Some stories in the past and (obviously uncanon) stories in the "future". Sorry I rushed this! Some of the parts might be inconsistent or redundant or fragmented.
im v sorry there is so much Aspen in here
past
Perched on his mother's hip, Aspen hated how the embroidered and sequined fabric scratched against his cheek when he tried to curl shyly against her shoulder. Often, other people would want to go over to his mother to speak with her and they would prod at him and laugh lightly, speaking in high-pitched babying voices that scared him. They weren't unkind, but the excessive attention was overbearing and sometimes he wished he could curl up into nothing, a concept that his young mind couldn't yet articulate.
"Oh, yes, he'll be four this coming December," his mother said with a smile, brushing his hair lightly with a gloved hand. "Aspen, darling, won't you say hello?"
He was silent, staring at the person she was talking with in mute curiosity. They were a faerie, no doubt – that much he could grasp – but all he could see was that they were dressed in odd clothing like they were going to a fancy party and he wondered if he might go to the party as well. Reaching forward, the faerie pinched his cheek lightly before pointing and turning to his mother again.
"Ophelia, those are strange marks he has," the faerie remarked, gesturing at the bright flecks on his skin. "From whom does he get them?"
"Certainly not his father, but then again, Aspen always has taken more after me." His mother's complexion was clear, her skin the colour of a cream pearl but the only odd faerie mark her skin adorned was a miniscule white Calla lily under her left eye. "There have always been odd marks in my bloodline. You ought to remember that – especially after my mother invited you to dine with her."
His mother was always talking about nonsensical things he didn't understand, like bloodlines and marks and status and whatnot. She promised he'd understand later but he'd wake up every morning to it not being 'later enough'. After a few more minutes of chatting, she adjusted Aspen on her hip and let him play with her long black hair.
"His father is heading over," Ophelia said, kissing the faerie on the cheek as a farewell. "But we'll come by soon. Send us some letters on how you get along. If you need help, money is no issue for us."
When the faerie nodded and moved to leave, his mother turned to a tall figure approaching from the distance. Aspen watched. His mother had always called him 'his father' but he couldn't understand why since he was gone almost all hours of the day. In the smudge of his father's face, he could only make out sharp green eyes that were so pale, they looked as if they were drained of colour altogether.
Picking up Aspen's hand, Ophelia waved at him, her smile soft and cautious. "Say hello – hello."
"You know he hardly talks," his father muttered when he came closer. "It's your Seelie blood that's made him a retard-"
"Don't call him that. He's perfectly smart, just quiet," she said, sighing and dropping Aspen's hand. "And you're scaring him. He can understand you, you know."
Aspen was far too busy staring at his father's wings to be concerned with what he had to say about him. They were large and black and feathered and he wanted to touch them and feel the softness but he knew that, that would only be asking for his father's anger. Once, he had pulled a feather from them when he was two and had been yelled at and shaken for not keeping his hands to himself. His mother had no wings, which she said was 'a strange turn of genetics', but he didn't see why she was so concerned. After all, his own wings were annoying and all of his clothes had to be cut to keep them comfortable.
"The Sinclairs have invited us over for a masquerade next Sunday." His father crossed his arms, brown hair falling across his forehead. "You had better not decline. Surely you have some honor left if you want to spare Aspen from any embarrassment. A family like ours must remain honorable if we are constantly in a spotlight of-"
"Do not speak to me about honor. If anyone knows anything about honor, it's me and my family."
The vibrations of his mother's voice ran through her body as she tensed and Aspen shied away quietly, deciding he didn't want to be a part of any conversation between her and his so-called father. He cried out, though, when he was ripped from her side and set on the ground, forced to stand instead. When he looked up and to the side, he found that his father was looming beside him, his expression challenging.
"I'm taking him back to the house," his father resolved, grabbing Aspen's hand so he didn't think to walk off. "Maybe if he spends less time in your company, he'll grow up to become something."
"You'll make him cruel." Knowing better than to argue further, his mother sighed and looked away. "Please, take care of him. I'll be back later. I have places I need to be."
"Of course." His expression grew sharp. "You always have places to be.
The comment was a hiss and Aspen had no time to ponder over it for his father was already pulling him down the street. For once, undistracted by his mother, he noticed for the first time that he had never seen any other faerie children in the Towns. Only him…though he didn't know what he'd do if he did see another faerie child.
"Stop staring off into space," his father reprimanded sharply. "Hell, that woman has made you soft, hasn't she? Listen to me, Aspen-" he stopped suddenly, lowering himself to be at Aspen's eye level, "-Don't listen to her. She's going to make you soft and stupid and an accessory for her friends to gawk at. But you can be better than that."
