So, I don't think fan fiction sent out a notification when I posted the last chapter because it was pretty glitchy, so just make sure that if you didn't get it that you go back and read Chapter 3. But anyways, enjoy this next heartbreaking flashback in the meantime.

"So," The man said to her with a warm smile. "Where were you the day everything went to hell?"

Clary let out a scoff and briefly paused her ferocious gnawing at the first morsels of food she had had in days—canned corn and beef jerky. Beside her, Jonathan let out the first laugh in days. The sound filled her with warmth, so much that she paused from her chewing (inhaling) to glance up at him. He was pale—paler than usual—with thick purple rings under his eyes and a clammy complexion. He was just sick, Clary had repeated to herself, the stress of the past few days had just impacted his health. He would be fine tomorrow. And then the next day. And the day after that. And—

But now he was smiling sardonically at the middle aged man who had insisted on providing the two with refuge. Nobody had ever asked them that question before. Then again, most of those the two had run into lately hadn't been as interested in talking as they were in feasting upon their limbs and organs.

"Well, it all started when Clare here," Jonathan paused to ruffle her hair, like he knew she hated, "showed up on my doorstep, interrupting my beauty sleep, as you may have been able to tell, trying to get me to let her win at Mario Kart by claiming her snobby boyfriend proposed and then tried to eat her. Women."

The man across from them—Luke, he had said his name was—looked upon her brother in an amused sort of confusion. Clary rolled her eyes at Jonathan, wishing she could slug him in the arm, but restrained herself. That was the arm that Simon had—that was the arm that was hurt.

"That is not how it happened, you boob," she spoke for the first time since entering Luke's camp. Luke's eyes widened at her in surprise, his bushy eyebrows rising.

"That's how I remember it," Jonathan sniffed, leering down at her. "You always were a sore loser. A zombie apocalypse is a small price to pay for you to save yourself the humiliation of defeat."

Clary wanted to laugh, to enjoy the first bit of banter she had had with her brother since it happened, but she couldn't help but flinch at his blunt usage of the 'z' word. Before, they had enjoyed a silent agreement to not use the term. When they said it out loud, it would be admitting what they both knew was real. It would be admitting that there was no going back, that this was their life. It would be admitting that the wound on Jonathan's arm was more than just a bite from his sister's sociopathic ex-boyfriend.

Clary couldn't help but feel betrayed. What had changed that made him think he could break the rules all of a sudden? What would change next?

"After our first run in, we did what everyone did. Looked for family. Looked for friends. Tried to figure out what the hell was going on," Jonathan directled to Luke, more somberly this time. The reason was obvious. Despite looking for family, despite looking for friends, there were only two survivors sitting across from Luke. Even though the horrors were just beginning, Luke had enough sense to not pry further into the exact details. How Jonathan and Clary had stumbled to the house of their parents to find their father feasting upon their mother. How Jonathan had forced the sobbing mess of his sister into another room while he put their parents out of their misery. How the trauma had sent Jonathan into a frenzy in search of Tessa. A frenzy that had held no leads, but had directed them to Luke. How Jonathan was getting sicker.

Clary was grateful Luke didn't try to pry.

Instead, the man who had discovered her practically dragging a sobbing Jonathan away from the ruins of Tessa's car with no sign of Tessa had taken them in, fed them, and introduced them to his family.

While Luke sat with them around the crackling fire that illuminated the salt and pepper locks of his Paul Bunyon-esque beard and kind blue eyes, his sister—a pretty woman with dark hair and a sad smile—put her three nephews to bed. Luke must have caught Clary staring, as his entire demeanor brightened more noticeably than the flames between them.

"I couldn't imagine having to go through this alone," he murmured to them both. "We're the lucky ones. No matter how dark the world gets, I know that as long as my family is with me, the light will always overpower the dark. You both are lucky to have one another."

He looked back to his daughter, yet this time his eyes seemed haunted as opposed to the cheery optimism he had bubbled with from the moment they met him, mere hours ago. He shifted back to face them, gripping his mug tighter as his smile dropped. "Family is the most important thing now that any of us have. Family keeps us sane; it keeps us grounded. There are going to be a lot of folks who forget what it is like to trust and open their hearts. They are going to be looking out for their own survival without giving a damn about others. And it'll be easier. It's dangerous to love, but love is the only thing that will separate us from the demons."

He bit his lip, looking back at the stilling forms of his children, their mousy brown hair spilling out from beneath their blankets, before facing them again. "I imagine that we haven't even had a taste of the hard stuff yet. And, when that happens, I want people I trust around me. I don't trust loners who have forgotten what it is like to love, because I know if it came between the lives of my daughters or them, they would run. You two, however, know what it is like to care for others. It's rare that I've seen a bond between two people as close as yours. I'd be honored to invite the two of you to stay with us, if you'd like."

Clary paused, taken aback by his declaration. A home? Family? Trust? It all sounded so wonderful, so familiar even in a world where it seemed as if concepts such as those wouldn't—couldn't—exist. She turned her head to look at Jonathan, who looked as if he were about to faint. Had his breathing always been this shallow, she wondered? Or was it merely—

With a start, she realized where he was looking. At the wound on his arm. And now, Luke was looking at it too.

"You alright there, son?"

The statement was simple, concise. Clearly, he was much more on edge now than when he had just been offering them sanctuary, complete with food, shelter, family, supplies—

Supplies like medicine, Clary realized.

Jonathan bit his lip guiltily, looking as if he were about to say something, before Clary cut in, "around the time the world went to hell, animals were just as spooked as the people. We were running when a Pit bull bit him. Along the way, we've tried getting it looked at but…you can see why that'd be difficult for obvious reasons."

A moment passed between the three, with Luke looking back and forth between the two, before the apprehension faded from his clear blue eyes.

