I have been very stressed & depressed recently for many reasons (including exams, one in which i was asked a question about astrophysics when i am studying veterinary medicine) so in an effort to cheer myself up I decided to write a fic wherein alec has a cow friend. You may be wondering, did this work? Am I cheered up? Well, my friends, yes and no. I cried several times while writing over various concerns about characterisation et cetera et cetera but now I've finished this first chapter I am feeling good! If you want to make me feel better, maybe drop a review #flawlesstransition

please enjoy the fic that has been referred to by myself and my lovely friends/betas (Alice & Anna) as 'the cow fic trash'

The three of them stand from the bench as one as the subway train finally pulls into view, and for once Alec doesn't bother telling his siblings to activate their glamours. He'd just be ignored, considering it's gone three in the morning, and they've spent an exhausting two hours hunting some particularly wily demons that had led them halfway around the Bronx. And unofficially, he can't be bothered. It's a waste of energy when they're all dead on their feet already, and the compartment they shuffle into is deserted.

Almost deserted. After dropping his bow and quiver onto a seat close to the window and collapsing into the one next to it, Alec realises that there's a man at the other end of the car to them. He's caught off-guard momentarily, perplexed that he hadn't spotted the other occupant, even if he is sitting cross-legged on the floor rather than a seat, and automatically reaches for his stele to glamour his weapons, at the very least, if not himself too. His hand pauses over his pocket and stays hovering there when he actually takes in the man, who has accomplished the impressive feat of looking weirder than them. Three teenagers, wearing combat gear and an assortment of shining weapons each, covered in stark tattoos and a gelatinous viscous black substance (and in Izzy's case, glitter), pale in comparison to a fully grown man in knee-high, pale pink stockings, bunny slippers and a trench coat. The overgrown and matted beard adds to the look, and the fact that he's holding a world map and muttering to himself while looking over it intently completes the picture.

"I love New York," Izzy, in the next aisle over, announces cheerfully, also looking at their companion. "Where else could you get this?" She makes a broad, sweeping gesture with one hand, indicating the man, the grimy carriage, and her two brothers. Alec would prefer not to be lumped in with the former two, but he's still touched that she included him at all.

"Probably any big city," Jace grunts in reply, busy with a text and only moving when Izzy's hand threatens to slap him in the face. His fingers are flying over the touchscreen faster than Alec can ever hope to navigate his own bulky phone, and he's wearing a grin on his face that makes Alec suspect he's arranging to meet up for book club with some Seelie girl. Some kind of girl, anyway, Jace's I'm getting laid smile doesn't seem to be specific to any one species. He swallows past the bile rising in his throat and diverts his attention to his bow, checking over it for any damages, structural or cosmetic. Normally he's not so bothered with how things look as long as they're functional - case in point, himself - but this bow was a gift from Jace and Izzy combined for his fourteenth birthday, and he's treasured it more than any other material object in his life since.

Izzy's phone rings, staccato in the silence. The stranger's head snaps up and he warns her, "They can change your brainwaves with that, you know," to which she politely replies, "I'll bear that in mind," and then answers the call.

"Babe," she near-giggles, and even though whoever it is on the other end – presumably whichever no-less-than-seven-inches Downworlder she's made her latest toy – can't see her, she relaxes her posture, leaning back against the window and crossing her legs, and even begins to manipulate a thick strand of curling hair around a manicured finger, pointed nail somehow still intact after their battle.

"Mm, no, we just finished, actually," she says brightly after a few seconds' pause, then gives an airy laugh that Alec has never heard her make before. Even Jace spares a half-startled, half-amused sideways glance at the noise. "I mean, if you want me covered in ichor…"

"Izzy," Alec interrupts the buzzing from the other side of the call, earning him an irritated lour, "we need to get back to make the report."

She sighs, over-the-top and melodramatic and so Izzy that he feels a small wave of affection peter into his annoyance. "Hold on a second," she tells her caller, and then makes a show of holding the mouthpiece of the phone against her shoulder to muffle it. "You and Jace can make the report," she points out, and annoyingly she's actually right, because they don't actually all need to be there to write it. Just one of them, and it can wait for up to twenty-four hours.

"I'm going to book club," Jace counters immediately, finally looking up from his phone. "Alec, you'll do the report, won't you?"

"Ooh, book club!" Izzy leers at her adopted brother sitting opposite her, then frowns. "Wait, you're not going to The Hunter's Moon, right?"

"No, straight to her apartment."

"Oh, good!" Izzy lifts the phone back up and chatters into it. "Sorry! Yeah, I can come."

Jace continues texting.

"Sure, that's fine," Alec says out loud. "Don't check that this is fine by me, or that I don't have plans, or that maybe I would like to spend some time with my siblings that isn't training or killing things, or that I'd like to spend some of my time not writing reports."

"I don't think they're listening to you," the man at the other end of the carriage calls, now holding the map upside down and stabbing one finger at an inverted Peru.

Izzy ends the call, smiling to herself. "Did you say something?" she asks Alec, grinning brightly and spinning the phone between her thumb and forefinger.

"Your brother's a murderer," the man calls to her in warning.

She frowns at him. "No, he's not." She looks genuinely offended on Alec's behalf.

The man peers over the top of his map at the two of them with an uncomfortably scrutinising gaze, then nods. "You're right. Look at his eyes. Killers don't got eyes like that."

Jace, picking the worst time possible to finish sexting his fellow book enthusiast, snickers. "You have an admirer," he says snidely. "Wouldn't pick him for your type, but who knows? You could probably do with getting laid." Izzy laughs, the tone somewhere in the limbo between kind and unkind.

He knows Jace doesn't mean it the way that his own paranoia is interpreting it. He knows that Jace is expecting him to say something dryly amusing in his perfected deadpan, then Izzy will look amused but roll her eyes and threaten Jace with some painful method of castration if he doesn't shut up, and it'll develop into one of their weird pointless conversations about what type of blade would be best for such a task, and it will be normal.

