Disclaimer: I do not own The Mortal Instruments characters, I just play with them.
Disclaimer #2: this whole fic is loosely based off If I Stay.
Title from Retrograde by James Blake because I discovered it off of Tales From the Borderlands, which I am way too obsessed with at the moment.
Chapter One
you taught me the courage of stars before you left
Clary Fairchild strolls through the candy aisle of Party City. Simon Lewis, her best friend, sits in the basket of the shopping cart and snatches three bags of mini Snickers from where they were placed.
She sighs and moves faster, keeping him from grabbing anything more. "Simon, we do not need that many mini Snickers."
"Two bags are for me," he points to himself. "The last is for the kids."
Clary rubs her forehead. "I'm not made of money. You're paying for at least half of this."
He grins. "Wouldn't expect anything less."
She pulls out her phone from her back pocket. She unlocks it and opens up her camera. She takes a picture with Simon sitting in the cart covered in candy. Half of her face is in the corner with a wide smile and a thumbs up. She sends it to her brother, with a text attached: the store. is this enough candy?
He replies almost instantly: ENOUGH! THAT IS ENOUGH!
Clary giggles. Already on the cusp of turning twenty, Clary and her twin brother Jonathan decided they were too old for trick-or-treating. After their mother had gotten sick, the three of them had created a tradition to just stay in for the night, watching scary films and eating a shit load of candy until the sun came up. It was tiny little luxuries like that, that Clary cherished. They weren't the wealthiest family around, the three of them. Jocelyn was a single mother; Clary had never met her father before, and assuming he was still alive, she wants nothing to do with him anyway.
Clary shoves the shopping cart forward, Simon's weight slowing her down, but eventually they make it to the cash register. The cashier looks utterly disturbed when she sees Simon sitting in the bed of the cart. He winks and mouths Call me as they start towards the door. Clary smacks his head.
Bob Ross, Clary's cat (in her defense, he's big and fluffy and orange and has a weird sort of cat beard; she's an artist, she couldn't not name him Bob Ross, okay?), greets them when they enter the apartment. She still has no idea exactly where Bob Ross had come from, only that she'd come home one day and there he was, lounging on the couch. The balcony door had been left open when she left for class to send in a breeze through the stuffy apartment and apparently, to send in Bob Ross as well. She'd fed him, took him to the vet, and bought him a collar and a scratch post. And that had been that; Jonathan had no say, because Clary was already in love. She had no idea how old he was, but according to his wispy gray hair on his chin and in his ears, he's pretty old.
He meows at Clary, then hisses at Simon. Simon hisses back. They never got along very well. Simon often calls him His Royal Cattitude.
Jonathan comes out of his room adorning dirty clothes, a plastic machete, and a Jason mask.
Clary sighs. "Really?"
Jon slips off his mask. "Great, you're home. Put all that down—we're going out."
"What?" She says, startled. "Why?"
He grins at her. "I was invited to a party last minute at Pandemonium."
Clary's brows slam down. "But. I thought we were just going to hang out and marathon scary movies like we always do."
"Exactly," he says, exasperated. "Like we always do. It's time for a change."
"But," Clary protests still, "I don't have a costume."
Her brother shrugs. "Just go as a nerd like Simon," he suggested.
Simon frowns down at himself. "I literally look like this every day."
Jonathan looks at her pleadingly. "C'mon. Let's just go have fun."
A small lump forms in the throat. "But this was Mom's favorite holiday."
"She's been gone for years now, Clary," he gives her a sad smile. "I think she would want us to move on. I bet she'd be real happy if we did."
She won't admit it, but Clary had thought about change before. But right now, change just seems... unimaginable. Especially on their mother's favorite day of the year.
Clary shakes her head stubbornly. "No, that's okay. You guys can go."
Jonathan looks crushed. She hates it. "But—are you sure?"
Simon rubs the back of his head. "I can—stay? If you want?"
She looks at him. He shifts on his feet, looking uncomfortable. It's clear how much he wants to go. "No, Simon. That's okay. You can go with Jon."
His lips quirk up. "Really?"
"Yes," she laughs; it's as if she's giving him permission to live his life. But now that she thinks about it, Simon is almost always with her, even more so since her mother died. "Besides," she says cheekily, "you need a girlfriend. And I have total faith in you to achieve that," she adds, even though she's 30% sure he'll die trying to flirt.
Despite his best efforts, Simon's face heats up, but he doesn't disagree. He's going to a party for god's sake, of course he isn't going to disagree. Clary doesn't need to tell him he needs to get out more.
But if Clary is being honest with herself, it's her who needs to get out more. She and Jonathan didn't really get the chance to go to parties or attend after school activities in high school; they needed to help their mother support their small family, so they got jobs instead of joining art club or trying out for the track team, and then their mother got sick. At that point, parties weren't something they just got to go to. And now the both of them have their apartment, and college is a thing, and well—as much as it sucks, studying is priority, especially with midterms coming up.
And stubborn is her middle name, so she stands there with her eyes narrowed and arms crossed as Jonathan snatches the keys to their shared car and flaunts out the door, Simon trailing behind him.
