TRIGGER WARNING: Suicide 

This is for the different world fanfic contest and it's a world where Tessa Gray never existed. 

It's also based off of this thing I saw about Cassandra Clare's answer to a question:

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          Will sat in the Institute library, his forehead pressed to the palms of his scarred hands. This place used to be so comforting to him. The dim light, cozy armchairs, blazing fires, and of course, the books, all seemed to welcome him to somewhere he could be at home. A stack of well-worn novels, his favorites, sat patiently waiting beside his chair, but he wouldn't pick them up. Not tonight. He'd known that something was wrong when Jem first asked him to go hunting. He'd known that his eyes were too bright, that his skin was too flushed, that the shadows in his face were too sharp, that he wasn't well, but he'd said yes. It was against his better judgement, against the concern and protectiveness he had for Jem, but he'd said yes. The shouts and laughter from the evening still resonated in his head, the sound of feet slapping sidewalks still echoing. How had it gone so wrong, so fast? One moment, Jem had been beside him, running in perfect tandem, just as they always had, but then he was bent over double, coughing. Will's fingernails dug into his scalp, but he barely noticed the pain over the one in his heart.

          Some people, the ones without parabatai of their own, were under the false impression that the parabatai bond weakened as one died. The truth was quite the contrary. Instead, the cord seemed stronger than ever, but now it felt tight, as if death was pulling on the other side, mercilessly dragging Jem away from the living world, and away from him.

          There was a soft click as the doors opened, and a lantern cast a glow over the dusty volumes and thick oaken shelves.

          "Will?" Charlotte's voice was kind, if trembling slightly, but this time it did not comfort him. "Will?", she repeated, hesitating again. If she was holding back, the news could not be good. Charlotte was always so strong, even under the crushing weight of grief. Will finally looked up. He was shocked at how white her face was. In the light of the dying fire and the flickering lantern, she looked much older, and her face was pinched with worry and motherly concern. Will couldn't stand seeing her like this.

          "Just tell me, Charlotte." He was surprised at how weary his own voice was. He had expected it to be sharp, or perhaps sad. But no, it was only full of dread for what was to come. Part of him still wanted to hope, wanted to think that this was just another bad spell, that Jem would soon be okay. But the other part of him, the part that felt their parabatai bond clench more with each passing moment, knew otherwise.

          The words seemed to leave Charlotte in a rush. "The Silent Brothers said that the yin fen's taken it's toll and that there's nothing they can do. They say they've tried everything, but it's not helping, and that Jem-" She breaks off for a moment, her voice catching on a muffled sob, before continuing faintly, "Jem has but a few hours left."

          The words seem to slice through the room and strike like a dagger in Will's heart. Though he has been expecting this, though he has known this was coming for years, though he has lain in his bed and stared up at his ceiling, imagining this day for Raziel knows how long, the news sends the room whirling around him. Will stumbles slightly and reaches out for a chair, a shelf, anything, to steady himself with.

          "Will, I'm so sorry." Charlotte's voice shakes under the burden of the same heartbreak Will feels, but, for some reason, he doesn't want her here. She reaches out to touch his arm, and he pulls back, leaning heavily against a mahogany table and nearly knocking over a glass lamp.

          "Please, I just-" Will stops abruptly, unable to finish his sentence. "I need-" He tries again, then closes his eyes and takes a deep breath to clear his mind. "Please, can I see him?"

          Charlotte's looking at him. Will never says 'please' and he can feel her gaze burning into the top of his head, but he doesn't raise his eyes. Will knows that if he looks at her, he'll see pity in every line and contour of her face, and he can't stand that. Not now.

          "Yes", she says finally, "Yes, of course. He's in his room."

          The hallway seemed cold and bare. The witchlight was turned down low, the curtains tightly sealed, as if the Institute itself was already in mourning. As Will turns a corner, the great wooden front doors come into view. The carpet in the entryway was still streaked with mud and a dark substance that had to be dried blood, yet another terrible reminder of the events that had transpired that night. If it was any other day, Charlotte would have sent him away with a scolding and the mess would be long gone by now. He entered Jem's hallway. Will walks faster, feeling Jem's closeness and wanting to be by him. As he reaches the door, he hesitates for half a second, his hand on the knob. How many times had he crossed this threshold? How many times had he sat in this room with Jem and tried to keep thoughts of this day out of his mind? Was this the last time he would enter and think "Jem's room" without feeling pain? What would he do afterwards? What could he do? 