That is what Alec would normally do.

This time, instead, adrenaline still crawling through his veins, and the dullness that comes with runes fading and the exhaustion and pain they'd been masking beginning to infiltrate his senses, what Alec does is snap, "Maybe if you two thought of something other than getting laid, you'd be on solo patrols by now," and regrets it before he's even finished the sentence.

It's a sore spot between them all, and for the most part a carefully avoided topic. Neither Jace nor Izzy have been cleared for solo patrols yet, their examiner accrediting their fails to their lack of maturity and forethought. Alec, on the other hand, had applied and been granted the privilege when he was fourteen, three years younger than Jace and two than Izzy.

It has the desired – well, now undesired – effect. Izzy's back straightens like their mother's just entered the room and snapped at her about posture, and her muscles all stiffen, but she makes no comment, thinning her lips and ostensibly turning her attention to her phone once more. Jace's expression remains carefully unbothered, and his voice is jovial with an underlying tautness only recognisable to his parabatai when he says, "You can be such an asshole sometimes."

Alec bites his lip. He can be, and he makes no apologies for it. It's who he is, and Jace knew that when he asked him to become parabatai. And some truths need to be said. Maybe just…less bluntly, and when they're not all tired and stressed. And coming down from an intense fight. Wow, he really picked the worst time to say that.

The train judders to a halt a thankfully short time later, and both of his companions stand to get off, despite it not being Izzy's stop - The Hunter's Moon is another four stops from here, easily a couple of miles at least.

"Iz, wait," Alec says wearily, fishing around in his jacket pocket. She doesn't, pulling her jacket on in rough, jerky movements as she strides towards the doors. "Isabelle."

At that she spins, lips pursed at the use of her full name, terrifying beautiful even with a splatter of ichor smudged on her neck. "What?" she asks acerbically.

He finds what he was looking for and pulls his hand free, extending it to her with a few twenty dollar bills caught between his fingers. "Get a cab. I know you can defend yourself, but it would make me feel better." And right now you're tired and angry and not thinking straight and if somebody were to catch you by surprise you might not be able to fight them off.

She stares at him for a few long seconds, expression unreadable, then she takes the small wad and pushes it into her cleavage, hearing his unspoken words as clearly as the others. "Thanks, hermano," she says softly, then unexpectedly ducks to gather him in a fleeting but strong hug. Then with a kiss to his cheek that no doubt leaves behind a clear imprint of her red lipstick, she's dashing out of the doors in a miasma of bouncing hair and glitter and perfume. Jace follows after her, but not before patting Alec on the shoulder, a small gesture to say 'you're still an asshole but we're dicks sometimes so it all balances out and also I love you'. He narrowly makes it before the doors close and has to do an odd little bunny hop to avoid getting trapped. Alec contemplates how difficult it would be to convince the Institute's tech department to hack into the subway station's CCTV so he can savour that moment over and over again. He droops back into the seat, curving his back in a manner that's more comfortable for now but he'll regret for the next few weeks.

"I wish my mother was still alive," the man says gloomily as the doors close again. Alec ignores him and props his feet up on the seat in front of him, for once not caring about whatever grunge he might be leaving behind on the fabric. It's a long way to Manhattan still, and nowhere has enough leg room for him since his last growth spurt.

The train pulls into his station with a depressed ding. Alec reluctantly withdraws his feet and makes to stand, checking he still has all the essentials on him – phone, wallet, bow and quiver, Seraph blade, dagger, spare pair of gloves. All good, he leaves with a farewell to the man still huddled over a map in the carriage – seems that some manners are just ingrained into him at this point – and waits for the subway to rush off again before he dials his Mother's mobile number.

"Alec," Maryse greets after two rings, brisk and stern. "I was about to call you."

A small stab of panic thrusts into his gut – about what, he's not sure, but he's suddenly irrationally afraid that she's found out about him somehow. "Is everything okay?" he asks instead, calmly and with the composure required of a Shadowhunter.

"We've had another demon report, a few miles away from you." She reels off an address and brief instructions on how to get there. "Nothing too dangerous. One or two Scorpio demons, three at most. I trust you can handle it? None of you are injured?"

Alec had forgotten about his patrolmates. "Oh, uh, yeah – I mean, no, nobody's injured, we can handle it."

Alec is not necessarily a bad liar. When it's life or death, on the wire, essential circumstances, he can spin a lie like he's preaching a gospel. When it's not, he just feels so bad about lying that the guilt comes out in his voice somehow. It's a good thing that he tells the truth so often, really, even when he could be a bit more tactful about it. Salty, Izzy calls it.

Luckily, his Mother is paying as much attention as ever. Which is to say, she's not. "Good. Report back on both of them when you get in. See you later." She hangs up before he has a chance to return the greeting.

He should really call Izzy and Jace, and get them to accompany him. Well, what he really should have done was tell his Mother where they had gone, but he couldn't bring himself to. For all they act like Maryse's disapproval means nothing to them, it cuts them deeply each time she so much as shoots them a disappointed look.

He has clearance to do solo patrols, but only in extenuating circumstances and under the condition that he calls for backup at any demon sighting with more than two present. It's definitely not the former – under no conditions would it be considered extenuating because a Shadowhunter wanted to go off and canoodle a Downworlder – but he could lie to himself and say it was the latter, because his Mother had said that it was maybe three, not definitely.

No. Screw that. Why does he have to lie to even himself just to justify doing anything vaguely outside of the law, when his siblings run amok without a care in the world? Because you're the one who gets punished for it, points out logic, but the usually silent fun shouts over it. Why can't he do something like this? Nobody has to know, after all.

He can be like Jace and Izzy. So what if their idea of rebellion is dating Downworlders, and underage drinking and clubbing and other stuff, and his is slaughtering some demons alone when he should technically have back-up. It's still rebellion.