She grumbles to herself as she settles onto the couch and glares at the movie playing on the television. She isn't even in the mood for a good, scary, shit-my-pants movie anymore. She'd planned on watching one with her brother and best friend, and they were now both out the door for a fun night. She knows she's being ridiculous, and she should just go, but. She won't let her brother win.
Again—stubborn.
She's halfway through her new chosen movie, Carrie (the 2013 remake, because she's pretty convinced that she's Chloe Grace Mortez's best friend, even if they've never met before), when her phone bursts out in song and gives her a heart attack.
"Luke. Hi."
"Clary," he greets cheerily. "So I've heard you've locked yourself away once again."
Of course Jon called him. She resists the urge to roll her eyes. Luke was the closest thing to a father she and Jon had growing up. And they never admitted it, but she's pretty sure her mother and him were seeing each other before she died.
"Yes Luke," she sighs and shifts her phone so it sits between her ear and her shoulder. "I'm spending the night by myself, which—" she adds brightly, "—sometimes, is good for my mental state. FYI."
"Clary."
She sifts through the candy bowl. "Hm?" she hums, playing dumb.
Clary hears him exhale heavily his nose. "You can't keep hiding away in your room."
She munches on a mini KitKat. "I'm sorry you raised me to be independent."
He continues on as if she hadn't spoken. "You're not at fault for your mom's death. You can stop punishing yourself."
"I'm not—!"
"You are."
She tugs on her hair and swallows the lump in her throat. She knows she's not responsible for her mother's death. No one is, really. She just wishes she could've—seen it coming, done something. Spend more time with her and spend less time being a brat.
His voice is gentle this time. "Go out tonight. It's time for change."
A protest is stuck in her throat but she can't speak.
"Just try it out. If you hate tonight, then you know never to do it again and you'll become a recluse and the cats will find you. Like, you won't even have to leave your room, they will just flock to you. You'll have a cat army, with Bob Ross as their commander." She huffs out a laugh and he says again, "It's time for change."
"I know," she says reluctantly.
"Alright, I better see drunk Clary photos on Jonathan's Facebook tomorrow."
She shuts down her laptop. She scoops up Bob Ross and heads to her room. "You know I'm slightly underage, right?"
"I won't tell," she can hear the smile in his voice. "Alright, go get all dolled up for that boy you're in love with."
She rolls her eyes. He's talking about Sebastian Verlac and he's really not bad looking, but he's not exactly Clary's type; he attends parties every weekend and when we gets drunk, well... to put it lightly, he calls it "awesome" instead of "drunk" and once bit her in the back. She has scars to prove it.
She drops the cat onto the bed. "Thinking someone is cute—as in, cute like a puppy—is not the same as being in love with them."
"Whatever. Go have fun, is what I'm saying."
"Bye Luke," she waits for a response before hanging up and tossing her phone on the bed next to Bob Ross.
She lets out a heavy sigh at the boxes of books littering her room. Another thing that was on her agenda tonight: doing tomorrow's vlog.
Clary runs a blog whenever she cans, which considering her life, is not that often. The blog/vlog started off focusing solely on book reviews, but somehow became bigger and suddenly she had a younger demographic of viewers who needed advice she was willing to give, and she even managed to slip in some drawing tutorials and vlogs going about her daily life. It was only ever meant to be something fun, something to do, but over the last few years, she's accumulated enough viewers to create a small army. She's happy with it. She's even made a few friends, though they all stay anonymous. With her vlogs, it's impossible to stay unknown but she doesn't mind it. She even gets a small income for what she does. Jonathan still makes fun of her whenever she curls up on the couch with a trashy romance novel or writes a script for the next vlog, and she always retorts back with how he's just jealous she can make a living off Youtube if she wants to.
But she doesn't, because she's an idealist. She knows she can't review books and walk around the city with a camera forever. She's at school to become an art teacher. Not the best job in the world, she knows, but she loves to paint and do photography and she's decent at both so she'll take what she can get.
And right now, all she wants is a good book and a lot of candy, but well. She really does need a life.
So she turns her bluetooth radio to full volume as she gets ready. Halsey's Castle immediately erupts from the speakers, making Clary sigh happily. Halsey is the queen.
She fumbles through her closet for something quick and Halloween-ish. She spots her black knee high boots, and digs out her fishnet tights. She pulls out the black lacy dress—a cute little number with her entire back exposed—she once bought a some time ago when she was feeling bold.
She does nothing with her hair because it's wild with just the right amount of cuteness. She does take her time doing her makeup, though, because if she's going out tonight, she's going out to have fun and to dance with boys and maybe if she's lucky, to get laid.
Lastly, she goes to the big closet in the living room. There's a box in the back that she has to haul out, but she doesn't have to search for long. She pulls out a battered witch hat from four years ago. It was part of the last costume her mother was able to wear, when her sickness suddenly became a real thing and she was hospitalized.
Before Clary leaves, she remembers to put her Ventra card—really her only means of getting to anywhere in New York—into the innermost pocket of her small purse. Then she puts all the candy she and Simon bought today in a bowl and sets it on the floor in front of the door for any children in her apartment building. She sticks a note on the door that reads Literally Take All of Them PLEASE
She sighs ruefully. All that candy to waste. Sorry, Si.
