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Chapter Text

He was still a little out of breath once he was back at the Institute. Isabelle had gone off to call Alec and reassure him she was unharmed, and now he wandered the halls with only his own thoughts. He didn't appreciate the sudden idleness, he did not wish to wallow in the knowledge he'd just gained. Perhaps he should head to the training grounds, merely to have something to do—

He stopped right outside the spiral staircase leading up to the greenhouse. Voices echoed down, in a volume normal people wouldn't have heard, but he could. He recognised Clary's, sweet and gentle. “...didn't need to do all this. You know I was never truly angry at you.”

It was Jace who answered. His was soft, in ways Sebastian had never heard him sound. There was none of that bravado he usually put out, no arrogance or defensiveness. “I still wanted to show you I was sorry.”

He couldn't help himself. He looked up through the slits of metal, albeit he knew there was no catching a glimpse from down there. He wanted to know what they were talking about, he wanted to know why Clary seemed to care so much about Jace. There was some deep rooted hope that it had something to do with her believing him her brother, that the love she had wasn't like Valentine's; only meant for one of them. “Well, I forgive you. I mean, how couldn't I, after tasting these sandwiches?”

There was a pause. She had joked, but Jace wasn't laughing. “She was right, you know,” he said. “The Seelie Queen. She's right about me. I'm wretched.”

“Jace—”

“No, Clary, it's true. The blood in me— I'm part demon. It must be why.”

Sebastian's throat closed painfully. He felt his heart lurch until it had climbed all the way to the back of his mouth. He grabbed to a pole of the staircase and leaned forward to listen with anxious anticipation.  

“Magnus is part demon,” said Clary. “Being part demon doesn't mean anything, it doesn't make you evil.”

Not true, Valentine's treacherous voice whispered in his mind. Naive girl.

“Magnus was naturally born that way. I'm an experiment, something that never should have existed. You know that even your mother—” he corrected himself; “our mother… didn't want to meet me.”

It was a similar sensation as before; like something was pushing behind his eyelids, forwards, trying to break open his skull. It wasn't angry anymore, though. It was a much more pathetic feeling, the kind that would bring tears if he wasn't so versed in suppressing them. 

“You know how I feel about what mom did.”

“But she's right. What kind of mother would want to face their child as I am? I'm wrong.”

“Jace, stop.”

“No. It explains everything about me, just like the Queen said.”

Shut up, he wanted to scream. He wanted to barge in there and make Jace swallow his words. What right did he have, to steal his grief? What right did—?

No. He felt a buried, deeper emotion stirring, and he stifled it back down. 

Clary was still speaking, exasperated; “what does it explain, Jace? How you're kind, and fearless, and loyal, and everything demons aren't?”

Everything you aren't, the shadows gleefully reminded him.

“It explains,” said Jace, evenly, “why I feel the way I do about you.” For a moment, Clary did not answer. When she did, she was too quiet for Sebastian to hear her. Jace spoke again; “I lied. That's what demons do. They lie.”

“Stop,” he could hear the crying in her voice; not external, but barely contained. “What you're saying is horrible. You're saying you only love me because you're evil. You're just using me to hate yourself even more.”

“I never said I was using you—”

“Then say you'd love me even if you didn't have demon blood.”

No words came. Instead, Sebastian heard rustling, and shifting. He was quick to move, diving for the corner where the next hallway crossed and out of view. It was Jace climbing down the stairs, putting on his jacket in angry but dejected motions. His face was shrouded in shadow, and he was muttering curses under his breath. 

All he could hear from upstairs was Clary's soft crying.

He reached the Fey Realm by foot alone. The sunrise was beginning to creep up on him. He couldn't sleep, and he did not fancy lingering with the heaviness his heart was burdened with. This was a nice distraction, and a way to rid himself of obligation.

A couple of guards greeted him. Among them was Meliorn, who had that same glint of distaste in his eye. Sebastian arched an eyebrow at him challengingly — he knew this fey liked Shadowhunters alright, so to him the attitude was hypocritical.

No words were exchanged. They led him through thick trees as he stepped between roots, until he spotted the Queen a little ways off. She was kneeling down in front of one great oak, speaking to, as far as he could tell, no one; “why must you be so stubborn? Our brightest days are long behind us.”