Alec's shoulders slump. Izzy and Jace are off poking a lion with a stick while he files his taxes a day before the deadline. He collapses onto a bench and waits for the subway to return, to take him back to where he just came from. Screw them both for always leaving him to be the responsible one.

The man is still crouched on the floor in the carriage when the tube returns. Alec ignores him for the first three stops, then with three more to go decides to satiate his curiosity. "Are you looking for somewhere in particular?" he asks, voice amplified off the cold metal surfaces.

The man looks up with a start. After a few moments where he seems to be deliberating with himself as to whether or not he should give an answer, he says in a low, secretive tone, "I'm trying to find Matilda."

Alec nods, and decides not to engage in further conversation.

It's a farm, as it turns out. A faded green sign proclaims it to be 'Woodacorn Family Farm' in dull golden letters, and a smaller white lettering underneath explains that it's a petting farm, with sheeps (it's sheep, right? Or have I been saying it wrong my whole life?), cows, pigs, goats, horses, and 'a variety of small animals', which reminds of the time an eight-year-old Izzy locked herself in her room all day because their parents denied her a pet rabbit. A wise decision, really – Izzy loves Max very much, but she should never be allowed to take care of him for longer than an hour by herself, so he dreads to think what would happen to a creature unable to fend for itself under her care.

There's a low, closed gate blocking his way, which he doesn't climb or jump over so much as just step, and then he finds himself heading down a dusty gravel-ridden driveway, framed by penned-in fields either side of him, thin grass verges spilling out from behind them before eroding away to the uneven pathway.

A few paces in a small, dark figure suddenly launches from a thick patch of long, dry weeds and skitters across the road. Alec instinctively brandishes his blade, drawn as he approached the farm, narrowly missing the creature, and relieved that he did so when it turns around and hisses at him, the noise and slight reflective quality of its eyes against the Seraph blade revealing it to be a cat.

Without really planning the movement he crouches down, tucking the blade under his arm and extending the other hand to the feline. "Hey, buddy," he says softly, and maybe it could be classified as a croon but he'll deny that to his deathbed.

The cat takes a cautious step towards him, the soft pad eliciting a small cloud of yellow dust to puff up under its paw. "I'm a friend, it's alright," he reassures, and the cat slinks over, shoulder blades shifting fluidly underneath a sleek coat that Alec can now see is mostly black with irregular splotches of white, including a little patch on one toe that does a funny thing to his heart when he sees it. It butts his head into Alec's waiting palm and rubs itself contently, letting out a little purr from deep in its chest when he curls his fingers and scritches behind its ears. A moment later, fickle as most cats are, it flees without a glance, disappearing between two slats of a fence with only a slight rustling.

Alec still smiles despite the abrupt encounter. He'd probably classify himself as more of a dog person – and a Buzzfeed quiz that Izzy had sent into their group chat had confirmed it but he'd sooner undergo an agony rune than admit he ever took it – but he can't deny that any kind of living animal lessens some of the tension that seems to have taken up permanent residence along his shoulders. Church has the same effect, and not even he can deny that he's a distant cousin to the Hell hounds.

Straightening up and wincing at the burn in his knees as he does so – growing pains are definitely not something that he enjoys, and he's really hoped they'd stop when he'd stopped growing, as the name would imply, but no such luck – he wields his blade once more, and after a few more steps using it as a light source he belatedly remembers his night vision rune. They barely need to activate it in the city, thanks to the constant street lights even in the more isolated area. The city that never sleeps, indeed.

He curses himself. That's exactly the kind of mistake that could get him killed. He needs to let go of his anger, for the time being at least, or he'll become dinner for these demons. Well, considering how much they eat, more like a light appetiser, really. Either way, he'd prefer to keep his internal organs just that, internal, and his skin mostly intact.

He allows himself to stop again, using the mindfulness techniques that Hodge teaches him to temporarily refocus his mind.

When he opens his eyes again, he feels a familiar determination settle in his spine like a steel coating his vertebrae. "Time to slay some demons," he says out loud, then grimaces. Does Jace feel that awkward and self-conscious when he says stuff like that? Probably not. He probably feels as perfect and badass as he sounds.

Screw him.

The report of "one or two Scorpio demons, three at most" turns out to be a horde of eight and, just as the last of them is obliterated by his Seraph blade – he was hoping some close combat would help to eradicate his anger somewhat – two Raveners scuttle out from the shadow of the barn. In their haste to attack, they position themselves perfectly in line, one in front of the other. Alec reaches for his bow in a movement so practiced he does it without taking his eyes off the demons and notches an arrow in the time it takes them to take five of their scurrying steps forwards. Two more steps, and it slices cleanly through the both of them before lodging in the wooden exterior of the barn.

The demons disintegrate into dust seconds later, leaving behind a small pool of congealed ichor that he hopes nobody else will find because he's really just too tired to spend even a minute cleaning it up. The arrow, though, is more noticeable, so he yanks it out of the wooden slat and examines it ruefully. He likes to recycle his arrows whenever possible, but this one is done for. He shoves it back into his quiver.

He feels dead on his feet, but he's nowhere near done for the night. He still needs to get back to the Institute, hopefully avoiding a run-in with Crazy Map Man on the way, file a report about the night's events, and then clean his gear off before he can collapse into bed. He should probably also let Izzy and Jace know what just happened in case their mother brings it up with them.

Alecdeath is a social construct

3.51AM

Got sent out again. Farm in Queens, reported two or three Scorpios. Was actually eight and two Raveners. All dispatched easily. Told Mother that you were still with me.

Jacedeath is a social construct

3.52AM

thanks bro

owe u 1

Jace only uses text speak when he's busy with something – someone. Someone who's petite and energetic and curvy and probably blonde, not tall and lanky and dark-haired and forgets how to talk sometimes when he gets nervous.

