love than to have lived and not loved at all? My only hope is that you remember me, not largely or ostentatiously, but quietly, I would like to think that I have loved and been loved enough by you all that you won't forget.
You have been my family, all that I am and all that I have become I owe to you. My friends I cannot thank you enough. I know that I'm leaving you in the middle of a war, and for that I am truly sorry. However, who am I to stand in the way of fate's plan? Know that if there is an afterlife, and not just an end as Will says, I will watch and protect you all as well as I can.
Mitzpah my friends
James Carstairs
Will sat numbly in his seat as Charlotte read the letter. They had found it the day Jem had died, with all of their names on it. He hoped against hope that Jem was right, and there was a heaven if anyone deserved it, it was Jem. Jem who had been good, Jem who had been his friend, Jem who had been his brother. Will felt the tears and tangle of emotions threaten to engulf him again and, with a great effort, he drew the barrier up around his feelings, burying them deep down, just as he had buried all of his feelings since he was twelve. For the rest of the service and time afterward Will focused only on being numb, even when Gabriel Lightwood came up and gave his fake condolences Will resisted the urge to pound his face in, or boil him alive in a vat of his own entrails.
Tessa was seated in a corner, looking pale but refusing to cry. She hadn't cried in front of him yet and she refused to cry now. He appreciated that, he knew that if she did he would not be able to hold it together. Because Jem wasn't just his, he had been loved by everyone, and that helped a little bit. But not much.
Three hours later and Will was on the roof of the Institute watching the Shadowhunters walk out of the door and into their carriages, the grimy fog of London made their white clothing look like a dirty beige. He smiled grimly. He was no longer wearing his mourning clothes, but he still had his red Marks. He looked down at the one on the back of his left hand; it was a violently scarlet, almost bloody Rune it twisted in and out of his other black marks, spinning out in a hypnotic fashion that reminded him of Jem. It spoke to him in way that really went beyond conscious thought and entered the realm of poetry. Looking at it he heard the faint strains of violin music that Jem had always played, the music has been beautiful, always, but Will had never told Jem that. Had never told him that the music affected him the same way poetry and stories did, that had been a mistake, instead of praising him he had made fun of him.
Jem had never seemed to mind though; he had always brushed Will's coldness and aloofness off without a concerned demeanor he had never judged or scolded. Just guided, Jem had always said that he was Will's missing sense of self preservation, Will had secretly disagreed Jem was more of a brother figure, the older brother. Will slammed his fist against the metal spikes of the railing, and when that didn't hurt enough to distract him he opened his hand and smacked the top of the sharp edge with his open palm.
This time the pain worked. It built up in his chest, became a concentrated point, something he could focus on instead of the emotional pain. He balled his hand up into a fist and squeezed. Closing his eyes and gritting his teeth against the pain he focused on forgetting everything he was momentarily distracted from it all. This was what he had done whenever Jem had had a particularly bad attack; it gave him a momentary relief. Soon however, he had to crash back down, he always did there was no distraction from it. Jem was gone, and he had driven Tessa away.
Well that was what he had wanted, wasn't it? But, as he thought about it he realized he had never been truly all alone. There had always been someone. Cecily, Thomas, Jem, Tessa. But not anymore now he was alone. Truly. He had felt lonely before, but he had never realized that even when he was at his worst he had always had Jem. Not anymore. For the first time in his life William Herondale was completely alone. I have lost everything. He opened his eyes.
Looking back he realized all the times Jem had been there for him, never questioning, never judging just being Jem. Jem had said that everything he was he owed to them, but Will knew differently he knew that they owed Jem. He had come to them a broken beautiful boy, and even though he had seen and experienced things no one should have had to go through, he had never been cold or cruel spirited. He had showed them all a forgiveness and innocence that was beautiful and unattainable. He had held them up to higher standards of what they were. Seeing the best in everyone and everything. Will stared down at his hand and smashed it against the pike once more.
This time it drew blood. The blood fanned out along his hand and mingled with scarlet of the Marks on his hand. He closed his eyes and tried to physically force back the tears and tremors that were threatening. He grabbed the pike and rubbed his bloody hand across the edge, stopping only when the pain burned his veins he looked at his hand the cut was ragged and the skin around it was raw.