“My lady,” one of the guards muttered with a flourishing bow. “Sebastian Morgenstern is here to visit you.”

He side-eyed them, gritting his teeth. It was one thing for her to know, and another for the entire Court to be aware, especially considering Meliorn's bias towards Isabelle. Though, regrettably, it made sense that fey would not keep secrets between each other.

“Ah, lovely!” she straightened up at once, clapping both hands together in a show of great delight. “Perhaps he can convince this oak to let go of their acorns.”

He blinked at her. 

She waved her hand nonchalantly at her entourage. “Leave us.”

“My lady,” Meliorn began to protest. He was tense, with one hand on the hilt of his sword as if expecting a surprise attack. “We do not know if the experiment is stable.”

The comment irritated him, though when he felt it the emotion was accompanied by something akin to boredom.

He was tired of suppressing. Clearly, here, he didn't have to pretend, and so he allowed the shadows to crawl inside of him and move his mouth to form biting words; “why don't you let her get closer, little fairy, and I'll show you how stable I am?”

Meliorn snarled at him. “I'll cut you in half before I let you lay a finger on her.”

“Meliorn,” the Queen spoke. Immediately the one addressed shifted into a position of attention. “He won't hurt me. Do not concern yourself with it and leave us, please.”

Meliorn looked like he wanted to argue, but he bit his tongue. Sebastian could not help but watch him with gleeful spite as he bowed and they all obediently retreated. 

“You came,” she said, waving with a hand for him to approach her. “I am glad.”

Don't take the bait. He didn't move, instead; “I have done what you asked. Release me of my debt.”

“You have not,” her tone took on a scolding tone, though it was as cheerful as a teacher addressing a kindergartener. “You have come, yes, but you are to visit me. Visiting requires socialisation. Come here and speak to the oak, go on.”

He scoffed, but he did take a step forward. “I don't speak tree.”

It was meant to be mocking, but she didn't seem offended. “Everyone speaks tree,” she extended a hand, presumably as a way to ask for his. “Here.”

Reluctantly, he took it. 

She guided his palm across the bark. “It's a stubborn one,” she said. “But last autumn there were not enough nuts around these parts. I'm putting pressure on them a little early.” It was all sounding like nonsense to him, and she could read it in his face. “What? Do you think yourself above these tasks?”

“It's certainly not demon hunting.”

“No,” she agreed. “It is more fundamental.”

He couldn't keep the derision in. “Acorns? Forgive me, my lady, but as far as I'm concerned, it can keep its stupid nuts if it wants them. Why should it have to give them up?”

She let go of his hand, pulling it away from the tree. Her brow was furrowed and her lips were pursed. She looked like a scorned angel. “If the acorns do not fall, the squirrels, and the woodpeckers, and the pigeons and jays will starve. There will be no new oaks. The temperature of the forest will shift. It will become drier, the shade of old trees will dwindle. The soil will suffer. The plants will erode. In a few generations no life will be able to survive. There'll be no rabbits for your kind to trap or deer to shoot with rifles.”

He looked at the stupid oak again.

Could a few nuts really be that important? Looking at it now, it didn't look like much.

He pulled back his hand away from her grasp. “You've picked the wrong one to be preaching about squirrel charity.”

“And why is that?”

Again, he didn't hold it back. He allowed the glamour to fade, for his eyes to grow pitch black and his lips to spew venom. “I am death and destruction. When I was but a baby I made flowers wither with just a touch.”

She looked unimpressed. “Then why are you not killing my forest as we speak?”

It took him aback. He frowned, disliking the fact he could ask himself the same question. Truth was, he had read of this ability by sneaking a peak into Valentine's journal. He'd never done it consciously. It would be useful right about then, but alas, it did not spontaneously happen.

Upon his silence, she went on; “death and destruction are part of nature. If the trees do not die, mushrooms won't grow. When the jays, and the woodpeckers and squirrel decompose they feed the soil new nutrients. The forest only goes on because things die.”

“What does it matter if the forest goes on or not?”

She did not miss a beat pondering the question. “What does it matter if Valentine loves or hates you?”

He rocked back as if she'd pushed him. “What?”

“Does it change anything?” her fingers danced through the bark again, and he watched as a tiny sprinkle of acorns began to dislodge off the branches. “Does him loving you mean he did not cause you pain?”