Izzy hasn't even seen the message, probably already busy with her own someone. Alec doesn't slut-shame, would never dream of telling his sister how to live her life unless she was in danger, isn't so stupid that he believes he has to protect her somehow, and has punched people before if they dare to make any kind of aspersing comment about his sister's activities. Yet, that doesn't mean he likes it. Not just because it's his little sister, but -

But the fact that his younger sister is probably having sex with a Downworlder right now and somehow not caring even an inch for the consequences, or what anybody might say about her, when he can't tell anyone other than her that he likes boys, much less bring himself to even get too close to one in case it somehow magically reveals his secret, is sometimes too much of a burden for him to bear.

He's adjusted himself to the burden most of the time, walking with hunched shoulders and a smaller posture to accommodate the weight on his shoulders, but when he thinks about it for longer than a second it wrenches through his chest and knocks the air out of his lungs, forcing him to gasp pitifully for oxygen until the sensation passes, sometimes minutes later, sometimes hours. Sometimes he blacks out from the force of it and finds himself crammed into a corner of a room, under a desk, into an alcove, his subconscious taking over and hiding him from the world. Other times he just has to stagger and support himself against a wall until he can force himself to regulate his breathing.

Now is rapidly becoming one of those times. The telltale tightening of his ribs around his lungs, making it impossible for them to expand past a few millimetres, the way his heart kicks its pace up a notch with every beat, the tingling down his arms and legs that signify oncoming muscle spasms. "No, no, not now, walk it off," he says out loud, or tries to say. He can't quite manage full words, so they come out as heaving gasps with only a faint idea of what they're meant to be, but just the act seems to help. "Walk it off. Walk it off." He can't stay here, they have to leave the scene of a battle as soon as possible to avoid detection from mundanes.

He walks blindly in one direction, away from the barn but also away from the way he'd entered, not wanting to pass by the farmhouse again in this state, and focuses his senses on the crunch of gravel beneath his booted feet, the noise the wind makes as it stirs and whips through the leaves decorating the tree branches, the smell of hay and fresh air.

He doesn't even register that he's falling until a sharp pain shears across his palms in a jagged lightning bolt and wrests him back out of his head. He finds his hands entangled in a web of barbed wire that has been weaved around the planks of a wooden fence, located where the path dissolves from the yellow dirt and gravel to an uneven verge of grass. A small mound of dirt just behind him is presumably the culprit.

"Shit," he mumbles, staring down at where his flesh has been rended apart, blood that looks black in the dim moonlight pulsing out in slow waves and running down to wrists in grotesque gloves. There's a disconnect between his brain and reality, and it takes a few seconds before rusty gears stutter to a start and inform him to reach into an inside pocket for his stele. He catches his hand on the zip, wincing as it grates on tender skin, and then scrabbles to get a good grip on it, hands slick. It takes him several tries to draw a new iratze on the back of his left hand before he gets the lines steady enough for the rune to take, watching as the cuts seal themselves up as if his injuries are being played in reverse.

He hitches up his shirt and activates the permanent iratze on his upper left abdomen for good measure, hoping that its additional power will reduce the twinging pains that he can now feel despite it being less specific than the new one he's just drawn. He switches his stele between grips and traces another iratze on his right hand, pleased when that cut heals together even quicker. His palms are still decorated with a long silver line each, surrounded by angry and blotchy red. the scars will have faded until they can't be seen at all by the end of the night, Alec knows, scrutinising the wounds.

He drops his hands to his sides, tucking his stele back into the same pocket autonomously rather than through any conscious instruction on his part, and lifts his head to scan the horizon, work out where he is, and plan his way back to the Institute. Ripping open his skin has at least grounded him enough to stave off the impending panic attack.

He's caught slightly off-guard when he raises his head only to find himself directly in front of a cow.

The thing is, Alec has always liked cows. Loved them, really. And this is a very pretty cow, really, big chocolate-brown eyes set on either side of a large skull that's somehow noble and beautiful in its heaviness, her hair a few touches lighter than her eyes with white patches around her nose and eyes, topped with an endearingly messy tuft of hair perched atop her head that looks just like his when he first rolls out of bed in the morning.

He bursts into tears.

The last time he cried was years ago, he can't even remember what about, and it definitely wasn't like this. That was a small wobble, a few minutes where he had curled up on his bed, allowed a few tears to leak out before scolding himself, cleaning his face and wrapping his knuckles to punch out his feelings.

This, on the other hand - this is a veritable tsunami; heaving, bawling sobs that rupture his throat as they escape, so loud that a distant part of his brain worries about waking up the occupants of the farmhouse despite it being nothing more than a speck in the distance at this point. He sways on his feet with the force of it but has enough presence of mind to discern a part of the fence not shielded by the needled grey wire before settling his hand there and leaning his weight into it, other hand resting against his diaphragm in a delusive attempt to control his breathing.

He doesn't know how long his unplanned breakdown goes on for - it feels like only seconds yet hours at the same time - but at some point something wet nudges at his hand, and he straightens from the hunch he'd fallen into to see the cow regarding him with a lazy sort of curiosity. There's a slimy patch on his hand now, partially over the iratze still severe against his pale skin, slightly foamy and viscous.

Alec wonders if maybe depositing her saliva on him is her way of pointing out that she was having a lovely quiet time in her field before he came along and started aggressively crying in front of her, and figures that he owes her an apology. He pulls in deep, gulping breaths to rebalance the oxygen in his lungs and makes several aborted attempts to speak that either come out as a stutter or at a pitch Alec hadn't thought he could actually reach since he'd emerged from the other end of puberty. Each time he just dissolves back into tears for several minutes, and when he eventually recovers his voice the first thing he blurts out is, "I'm sorry I'm so pathetic, you must hate me!", and then immediately feels guilty for casting such aspersions on her character. "I mean - I'm sure you're lovely and don't judge people, but who wouldn't judge me?" He gestures to himself as a whole, and is about to continue his diatribe about why he should perish in the flames of Edom for at least two eternities when the cow nudges at his hand again.

