-9-

Wednesday early evening, Jonathan was sat in the front room with Clary, watching mindless TV. They were sitting casually side by side, Jonathans arm running along the back of the sofa, behind his sister.

'Another?' he turned his head to see Clary's hand lifted towards him, a green scittle pinched between her thumb and finger. He opened his mouth in response and she popped the sweet onto his tongue; he closed his lips around her finger before she withdrew it, sucking and dragging his lips over it, smirking down at her all the while, with playful black eyes. When he released it, she opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, the front door closed with a soft click. Jonathan scooted away from his sister and trained his gaze on the TV, seeing Clary breathe a muted sigh in his peripheral vision.

"Hey, Mum," she greeted in a carefree voice; when Jonathan heard no reply, he turned around in his seat, frowning as a strange atmosphere settled over the room. "How was the meeting…?"

Jocelyn was just outside the archway, looking at Clary with an unreadable expression on her face, and then her eyes shifted to Jonathan. He gazed back, a little uncertain as he took in the edge to her features, feeling his heartbeat pick up speed. Valentine came into view, his face devoid of all emotion. He placed his hand on his wife's shoulder for a moment, before walking ahead of her into the room. He hadn't looked at either of his children once. Jocelyn hesitated at the arm of the sofa closest to Clary, as her husband paced slowly once or twice and then came to a halt to the right of the TV.

"What's going on-?" Jonathan began.

"Turn off the TV," his father ordered, ignoring the question; Jonathan glanced at his mother, but she was now standing by the window seat, with her back turned. "I won't repeat myself, Jonathan." The white haired boy swiftly grabbed the remote off the coffee table and switched the TV off. Clary was deathly quiet and Jonathan didn't dare look in her direction. He stood up instinctively, swallowing past the rising trepidation long enough to meet his fathers razor-sharp gaze.

"Dad-?"

"Silence," Valentines resonating voice was soft, but the flash in his eyes froze his son in place, mouth shut. "As you well know, your mother and I have just come from a meeting with your head teacher. Last night at dinner, you both denied performing any actions against school regulations and as expected, you were telling the truth," Valentine paused from the pacing he had taken up again and glanced briefly between his children's looks of confusion and anxiety. Jonathan was still standing, his gaze rooted to his father as his breathing grew thinner and thinner. He felt as though the tense air was shrinking around him and would suffocate him if he didn't get out quick enough. But he couldn't move. He knew what was coming; he didn't know how or why it had happened, but it had. It was over. It was fun while it lasted.

"I can explain-" Jonathan staggered forward a step, fisting his trembling hands at his sides.

'Jonathan…?'

"Imagine my surprise- and that of your mothers- when Mr. Starkweather informed us that what you had done wasn't thieving, or vandalism, or any other mundane thing. But that you had, in fact, been caught "embracing"…" Valentine's voice had risen, even as his tone remained mildly incredulous. Jonathan heard Clary gasp as he stared back at their father, no longer able to break eye contact even if he wanted to. "What have you to say for yourself?"

"I…" Jonathan lifted his chin fractionally, returning his fathers grim expression. "I had sex with Clary."

'Jonathan?!'

Jocelyn let out a strangled noise from the window, spinning around and lunging for her son. Jonathan only had time to raise his arms to shield himself, as his mother repetitively hit at him with no real weight behind her hands. "Why-why-why-why?!"

"Stop, Mum!" Clary caught her elbows and none-too-gently yanked her back. Jonathan lowered his arms gradually, meeting his mother's tear-stained face.

"Mother-" before he could say any more, Jocelyn smacked him across the face.

"How could you?!"

"Jocelyn," Valentine promptly moved between them and stared intently down at his wife until she backed off, putting her face in her hands. Jonathan was still holding his cheek, which was rapidly turning a harsh, red colour against his naturally pallor. Valentine turned slightly, not fully facing his son.

"She is your sister," he said, baring his teeth slightly in disgust, as rage burned as black flames in his eyes. "Need I remind you…?"

"We both knew what we were doing," Clary said then, taking an unsteady step forward as she faced her father with honest determination. "And we'd do it again,"

"Clary!" Jocelyn snapped, gripping her daughter by the tops of her arms. "What did he do to you? What has he been telling you?"

"Jocelyn," Valentine shook his head, looking so tired that for a second, Jonathan went into shock, drowning in white noise. His father had never looked anything but strong and dependable and unyielding. "…we all know that this was consensual…"

Jocelyn looked at her husband, pain etched across her face as she shook her head, not wanting to believe it.

"He didn't brainwash me, if that's what you think," Clary said defiantly, angry tears pooling in her emerald eyes.