"Amatis!" He called behind him. "Can you fetch the medical supplies? This poor boy became a pup's chew toy along the way. Can't have our new additions getting an infection, can we?"

He looked back to the two with an easygoing grin as he led Jonathan over to where Amatis was collecting antiseptic and fresh bandages. Finally alone, Clary let out a breath. She had told a little white lie, but it would be fine. Jonathan would be fine.

Like Luke had said, family was important. Jonathan was her family. Jonathan was all that she had left.

But maybe, once he got better, they could find a new family here too.

It was dark outside when Clary found herself in Jonathan's tent, falling to her hands and knees by his side. His breathing was labored and sweat drowned out his features. Once goofy and handsome was now reduced to shaking and fearful.

"Jon," she whispered, reaching out a hand to feel his forehead. He caught her wrist in mid-air with a vice-like grip and slowly opened his eyes to look at her. Fear radiated off of him in waves. His eyes shone with unshed tears.

"You shouldn't have lied to them, Clare," he breathed roughly. "You and I both know what the truth is."

"Shut up, Jon," she murmured, wrestling her wrist free without much struggle. "You're just being a drama queen, like always. You're going to be fine, we're going to find Tessa—"

A gut wrenching sob tore through him. He looked up at her desperately, begging her with his eyes to see all the pain that lurked beneath.

"I—I never got to see her again," he croaked. "I never even got to say goodbye."

Clary was suddenly finding it hard to swallow.

"Shut up Jon," she ground out, pouring what was left of the water in her pouch onto an abandoned strip of cloth to blot his forehead. It was just the fever talking. They just hadn't cleaned his wound quickly enough and even Jonathan's stubbornness wasn't enough to keep off the infection. "When we find Tessa, I'm so going to tell her about how sappy you became while she was gone. She'll find it hilarious."

Jonathan attempted a smirk as he struggled to hold her gaze, but it came out as more of a grimace.

"I think I'm dying."

Clary froze, utterly and completely froze, before forcing herself to continue furiously blotting Jonathan's forehead.

"No, you aren't, you big baby," She choked, because how else was she supposed to respond? How else do you respond to your brother, the one person who has never left, declaring his imminent demise? Delirious, that's what he was. When he got better, Clary decided, she would give him a pounding for scaring her like that.

"Clary." There was an urgency in his voice now, despite his frailty. He gripped the inside of her elbow, forcing her to look at him. "I need you to promise me that, if I don't make it, you'll keep fighting. That you'll be strong."

"Jonathan—"

"No!" He cried, tears now beginning to flow. "Clary, no. You need to promise me that you'll do whatever it takes to survive, no matter what. I can't…I can't…"

Jonathan paused, taking in a shaky breath before once again looking her in the eye.

"I can't leave without knowing my little sister is okay."

Clary bit her lip, not wanting to play into his delusions because he was not going to die but also now unable to stop the raw burning lump lodged in her throat or the sick pounding of her heart.

"You've always protected me," she whispered, hating how weak and pathetic her voice sounded. "You can't leave. I can't just abandon you and keep going on my own."

For just a moment, Clary let herself pretend that Jonathan wasn't going to be okay. That the rumors of the bite were real and she was losing her brother. Wave after wave of grief hit her at maximum force. She had never been alone before. As kids, Jonathan and her were attached at the hip. Even after he went to college, she was his frequent visitor. After Jonathan moved further away to be closer to Tessa, she found Simon, who quickly grew to support her. She had never been on her own. She had never had no one to rely on but herself. She had never not had Jonathan. How was she, of all people, supposed to survive a zombie apocalypse on her own? She was thin and weak and didn't know how to fight. Her mother had never let her learn, instead pushing Simon at her.

Jonathan let out a heavy sigh, recognizing the internal panic clear upon her face.

"Clary, look at me," he croaked. She did as told without hesitation. "It doesn't matter if you're not hard enough yet, just that, if it comes down to it, don't listen to Luke. The world is changing and his idealism is going to get him and everyone around him killed. I may not be there to protect you, so you need to protect yourself and just focus on keeping yourself alive so that no one else can try to cut you down first."

"Jonathan," Clary breathed, beginning to come to her senses. "You are not going to die."

"But if I do," he spoke firmly, despite being barely able to move. "If I don't make it, listen to me, you need to run. Clary, you need to run and never look back."

In the days and then weeks and then months that would pass, Clary would think of a million things she could have said to him.

"I love you, Jonathan."

"You were the best big brother I could have ever had."

"I promise, Jon. I'm going to miss you so much."

But no, instead Clary pursed her lips, hardened her gaze, and cleared her throat before saying, "you're not going to die, Jon. Now go to sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

So, I think it's important for me to remind you guys of the context this story is in with a literal apocalypse. Some of you seemed pretty surprised that Clary stole Jace's stuff, and Clary's actions in this chapter may also seem pretty bad, but you have to keep in mind that the world ended. When Clary stole Jace's stuff, she had already been hardened by tragedy and they live in a very survival of the fittest world. And here, where Clary chose to hide Jonathan's bite, it was still very soon after the apocalypse where they didn't have as much information about what would happen after one is bitten. The consequences of her choices will be examined throughout the course of this story, especially within the next chapter.

Next chapter we get to go back to Jace confronting Clary and some great interactions with the characters. And then, the plot is really going to start picking up and we'll get to see a few more characters (you may be wondering why Alec isn't with Isabelle and Max) and some more info into Jace's backstory. So, basically, it's gonna start getting wild. I'm so excited for you guys to read what I've got in store for you.

I'd really love to know what you guys think and what you specifically like/don't like etc.

As always, thanks for reading and reviewing and I'll see you soon!

-Anika