My muse is an evil son of bitch. For all you writers, have you ever had a perfectly good idea that made sense and worked with your plot, only to finish writing it and realize you typed out something completely different than you planned, and now have a new plot twist to go with it? It's already happened in this story twice.

And now it's happened again. I was powerless to resist.

Disclaimer: I do not, nor have I ever claimed to own The Mortal Instruments.

There was smoggy gray sky above. There was rough gray sidewalk below. There were hulking steel and cement warehouses squatting along the road, empty and gutted like Jack-o-Lanterns. And there was shimmering gray rain all around, falling from above, splashing down below, and running through the roads.

Everything was devoid of color, blending into the background. Everything except the blood that covered Jace's chest like a second skin, and wound down to the ground, mingling with the rain and turning pale pink.

The world was strangely quiet. There was noise, but it was distant, muffled, as if cotton was smashed into his ears. Distantly, he heard someone screaming in Spanish, a baby crying.

Jace tried to sit up but pain washed through his side, forcing him to groan and shift back, pillowing his head against the collar of his jacket. The rain had washed away most of the blood and dirt, but the leather was still torn to bits, and even singed in a few places. His skin tingled where the fat drops of water landed on his bare chest, welling in the indents of his abs.

He tried to remember how he'd gotten here. There was nothing but blank darkness.

Suddenly, his phone rang, cutting through the metaphorical cotton. Groaning, he felt about for his pocket, fingers running over the familiar bump against his thigh. Sliding it out, he flipped it open and held it to his ear.

"Hello?" he asked, wincing at the sound of his voice. He sounded weak. Hurt. He was hurt. But no one needed to know that.

"Jace?" It was Clary. And she was worried. Wonderful. "Thank God, I was so worried." No shit, really? "Where are you? What happened?"

"I'm not sure. Hold on." He tucked the phone in the space between his neck and his chin, feeling every bump and scratch as he swallowed. He was sure it hadn't been that beat up before. Gritting his teeth, he pushed off the wet cement, letting out a low moan when his stomach muscles tried to clench. The phone dropped to the sidewalk, skidding away with a metallic clatter.

"Jace?" Clary's voice was quiet, or it was from such a distance. Had the phone been to his ear he probably would've gone deaf.

"Hold on," he hissed, and when the speaker went silent, he knew she'd heard.

Jace looked around, and saw a place completely abandoned. There were no cars in the street, no teenagers smoking in the alleys, no faces in the glassless windows. There was nothing.

He was lying beside a chain-link fence—warped and rusted with time—that circled a broken-down warehouse, the cement painted with a scattering of neon colored tags, faded with age. Rats scurried through the rotted lumber visible through the door.

Using his hands, he scooted over to lean against the fence. He reached for the phone and brushed away the water, hoping it would still work.

"Clary?" he asked.

"Jace! What happened?" Her voice was distorted but otherwise unaffected.

"I—"

She cut him off. "Did you find Alec? Luke said there was trouble."

Alec? And it all came back to him in a rushing torrent. Magnus' call, rushing to the park, the fight with the faerie knight, Alec hurt, arguing with Magnus, Isabelle crying, driving, someone in the road, people screaming and then…darkness.

"There was a car accident," he said, looking around him again. He didn't remember anything of this place. And where was the car? Where was Alec? Isabelle? Magnus?

Someone groaned from inside the warehouse.

Jace jumped despite himself, and got to his feet, using the fence to prop himself up. "Hold on a second Clary, I think someone's here." He slipped the still-open phone into the mangled pocket of his jacket and stepped quietly through a gap in the links, flakes of rust coming off on his hair. A strip of broken metal prodded his throbbing side but he bit back the yelp that rose in his throat.

He had no weapons, but he balled his hands into fists as he stepped through the gaping doorway. And stood there frozen.

Isabelle lay in a sliver of weak light filtering through the rafters, her arms splayed, her blood-hardened hair spread out in a crimson-and-ebony fan circling her head. Blood splattered her torn clothes, and her skin was deathly white.

"Isabelle!" he yelled, and she twitched, her face flickering with momentary pain before smoothing over once more. Dropping down beside her, Jace gripped her arm, and his fingers came away sticky with half-congealed blood. There was a ragged gash running the length of her forearm, the tattered sleeve of her shirt stiff with blood and gore. The edges of the cut were tinged green. "Isabelle!"

Jace shook her, and her eyes fluttered open. Lines appeared on her forehead and around her mouth, sweat gathering on her cheeks. Her eyes were glazed over.

"Alec?" she asked, and her voice shook.

Jace patted himself down, searching for his stele. All he found was the still humming phone. He lifted it to his ear.

"I'll call you back." And he hung up, cutting off Clary's protest.

"Alec?" Isabelle asked again, a hint of light flickering behind her eyes, turning them from matte black to coffee, for just the briefest of seconds.

"Just hold on," Jace said, glancing around for something that might help. Anything.

Isabelle squeezed his arm, hard. "Alec?" Her voice had grown in strength and authority, trembling only slightly.

Jace sighed and peeled off his jacket, tearing what was left into long thin strips. He wrapped them around the wound, frowning as Isabelle gasped, her mouth opening into a little 'o'.

"Okay," he said, brushing his hands off on his jeans. "I'll go find him and be right back."

Isabelle smiled.

Jace searched every inch of the warehouse. He walked around outside—going as far as he could without endangering Isabelle. He stood in the rain until the blood was washed from his skin and his hair clung to his forehead.

Alec—and Magnus—were nowhere to be seen.

There is a side story here. One I did not plan, but one that sprang to life anyway. It would probably add about 5 chapters to the fic if told in full. Or, I could just write the end result and publish what happens as a separate story, seeing as this is about Alec/Magnus and not Jace or Isabelle. But, once again, I'm leaving it up to you guys. Tell me which you would prefer.