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Not Your Alec

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”You’re him,” Alec blurts, making away slowly, holding the wooden box.  “You’re Johnathon Morgenstern,” he whispers.  He had put it together — with the help of Max.  Surprisingly, Max had actually decided to come to him with this information and thank the Angel he did.  Who knows what would’ve happened to him if he chose to pursue this by himself.  Alec shivers at the thought.

 

Past this, he was infuriated.  Sebastian betrayed them.  Lied to them, used them all.  Any ounce of gratitude Alec had for what he did for Isabelle vanished.  She had been manipulated.  Her yin fen addicted mind was vulnerable and Sebastian — no, Johnathon — has took advantage of that.  It was disgusting and despicable, stabbing someone in the back on the hour of need.

 

Sebastian’s eyes darkened, turning a sickening black, his face contorted into a predatorial smirk.  He walked forward, cornering Alec.  “I suppose you won’t be keeping this a secret?”  With all his force, Alec through the box at Sebastian’s head and turned on his heel.  He was centimetres away from the door — sweet escape — when his body was slammed against the wall.  His eyes widened and he gasped, a sharp pain shooting through his body.  “I take that as a no.”

 

The demon blooded Shadowhunter pinned him down, his hands squishing Alec’s face so he couldn’t scream.  Dread filled him, never in his life had Alec felt so vulnerable.  His stele was on the other side of the room, attempting to run for it was a fruitless endeavour.  He was trapped.  He desperately tried to tug on his parabatai connection, hoping Jace could feel what he was feeling.

 

”C-Clary will never love you if you do this to me,” Alec splutters.  Johnathon’s head tilts, his pitch black eyes meeting Alec’s hazel orbs.  It was a low blow, they both knew it was from his desperation.  However that being said, it was completely true.  Clary would never forgive Sebastian if he hurt Alec.

 

”Really?”  He mutters darkly.  “You are her mother’s killer.”  The words cut Alec deeply.  Guilt, anger, pain, shame all washed over him.  He would never forgive himself for murdering Jocelyn — demon possession or not, what he did was unforgivable.  But now wasn’t the time to allow his weaknesses be exploited.  Before he could retaliate, his body was flung across the room in one quick motion.  A large thud echoed, his body slumping down.

 

Blood trailed down his head, his body aflame with turmoil.  Alec’s breathing wasn’t heavy, his chest heaving.  Squinting, he looked to his left.  His stele.  He tentatively reached it.  The item was in his hand and for the first time since he entered this room he felt as if he had a chance of survival.  

He yelped.  Sebastian stood on his hand, the sound of bones crunching penetrated the air.  “She’ll never forgive you,” he muttered feebly.

 

”That’s a risk worth taking.”  

Another crack of bones was emitted, but this time Alec didn’t open his eyes.  Dying, he gave a small smile — on that vanished as soon as it appeared — to a world that had been so unkind to him.

 

Jace collapsed, clutching his parabatai tune in immense shock.  They all knew what happened.  On that day, Alec Lightwood died.

 


 

“Alexander Gideon Lightwood!”  Robert boomed.  “You will marry Lydia Branwell.  You have no choice in the matter.”

 

”But it’s my life!”  He shouted back.  Alec glanced after his mother, hoping for her to defend him, but he was only met with disappointment.  Tears stung his eyes, his lip quivering.  “You can’t do this to me.  You can’t make me pay for your mistakes—”

 

Robert slapped him.  The young man’s face turned slightly, the force moving his face.  A red handprint began to form on him.  The tears he tried to stop began to shed.

 

”Enough!”  Maryse spoke.  Her eyes, cruel and colder than ever peered deeply into Alec’s blue ones.  “You will never speak of your — your faggotry ever again.  There will be no negotiation.  You are to marry Miss Branwell once the Clave approves.”  

Alec froze.  “What do you mean?  Since when has the marriage of two Shadowhunters required permission.  Maryse, what are you not telling me?”  

“As Head of the New York Institution, you are to help a special patient in Alicante Asylum.  Once you have mended him, you are free to marry Lydia and have a full life and have children.”  Her tone was sickly sweet and obviously sugarcoated.  Alec didn’t like it one bit.  

He hated the situation.  He just wished he had someone.  Isabelle, the first person he came out to, was long gone.  On her thirteenth birthday she along with an eight year old Max her kidnapped, held hostage and . . .  murdered.  They are both so young and promising.  Ever since then, Jace Wayland has been the perfect son: handsome, strong, straight. Everything he was not.

 

Ever since their deaths, Jace’s and Alec’s parabatai bond had been weak, barely functioning as is.  Maybe if Alec has tried to make an effort things would’ve ended differently.  Instead, Jace was found dead.  The deed having been done by a Seelie.  He barely felt it, a small twinge in his heart and then a faint connection disappear like a ghost. There was no way Alec shouldn’t have realised his parabatai had been in danger.

 

He lost his Jace, his friend, his brother, his soulmate.  No word could describe the pain he felt looking at Jace’s dead body.  The crippling pain he experienced when his parabatai rune disappeared.  He lost apart of himself.

 

Robert handled things terribly.  He lost his temper easily, grief become blinding rage.  His marriage was ruined.  He cheated.  Again.  And again.  He turned his back on his family.  

Maryse was no better, not truly.  She stopped loving Alec — and probably wouldn’t deny it.  There was no motherly affection in her stares, only contempt — of all my children why did it have to be him to live?  She silently stood by as Robert beat him repeatedly, showing the young boy no mercy.

 

Just when Alec broke, she would be there.  A loving smile, a box of tissues and a long hug.  She would torment him and then stop him from going passed the edge.  It was a routine.  Break him, fix him, repeat.  Her kind words of support as she applied make up on his bruises or cleaned his cuts made him melt.

 

It was twisted.  He was twisted.  Maybe that’s why he became a psychiatrist, if he couldn’t help himself then he could help others.  In this day, most Shadowhunters had secondary jobs — typically relating to demon hunting.  Alec’s job was to treat the criminally insane (among other things, he tended to have only criminals as patients and the rare nephilim).


“Who is my patient?”  Alec asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.

”Magnus Bane.”