There was no affection in his words and Aspen found himself suddenly wanting to run away and go back to his mother. The words didn't make sense in his head and he wasn't sure what to 'gawk at' meant and he rocked back and forth on his heels instead.
"Never mind. I doubt you're smart enough to know what I'm saying, anyway." Straightening, his father pressed a hand against his back to force him forward. "I hope you know that I won't tolerate that from any son of mine."
Wiping off his pistol, Nyx waved a few people behind him to go check the corridors of whatever place they were in. He didn't care whose it was, but it looked like it was hosting a party and it smelled unmistakably of money. With the side of his shoe, he prodded a faerie on the ground, relaxing when they were limp. He wasn't fond of any trouble. Putting his pistol away, he kneeled to quickly remove an expensive looking ring from the faerie's hand before standing up to start away down a different hall.
Shadowhunters didn't care much about unaffiliated faeries and what they did. In fact, when it came to anything that happened between Downworlders, the Nephilim often turned a blind eye. As long as it didn't affect their pretty Institutes, they didn't raise a blade.
His footsteps were quiet and muffled across a rug as he glanced from side to side, his pointed teeth sinking into his lip as his eyes narrowed in concentration. Whoever owned the house certainly wasn't as smart as they were wealthy. It seemed as if everything was unprotected and Nyx was more than eager to explore what hidden treasures the rooms might have. He reached the end of the hallway in his search, extending a hand to open a door. It was a bedroom, complete with a dresser and a lavish set of sheets that spread across the bed, adorned with some heavy fabric that hung near the floor.
Noticing the lack of personal possessions in the room, he continued on, not wanting to waste his time.
The next couple rooms were the same, letting the doors swing open as he passed by them. At one, though, a sash was hanging at the handle and he was careful to be quiet, turning the knob to push the door open. At first, the room looked the same as the rest and he was about to huff in disappointment until he realized that the covers of the bed were mussed.
All he could see was a smear of black hair against a white pillow and Nyx allowed himself to take a few steps inside, cringing as the floorboards creaked. His hand went to his gun again before he saw the figure shift and sit up tiredly.
"Hey, kid," Nyx said, keeping his voice low. "What's your name?"
In the shadows of the room, all he could see were two large green eyes and the slight silhouette of his frame. The boy was silent.
"I'm a friend of your parents," he lied easily, approaching the boy cautiously. "Is this your place?"
The boy shook his head quickly, picking up a pillow to bunch it in his hands and hold it against his chest. Nyx reached into his pocket to pull out a lighter, clicking it open so the small flame illuminated the room. In better lighting, he could finally make out the boy's features. Silver and gold flecks were speckled across his cheeks and his wings reflected a silver sheen back at him. His line of sight crossed over the boy and to the side dresser near the bed, focusing on an ivory dagger that lay there.
"What's your name?" Nyx insisted, walking over slowly.
"...Aspen." The boy winced away from the flame of the lighter.
"Hey, Aspen." Reaching forward with his free hand, he pulled the pillow away his chest. "You have to come with me, got it?"
Aspen's hands drew back from the pillow as Nyx tugged on it, immediately retrieving his dagger instead. He clutched the hilt with both of his hands, having never been taught how to use it; he doubted it was hard, though, as it was in his blood.
"Good. Bring that when we go," Nyx said, closing the lighter to slip into his pocket. "You wanna be good, right? I don't think your parents will be happy if they find out you didn't listen to me. Trust me on this. I can't lie."
"Are you taking me home?" He set the dagger down and rubbed his eyes before pushing the covers off, finding it odd that his mother would send for him in the middle of the night. "...Why-"
"There's no time for questions. You have to come with me." Reaching over, Nyx grabbed Aspen's hand to pull him from the bed, his nails digging into his wrist. "Get a move on, kid. To the doorway."
But Aspen froze, a bad feeling running through his head and Nyx could sense his hesitation, see it on his face, and sensed his fear. He clutched the boy's wrist, his grip impossibly tight as he other hand inched towards the pistol at his side. Faintly, he could hear the people he had come with calling his name and he lifted his head, grinding his teeth. Soot-coloured hair fell in his eyes and he shook it away, finally yanking hard on his wrist to force him towards the door.
"Get the hell up and hurry," he hissed, his demeanor shifting and his eyes contracted into slits. "Or I'll hurt you, got it?"
At first, it seemed like Aspen was too afraid to fight back but then he lashed forward and Nyx reeled back, his cheek stinging. Swearing loudly, he raised his hand to his cheek where a bit of blood started to well up in the scratches. Aspen had scrambled back to retrieve his dagger, looking more like a cat than a person as he crouched on the bed, holding the dagger out in front of him.
"You son-of-a-bitch," Nyx growled, wiping his cheek with a wince. "You're lucky I don't want to mar that face of yours. You're gonna pay for that."
