The Institute
a multi-chapter fan fic by ariviand
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from The Mortal Instruments series by Cassandra Clare.
A/N: This was my last A/N - "Apologies for the wait, and the horrendous update. I am losing faith in myself". Unfortunately, the same still applies. But there's some hope. I've decided instead of wasting precious energy trying to force out anything for NaNoWriMo when I have way too much to do right now, I'm going to just try to use the same system for updating my fics here. I will *try* to update something several times a week. Let's see how it goes.
Chapter 21: Interest
Morning.
Alec squinted one eye open, as if he expected the sun to blind him. But it was way too early for that, and the heavy curtains would have blocked out any possible light. The room was all shadows. Rubbing at his right eye, his head slowly rotated to the side, pillowcase tickling his cheek. Alec blinked and rubbed until the digital numbers on the alarm clock started to make sense.
5:34, it read. Sighing, the shadowhunter sat up and ripped the blanket off. His body pulsed once in response to the sudden cold, a really deep shudder, his skin prickling. Then Alec tried to blot it out, swinging his legs over the edge and placing bare feet on the floor.
The bathroom was empty. He still had twenty minutes at least, twenty minutes to enjoy the quiet and the empty stalls and take his time. Alec stared at his own reflection in the mirror. Flushed cheeks, eyes rimmed in red, though not as bad as yesterday morning.
His hair was chaotic. It was flat in the back and all static mess up front due to his waking-habit of pushing his fingers back through his hair and ruffling it.
A shower might fix that. Might not. He debated whether or not to spend his precious time alone in the shower or catching up on his reading.
The cold tile swayed him. Hot shower it would be. After using the bathroom, he padded back into his room to get what he needed. Alec didn't really like getting dressed fresh out of the shower; the clothes were clingy and it was a challenge to pull on humid skin, especially tight sleeves and pant legs. But he wasn't about to walk around the Institute wearing just a towel. So he headed back into the bathroom with his uniform pants and a towel folded over one arm, draping them over the door before quietly moving into the shower stall, messing with the taps.
Alec stared at his hands as the water ran down his arms and wrists. There was a little dirt under his nails, but not too much. He was thinking about his father's hands and how different his were. Robert Lightwood had calloused fingers, an interesting rough-soft feel to them whenever they shook hands or he briefly touched Alec's shoulder. That was about as much affection as he could expect from his shadowhunter parents.
Even his mom's hands were calloused, and both of them had many more scars than Alec did, paler marks along their wrists, on top of their hands, old cuts along the palms. Alec wondered how much of it was from wielding weapons, how much of it was from old Marks, and how many of the scars were from wounds they'd experienced while fighting. How many years would it take him, before his hands could rival theirs?
His hands were too smooth, too soft, too…small. Alec didn't like that, the longer he stared at his hands. His fingers were too long and seemed too graceful and fragile to belong to a demon hunter, to Nephilim. He was supposed to be stronger than a human. But his hands looked entirely too mundane.
Something he would have to work on while he trained. Maybe if he could bulk up his body, his hands would change too with experience. Alec hoped so.
His fingertips were starting to prune. Turning away from the water, Alec tilted his head back and started washing his hair, fairly sure his time was almost up.
His hair was still dripping as he tried to step into his pants, scowling at the clingy material. He had thoroughly towel-dried, but still they put up a fight. And they were going to wrinkle.
Stepping out of the humidity of the bathroom, Alec was still struggling with the button on his pants when a bell sounded. A bell? He jumped back, looking around, guilty, as if he'd broken some school rule, walking to his room shirtless.
But then doors were opening and the hallway filled with the sound of voices and shuffling feet. Bleary-eyed students shoved past him, scratching at their scalps, yawing into their hands, barely giving Alec a second glance. He ducked back into his room, wondering what happened to the unconventional wake-up call – then stopping himself, because he didn't want to spend the day thinking of him.
Breakfast was odd. Alec stared down at a mixture of what looked like bacon bits and eggs and… something grainy, all mixed together.
"What is this?" he demanded of those sitting around him at the table, poking at it with a fork.
"It's good," Isabelle decided, licking some of the unidentifiable stuff from her spoon.
"Gruel. Eat up," Jace said, snickering around his spoon.
"Is it?" Alec inquired, making a face.
"What does it matter?" Isabelle asked, glance straying between Alec's face and his food. He knew that look. She wanted his breakfast, and she would make a move if he seemed the slightest disinterested.
Despite his distrust of new food items, Alec tentatively let his spoon slide into the mixture with a suspicious squish. Then even more slowly, he brought it back up to his mouth, tasting what was on the end of the spoon.
It tasted kind of like cheese. It wasn't bad, the grainy portion.
Alec was in the process of burying a second spoonful when there was a jarring clinking of silverware against glass. All heads turned to the front of the dining hall, where Hodge stood, that eerie bird back on his shoulder, totally at odds with his tweed suit.
"Good morning," he greeted, to a mumbling, uneven chorus of 'good morning.' The less than enthusiastic reply didn't seem to bother him, however, as he lowered his glass and smiled at the assemblage.
