igrab
in
grabi_hands
❧ we are none of us meant to be alone • will/jem
we are none of us meant to be alone
will/jem
❧ 1.8k
❧ not necessarily a romantic pairing
❧ spoilers for the first half-ish of clockwork prince
He was small and strange-looking. Not because of the tilt of his eyes, the pout of his mouth, or the shiny straight fall of his hair - no, he was strange-looking to this young Shadowhunter because he didn't smile.
Not that he should be smiling. Will had heard his parents were dead, thanks to a bit of careful eavesdropping, and he didn't know how to feel about it. He didn't know what it was like to have your parents ripped away from you. He only knew what it was like to rip yourself away from them.
But this boy, James - nothing seemed to make him smile. It was in his darkest moments that Will smiled the most, he was terrified of anyone seeing his pain, thinking they could make him happy. Nothing could make him happy. Love would only hurt him.
James Carstairs sat in window seats and stared out into the distance and didn't care if people saw that he was sad. But he didn't respond to them, either, and everyone reacted differently - Charlotte by smothering him, Henry by assuming he was fine and trying to talk to him about all the wrong things. Will watched him silently and tried to work out what it was about him that was so very, very wrong.
It was just - he'd never been face to face with someone that was so desperately unhappy for reasons that had nothing to do with him. He didn't know what he was supposed to do about it. There was no handbook for this, no play or fable that taught how cursed boys were supposed to deal with unrelated sad people.
Several days later, he admitted to himself that he simply didn't like being sad.
The curse said nothing about his own feelings. If it had, his family would surely be dead by now, and Charlotte and Henry and Tatiana. He tried not to love them for fear it would show, but sometimes, he couldn't help it. He'd shamed Tatiana not necessarily because she was infatuated with him, but because Will cared about her, he really did. He cared about her, so he didn't want anything bad to happen to her, so he had to protect her. From himself.
So, this wasn't a good idea, but he promised himself he'd make James hate him if he started caring back. It was just - Will needed to make him smile. There were enough unhappy people in the world on Will's account, and if he could make one person happy, then maybe he could undo a little of the wrong he'd done.
❦
It took him a week to make James smile. Another two before it was a daily occurrence. And many more weeks before the smiles grew more frequent than that.
He wouldn't talk much, but he listened, and Will was quite good at doing the talking. He had a feeling that listening to Will was James's way of dividing himself from the world - putting a wall up against the pain, because it hurt too much to think about.
It was months before Will realized there was no wall.
❦
It was December and London was blanketed in thick layers of snow. They were on the roof, and James was shivering so hard he was shaking in his coat so Will, unthinking, pulled him into his arms. The smaller boy snuggled right up to him immediately, tucking his head under his chin, and Will tightened his arms until the shivers subsided to a faint vibration.
"We could go inside if you like," he said, perhaps a little belatedly, but James shook his head.
"I like it here," he whispered. "I like being with you. You're a wonderful person, Will."
It struck him, then, that James really meant it. He really, honestly liked him, he wasn't just using him for his distracting stories anymore. He sought him out. Talked with him. Listened.
It was the listening part that made Will realize he had already gone too far.
"I'm not," he said, automatically, trying for flippant and ending up sounding choked. "I'm really quite horrible."
"Mmm." James certainly wasn't buying any of it, and he had to notice the way Will's heart thrummed faster and faster - not with nerves, but with abject terror. "Not to me."
"No," Will whispered. "Not to you."
❦
So then he was.
It was a terrible, awful, painfully wrenching month. Will had been distant, but never cruel, not like this. His tongue became a weapon and he used it to cut deep, deeper than he would've thought possible, and everyone in the Institute was shocked and horrified - everyone except the one he'd meant to be wounding.
On the contrary, Will's terrible attitude seemed to flow off James Carstairs like water. He still sat with him, trained with him, ate sitting next to him, and Will tried his absolute best to be a vicious terror to no avail. James didn't even flinch when he lashed out, wasn't offended when he insulted him, ignored him - not even when he brought up his dead parents.
