Jem paced his room with agitation, ignoring the sweaty veil of hair that covered his eyes. His fingernails dug into his palms, creating red crescents in his pale skin. Charlotte hadn't seen Will leave the Institute but he had been gone for quite a while; the party had ended hours ago. He's probably just wandering the streets...Perhaps slightly drunk from all the drinks he had tonight, Jem tried to console himself, with no avail.

Even Jessamine seemed slightly worried, her small mouth pinched in a small grim line. Of course, though, she had retired to her room when Charlotte asked if she wanted to help clean up. With a hopeful smile on her small face, Charlotte had assured that Will would come back soon, but whether he would come back in one piece was the real question.

Stooping to pick up his stele, Jem considered using a tracking rune to find Will, but quickly pushed that thought aside when he saw the state of the outside weather. It was pouring; sheets of water barreling down at the sullen streets. A few 'dollymops' were visible in the pail light of the moon, their ratted hair and exposed corsets filthy and damp from the rain. They leaned sullenly on the sides of the buildings that lined the London streets, trying to stay as dry as possible.

Jem's thoughts quickly dissipated when Will opened the door and limped in. He was holding his leg and he had a cut on his cheek. His clothes, which were once quite clean and elegant, were now torn and drenched in rain. Usually his eyes were a dark blue, but they were hazed with a bloodshot look of exhaustion. He reeked of alcohol, no doubt from the Christmas party. Despite Will bedraggled condition, Jem rushed to his side and helped Will into a chair. Sitting awkwardly in the chair, Will's face was twisted in a pained scowl.

"By the Angel, where do you go?" Jem asked, wiping mud from his arm.

"This time...I really don't know." Will slurred, rubbing his temples. "I was walking down the street and into a shop, then I did something and another of the sorts and blacked out."

"That's not really as descriptive as you could be...What were you doing out in the rain?"

"It wasn't raining when I left. I was feeling rather offended that this one particular sandy-haired and hideously green-eyed Shadowhunter insulted Wales, so I went to go seek solace in drinks and my birthplace."

"You couldn't actually have gone to Wales. You're drunk, Will. Sleep it off." Jem moved to pull him up when Will held up an impatient hand.

"I was walking down the street and talking about the sheep singing and the dragons and I met this other man and I don't really remember what happened after that." Will frowned, shifting on the chair. "All I remember was waking up and falling off an abnormally splintery table with a sharp pain. Then I looked and they had tattooed the bloody Welsh Dragon on me. Don't get me wrong, the ale in Wales is fabulous, but I don't love it that much to get the Welsh Dragon tattooed on a very private area."

"Private area?" Jem stifled a laugh, turning away so Will couldn't see the dark flush on his cheeks. "I'm sure the fault is none but your own."

"What a supportive parabatai, you bloody bastard." Will grimaced, tugging at his waistcoat. "Mae'r nain gwaedlyd a'r hwyaid cachu yn y ffynnon yn jyst yn mynd i fy lladd a bwyta fy nghorff marw."

"Don't get me wrong, I'm not Welsh, but I understood enough of what you said...And it still doesn't make any sense. For starters, ducks, grandmother, and kill should never be in the same sentence."

"It meant," Will said drunkenly, "The grandmother and the bloody duck shit in the well is just going to kill me and eat my body dies."

"That still doesn't make the slightest sense." Jem looked at Will in puzzlement, a small smile playing on his mouth. "I still cannot believe you just went out and got a tattoo of the Welsh Dragon. You really do need to get a grip on your...problems."

"To each their own. If you wanted to get a tattoo of a naked woman on your forehead, I wouldn't judge you any different."

"I am not going-"

"Scratch that. Actually, I would." Will sighed dramatically, pushing his hair from his face. "Can't you at least try to understand my endeavors. In Raziel's name, James, you are acting too saint-like for my taste. I need a drink. You need a drink as well. You need to go put acid on Henry's inventions. I think I've only heard you swear about 5-"

"3 times." Jem corrected, sitting down on the trunk at the base of his bed. "If you count bloody hell as a swear word."

"That doesn't count."

"Stupid?"

"Of course not."

"Damn?"

"No."

"Idiot?"

"In what sane world is idiot a swear word?"

"Mine."

"You live a sad, sullen life, James. Do you even know what a sin is? Do you know what a pub is? Do you know what a brothel is?"

"I know what a brothel is! I'm not a dullard, just a-"

"Just a what?" Will's eyes glinted in amusement. "Oh, never mind. It's worthless talking to you. Someday, I tell you, I will get you to drop your saint-like act and show you the real world."

"And be what you have become? I think I'll stay here."

"If you mean that I have become remarkably handsome, I would say you need a dose of whatever I do as well."

"Gracious, Will-"

"Gracious?" Will queried, confused. "Who uses gracious nowadays?"

"I do. Now, it's quite late at night and I want to sleep. So, you can go with your new dragon of Wales into your room and sleep." Jem said, pushing a very exasperated Will from his armchair. Will just glared at him and crawled back in the chair, burying his head in his knees. Jem sighed in resignation, wondering why he always had to deal with his drunk, and often delusional, parabatai.