           Will shakes these thoughts from his head. He has to focus on right now, or he would break down. Turns the brass handle decisively and walks into the room. It's not as dark as he expected. The lamps in the room are lit, and their light dances on Jem's silver hair. Will's breath catches in his throat. His parabatai lay beneath several blankets, as silent and still as a corpse. For a moment, he just stares at the boy on the bed, taking in every detail, every minuscule thing that made Jem, Jem, every tiny element that soon would be snatched cruelly from him. There was movement in his peripheral vision, and Will became aware of the two Silent Brothers who were also in the room. Cloaked in their usual bone-colored clothes, they drift over to him, gliding in that way that no longer felt human.

          "William Herondale." Brother Enoch's voice sounds in his head. "I believe you are aware of the situation." It wasn't a question. Of course he knew. Of course he was aware of Jem's situation. "We can wake him up, perhaps for an hour, but that is all."

          The unspoken sentence hung in the air between them. And then he will die. Will nods stiffly and moves to sit by the bed. He reaches out to grasp Jem's hand, even though he knows the other boy can't feel it right now. Very much to his own surprise, a tear slips down his cheek. Will lowers his head, and looks at their intertwined hands, his dark hair falling to hide his face.

          There's a slight, shallow, cough, and Will lets his eyes drift upward to meet silver irises. The Silent Brothers slip out of the room, gone like a wisp of smoke.

          "You know, I've only seen you cry twice before, and that was years ago." Jem smiles faintly, with an attempt to lighten the tension and worry, which filled the room like a dense, suffocating fog. The familiar voice was weak, but Will smiles back sadly. Only Jem would try to make someone else feel better when it was he who was on his deathbed. "Don't, Will. Don't waste your tears on something we already knew was coming."

          Will squeezes Jem's hand. He knows that Jem's only trying to help, but he's exasperated at Jem's continued insistence that he was not worth whatever Will could give him. "What else would I cry for? What else could possibly be more painful than this, more worth my tears? You are everything to me." Anguish is present in every word he says, and Will mentally scolds himself for not being able to keep his emotions more under control.

          "No. No. Don't say that. You can't say that. What about Charlotte, Henry, Sophie? Surely they mean something to you."

          Will doesn't speak at first. He only clings to his parabatai as if he could keep him here, in the world of the living. But then, trying to keep the pain out of his voice, he says, "Of course. You are right, James, as always. They do mean something to me. But they wouldn't if I had never met you. If it wasn't for you, I would still be that angry boy, scared of a curse that doesn't exist, hating the world and everything in it. Don't you see? You saved my life. I only wish I could have done the same for you."

          "But you have." Jem's response is instant, and allows for no contradiction. "They said I would only live for three years, at most, but I have lived for six. Why do you think that is, Will?" His voice gains urgency as he speaks. "And during all those years, how many times have you saved me? How many times have we fought side by side? You are not worthless, William. And you deserve a better life than the one you allow yourself."

          Will laughs, bitterly. The very thing he had been striving to show Jem was that he wasn't worthless. And now Jem was the one saying it to him. "You say that I deserve better, but I am not the one comforting someone else, even as I lay dying. You are the one who deserves more from the world, from everyone. It's not fair that you should have had to bear that burden." Will casts a scornful look at the silver box on the nightstand.

          "Am I the only one who has borne a burden? Your curse may not have been real, but it was real to you for many years." Jem's voice was kind, but Will's was brittle when he spoke again.

         "And yet, I let you in. I asked you to be my parabatai. I could have killed you. That only shows how selfish I was. How selfish I still am."

          Jem looks at Will, hard, holding his gaze firmly. "I would have it no other way. Being your parabatai is the single greatest blessing in my life." Will opens his mouth to speak again, but Jem cuts him off, looking frustrated, for once. "By the Angel, would you stop trying to blame yourself for everything wrong in this world? I love you, William Herondale. There's no changing that. Just accept it, alright?"

          Will draws in a shuddering breath and looks right back at Jem. Then, he speaks the words that he was once so afraid of. The words that he hasn't said since he was a small child back in Wales. The words he would never say to anyone else ever again.

          "I love you too, James Carstairs."

           The statement was simple, but it held so much meaning. Will lays his head down on the pillow next to Jem's. Silence falls in the room, save for the slight, occasional, popping of the fire, but their eyes met. And in each other's eyes, in every curve and dip of their face, they could see countless memories. Of dark nights on patrol, walking in sync, and wandering the London streets. Of long days in the training room, jumping from rafters, and sparring for hours. Of Jem's violin, its sweet sound filling the endless Institute halls. And of Will's voice, reading aloud the books he'd held a thousand times. Of every occasion they were together. Of every instance they had looked at each other, or heard each other's footsteps, or simply felt the other's presence, and knew that there was someone else in the world who completely understood the depths of their soul and loved them all the more for it.