He didn't flinch, no, but he didn't respond to that as he had to some of Will's other barbs, with careful thoughtfulness. He was just quiet, pretending he hadn't heard at all. Perhaps that was the final straw - he'd done his worst and it was neither pushing him away or pulling him closer, it just didn't seem to have any effect at all, and no one likes doing something for nothing.
When Will found James in the music room the next morning, the young man put down his violin and looked up at him with round black eyes. "Are you done now?" It was a simple question, as if he'd been cruel for five minutes instead of five weeks. Will collapsed in a wretched ball at his feet.
"No," he muttered, because even if he couldn't do it anymore, he wouldn't admit to having tried. He would leave, then, and it was exhausting already, just to think of it. Is this how the rest of his life would play out? Moving from place to place, never being able to love, never being allowed to let someone show the slightest bit of kindness?
But then, and it was a curious thing, that now was the time he noticed, but if God did have a hand in things, this was the one time he gave Will something rather than take it away.
"...Your eyes," he whispered, staring up into them. "They've got silver in them."
Those selfsame eyes widened in shock and Will could hear a slow intake of breath, like James was trying to steady himself. "I-I. You must be mistaken."
"I'm not." Will rose to his knees, his hands coming up to brace on James's thighs. "They're going silver. They've never had silver in them before. What's wrong?"
He was asking, not because of the eyes, but because he could feel him shaking, shuddering, the same way he had that night up on the roof - but this room was perfectly warm.
"I-It's not a-anything I swear," he whispered, but Will didn't even both pointing out that it was a lie. They both knew he meant the exact opposite.
"Tell me," Will demanded, because he wasn't yet good at plaintive wheedling and some part of him was angry at James, angry because he was so good-hearted, angry because he hadn't been hurt a bit by Will's best efforts.
James went rather still. He was staring out now, at the window, and he looked so much like the boy that Will first knew that it frightened him. "...I suppose you would've found out eventually," he said, in a dry rattle of a whisper.
Will leaned up, his arms sliding to cradle the other boy's legs. "...Tell me, please, Jem," he said, and James looked quickly down, a sudden bright spark of a smile on his face.
"Jem?"
Will grinned. "A nickname," he explained. "I've never cared for Jim or Jamie. You're much too precious for that."
Jem got the entendre there and he laughed, softly, his bright bell-like voice ringing sweeter than music in Will's ears.
The next words he said, though, still with that smile on his face, changed Will's life forever.
"I'm dying."
❦
It took Will a day and a half to truly think through everything he was feeling. There was this swimming, heady warmth every time he thought of his friend - that was nothing new. That Will loved him was a certainty. That Jem loved him in return -
"I'm dying," he'd said. "I have been for almost a year now. I can die quickly, from withdrawal, or slowly. As slow as I can. Both will be very painful." He'd shifted in Will's hands, squirmed until he moved, but only to slide behind him and wrap his arms around his chest like they were picking up where they had left off, up on that rooftop. "...I'm glad you're here," he'd said, after he'd told him everything. "I don't want to die alone."
That -
That was what had Will thinking so hard. Dying, and loneliness.
If Jem loved him, he would die. But he was dying anyway, slowly or quickly, but certainly, and now that Will had been made aware of it, it was suddenly clear as crystal just how much the 'painful' had already begun. It was this black sordid thing that Jem, perfect Jem, was inextricably tied to, and that was what made him so sadly resigned. It wasn't just that his parents were gone, Will thought. It was that he'd be joining them soon.
If Jem loved him, he would die. But if he died loving Will, he would not die alone, and maybe he could die - peacefully. At least, more peaceful than death by withdrawal, or by the slow, slow poison of demon's blood.
Maybe this was something that Will could let himself have.
❦
"I love you," he said, sudden and quiet into the library stillness. Jem looked up and smiled, warm and radiant.
"Yes, I know," he murmured. "And I love you just as much. Never doubt that."
He never did. He could see it in his eyes, just the way the demon had said - love, shining like twin silver-flecked suns. I will be the death of you, Will thought, as he gathered his friend into his arms, but I will never let you go.