"Clarissa, sit down," Valentine commanded quietly, covering his eyes with a hand for a few seconds. She did as she was told; Jocelyn sat down next to her daughter and wrapped her in her arms. The energy had completely drained out of Jonathan now and all he could do was wait for his father to collect his thoughts.

Valentine breathed in deeply and then out through his nose, before turning to his son once again. "For how long?"

"Long enough," Jonathan answered, meeting his fathers gaze with blank eyes.

"Why?" Valentine questioned, his voice steely and his face tight.

Jonathan sighed, stiffly. "I don't think it really matters now, does it?" his tone was tinged with defeat as he continued to return his fathers stare.

'What are you talking about?'

"No." Valentine agreed, setting his jaw. "I don't suppose it does." Jonathan closed his eyes, grinding his teeth as he listened to his mothers sobs. He didn't reopen them until his fathers hand was clamped around his arm, a familiar wooden cane in the other.

"Father?" Clary attempted to extricate herself from her mother, but Jocelyn's arms tightened around her. "No- don't hurt him! Jonathan!" Jonathan allowed his father to drag him towards his bedroom door and shove him through it, trying to block out his sisters screams of protest.

Inside, the ivory haired boy took off his school shirt without instruction and braced his palms against the wall. Shutting the door, his father readied the weapon in his hands. In a warped sense, Jonathan was looking forward to it, hoping his father put all his strength into it, to rid him of everything wrong inside him, all his faults. However, when the first whip cracked across his spine, all he wanted was for it to end.

He clenched his teeth, a cloud of detachment falling over him as he made it his goal not to make a single noise. His skin simmered beneath the canes imprint, but he didn't focus on it, working to push it as far to the back of his mind as he could.

By the fifth, his entire back was aching as if it had been exposed to the surface of the sun. But still he made no sound. His eyes were squeezed shut, his clammy hands now fisted against the wall and sweat was beading on his forehead.

His father paused for so long after the ninth that for a fleeting moment, Jonathan thought he'd gone. His frame was dripping salt water and his vision was blurry, making him feel dizzy and sick. He raised his head and looked sideways at his father; Valentine was staring down at his white-knuckled hands, wound around the solid wood.

"Why, Jonathan? Why would you do something so beneath you?" he muttered, huskily. "Did we- I- not bring you up properly…? You must have known we would find out eventually, so why even risk-?"

"Because," Jonathan began unflinching as his fathers eyes sliced into his. "I love her."

"Impossible."

"It's not normal," the white haired boy replied, his voice holding all the strength he had left in him. "But it is possible."

Valentine's face twisted and then he brought the cane down for the last time. A coarse cry tore through Jonathan's lungs and out of his mouth as he slid to his knees on the floor, his body wracked with violent tremors. He bowed his head to the floor, covering it with his arms as if he feared his father would bludgeon him to death; he didn't hear the door go as Valentine left.

Clary's tears had run dry by the time it went silent in her brother's room. She was in her mothers arms still and although she wanted to push her away, she didn't have the strength to. Jocelyn was humming a lullaby, while she stroked her daughter's hair in a soothing motion. Clary found something profoundly grotesque about the whole thing, but she remained silently watching Jonathans door, waiting.

Without any warning, a loud cry of agony erupted from the room and she immediately started struggling to get free.

"Let me go!" she half begged, half shrieked as her mother held her back and salty water began to stream down her face again.

"Clary, no-" she ripped herself from her mothers grasp and made for the door, only to halt halfway there, registering her mothers arms close around her once more. The door had opened and her father came out, closing it and leaning back against it. She opened her mouth and then shut it as she saw her fathers face. Valentine looked mentally and physically exhausted, as if every strike he had bestowed upon his son had not only scarred Jonathan's back, but his own. Or maybe it was the situation in general that was wearing on his mind.

He looked through Clary and Jocelyn, not truly seeing them before he dropped the cane in his hand and walked slowly down the hall to his and his wife's bedroom. Clary could have sworn she saw tears collecting in her fathers eyes.

"Clary, I want you to go to your room," Jocelyn said, guiding her down the hall and away from Jonathan. "And I want you to stay there until I come back,"

"But-" Jocelyn took Clary's face in her hands as they arrived at her bedroom door and stared into her eyes pleadingly.

"No buts. You don't leave your room, okay?" Clary nodded solemnly, chewing on her lip. "Promise me,"

"I…promise…" she sighed heavily, wiping her face with a hand.

"That's my girl," Jocelyn kissed her on the forehead before leaving to see to her husband.