He looks up, fully prepared for bovine judgement like he has never seen, but this wondrous beast actually looks sympathetic. She rests her chin gently atop his white knuckles, gazing at him soulfully, and kind of stupidly Alec exclaims, "I'm going to hug you!"

He shreds a good third of his right jeans leg clumsily clambering over the fence, and trips over uneven ground on the other side. Then he thinks that maybe this wasn't the best idea because he has no idea how to handle or even approach a cow, and while he has his bow and his blades if she were to charge, he doesn't think he could live with the stain on his conscience if he hurt a cow. He holds his hands up in a gesture of goodwill, suddenly realising that his fingers and palms are coated with his own blood, still drying.

There's a water trough to his left - he narrowly avoided climbing into it, actually - but he doesn't want to get blood in her water - aha, there's a bucket next to it, tipped over on its side and with a broken handle. Gingerly, he scoops out some of the water, marveling when the trough whirs to life and loudly refills itself, and tips it over his free hand, letting the sullied water soak into the grass underneath his feet. He repeats until the blood is gone, then does the same with his other hand, finally patting them both dry on what's left of his jeans.

He turns back to the cow, realising again how stupid this was. Before he can panic, flee, and add this incident to the already overflowing filing cabinet in his mind known as 'embarrassing incidents to think about when I can't sleep', the cow takes a step towards him, noses his arm away from his front none too gently, and then butts her head against his stomach with a great deal more care and less force.

"Oh. Hello," Alec says, bringing his hands up to pet at her neck hesitantly. When she doesn't seem bothered he does it a little more confidently, running his fingers along with the direction of her hair in a loop. "You're very soft."

She sighs against him, warm breath fluttering against his shirt. There's a halter a few fence posts down, simple brown leather that's cracked in a few places but is very obviously cleaned regularly. Attached to one of the brass loops holding it together is a small, round tag, and thanks to the sudden appearance of the moon from behind thick clouds and his sight rune he can just make out the engraving that says Princess Leia. Makes sense, she certainly looks like royalty.

"Thank you," he says, "Princess Leia. I needed this. Everything's just been a bit stressful lately." She snuffles. He takes it as his cue to continue, one of his hands staying on the path down her neck to her shoulder, the other beginning to delicately untangle the tuft of coarse hair that sits on her forehead, using all the care and techniques he's learnt over the years of brushing Izzy's hair for her. "I love Izzy and Jace, and all I want is for them to be happy, but it just seems so unfair. I have to suppress such a large part of who I am, and they don't have to hide anything. Even if they are sleeping with Downworlders they're still straight, and I think that our parents are just ignoring what they do or chalking it up to teenage rebellion. I'd never get away with it though." He has wondered about that before, when he hasn't been able to distract his galloping thoughts with a punching bag or the unwavering rhythm of firing his bow. Whether his parents would have always foisted these sometimes insurmountable expectations on him just because he's the first-born, or if they maybe would have given up their tireless crusade had Alec shown the same irresponsibility at an early age as had his siblings. "I don't mind being the responsible one, but they seem to think that means they can take absolutely no responsibility for their own actions because I'll just pick up the slack. I mean, I want to run the Institute one day, so it's probably good for me to have these lessons now. To see what it's like to be culpable for everyone else's mistakes and bear the punishment for it. But I can't help but think that people should still have at least an iota of dependability."

Princess Leia flicks her eyes up towards him, whites luminous in the moonlight. She looks like she's agreeing with him. "It'd be one thing if they got injured because I sent them into a hunt with a bad strategy, but I tell them what to do and then they ignore it and rush in headlong and end up getting themselves hurt or nearly cost us a mission, and I'm still the one at fault. I can't make them listen to me, I've been trying for years. They don't listen to Hodge, they don't listen to anyone, and maybe Mom would realise that if she was ever actually here." Princess Leia makes an odd not-quite-choking noise and gifts the front of his shirt with part of her snack, chewed up and - from the shell - partially fermented vegetation of some kind. Alec tries his hardest to convert that gesture into some kind of emotion regarding the conversation and gets stuck between "I'm tired of hearing you talk" or "that sucks". He can't believe that Princess Leia would ever be so blunt and ungracious to hint at the former, so he rolls with the latter.

"Maybe if they were punished for it every so often they would learn to listen. They'd actually realise that there is a price to their negligence, because so far they've been lucky and haven't made a fatal error."

As soon as he finishes his sentence he feels a potent crest of remorse and abhorrence crash over him, like he's committed a sin by thinking such a thing, like speaking such things aloud will kindle them to actually happen in some kind of prophecy, like he's damned his siblings to a lifetime of misery with two sentences. He forces the self-flagellating thoughts away, berating himself for being so selfish, imagining himself to be so self-important that he could evoke such events to happen.

His father would never do anything to them, besides. Izzy was his daughter, and Jace wasn't his blood, and apart from that was the overarching reason that also stopped him from worrying about Max - they weren't the first-born. THey'd never known the sting of a heavy belt against their back, the ache in their arms after being forced to hold a weighted bowstring taut for as long as possible, the lingering fire and humiliation from what Robert euphemistically refers to as "old-fashioned corporal punishment".

Their mother, on the other hand, can deal blows that cut deeper and last longer than anything physical. It affects the two of them just as much as him, he knows, but where her burning disappointment motivates him to push himself harder and to rectify whatever mistakes he's made, they seem to act out more, determined to prove her right.

No wonder his parents are so irritated with him all the time. He can't even control his two younger siblings - three if you include Max, who aspires to be just like Jace with a fierce determination that is equal parts admirable and perturbing - yet one day he's meant to take over operations for the whole of the Institute and command potentially hundreds.