They each needed, for their own reasons, to know that they would never be alone.
will/jem
❧ 1.8k
❧ not necessarily a romantic pairing
❧ spoilers for the first half-ish of clockwork prince
He was small and strange-looking. Not because of the tilt of his eyes, the pout of his mouth, or the shiny straight fall of his hair - no, he was strange-looking to this young Shadowhunter because he didn't smile.
Not that he should be smiling. Will had heard his parents were dead, thanks to a bit of careful eavesdropping, and he didn't know how to feel about it. He didn't know what it was like to have your parents ripped away from you. He only knew what it was like to rip yourself away from them.
But this boy, James - nothing seemed to make him smile. It was in his darkest moments that Will smiled the most, he was terrified of anyone seeing his pain, thinking they could make him happy. Nothing could make him happy. Love would only hurt him.
James Carstairs sat in window seats and stared out into the distance and didn't care if people saw that he was sad. But he didn't respond to them, either, and everyone reacted differently - Charlotte by smothering him, Henry by assuming he was fine and trying to talk to him about all the wrong things. Will watched him silently and tried to work out what it was about him that was so very, very wrong.
It was just - he'd never been face to face with someone that was so desperately unhappy for reasons that had nothing to do with him. He didn't know what he was supposed to do about it. There was no handbook for this, no play or fable that taught how cursed boys were supposed to deal with unrelated sad people.
Several days later, he admitted to himself that he simply didn't like being sad.
The curse said nothing about his own feelings. If it had, his family would surely be dead by now, and Charlotte and Henry and Tatiana. He tried not to love them for fear it would show, but sometimes, he couldn't help it. He'd shamed Tatiana not necessarily because she was infatuated with him, but because Will cared about her, he really did. He cared about her, so he didn't want anything bad to happen to her, so he had to protect her. From himself.
So, this wasn't a good idea, but he promised himself he'd make James hate him if he started caring back. It was just - Will needed to make him smile. There were enough unhappy people in the world on Will's account, and if he could make one person happy, then maybe he could undo a little of the wrong he'd done.
❦
It took him a week to make James smile. Another two before it was a daily occurrence. And many more weeks before the smiles grew more frequent than that.
He wouldn't talk much, but he listened, and Will was quite good at doing the talking. He had a feeling that listening to Will was James's way of dividing himself from the world - putting a wall up against the pain, because it hurt too much to think about.
It was months before Will realized there was no wall.
❦
It was December and London was blanketed in thick layers of snow. They were on the roof, and James was shivering so hard he was shaking in his coat so Will, unthinking, pulled him into his arms. The smaller boy snuggled right up to him immediately, tucking his head under his chin, and Will tightened his arms until the shivers subsided to a faint vibration.
"We could go inside if you like," he said, perhaps a little belatedly, but James shook his head.
"I like it here," he whispered. "I like being with you. You're a wonderful person, Will."
It struck him, then, that James really meant it. He really, honestly liked him, he wasn't just using him for his distracting stories anymore. He sought him out. Talked with him. Listened.
It was the listening part that made Will realize he had already gone too far.
"I'm not," he said, automatically, trying for flippant and ending up sounding choked. "I'm really quite horrible."
"Mmm." James certainly wasn't buying any of it, and he had to notice the way Will's heart thrummed faster and faster - not with nerves, but with abject terror. "Not to me."
"No," Will whispered. "Not to you."
❦
So then he was.
It was a terrible, awful, painfully wrenching month. Will had been distant, but never cruel, not like this. His tongue became a weapon and he used it to cut deep, deeper than he would've thought possible, and everyone in the Institute was shocked and horrified - everyone except the one he'd meant to be wounding.
On the contrary, Will's terrible attitude seemed to flow off James Carstairs like water. He still sat with him, trained with him, ate sitting next to him, and Will tried his absolute best to be a vicious terror to no avail. James didn't even flinch when he lashed out, wasn't offended when he insulted him, ignored him - not even when he brought up his dead parents.
