A/N: This is shorter than usual, but I felt this would need to be a separate "chapter".

Chapter six: Jace

Alec was in Magnus's and his bedroom, Clary "watching" him. She sat in a chair beside his bed, which he was laying down in – supposedly healing. Jace and Magnus argued in the other room (like always), over something Alec didn't even try to or bother to understand.

Having nothing else good to do, Alec looked at Clary. He had given her a funny look, hoping she'd see it as a question, like: what the hell are you doing in here? And, why, do you even bother to stay in here?

This had been proven as a semi-tangible method. After several seconds, Clary had shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "I was supposed to watch you until Isabel came back," she said. She played with her hands in her lap.

"Oh," Alec said, though he didn't really care. There was an awkward silence. "Where has Simon been, anyway?" He didn't really care about that either; he just wanted to pass the time.

"I don't know," Clary said, looking troubled. "Not here." Alec figured the Mark of Cain had its effects – effects he didn't even want to (or need to, for that matter) know about. It probably wasn't even his business.

Alec tried to be as still as possible so his cuts could heal. This was proven difficult, since so many distractions sounded around him. Clary, who stared at him as if he were a disease. Jace, whose voice boomed throughout the other room and travelled into his current one. And Magnus, who was also arguing with Jace (though he didn't raise his voice), wasn't in there – with him –like he was supposed to be.

But this poignant thought was cut off by a sudden feeling which left Alec feeling fuzzy and incoherent. Things around him felt like it were molding into circlets and shapeless blurs. Some kind of ringing – one that he had realized he had heard before – started to tackle his ears and hush their abilities to listen and attest to him.

"Are you… okay?" Clary asked, standing abruptly. Alec had sat up and was making his way out the door. He didn't exactly care about his hair, standing up in a crown around his head. Or his clothing, which seemed to not be clothing at all.

Alec couldn't control his movements or summon up his ability to speak. Everything was a blur; a mash of color. He remembered hearing Clary call out and run after him. He wasn't sure what she said, exactly. He wasn't sure as to what was going on.

His mind only seemed to breathe in desire. Desire for something he couldn't dare want, couldn't dare need. It screamed for someone, screeched in woe – like a lover were to be killed, like a child that had lost his mother.

He saw Features. Features that were strangely angelic: one that included a flash of blonde hair. Golden eyes that shone in nothing but bravery. And it suddenly became clear; he had thought of only one person, and one person only. Alec's thoughts were on one goal, and one goal only.

Jace. All he heard, and all he thought was Jace. All he would ever need, and all he would ever want: Jacejacejace.

When he walked out the door, Magnus was standing there in front of him. He didn't see him ask him questions, or kindly put his hand on his arm. He saw only Jace.

On the kitchen counter, his eyes caught a glimpse of where a knife lay. Without thinking, he picked it up.

He heard people calling out his name, his actions. But all he heard were his thoughts; what he thought to be his thoughts. He heard them pleading for him to stop… when he didn't even know how or why he was even moving.

They were pleading for him to listen, wait, and to understand. But he only saw the golden eyes. The silvery blonde hair. The beautiful face he wished that he could have; that he wished he could belong to.

As he dared to walk towards Jace, he saw the golden eyes widen. The glint of bravery was gone and was replaced with a sliver of worry. Fear. Fear for not himself, but for his friend. For his brother.

Alec wanted those eyes. He wanted them to be gauged and ripped out and splayed on the floor. "Jace," Alec whispered. He heard voices in his head, yelling: Jacejacejacejacejace. He heard his thoughts scramble around, as if they were dying and crawling on the kitchen floor.

But he felt something hit him, finishing off his thoughts, and him losing his grip. The knife had clattered to the floor. He fell back, too - right into someone's arms. He lost consciousness for the hundredth time he had since he arrived in Idris.

He hoped to the Angel it were to be the last time.

--