“Shut up.” He couldn't contain it even as he tried, even as he knew you aren't meant to break decorum around fey. He already had, but this was far worse disrespect. “You don't know what you're talking about.”

“What does it matter if your sister accepts you? If she loves you? She will die all the same, won't she? And so will you.”

She wouldn't stop, he realised. No matter the way he spoke, or threatened.

Just like when he was a child attempting to arise a reaction in his father, he escalated. He reached for her wrist and pulled her closer to him, gripping it forcefully. Air flared out from his nostrils like a dragon's breath. “This is why you wanted me here for, isn't it? To taunt me, to play with me.”

She looked at him and then at their joint flesh, impassive. “Not quite, no, though I must admit it is a little fun.”

“I should kill you,” he snarled. “I could do it now and nobody would stop me. See then how fun it is to mess with me.”

He didn't know what he was expecting, but it wasn't what happened.

The Queen took a step forward, even closer to him. She grabbed his other hand and pressed his palm over her throat, tilting her head back to allow him access.

It was a very easy gesture to decipher; go ahead.

His lip twitched. She still didn't believe he would do it. From spite alone he tightened the fingers he had over her, enough for the nails to dig in a little. 

Kill her, the shadows chanted. Excitement was in the air, like the way the world stands still before lightning strikes.

But he didn't close his grip. He could not bring himself to further tense it. Frustration rolled off him in waves, and he cracked, cursing under his breath. “What games are you playing?” The question was laced in something more vulnerable, a fact he was acutely aware of and despised, but couldn't help. “You're trying to distract me.”

“Are you distracted?” Her voice was a whisper now; soft wind caressing him and causing goosebumps. He was leaning forward, before he realised, into the crook of her neck, inhaling her sweet, intoxicating scent. It was like having ripe, perfect strawberries in front and being unable to think of anything except to taste them, to have them break apart inside one's mouth and release their sugary juicies, just like in the dream.

She moved the hand he was gripping and he let go of her without thinking. She let it travel through to the same place he was touching but on him instead. Fiery wicks of flame danced along his clavicle and then towards his nape. It activated his body's sense of danger, but instead of fightning he stood there, frozen, allowing it to transform into a pleasant shiver rather than adrenaline. He wanted her to touch him more, with more force and more intent. He wanted the ghostly sensation to become grounded; for her to grasp at his hair and pull him into a better reality.

Her lips brushed his.

He snapped awake. 

It was an ungraceful stumble backwards. He was barely able not to fall, dodging through tree roots and twigs. He could tell even without a mirror he looked a mess, with flushed cheeks and his breathing erratic and out of sorts.

Pathetic, is what it was. It hadn't even been a challenge for her. She had merely needed to wave the prospect of companionship and he had crumbled like he had no defenses in him at all. The lurid loneliness that always clung to him was now strong enough to make his bones ache. That frail and stupid part of him was begging for him to fall for it, even if willfully, simply to know what it is like to be embraced and coddled.

Stupid.

Pathetic.

He cleared his throat, looking away and wishing the ground would swallow him.

“Before you leave,” she spoke up as if reading his thoughts, “let's try it again.” He didn't protest, didn't even look at her when she grabbed him and made him touch the bark of a different tree. “You must feel it here, in your chest,” with her other hand she had jabbed a finger into it, “your desire to see the forest live.”

It wouldn't work, he thought. What desire could something like him possibly muster? What compassion can a demon give? 

But he humoured her. He half-expected the tree in front of him to burn up into ashes instantly; that didn't happen. Instead a soft rustle of leaves occurred, and a couple of acorns fell at his feet.

He stared at them in astonishment.

“You seem to often forget,” when she talked next, her lips were very close to his ear, kissing it as some form of compensation, “that we're both also part angel. Life and death. Destruction and creation.”

He stepped away from her. He was sure he was sweating now, even though the summer heat had long faded.

“Will you come and see me again?” she asked.

His voice came out hoarse. “I have repaid my debt.”

“You have. Yet I still wish to see you.”

Saying no was the logical choice. Sebastian, though, was apparently weak in the face of her requests. “What will you give me if I do?”

She smiled conspiratoriously. “We shall see.”