He didn't flinch, no, but he didn't respond to that as he had to some of Will's other barbs, with careful thoughtfulness. He was just quiet, pretending he hadn't heard at all. Perhaps that was the final straw - he'd done his worst and it was neither pushing him away or pulling him closer, it just didn't seem to have any effect at all, and no one likes doing something for nothing.
When Will found James in the music room the next morning, the young man put down his violin and looked up at him with round black eyes. "Are you done now?" It was a simple question, as if he'd been cruel for five minutes instead of five weeks. Will collapsed in a wretched ball at his feet.
"No," he muttered, because even if he couldn't do it anymore, he wouldn't admit to having tried. He would leave, then, and it was exhausting already, just to think of it. Is this how the rest of his life would play out? Moving from place to place, never being able to love, never being allowed to let someone show the slightest bit of kindness?
But then, and it was a curious thing, that now was the time he noticed, but if God did have a hand in things, this was the one time he gave Will something rather than take it away.
"...Your eyes," he whispered, staring up into them. "They've got silver in them."
Those selfsame eyes widened in shock and Will could hear a slow intake of breath, like James was trying to steady himself. "I-I. You must be mistaken."
"I'm not." Will rose to his knees, his hands coming up to brace on James's thighs. "They're going silver. They've never had silver in them before. What's wrong?"
He was asking, not because of the eyes, but because he could feel him shaking, shuddering, the same way he had that night up on the roof - but this room was perfectly warm.
"I-It's not a-anything I swear," he whispered, but Will didn't even both pointing out that it was a lie. They both knew he meant the exact opposite.
"Tell me," Will demanded, because he wasn't yet good at plaintive wheedling and some part of him was angry at James, angry because he was so good-hearted, angry because he hadn't been hurt a bit by Will's best efforts.
James went rather still. He was staring out now, at the window, and he looked so much like the boy that Will first knew that it frightened him. "...I suppose you would've found out eventually," he said, in a dry rattle of a whisper.
Will leaned up, his arms sliding to cradle the other boy's legs. "...Tell me, please, Jem," he said, and James looked quickly down, a sudden bright spark of a smile on his face.
"Jem?"
Will grinned. "A nickname," he explained. "I've never cared for Jim or Jamie. You're much too precious for that."
Jem got the entendre there and he laughed, softly, his bright bell-like voice ringing sweeter than music in Will's ears.
The next words he said, though, still with that smile on his face, changed Will's life forever.
"I'm dying."
❦
It took Will a day and a half to truly think through everything he was feeling. There was this swimming, heady warmth every time he thought of his friend - that was nothing new. That Will loved him was a certainty. That Jem loved him in return -
"I'm dying," he'd said. "I have been for almost a year now. I can die quickly, from withdrawal, or slowly. As slow as I can. Both will be very painful." He'd shifted in Will's hands, squirmed until he moved, but only to slide behind him and wrap his arms around his chest like they were picking up where they had left off, up on that rooftop. "...I'm glad you're here," he'd said, after he'd told him everything. "I don't want to die alone."
That -
That was what had Will thinking so hard. Dying, and loneliness.
If Jem loved him, he would die. But he was dying anyway, slowly or quickly, but certainly, and now that Will had been made aware of it, it was suddenly clear as crystal just how much the 'painful' had already begun. It was this black sordid thing that Jem, perfect Jem, was inextricably tied to, and that was what made him so sadly resigned. It wasn't just that his parents were gone, Will thought. It was that he'd be joining them soon.
If Jem loved him, he would die. But if he died loving Will, he would not die alone, and maybe he could die - peacefully. At least, more peaceful than death by withdrawal, or by the slow, slow poison of demon's blood.
Maybe this was something that Will could let himself have.
❦
"I love you," he said, sudden and quiet into the library stillness. Jem looked up and smiled, warm and radiant.
"Yes, I know," he murmured. "And I love you just as much. Never doubt that."
He never did. He could see it in his eyes, just the way the demon had said - love, shining like twin silver-flecked suns. I will be the death of you, Will thought, as he gathered his friend into his arms, but I will never let you go.
They each needed, for their own reasons, to know that they would never be alone.