His legs suddenly give out and he slumps to the floor, impact reverberating up his spine. Princess Leia makes a harrumph noise that could be surprised or annoyed, but nonetheless collapses alongside him, with more grace than Alec had managed. As if this isn't their first meeting but their fiftieth she easily rests her head on his thighs, tipping slightly onto her side and then losing all of the tone in her muscles as she relaxes totally against him. Her breath flutters the creases of his shirt (and the delightful regurgitation she'd donated to him) like this, and the solid weight of her neck has effectively trapped his left leg. But it's very easy to pet down her cropped mane like this, and he can stroke through her fringe even easier so he counts it as a win.

"It might be easier to deal with it if I didn't feel like I was invisible." In for a penny, in for a pound, and if her lying on top of his leg wasn't a sign that she wants him to keep talking then there's something wrong with the universe. Probably already is, considering his life feels like a huge cosmic joke most of the time, but now is not the time for an existential crisis, not while he's halfway through a different one. "I don't want to be the centre of attention, it makes me uncomfortable. But never being seen when I'm with them - it gets depressing. It makes me feel like I'm not quite a whole person, you know?" Silence prevails for a few minutes, near-perfect but for the occasional faltering breeze and the Princess's breathing. "It doesn't matter what we're doing. If we're on a mission, or training, or even just walking somewhere. People's eyes always go to them. THey're louder and flashier and more attractive, I get that, but they don't use the proper techniques when they're fighting, or come up with strategies for missions, or even bother to file reports.

"Being a Shadowhunter isn't just about killing demons, it's also about ensuring the law is kept, making sure nobody is breaking the Accords, reporting what happened so demon activity can be properly monitored and we can spot patterns and stop problems before they arise. And when you do go out to kill demons, we have strategies in place for a reason. It's to minimise the chances of us getting injured or killed, or weapons getting damaged. It's not about what's more fun or what looks cooler so you can show off to some Downworlder you want to get into bed."

Princess Leia snorts, making a compelling point.

"You're right, all they want to do is have fun. Life isn't about fun, it's about duty. We have a duty to protect mundanes and Downworlders." He remembers, as he always does in times like this, a book he'd been instructed to read when he was six on Shadowhunter history, one of its chapters simply titled 'Our Onus'. He'd hauled a dictionary from a bookshelf only just in his reach over to the desk, using all of his strength not to drop it on the floor immediately. Then he'd struggled to heave it open, landing on the Ms, and diligently flicked through the pages one-by-one because they were thinner than most other books' and he didn't want to unwittingly damage them. When he finally found a page beginning with 'onion' and ending with 'onyx', he painstakingly ran his finger down the page until he found the word he was seeking. "A duty or responsibility, especially a troublesome one," he read aloud. "A burden; encum-encumbrance." He'd dismissed it at the time - he'd just started weapons training with Hodge, and he couldn't wait to go out on missions - the only troublesome part of his duty was that he wasn't allowed to do it yet. This book was probably written by some grouchy, horny old man who'd never killed a demon. Wait, was that the right word? He feels like there wasn't meant to be an H there. Orny? He turns the page and reads down it until he passes where it should be, doesn't find it, frowns, and keeps reading. Ah, there it is. ornery. Some grouchy, ornery old man.

he understands it now, though. But still - "We can't just abandon it, and we can't protect anyone while we're out at nightclubs and spending every other day hungover or still drunk. It's my fault really, I've let them get away with it for too long, I've always covered for them or filed their reports so they don't get into trouble. They've never had to deal with the consequences of their thoughtlessness. Of course they just assume I'm happy to do it for them. I've only got myself to blame, Leia. Oh, sorry, Princess Leia," he corrects himself. "I've been a terrible older brother."

His head thuds back against a fence post as he turns his eyes to the night sky. The stars, while still not exactly easy to see, definitely shine brighter here than in the heart of the city, suffocated by cloying pollution. Alec can relate.

he might doze off a couple of times, just for a few minutes, because when Her Highness shifts to stretch a leg out, Alec feels a kind of confused fog pass over his mind before clearing, just like when he's coming round in the morning. Especially if it's earlier than usual, either because he forgot to close his window and birdsong has filtered into the room, or because a sibling or at has come trotting in to delightedly show him something they've killed. usually by hitting him in the face with it. Princess Leia seems to have dropped off too, but she turns her head slightly when Alec resumes grooming her, and she seems quite happy about it.

He tells her quietly, "It would be nicer if my parents paid some more attention to me as well. Even when I was young, they just sent me to hodge for everything and never wanted much to do with me. And ever since I was old enough to understand what work is, that's what every conversation is about. If I do something right I don't get praised, it's just what's expected of me. If I do something extraordinary then maybe I get a compliment, but it always seems like a criticism in disguise. Like, 'you've finally figured out how to do that', or 'good to see you're starting to reach your potential'." He huffs. "If Jace or Izzy do something properly for once, then Dad will tell them how pleased he is, and Mom - well, Mom will say that they should be doing things like that all the time, but she'll smile at them, which from her is like the greatest praise ever. But even when they're being told off they still get more attention than I do." Alec sighs, feeling suddenly but not unexpectedly selfish and small. "It's stupid. I shouldn't want their attention, if I'm doing well then that's all the thanks I should need. Getting a mission done and reported correctly should be satisfaction enough." He strokes through the cow's hair a few more times, now completely free of tangles, before speaking again. "It should be," he repeats weakly. "But it isn't. I always feel like they're disappointed in me, always expecting more." Expecting him to be more like Jace and more like Izzy and more like himself somehow all at once.