She steps into the first Metro car when it arrives and groans internally. Apparently, there are a lot of late party-goers because all of the seats are taken. So she grabs hold of a metal bar closest to the doors and tries to keep her balance without embarrassing herself. Clary thumbs through her Twitter feed, updates with a Sorry, no video tomorrow, being dragged out tonight! and responds to a few Tweets directed at her. Some of the messages from her viewers makes her feel warm inside. She really loves her life right now, and despite the hardships it took to get her there, she wouldn't change a thing.
On the second stop, a boy a few years younger than her is pushed through the doors, followed by a guy around her age and—wow.
Tan skin and toned arms are her worst enemy. Tight fitted black T-shirt that spans across his obviously fit chest and a golden mop of hair sits on top of his head, messy as if he'd just gotten out of bed. Her eyes trail down the profile of his face, the angry contour lines between his brows, the slight downward curve of his mouth. He's got such a beautiful jaw, Clary thinks miserably. She wants to touch it.
"—underage, Max," he's saying. "You can't sneak into Pandemonium anymore. I'm sick of coming out to get you—to find you, sick of this game you're playing."
Max shrugs indifferently. The blond boy—man, is probably a better term—sighs and pulls a pair of bulky glasses from his back pocket and hands them over to the younger boy. He takes them begrudgingly and shoves them on his nose.
The golden guy clutches the kid's shoulder. "What's going on with you, lately? Why the sudden rebellion?"
Suddenly Clary really hopes this guy isn't the kid's father who just happens to look really young because. Well, that's just wrong.
Max shrugs again, making the blond sigh in exasperation. "Is it—are you—" he sighs again, trying to grapple for the right thing to say. "Is it because of a girl?" Max shakes his head. The guy's mouth twitches (and Clary thinks he must be young and therefore not the father and she is very grateful), "Okay, is it because of a boy?"
The kid shrugs a third time, although harsher, effectively removing his friend's hand from his shoulder. "It's for me, Jace," and Clary stores that name in her memory, "It's for me," he repeats. "I'm trying to be different. More like you—and less like me."
Jace's hard demeanor softens (Clary can't tell which one she likes better on him). "Why? You're fine the way you are right now."
"That's just it," Max argues. "Fine isn't good enough. I'm sick of being fine. Fine is boring, Jace. You've never been just fine." Max breathes out harshly, and when his glasses start to slip, roughly shoves them back up. "In fact, that girl has been ogling you this entire time," Max points to her and Clary tries her best not to choke because—great, just great(!), "and you've done nothing but lecture me."
Jace's gaze snaps to hers, and normally, she would look away and pretend she never even saw him, but this time she's caught red-handed, so she stares back. But mainly she's wishing she stayed home after all, sewing little uniforms for her inevitable cat army.
But she does not blush. Not at all, despite the fact that the way he's looking at her makes her want to flush all over.
She's proud of herself. She's cool.
A smirk plays on his lips. She raises an eyebrow at him, refusing to be embarrassed. She's convinced she looks hot. In fact, she did her own makeup tonight and she's wearing a short lacy dress, she knows she looks hot. And he's definitely checking her out.
Max shakes his head. "See? I don't get it." He lets his head fall back onto the glass of the door with a thump.
Jace snaps out of it, and quickly grabs Max. "Don't do that," he scolds, "those doors could open and you would fall through."
Clary finds out, embarrassingly, it turns out that she has a thing for father-figures now. A really good looking guy with nice arms looking after a kid? Yeah, she's weak.
But Jace didn't get the chance to lecture him more. The car of the train made a horrifying screech, coming to an abrupt halt. Startled screams filled the air and the sudden force sent Clary flying to the wall across from her. She caught herself just before she hit her head, but her ears ring nonetheless. Her stomach churns as she feels the car tipping onto its side. She panics, scrambling for anything to hold onto. Some people manage to get the door facing the sky open before the car topples over completely. But she's too late to grab hold of anything and she falls, she sure to her death, to the other end of the car.
She's still conscious when it happens and it feels like every bone in her body breaks. Her eyes are shut but she can undeniably feel the warmth of her own blood beneath her.
Vaguely she feels slender fingers wrap around her arms to hoist her up. She opens her eyes just a crack and swears she sees a guardian angel, but she can't tell who it is and frankly, she doesn't really care. She's being rescued, and she decides in that moment that she will never leave her stuffy apartment again.
But of course, because she has the best of luck, in that second, the train decides to explode.
Guys I've put so much of myself into this Clary. Like the Chloe Grace Moretz thing? Yeah, I've had three dreams starring her as my best friend. THREE. And in the third one, I remember being convinced it wasn't a dream and Chloe and I laughed about it. And then I woke up.
Anyway. Hope you liked the first chapter and don't forget to review! :D Also bonus points to anyone who guesses the song of the lyrics at the top of the chapter (which will continue to the whole song by the end of the story, so you got time!)
Until next time.
Three dreams, guys. It's meant to be.