Alright, the moment you've all been waiting for...

The next chapter! I've taken into account the people who want a semi-happy ending. Though, in reality, everyone in that car would probably die. But, this isn't reality, so just roll with it.

Chapter 24:

Clary's eyes fluttered open. She squinted as her eyes adjusted to the bright lights of the hospital room. She moaned and shifted in the bed. Someone cried out and grabbed her hand, saying her name. Clary blinked a few times and her eyes focused on two figures, her mom and Luke. They both looked ragged; bags under their bloodshot eyes, their faces drooping.

Clary opened her mouth to speak, but found herself unable to. Suddenly she found a glass of water in her hand and she drank the whole glass in an instant. Clary sat up a little higher and tried to speak again.

"Wha- what happened?" Clary asked, her voice hoarse from disuse.

"Clary," Jocelyn exclaimed. Her eyes filled with water as she threw herself on top of Clary and hugged her with everything she had.

"Hi," Clary responded, her voice scratchy. "What happened? Where am I?"

"You don't remember?" Jocelyn asked, gripping her daughter's hand tightly. Clary shook her head.

"You and your friends were in an accident on the way home from Idris," Luke spoke softly, looking at her with sad eyes.

"Is everyone alright?" Clary asked. She vaguely remembered the car being hit, but it was all hazy.

Jocelyn tightened her hold on Clary's hand and looked down. "It was a terrible accident, there was no way it could have been avoided. The police said it was a drunk driver who swerved into your lane."

Clary's heart immediately sped up at her mother's tone. She sat up straighter, "Is everyone alright?" Clary repeated, her tone carrying more urgency.

Jocelyn looked up and met her daughter's eyes; Jocelyn's eyes were filling with tears. "Thank God you're okay. It's a miracle any of you survived," Jocelyn cried softly, tears beginning to fall down her face.

Clary could feel her throat tightening like she was choking. She looked up at Luke, "what happened?"

"Your car was hit on the driver's side. Simon somehow turned the wheel so he was hit first," Luke explained softly. "What he did really goes against human instinct, to protect oneself. Anyone else would have jerked the wheel in the opposite direction so Isabelle would have been hit directly. It goes to show you how brave and honorable someone could be."

"Why are you talking in the past tense?" Clary asked, her voice cracking.

"You were hit, the car flipped a few times. I think everyone but Simon was thrown from the car. You were all scattered around, some in the road others in the grass. Simon is dead; he died on impact. His chest was crushed and he underwent immediate cardiac arrest.

"Isabelle is dead. She was thrown from the car and slammed her head on the asphalt at 80 miles per hour. Her skull cracked open and the body almost unidentifiable.

"Jace is dying; he was thrown from the car into the grass on the side of the road, suffering severe internal damage, brain contusions, broken bones, blood loss. The chances of him surviving are slim to none. They've put him in a medically induced coma. We don't know if he will wake up.

"Alec and Magnus awoke a few weeks ago. They were both in surgery. I think Magnus needed a spleen replacement and Alec had a piece of the metal from the car lodged in a kidney, so they had to remove it. That along with the other damage they suffered was quite severe.

"You were thrown into the grass; pierced by shrapnel after the car engine exploded. You experienced a lot of internal damage, you lost a lot of blood, and one of your lungs collapsed. You almost died. It's been six months since the accident. All of you were near death. It's truly a miracle that you, Magnus, and Alec are with us today." Luke said it softly like if he said it quietly enough it wouldn't be true.

The words kept echoing in her head, 'Simon is dead. Isabelle is dead. Jace is dying. Simon is dead. Isabelle is dead. Jace is dying.' Clary's throat closed. She felt as if a hole had opened up inside of her chest. She couldn't breath. The oxygen was being sucked from the air. She was suffocating. Her vision blurred with tears and her ears were ringing.

There was a commotion inside the room, but Clary didn't notice.

"What's wrong with her?" Jocelyn cried, clutching onto Clary. Clary sat immobile on the bed, but she was screaming. Screaming at the top of her lungs. Over and over again in a pattern; scream…breath…scream…breath…scream…breath. Her green eyes were wide open, unblinking and covered in a sheen of unshed tears. Her chest was heaving up and down with the weight of death. Each breath in was a wheeze like she couldn't get enough air.

The door slammed open and a doctor rushed in with a bunch of nurses.

"Sedate her," the doctor ordered. The nurses rushed towards Clary, some of them pulling a sobbing Jocelyn away, and two others sticking a needle into Clary's arm.