Clary pushed open her door and stepped over the threshold, but the moment she heard her parent's door close, she quietly moved back into the hallway, closing the door gently as she went. She counted ten erratic beats of her heart, holding her breath before creeping towards her brother's room, glancing over her shoulder every few seconds.

'Jonathan…?' No reply. Clary reached his door, casting one last look down the hall before entering the room as stealthily as possible.

It was dark inside and she could barely make out her brothers form sprawled out on his bed, with the help of the dim moonlight filtering through the window. Clary debated over whether or not to turn the light on, but then thought better of it and felt her way towards him. She crawled onto the bed and knelt beside him; he was on his front, arms folded on the pillow above his head. He was facing away from her, but she stayed where she was, not touching him.

'Jonathan?'

She glanced down at his back, but it was too dark to determine the extent of the damage. She carefully leant over him to turn on the lamp on his bedside table, but his hand caught her around the wrist.

'Don't look,' his voice within her mind sounded forced and dangerous. But as she pulled her arm back, she heard him release a shaky breath. She brushed his tousled hair aside and kissed the nape of his neck, closing her eyes for a short eternity.

'Let me see…' she whispered into his thoughts, shifting so that she could glimpse one of his eyes.

'Don't look at me,' his eyes shut as his reply echoed in her head like thunder.

After a short minute, she reached over and turned the lamp on, too fast for him to stop her. Jonathan attempted to hide his face in his pillow, but Clary heard the sniff and could see the wetness of his cheek. She pressed her lips to his jaw once and then sat back on her heels, lowering her gaze to his back. She stifled a sob with both of her hands, turning away for a moment to recover. She couldn't tell whether the reason the sight was so startling was because of her brother's white-marble skin, or because the wounds were so severe. Both, she concluded as she ran her eyes over his usually smooth plains, nausea rolling in her stomach.

Horizontal marks lined his back, each consisting of ridged and cracked skin, dotted with scarlet and a light shade of bruising forming. The surrounding skin was pink; it looked like sunburn, or it would have if it weren't for the vicious whip marks.

There was one mark however, stretching right across the middle of his spine that was too painful for Clary to look at for more than a couple seconds at a time. She knew it was the result of that last strike that she'd heard Jonathan scream out against. It was a deeper colour to the others, the shadow of bruising far more developed and the swelling progressing so much more quickly that it stood out, drawing her eye and transfixing her until it was all she could see.

She hugged her arms to herself, trying to swallow past the blockage in her throat. Her brother lay motionless, blinking away the tears that trickled down his face every so often.

"…I hate him." She muttered inaudibly, letting her eyes fall closed as she breathed out.

'Don't,' her brother sounded calm now, a little tired as if he could drift off to sleep any second. 'We're the ones in the wrong. You do know that, don't you?'

'That doesn't give him the right to do this to you,' she replied, wishing she could kiss his wounds all better, but not wanting to hurt him.

'I don't know…' Jonathan began in an indifferent tone. 'He is our father, you know,'

'I don't care if he is. You haven't seen the damage-'

'I don't have to; I can feel it,' Clary opened her eyes, seeing her brother fiddling absently with the corner of his pillow case.

'For a moment there, earlier, when I came in,' she started, stroking his ivory hair and tucking it behind his ear. 'I thought you were going to drive me away, tell me to leave,'

'I nearly did,' he admitted, exhaling deeply through his nose.

'I'll go if you want me to…' she told him, not letting her reluctance lace her tone.

'You will?' Clary smiled a bit to herself, leaning down to kiss him twice tentatively on his temple.

'I'll stay with you-'

"Clary," the person in question straightened up, turning to look at their mother. Jocelyn was leaning back against the doorframe, her arms crossed loosely. "You promised me," her tone was nothing but wary, as if she were merely reminding Clary that she'd promised to do the washing up. Clary stopped herself from apologising, knowing that she wouldn't mean it and that Jocelyn wouldn't believe it. She touched her brother's shoulder delicately, feeling him shudder under her hand.

'I'll come back.' She told him and then she moved to climb off the bed.

'I'll be here,'

She didn't look at their mother as she walked past into the hall, but she sensed her following after as she headed to her room.

"Clary," Jocelyn said, as Clary opened her bedroom door; she didn't turn, just stood, gripping the door handle. "I know you must hate me and your father right now. But you need to think about what we've just found out- and found out by a stranger no less…"

"If you're trying to make excuses for Father's behaviour-"

"There are no excuses, Clary. Just like there are no excuses for what you and Jonathan have done," Clary looked at her mother, who was visibly holding back tears and clutching her neck with a hand.