When he took a step towards him, the boy swiped at him with the dagger, missing him by a hair. Quickly, Nyx reached for his pistol, pointing it at the boy. He'd never shoot him, not with what he could gain from him, but Aspen froze and the dagger slipped from his hand and back onto the covers.
"Hey, guys," Nyx called out, raising his voice so the others could hear him. He pressed the barrel of his pistol against the boy's forehead. "Come and look what I found. I think it's gonna be a real sweetheart."
future
His room was plain, though Steff hadn't expected much, and the only hint of personalization was a stack of books on the desk. Straining to see from where she was sitting, she could only read that they were mostly textbooks and nonfiction. On the other side of the room where a desk was pushed against the wall, a row of empty vials were lined up meticulously, stained with whatever contents that had been inside of them. Cole's glove was dangling on the edge, looking seemingly mundane in the midst of everything.
"Did it stop?" Steff asked to break the awkward silence, looking over slowly. He was sitting beside her, a washcloth covering his mouth and nose. When he gave a muffled answer, she didn't pry, not knowing what she'd say in response anyway.
After another minute, he reached over to drop the washcloth into a nearby rubbish bin, the white fabric already stained beyond repair.
"Well," Cole said in a matter-of-fact tone, wiping a bit of blood that streaked across his face. "I'm basically fucked."
"Cole. You don't have to say things like that," she said, uncomfortable to hear him swear. "You shouldn't take things like this lightly. And…I'm sure we'll find a way to make it better."
He laughed once, leaning his head back against the wall. "You don't have to pretend to be so concerned. We haven't been on very good terms as of late."
"You talk like we're…we're business partners, or something like that." Disappointed, she rested her hands in her lap, wishing she had put her hair in a braid so she had something to fiddle with. Her expression turned a little embarrassed as a thought crossed her mind and she hesitated to voice it. "Do you think, if none of this had happened…"
He gazed at her from the side expectantly, his fingers working a hospital wristband off. It was dumb that he had gone, knowing that mundanes couldn't do anything, but as long as they could prescribe him something to ease whatever symptoms the poison was causing, it was enough.
"Do you think we would have been friends?" She shook her head quickly. "I know, it's a silly question and you're going to say it's stupid but-"
He didn't have to think long to answer. "I don't think we would have. We're far too different and I think the only reasons why we ever became friends was forced propinquity."
A look of surprise crossed her face. "So…We are friends-"
"Were. We were friends maybe once for the quickest split second a while ago but I don't think there's any room in my life for friendship, nor was there ever any room for anything else. I've never had much empathy, you know that, and nor will I but I could almost feel a little bad for wasting so much of your time and-…" Another headache seared through his thoughts and he grew quiet, his features growing blank. "…And by the Angel, can't they just kill me a little faster? I'm getting a little tired of all of this."
She frowned, unsure of how to answer his constant stream of snarky comments. He never seemed to listen to much of what she said and she never liked to think she failed people, but he was often like a leech to her good spirits.
He continued on before she could comment, hollow amusement in his words. "I was thinking maybe I should have gone into that doctor stuff instead of changing my major between languages and business and psychology a million times because I've realized that it's not really helping me and my current situation."
"You'll complete your major the end of this semester, right?" she said, glad to change the subject. Though some mundane concepts were still a little confusing for her to grasp, the time she had worked at Starbucks had given her some knowledge to work on.
"Yes. I'll never get to use it, but it's not like I came here so I could get a job. Anyway-" When he moved to stand, a noticeable fit of lightheadedness passed over his expression and Steff jumped to her feet to set a hand against his arm, just in case. "I'm fine," he insisted in annoyance, pushing her hand away.
She furrowed her eyebrows. "I just worry. That's all. You were about to say something else, though."
"I have to go. I made plans."
A hint of doubt glimmered in her eyes. "Oh. You never said. Where?"
"It isn't any of your business," Cole retorted, his words biting. "Is it, Stephanie?"
"There's no need to be like that," she said, her fingers instantly moving to smooth her hair. "I just wanted to know, but I never said you had to say. I just worry."
"Where I go," he started, "Isn't really for little girls."
She tried to bite her tongue, really tried, but she couldn't help but let out of a quick sigh of frustration. "I am not a little girl. And just because you're set on trying to…to…condemn yourself, it doesn't mean you have to be so rude and ungrateful to me when I'm the only person who ever made any attempt to be nice and hospitable and sometimes…sometimes I want to-"
"You want to what, Stephanie?" Turning his gaze on her, he kept a hand braced against the wall for balance, his breaths quick and shallow. "That's an awful lot of words you've decided to come up with."
"Me trying to help isn't about caring, because I've always wanted to help everyone. You, out of everyone, should know that." Drawing back quickly, she took a step away from him. "It's about being a good person. About being a kind person and a decent human being."