"That looked like it hurt." It was said like an echo of something said to her. Will hadn't heard her come up he turned around and saw Tessa. She had given up on not crying her eyes were red and her cheeks were raw. She didn't look at him, just moved to stand beside him at the railing, looking out at London. "If they call this dismal dampness summer…" her voice drifted off. They stood there silent for a long time; eventually Will realized that Tessa's shoulders were shaking. He moved to put a hand on her shoulder, to comfort her, but remembered the way he had treated her he was the last person who could ever comfort her. That was Jem, Jem was the one you wanted when you were upset. And Jem was gone. For a moment the realization and the pain of it took Will's breath away Tessa looked up at him and took his hand.
He held on, this wasn't about taking advantage of her or anything like that, this was about comfort. This was about him losing his parabati, the closest thing he had to family. Tessa seemed to understand that she took his hand and bound the cut with her handkerchief, never changing her expression. When she was done she ran her finger lightly over the back of his other hand, tracing the Runes he closed his eyes at her touch, needing to feel something.
"Do you have any idea what it is like to be utterly alone?"
"More than you can ever know"
But that wasn't entirely true, he hadn't known, because Jem had been with him when he said that, Jem who had heard him say things like that a thousand times and never questioned. Tessa pulled her hand away from his; he opened his eyes and looked at her, the cold air shocking him. She looked up at him and her grey eyes were serious and sad, but steady. She seemed to be seeing ages, how hard this must be for her, with everything that was happening around her. He opened his mouth to speak to her.
"Tessa, I – I'm sorry, I'm sorry for –"for what? For being like this, for not being Jem, for existing? She just shook her head.
"Will, stop. Not today. Today of all days you do not need to apologize." And with that, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek Will stood there, numb and not saying anything. She looked into his eyes for a moment before turning and walking towards the door. He held onto her hand for as long as he could but eventually he had to let go, like he had let go of Cecily, like he had let go of Jem like he had let go of everyone. She turned around to look at him. "Jem wouldn't want you to mourn his death Will, he would want you to remember his life." And with that she left, and Will was alone on the roof with his thoughts.
#/#/#/#
Three days later Will was seated in front of the fire, with wet hair and clothing shivering and cold, but hardly noticing. He had walked around London for hours, speaking to no one, avoiding the light and trying desperately to drown his feelings. There, on the streets of London, with the rain pouring down his face, and water pounding in his ears in ceaseless rhythm, Will had let himself cry he had opened the door to his feelings and let them out. People had always told him that it helped that once you acknowledged your feelings you felt better. They had lied. He felt worse than ever instead of the terrible numbness he usually felt, or the suppressed feelings of rage and sorrow he had felt right after Jem had died he now felt hollow, like some vital part of him was missing. He wondered, abstractly, if this was how Tessa had felt after she had turned into Camille.
The rage was gone, as was the sorrow. As he stared into the fire he realized he would almost rather feel them than this horrible sense of no feeling this terrible emptiness. He put his head in hands and pressed his palms into his eyes, trying to forget, forget the way Jem had looked in death. Even more pale than in life, all the colour gone from his cheeks, he had still been beautiful, angelic almost, but nothing like in life. None of that almost pure goodness that had been Jem had shone out of his eyes, and that was what had hurt the most. It had felt like a piece of him was lying in that coffin. At least he had looked at peace and at ease; he hadn't died with that terrible look of fear and pain on his face that so often was when he was wracked by the drug. Will wouldn't have been able to stand it if the last memory he had of Jem, the last time he had seen his face it was locked in pain and fear.
The door to the library opened and Tessa walked in. He looked up at her and saw reflected in her eyes the same terrible hollowness he felt, it wasn't right to be awake at night and not hear a violin, or be sitting alone and not go to visit Jem. She slowly lowered herself into the chair opposite him her eyes when she looked him were cautious, as was her voice when she next spoke.
"When you found that letter, my heart broke. Jem was dying, and he still was worried enough about us that he would write a letter. "She sounded upset and amazed at the same time. Will echoed her feelings Jem had been on the brink of death, when his only thoughts should have been on rest, and he had been concerned about them. "And then he asked us not to forget him. As if we could."
"Is there any particular reason you are doing this? I've read the letter, and repeating it won't make it any easier. Jem is gone. We have to accept that and move on." His voice was cold, devoid of emotions, like the rest of him. Tessa's face didn't change. Instead she just stood up and came towards him, until she was in front of him, and crouched until they were at eye level.
"Will, Jem was one of the most beautiful, selfless, strongest, best people I ever knew. And I know I only knew him for a few months, and if it hurts me this much." She stopped and drew a ragged breath "I can't even begin to imagine what it must be like for you. But Will, you can't just shut down, it's been three days and you haven't eaten he wouldn't want you to pull yourself away from the world. If Jem stood for anything, it was life, and carrying on with it, even after tragedy." She got up and squeezed his shoulder as she passed.