Clary felt herself getting more tired, but the screaming wouldn't stop. Clary didn't even realize she was screaming, all she was aware of was a pain. A terrible tormenting pain that made her want to claw at her chest so she could rip out her agony. Suddenly, she felt her eyes closing, and the pain slowly gave way to a numb darkness.

…

When Clary next woke up, it had been a month later. The doctor said she wouldn't wake up because she had to deal with the emotional aspect of the accident. She had to deal with the shock of it all.

Finally, when her eyes opened, she was alone. Clary sat up in her bed, and then stood up. She remembered what Luke had told her, she just didn't believe it.

Simon had to be alive, Isabelle had to be alive. What was life without them? There is no life without them, so they have to be alive. Luke probably made a mistake. Simon was going to open that door with his stack of Charles Dickens books; his glasses crooked and grin at her.

Clary opened the door and walked down the hallway, leaning heavily against the wall.

Isabelle was going to come up to her and call her a bitch, or fight with her, or do something.

Clary walked down the hallways until she somehow happened upon the cafeteria. She felt extremely weak, but her physical pain would have to wait until after she found her friends. She scanned the mostly empty cafeteria, searching for the familiar shock of black hair, or glasses. She saw blackness creep along the edge of her vision, but she blinked it away.

There was suddenly a loud crashing noise as Jocelyn dropped the plate of food she was carrying. "Clary?" she sounded exhausted and surprised at the same time.

"Where are they?" Clary asked, she sounded frantic. Other heads in the cafeteria turned to look at her, and she recognized the faces of the Lightwood parents, Simon's mother, Magnus' parents.

"Who? Honey," Jocelyn asked softly. She held her hands out as she approached, as if she was trying to soothe a wild animal.

"Simon," Clary snapped, her eyes still searching the room as she bounced anxiously on her feet. "Simon and Isabelle. Where are they?"

"Luke already explained it to you Clary," her mother was slowly getting closer.

"I-I," Clary stumbled backwards as she stuttered, "where," she licked her suddenly dry lips, "where are they?"

"Clary," Jocelyn murmured.

"Where are they?!" Clary screeched, her voice echoing throughout the room. The adults looked on in pity, in sadness, in exhaustion. They had already come to terms with the deaths.

"They're dead," Jocelyn was within arms reach now. She reached a hand out towards Clary, but Clary recoiled so fast that she slammed into the wall behind her.

"No," Clary cried out, gripping her ears, "no, no, no. You're lying. You're lying again, you always lie."

"She's not lying, Clary," Luke came to Jocelyn's side.

"No," Clary shrieked, she slammed her fist into the wall. Her body was running on adrenaline, so the pain that came with her broken hand was nothing compared to the torment that ran through her veins. The misery that shroud her vision, that filled her mouth, that clogged her ears, that blackened her soul, that tore at her very being.

"They're dead, Clary," Luke's voice resonated throughout the room. Clary froze for a fraction of a second then sagged against the wall, defeated, as all the energy drained right out of her body.

"Where's Jace," Clary asked, her eyes suddenly lighting up again with hope.

"Dying," Luke responded gently. "He's dying."

Clary looked wrecked. Her eyes red rimmed, her body thin and frail from lying in bed for months. She cried out in pain, a gasping noise that begged the Gods for a different reality, one that didn't tear away her heart and soul.

"It's your fault." Her shaky gaze was directed at her mother. "If-if you hadn't left me," her voice was pleading, grasping for something, someone to keep her sane, to keep her from falling into pieces. "If you hadn't left me I wouldn't have come here, we wouldn't have driven there, they would still be alive," her voice was a wail; the voice of someone who had lost everything and was about to lose even more.

"It's not your mother's fault," Luke's voice was mollifying.

Clary stood up straight and ran her hands through her hair. Her bloodshot eyes were darting around like she would somehow see her friends standing there. Her hands were shaking so she clasped them together, but the shaking didn't stop. She seemed like she belonged to a mental institution for the clinically insane. Clary turned to leave, but her mother called out to her, told her to wait.

"Wait?" Clary exclaimed, her voice hysterical, "wait for what? What more could you possibly do to me." Her mind was clouding. Her hands started shaking even more.

"Her sketchbook," her mother said, turning to Luke, "she needs her sketchbook." Jocelyn was distraught seeing her daughter like this, but there was nothing she could really do.