"I just wanted to congratulate you all on surviving your first day of classes. I've heard excellent things from all of our staff about the potential of our students, and I know your parents will be proud and honored to know that the next generation of Nephilim will be clever and capable, strong and—"
"Sexy," Jace added under his breath, muttering into his spoon.
"Shut up," Alec hissed.
"Sensual," Jace crooned, the spoon disappearing into his mouth.
Alec's eyes widened, and he would have choked had he been eating.
"Sinuous," Jace finished, licking the underside of the metal, taking away the last of the food residue.
"Sick," Isabelle said, her spoon clattering loudly against her bowl. Several heads turned in their direction, though it wasn't enough to interrupt Hodge's impassioned speech.
"My work here is done," Jace chuckled, dipping his spoon into her bowl and snatching a healthy portion of it. It made it to his mouth before she could slap him.
Jace was imitating Hodge all the way to their first class, using elaborate hand gestures and a deep, theatric voice that sounded nothing at all like the History professor. When he turned to glance back at Alec over one shoulder, the older boy had showed off his own gesture, one finger raised. He had left breakfast with a bitter taste in his mouth, and it had nothing to do with the food he had barely touched.
But by the time they walked into Demonology, Jace was finished. Madame Dorthea smiled at them, wearing yet another ridiculous headdress today, and so many bangles you could barely see her wrists. Alec listened to them clink as she gestured for them to take their seats.
"Good morning, children! I trust you slept well last night? Nightmare free, all comfy cozy in your beds?"
"Well, I wouldn't go quite that far," Jace retorted, legs outstretched in front of him.
"What's that, darling? A complaint about your accommodations?" Madame Dorthea asked, her tone even more melodic as she spoke to Jace. Alec wasn't sure if it was because she was mocking him or because she liked him. He supposed it was a little bit of both with everyone. It was hard to decide with Jace, hard to be one way or the other when you couldn't even judge if the boy was serious half the time.
"Not at all, Madame," Jace formally replied, his finger tracing around a hole in the desk. As Alec stared at it distractedly, he wondered if it was from a pencil point or a blade. Considering where they were, the latter seemed more likely.
"So polite," she chirped, then moved on with the lesson.
"Why is it that we train with blades and not bullets?"
"Too much noise," a boy in the front row shared with a snort, like it was obvious.
"Too much of a mess," the girl beside him disagreed, pulling a face.
"No," Jace disagreed, the voice of authority on the matter. "Bullets are mostly ineffective, more annoyance and distraction than anything else."
"Unless they're silver," the redhead a row up pointed out, turning to look back at him with a look Alec thought was meant to be challenging. But since both of her brows were raised, she just looked stunned.
"This isn't a class on downworlders, sweetheart. Silver bullets still won't cut it."
"What did you just— " she stammered, her face turning three shades of red. But Madame Dorthea intervened with a twitter.
"Thank you, Jace, for indulging us. I'm sure you'll thoroughly enjoy hearing that you're right. But you still haven't answered exactly why bullets are not as effective as a seraph blade."
Jace shrugged. "The same reason we don't use mundane weapons. Swords, knives, daggers, that sort of steel doesn't mean anything to a demon. Sure, it would hurt, if you sliced off a tentacle or ripped out yards of bowel— "
Madame Dorthea cleared her throat in warning.
Jace smiled. "But they'd just regenerate and come at you more angry than they were before. Only a seraph blade stands a chance against the denizens of hell. Holy weapons against unholy opponents."
The professor nodded, looking uncommonly grave as she leaned up against the desk at the front of the room. Alec could swear he heard the legs squeak in protest to her weight. "Anyone can wield a hand gun. I've heard it's all the rage now," she mused, fanning herself. "But only the children of the Nephilim, those of age, those able to bear Marks, can wield the instruments crafted by shadowhunters for generations, blessed by the angel to destroy those creatures that trespass in our world, bent on devouring all that we hold sacred. It is you, my dears, who have been charged with protecting the same."
"Amen," Jace replied.
"You were uncommonly quiet," Jace pointed out as they walked out into the hall en route to their next class.
Alec shrugged. "I'm surprised you noticed."
"Were you jealous?" Jace snickered.
"Hardly. I was just thinking."
"Novel concept."
"I know," Alec replied, shooting him a half-assed glare. "You should try it."
"Maybe I will," Jace grinned, though the smile slipped a little. The girl from class, the vapid redhead was standing there waiting for them to pass. She must have run ahead to catch them, which was quite a feat for someone so short.
"Jace?" Alec tested, wondering if he should create a diversion, tell the girl to leave them alone, or let him deal with her.
"It's fine. You go ahead," Jace murmured, trying to sound inconvenienced, but Alec didn't mistake the wicked glint in his eye.
Alec nodded, trying to hide his pique. He walked past the girl, and he wasn't particularly careful about avoiding her in the crowded hallway, taking some small measure of satisfaction from shoving her out of his way.