"You're right you can't even begin to imagine what I'm feeling" he spoke quietly, but she heard him anyway. She stopped.
"No, I can't, so I also can't say anything to help, but maybe this will. Sophie found it when she was cleaning his room." She handed him a small envelope with his name on it, written in a familiar elegant hand. He heard the door shut behind her but didn't look up, just stared at the note in his hand.
He sat like that for a long while, neither opening the envelope nor throwing it away. Just considering. Finally, he made his decision, and with shaking hands and a nervous fluttering in his stomach Will opened the envelope that contained the last thing Jem would ever say to him.
"Will – " It began. " I cannot begin to tell you what it has meant to me to be your friend these past 6 years. It has been an incredible gift my friend. I'm not saying this to hurt you, but because I never said it to in life. I have never thanked you for everything you have done, whether it was while I needed your help with the drug or just because I needed you to talk to someone. Not that you haven't been trouble at times, but Will, I can look on those times with just as much fondness as the good times, perhaps more, because they are what made you Will.
You have been a brother to me, and I could not have asked for a better parabati . Terrible as it sounds, there is a small part of me that cannot help but be glad that I came here from Shanghai, because if I hadn't I wouldn't have met you.
William, my friend, if I know you, you are beating yourself up over not saving me, or not doing enough to help or find a cure, please don't. I have long since come to terms with the fact that I was going to die. Indeed, there seems to be little that you can do about it now.
Will, please live life for me, have a vital, open, happy life. Make up with Tessa, you two should be friends. Live your life Will, nothing could make me happier but please don't forget me. I could not bear the thought that one person I have left in this world forgot me.
Well my brother, it would seem we have come to the parting of our ways. But I shall not say goodbye, for in this instance, I believe that I am right. We shall see each other again, so until that time;
May you have the foresight to know where you are going, the hindsight to know where you have been and the insight to know when you have gone too far.
Jem
Will stared at the letter. Typical Jem, always looking after him. Tessa was right though, it had helped he no longer had that terrible dead weight hollowness in his stomach; it had been replaced by sadness, still all consuming, but not nearly as painful. He stayed like that, for a moment longer.
Will slowly got up and walked towards his room, seeing no one and nothing, thinking only of Jem and his letter, Jem had said goodbye wasn't really goodbye that they would see each other once more, Will hoped that was true, but that wouldn't make the separation any less painful. He stopped when he reached Jem's room, and going inside, he saw that the room had been stripped of all of Jem's personal belongings, except for the box on the mantle and Jem's violin.
Will took the box and sat down on the bed, slowly opening the lid he found it empty of the powder, the last of it had been used the night Jem had died. It had been their last store, and they hadn't been able to get their hands on anything more. Will shook his head against the memories. They had tracked a demon to the blackest part of London, when things went wrong and Will had been hurt, and the demon had gotten away, Jem had followed it. Will found him ten minutes later collapsed in an alleyway with no physical injury. The years of his body feeding on itself taken their toll. He had died early next morning. Jem had been right Will did blame himself, he always would. He pushed the memories deeper down inside hiding them, he had told no one about that night and he never would. If there was one thing William Herondale was good at, it was hiding the truth.
There was a fold of paper lying on the bottom of the box with his name on it, with shaking hands Will lifted the paper out of the box, and as he did something fell out of the fold. Looking closer, he realized it was the jade fist he had given Jem three weeks after they met. The note was simple and short.
"Will, I want you to have this, it wouldn't be right for anyone else to have it.
Jem"
Will picked it up and with shaking hands fastened it around his neck. Then he picked up the box and tucked it under his arm and took the violin in his hand.
The morning sun was just breaking through the fog of London, it fell far and wide upon the sleeping city as people rose and made their way about the day, or crawled back into which ever gutter they had come from. One tiny shaft of it found its way through a chink in the curtains of a church style building, it shone on a boy of about seventeen with jet black hair and blue eyes, eyes that looked like they had tears swimming behind them. He was standing in the door way or a room with no indication that anyone had lived there. It fell on the boy just as he shut the door, behind it his whisper still remained.
"I won't forget James I promise, and thank you."
Allright, lemme know what you thought. Did I do good? Did it fall flat? Anything you have to say is marvellous, especially if it's constructive criticism.