"Ah, but you forget-" his eyes darkened, "-we're hardly human."
Connor hadn't wanted to, but he had moved out of the New York Institute on his twenty third birthday to start a new life traveling the world. Although he had grown attached to New York and a few select people that he was glad to call his friends, the halls held little comfort in them and the rune on his hand seemed to place an everlasting ache in his chest that started to grow unbearable.
For nearly five years, he bounced about different Institutes. He had learned Tagalog in the Philippians, struggled at German, visited relatives in Greenland, Russia, and Vietnam, and traveled across China to practice his Mandarin. Often, he'd reach to the side to touch his brother's hand to point out something he found amusing, but his fingers always skated across empty air and he was silent. Sometimes, people didn't remember he once had a sibling, for they had often been so alike that people saw them as one as if they were viewing them with 3d glasses that merged their reflections onto each other to form a whole.
Somehow, he ended up in London, a little disoriented as he was thrust back into western culture. English was unfamiliar on his tongue and his vocabulary was suddenly so small, so limited.
There was a word he knew in Russian - тоска - and it was something like intense longing. Often, he felt тоска if he stayed in one place too long so he traveled to different places frequently as if he could outrun the ghosts of his past.
London was cold and dreary, but he was often unaffected by the weather. Instead, he welcomed the change of scenery with open arms and made himself comfortable in one of the free rooms in the Institute. People seemed to avoid him, whether it was by accident or on purpose, but he didn't mind. He never had much to say to anyone anyway.
Coming back from a demon hunt with a scratch on his cheek, Connor sheathed his sword and started up the Institute steps. Some Shadowhunter chatted with another in the distance of the front gardens and paid him no attention. Sometimes, when someone did catch his eyes to talk to him, he'd give them a boyish smile and try to be kind, but the years had spoiled his youth. He looked young still, having hardly changed from his time leaving the New York Institute; only his hair had lightened slightly and his arms were etched with more scars of faded runes. Shadowhunters, in spirit, tended to age quickly.
A smudge of blonde hair caught his attention as it disappeared in the door of the Institute and he increased his pace, drawing in a startled breath. The door unlocked under his fingertips and he swung it open, his attention drawn to the girl in front of him.
"Steff?" Connor said delightedly, surprise clear on his features. "By the Angel-"
She hadn't changed much either, but he still wasn't used to seeing her in Shadowhunter gear and he noted that she had cut her hair. A few curls were pulled behind her ears and pinned to keep it from falling in her face, yet she was still the same.
"I didn't know you were visiting here," Steff greeted him and she smiled, tilting her head up to look at him. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"
"You haven't...haven't changed at all." Gesturing at her with one of his hands, he bit his bottom lip to stop a grin. "How have you been?"
"I've been...alright. I think we've all had our ups and downs in the past years," she said and her fingers traveled to the ends of her hair, pulling on it slightly before she let her hands settle at her sides. "I'd give you a hug, but I think I'd burn myself."
"Ah-...Yeah, best to not do that," he agreed, looking down at the ichor on his sleeves. "I'd hate to send you to the Infirmary. But...why are you here?"
"I took some advice when someone once told me to travel." She reached out to touch his hand in a friendly manner, starting to the hall. "Here, let's keep walking. I want to catch up, but I'd rather you not be sent to the Infirmary as well."
Nodding, he started after her. "I didn't think you'd come here. Not when your parents..."
"I'm only here to pick up a few things," she clarified, glancing around the halls. "At least I still remember my way around."
"Well, even if you're only going to be here for a little bit, it's good to see a friend. Raziel knows I haven't seen a familiar face in a long time..." His tone grew somber as if he was just realizing lost time. Slowly, he looked down at his palm, his eyes tracing the mourning rune that reminded him every morning of what he was traveling for. "It's...really good to see you. Honestly."
"Oh, don't make me sentimental." She glanced over at him, her eyes bright. "Do you have any plans soon?"
"Well...I'll be twenty eight next month," he answered, pondering. "And so I'll be travelling to Puerto Rico. I've already filled out my forms to help there. Other than that...I've just been hanging in there."
"It's what we do best."
Steff looked over the rooms before letting him lead so he could find where he was staying. His gear jacket was singed in some parts by the ichor. It was only after training and going on hunts that she was able to laugh at the number of jackets and daggers and swords and arrows they went through a month. Stopping at his door, Connor moved to unlock it.
"Now, before I get on with what I've been doing," he said, pushing his door open, "You have to get me updated on what has been going on at the New York Institute."
At his request, Steff laughed, waiting at the doorway for him to get a new jacket. "Oh...By the Angel. Let's see. Well, right after you left..."