"I think I'm just a disappointment to everyone," Alec decides. "I'm too boring and angry and even when he likes someone he can't seem to stop himself from being an asshole of epic proportions. He's a failure to even himself, no wonder he is to everyone else too. Any day now Jace will realise what a foolish move it was to bond his entire being to a squawking heap of neuroses that hides most of his personality and expresses the rest of it through bitterness and insults. Izzy, unlucky for her, had a blood tie to him, but it wouldn't be the first time a Shadowhunter family went its separate ways. His parents would be happy to see him gone, they could raise jace as their eldest instead and show the world that this golden boy is their son. Max, well, Max might be upset at first but he'd go back to hero-worshipping jace and forget about him soon enough.

No. Alec blinks. He's never told anyone about the dark path his thoughts can sometimes meander off to without his permission, but he thinks Hodge has at least guessed, because he suddenly introduced mindfulness to his curriculum and laid several hints about how it could be used to control suicidal ideation. He has access to the internet, too - he knows about self-harm and anxiety disorders and eating disorders, and he's learnt enough just through himself to know that he needs to stop this runaway train before it careers off the tracks.

Princess Leia is very lovely but petting her is repetitive enough that it became mindless, so he withdraws one hand and retrieves his phone from his pocket, planning to use the only app he'd downloaded himself, Sudoku, which Jace had given him an unrelenting amount of shit about, but works as a good distraction.

He's taken aback to see that he's missed several messages to the group chat, and he opens it hastily in case either of them need help.

Izzy death is a social construct

4.25AM

alec where are you?

i got back & ran into raj & he asked when we were going to file the report

so i asked if you hadnt done it yet & he gave me a weird look & said you werent back

i pretended id just forgotten that youd gone to do some grocery shopping

but srsly where are you? you okay?

Jace death is a social construct

4.28AM

Did the crazy man on the tube turn you into a skin-suit?

That makes Alec laugh despite his plummeting mood. He types out a quick reply, then his thumb stops over the send button. He erases the message and formulates a new one.

Alec death is a social construct

4.41AM

Sorry, I was just out finding some new stamps for my collection.

The reply is near instant.

Izzy death is a social construct

4.41AM

alec, i appreciate you finally extracting ur sense of humour from around that stick but not even you have a stamp collection

thats a new level of boring

Jace death is a social construct

4.42AM

Yeah, you're more of a coins guy.

Seriously, though, Alec, where are you? This isn't like you.

Alec presses the button on the side of his phone to make it sleep and shoves it back in his pocket, needled for many different reasons, some of which he can't identify and doesn't care to. "I'm not boring enough to collect stamps," he informs Princess Leia, "but I do have a stick up my ass. Might make sex difficult." It feels good to admit some part of his sexuality out loud, even in such a crass manner. Maybe if he - "I'm gay. I'm gay. I, Alexander Lightwood, am gay." Then he has a sudden moment of panic that he accidentally activated a voice recording when he stowed his phone away, like the time Izzy unintentionally called him just as some guy decided to go downtown with her. He checks to make sure he's still in the clear, ignores the newly erupted debate over which form of collecting is more boring =, and holds the power button to turn it off.

"Your Highness," Alec says politely, "I need my legs back, if you will permit me to do so." Princess Leia grunts her permission, so he very carefully unwinds his legs from underneath her head and neck, bending over himself awkwardly to support her head from dropping to the ground as he twists himself out. He nearly kicks himself in the face in making sure that he doesn't kick her in the face, but it's worth it, even when he has to practically contort his body in half and force his body into a very awkward backwards roll to free himself entirely.

He unfurls himself to his full height, flexing his back to work out the cramping muscles there. Then he turns his gaze upwards and screams to the sky, "I am a flaming homosexual!" Princess Leia swivels her stare his way, looking distinctly alarmed, but she stays recumbent so Alec continues professing his sexuality to the heavens at as large a volume as he can possibly manage, until he registers the sudden appearance of a light in his peripheral vision. Shit. The farmhouse. He's just woken up somebody on the farm by yelling about being gay very, very loudly at half past four in the morning. Or maybe that's just when farmers get up? He remembers knowing from…somewhere that farmers get up very early.

Either way, a hysterical laugh escapes, just for a few seconds before he clamps a hand over his mouth. By the Angel, he needs to go, before whoever lives here comes out in their nightwear to investigate the strange man shouting about liking men and then bursting into mad cackles in the middle of their cow field. "Princess Leia," he says, with as much dignity as he can manage considering what they've both just witnessed him doing, "I have to go now, lest I am arrested, but I will be back. You have been great company this evening, and I wholeheartedly admire your outlook on life." The Princess gives him a bemused moo. Alec would continue his speech, but another light has flickered on in the house, so he does the honourable thing, befitting a Shadowhunter and future leader of a major Institute.

He runs away.

The map man is still on the subway, in the exact same position as before, but this time with his finger tracing the outline of Australia. Against his earlier decision to ignore the man, Alec finds himself asking, "Why are you still here?"

"The constant motion makes it harder for them to track my brain waves," the man replies almost instantly, in a bored monotone. He sounds like he's repeating something he's said a thousand times before, and Alec has to wonder how many times he's sat on a subway carriage and had that question asked of him. "Being underground means I can communicate with those who live in the core of the Earth, too."

Alec nods like this makes sense, and makes a quick mental note to trust his instincts more.

The Institute's main doors swing open as he approaches, and for a second he thinks that his siblings have been waiting up for him, anxiously wanting to check that his sudden out-of-character nightly jaunt wasn't the result of blood loss or a demon venom. No such luck - Raj is lurking there, looking unimpressed. "Good to see you," he greets curtly, though his tone would suggest otherwise, and then shoves a load of files at him. "These need to be done by 5PM." He strides away, muttering something about finally getting to bed.

"Thanks," Alec says belatedly, after a few seconds of dumbfounded staring at his new load of paperwork. "I'll get right on this." He's tempted to carry on his streak of rebellion by flinging his files up in the air, but there's CCTV all over the place and also he'd just have to spend five minutes picking up and reordering all of the scattered papers. Sometimes rebellion just isn't worth the effort.