"Do you know that this is all my fault?" she asked rhetorically, seeing her mothers forehead crease, not comprehending. "I made him do it- I made him do everything. He wanted it, but he never would have touched me in his entire life if I'd given him a choice."

"I don't think that's true-" Jocelyn began, disbelief colouring her tones, but Clary went on.

"Do you know that I manipulated him into sleeping with me? I asked Simon out on a date- got all dolled up and then flaunted it in front of Jonathan. I told him I wouldn't go out with Simon if he let me have him instead. He resisted at first, but once I'd turned on the waterworks, I had him right where I wanted him," she paused, a sadistic smile on her face and a frosty glint in her green eyes. Jocelyn was speechless, wearing exactly the same expression Simon had when he'd walked in on her and her brother kissing. Jocelyn no longer recognised her daughter. "Now tell me Jonathan deserved what he got."

"…Simon?" intuition sparked within her mothers eyes. "He found out, didn't he?"

"He…" Clary faltered, her bravado evaporating into oblivion.

"You dragged that poor boy into this?" her mother shook her head, turning slightly and running a hand through her locks. "It all makes sense now…"

"He wasn't supposed to find out…no one was…"

"Well I hope it was worth it, Clary," Jocelyn quipped, though sadness and pity darkened her features.

"If you're really asking that…" Clary murmured, her eyes overflowing with emotion. "Then the answer would be yes…"

Jonathan had been staring at his clock for the past hour and a half, listening to its ticking and watching the hands move. His back was still aching and his body felt like jelly; he had a feeling that if he tried to get up, he'd just collapse back onto his bed, so he didn't try. He just lay there, watching time pass. He wasn't expecting anyone to come and tend to his wounds, but it still stung that not even his own mother had come to check on him, even if only to make sure he was still breathing.

He'd only been whipped once before- three short lashes to teach him not to steal from his father's wallet. It had been a stupid thing to do really, but he had been fourteen years old, barely a teenager considering his late growth spurt. His mother had used Savlon to ease his back, although the whips hadn't been hard. And it had been the one and only time she'd lulled him to sleep with the dulcet tones of her voice, as she'd often done for Clary over the years.

Even though she'd said she'd come back, he wasn't expecting his sister either. It probably wasn't the best idea anyway; he wasn't sure he could endure anymore whipping tonight. He thought about speaking to Clary's mind, just to hear her voice, but it was then that his bedroom door opened. He could have pretended he was sleeping, but he remained focused on the clock, counting the seconds going by.

The edge of the bed dipped next to him and he saw his mother in his peripheral vision. She'd come to check on him after all…or damn him to hell. She raised her hand towards him and without wanting to, he flinched; she hesitated, seeing his reaction and then proceeded to place her palm on his cheek, leaning over to kiss him on the forehead. Jonathan closed his eyes, hanging onto the intimate moment as if he'd never in his whole life, experienced motherly affection.

"I'm sorry for hitting you, baby," she whispered sincerely as she pulled back, gently running her fingers through his hair.

"I've had worse," Jonathan replied monotonously, his eyes still closed. Jocelyn glanced down at his back and then away, failing to prevent the tears brimming in her eyes from rolling down her cheeks.

"Would you stop if we asked you to?" Jonathan looked at her from the corner of his eye.

"I would try," he answered honestly, watching his mother nod slowly.

"I'm not sure Clary would…" she murmured to herself, looking down at her hands clasped in her lap. "Why didn't you come to me, Jonathan? Or your father? We could have helped the both of you-"

"How? By sending us to a therapist?" Jonathan countered, still no real emotion in his voice.

"Maybe…" she trailed off, roughly swiping at her eyes. "I'm sure it would have helped in some way- made it easier for you to live with your…impulses…"

"If I'd told either of you, Dad probably would have ended up trying to beat my 'impulses' out of me," he replied, his gaze fixed on his clock once more.

"Jonathan-!"

"Its better it happened this way. Now you and Dad have no choice but to accept this is the way I am; I can't change and it's never going to get any easier." Jocelyn sighed despairingly.

"What am I going to do with you…?" she said faintly, worry clouding her green eyes as she went back to stroking his hair.

So...reactions?

It was actually pretty hard to write Jonathan and Valentine here because its hard to know how they would act/react as ordinary humans who arent certifiably insane or part-demon.

Clarys wasnt so bad, but Jocelyn was a bit tricky because I have a hard enough time trying to understand her in the actual books. I guess it doesnt really matter since I've written them all pretty much OOC from the start, but meh.

Also, I was listening to Danger by Etro Anime while writing this and I was struck by how much that song fits with this fic :P