Clary turned to the wall and rested her head against it. Mumbling under her breath, they're alive. They're alive. They're alive. The car accident replayed in her head over and over again. She felt the truth bubbling up inside of her. "They're dead."

Two words, and Clary felt her world collapse, falling into useless shambles around her. Her life shattering into a million tiny pieces that could never be out back together. She felt all the breath leave her in one gasp, "no," she breathed. She put her hands on her head and gripped at her hair. "No," she cried out, despair, agony, hopelessness, desolation, and aguish all coming out in that one word. She fell to her knees and let the darkness she was fighting over take her. She preferred to live in that world of nothingness than this world of suffering.

…

It was only a day later when Clary next opened her eyes. She was in the same room she had been in for seven months. Her bones that were broken were now mended. Her blood replaced through transfusion. The chest tubes that were inserted to fix her pneumothorax, lug collapse, have been removed. Clary was physically healing. The only thing new was the bandage wrapped tightly around her right hand.

Now, she stood up. Her legs felt weak, but she didn't know if that was because of disuse or the large weight of her friends' deaths bearing down upon her. She slowly made her way down the hallway and to the front the desk. Her bare feet came to a stop in front of the large counter that seemed intimidating compared to Clary's frail body.

"Honey," the lady behind the desk looked down at Clary. Her voice was soft, "why are you crying?"

Clary took in a shuddering breath as she reached up to touch her cheek. Her hands quivered as her fingers came back wet. She hadn't even realized that tears were running down her face. Her whole body started trembling as she stared up at the woman behind the desk.

"J-J-Jace Wa-Wayland," Clary's voice shook like her body did, and it was hard to get the words out.

The lady, Maria, turned and quietly asked a nurse to quickly find a doctor.

Clary clutched at her chest, the material of her hospital gown crumpling under her fingers. "Where's Jace?"

Maria's eyes lit up in understanding. "The boy from the car accident."

"P-Please," Clary begged, her voice breaking.

Maria took pity on the poor girl in front of her and told her the room number. She watched with sad eyes as the small red headed girl walked away.

Clary made her way to room 112. It seemed like days had passed by the time she made it there. She stood outside the door for a minute before she was able to muster the courage to reach up a pale hand and turn the knob.

Inside, it was an exact replica of Clary's room, white walls, white ceiling, white tiled floor, white sheets, and white pillows. Jace was lying in the bed looking worse for wear. His blond hair spilled across the pillow and down over his eyes. His skin was a sickly pale and his cheeks sunken in. His eyes had dark bags underneath them even though he was asleep. He was covered in wires, tubes, and machines beeped next to the bed.

Clary gasped aloud as she stared at him in shock. Instead of making her way towards him, she involuntarily took a step back. He looked like a corpse. She felt bile rise in her throat.

The door swung open and slammed in her back, making Clary fall to the floor on her hands and knees. She didn't even try to stand up. All the strength left her body and she fell into the fetal position.

"Clary," someone tried to get Clary up, but it was futile, so they sat down next to her. It was a comforting presence, but he couldn't lessen the pain she felt tearing her heart apart. The door opened again and someone else came into the room and sat down next to her as well. He began stroking her hair softly, and Clary relaxed into it.

It was about an hour later when Clary sat up. She sat in between Alec and Magnus for a short while until she said, "Hi," in a voice that was just audible.

"Hi," it was Magnus who responded. Alec couldn't find it within himself to say anything. Just hearing his voice broke Clary down. She cried silently to herself. Her shoulders shaking as she let out quiet sobs.

"Why couldn't it have been me?" Clary said quietly.

"That's the exact same question we're all asking ourselves," Magnus said, his voice barely a whisper. Alec stood up abruptly and left the room. Outside there was a thump, the sound of flesh hitting the wall. Then, there was a cry of pain. Not physical pain, but the cry of someone who has lost the thing they care about most.

"At least they're together," Magnus murmured before standing up and going to Alec.

At least Simon and Isabelle are together, wherever they are. That was the thought that kept Clary going as she stood up and pulled a chair next to Jace's bed. She grabbed his cold hand and rested her head on his bed. At least they're together. She kept repeating Magnus's words to herself. That, and the hope that Jace could possibly wake up were the only things that kept Clary alive in those next few months.

A/N:

It's heartbreaking, I know.

I think i've decided the way i'm going to end it, but suggestions would be helpful and very appreciated.

Until next time