With a sigh, he resigns himself to a quick shower, snack, three hours of sleep before he has to get up to do training, and paperwork slotted in the breaks and instead of meals so he can meet the deadline. He ditches the stack onto his desk, next to another pile of files that need to be completed but with less urgency (and that he was originally planning to do later that day, but now will need to be pushed back yet again) and kicks his boots off next to the chair, pattering in socks into his small attached bathroom.

His clothes are stripped off quickly and thrown into the darker of his two wicker baskets (the one designated for ichor-stained clothes) before he twists the shower on, climbing in straight away and ignoring the initial burst of cold water. Showers aren't a source of pleasure for him like they are for his siblings; he doesn't spend half an hour every morning standing under the hot spray just for the hell of it, he takes five minutes to scrub each part of his body in a well-practiced and rehearsed routine, rinses his hair with a combined shampoo and conditioner, and he only takes longer if he has some particularly stubborn residues of ichor left on his skin.

Izzy is waiting on his bed for him when he emerges, bare-foot and flushed with a towel wrapped securely around his waist. "There you are," she snaps before he can even react to her presence. "Took you long enough."

"I showered in less than five minutes," Alec replies, because he likes to time himself each time and see if he can beat his personal best (three minutes forty-two seconds). "Also, get out."

Izzy rolls her eyes. "Not the shower, Alec. I mean earlier, when you ran off and did God knows what instead of coming home and doing the report."

"You mean when I went off to do another mission by myself while you and Jace smooched Downworlders? And covered for you so our Mother wouldn't punish us all?"

"No, do not turn this around on us," Izzy snaps, holding up a hand like she's a queen. "You messaged us when you'd finished so I know that it's taken you almost two hours to get back, when that journey should have taken maximum forty-five minutes."

"I was collecting stamps."

"Alec."

"Maybe I was smooching Downworlders."

"Yeah? What's her name?"

Her. "Get out, Izzy. I'm not in the mood."

For a second she looks like she's going to resist, but after a few moments she relents and huffs, pushing herself off his bed. "Fine. See if I care. Not like I was trying to make you feel better."

"I am so not in the mood for one of your manipulative guilt trips right now," Alec growls, and even as he's thinking that he's probably not at his most intimidating right then, water and steam heating his skin so he resembles a salmon, with a towel protecting his modesty and hair still dripping onto his shoulders, Izzy looks taken aback, and then leaves without another word. The victory feels hollow.

Maybe he was too harsh, he contemplates as he quickly dresses in a too-large black sweater and black sweatpants, completing the ensemble with black socks. He hates upsetting Izzy, but she does have her flaws and she needs to have them pointed out to her sometimes. Right?

Or perhaps he's just alienated the one person who's always had his side as long as he can remember.

He would collapse onto his bed and wallow for a few minutes, rolling around in the covers until he's swaddled like some gargantuan cocoon, probably not sleep all night and then groggily rise the next morning to get on with the day in a foul mood, but his stomach takes the opportunity to fold in on itself with a loud roar. Right. Snack, then wallowing.

He doesn't encounter anybody along the five corridors that it takes to get to the kitchen, and is beginning to feel like life is finally on his side when he pushes open the door to the kitchen and finds Jace perched on top of the counter, tucking into a sandwich. He pulls the sleeves of his sweater down over his hands in a nervous tic he thought he'd conquered.

To Jace's credit, he doesn't so much as blink at Alec's abrupt and startled arrival, either hearing his footsteps or habituated to Alec's generally chaotic presence. He finishes chewing, swallows, and reaches behind his back to produce another plate with an identical sandwich on it, save for the bites taken out of it. "I figured you'd be hungry," he says, holding it out.

Alec takes it hesitantly, like it might jump off the plate, and watches warily as Jace takes another large chunk out of his before he gingerly nibbles at his own. If he eats it, he'll be indebted to Jace, and then he'll be forced to talk to him and answer anything he says.

Jace rolls his eyes like he knows exactly what Alec is thinking - and he probably does, because unnervingly he always seems to. "I don't care that you took off after the mission. I only asked where you were because I was curious. Let's be real, it doesn't happen every day."

"You…" Alec shakes his head. He was about to say 'you said it in a mean way and then said I was boring', but realised just in time how juvenile that was.

"I was a dick about it, I know." Jace finishes his sandwich and brushes his hands off on his jeans. "It's kind of my default mode, if you hadn't noticed."

"Mine too." Alec takes a larger bite, finally surrendering to the gluttonous cavern he calls his stomach. "Thanks for the sandwich. And I'm sorry I was a dick, too. I can be kind of…" He waves a hand, not sure how to describe himself, but hoping to summarise his general essence with the gesture.

Jace gives him a Look. "I knew you were a basket case and the world's biggest introvert when I asked you to become my parabatai."

Alec splutters. "I-I am not-"

"Alec. You're uptight and obsessive and, for that matter, compulsive, and don't forget that I'm bonded to you so I can feel how on edge you are, like, all the time. And I love you for it." Jace hops off the counter. "I just wish you loved yourself for it."

Alec stares at him, sandwich halfway to his mouth. Jace grimaces, shaking his head. "I really did mean that, but there are too many emotions going on right now, so I'm just going to…" He points to the door and then hurries towards it, pausing as he leaves like he wants to say something. Then he carries on, closing the door after him gently.

Well. Alec leans against the counter himself, taking more measured portions of his snack, realising that Jace has gone against his usual rules of 'no more than one vegetable in any meal' and put in lettuce, cucumber and tomato along with the ham just for his sake. It wasn't exactly the resolution he was hoping for, especially not with Izzy, but somehow it still doesn't feel as bad as it usually would, like he knows that it won't be like this forever.

He probably has Princess Leia to thank for this newfound perspective on life.