          Jem coughed, weakly, and Will knew that even the minutes of his life were now numbered. Despite his parabatai's insistence that he not cry, Will's midnight blue eyes shone with unshed tears. "You know," His voice sounded thick, even to his own ears, but he pushed on, "You know, I read the story. The one you told me about. Jonathan and David, the first parabatai. David became a Silent Brother, and Silent Brothers can't have parabatai." Will looked down, at the Carstairs ring on Jem's thumb, only centimeters away from his own Herondale ring. "I thought it would be awful, being separated from your parabatai like that. But this- this is just as bad." His voice breaks. He can feel Jem's fingers tighten on his, but he keeps his gaze determinedly aimed downward.

          Jem was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "Look at me, Will. Do you know what Jonathan said to David when he had to leave?" Will slowly raised his eyes and shook his head. "He told him to 'go in peace'. Not in pain, not in sadness. In peace. I will miss you, you know that better than anyone else, but, please, go in peace, William. Go in peace."

          Jem's silver eyes held onto his. Those eyes that had always brought him comfort and safety. Will smiled, crookedly, though it pained him to do so, and said, "Then, go in peace, James Carstairs. Farewell, and go in peace."

          A bolt of pain shot through Will's chest. The cord that bound him to Jem was tightening even further, as if it were straining, straining not to break. The pain that had been dulled by Jem's presence had returned, more sharp and precise than even before. Will stumbled to his feet, awkwardly, and found himself clutching the chair for support. The agony was unbearable, like a million fists squeezing his heart. How could anyone survive this? How could anyone go on living after something like this? He was barely aware of his surroundings.

          Then, Will felt the bond finally give away under death's unyielding grip and snap, and every rational thought in his brain was pushed aside by white noise and the unmistakeable feeling that he had lost something precious, and that it would be gone forever. He was falling, falling away from life and hope and everything good. Jem had been snatched away from him, but so had the ground underneath his feet. He was falling, out of control, and in a panic. His breaths came in shallow pants, his chest heaved, and every ounce of his body ached. But, very, very, slowly, his senses started trickling back. The Silent Brothers had returned, their parchment robes unmoving despite the slight breeze in the room. He felt hands on his back, the warmth of what had to be blood on his chest, just over his parabatai rune, heard his name being called, and apparently he was on the ground, because he was clutching the thick carpet so hard his fingers hurt, and then three words surfaced in his mind. Ave atque vale. Hail and farewell. They must had been spoken by the Silent Brothers, because no other voice resonated in your head the way theirs did. Despite his dizziness, Will struggled to his feet, using the bedpole to hold himself upright. He dismissed Charlotte's cry of protest and looked down at Jem. His silver hair was neat, as always. His skin pale, but not too much paler than it had been in life. His eyes were closed, his lashes skimming his cheeks. He looked so peaceful, he could've been sleeping. It was unfair for Jem to look so normal when so much had changed.

          Something glimmering on the floor caught Will's attention. It was Jem's silver family ring. It must have fallen off of his finger when Will pulled his hand away. He picked it up, turning it over and over, feeling the ridges and turrets etched into the metal. Castles for Carstairs, he thought. It all felt so wrong. Castles were supposed to be permanent, standing strong and proud for centuries. But Jem was gone. Whisked away by a life that was much too short. Still clutching the ring, Will stepped towards the door, staggering slightly. A hand grabbed his arm, supporting him. His first thought was, Jem?, but then he turned and saw Charlotte, and remembered that Jem would not be there for him, not for a long while, and maybe not ever again. Will jerked his arm away violently, spun, and ran from the room. Someone called after him, but no one gave chase, no one demanded that he stop and calm down before he did something he would regret. Because no one was Jem, and no one else knew him well enough to see that this time was different, that, though he often spent nights out in London, this time was not the same.

          Without bothering to grab his coat, Will sprinted out of the Institute. He needed to get away, needed to breathe, needed to be alone, because the one person he did want to be with wasn't there. He whirled through the dark, damp streets, with no sense of direction. The clouds above were thick and heavy, blocking out the moon and stars. Eventually, Will felt himself slowing. He regained enough control to turn his run into a walk and to get his bearings. The buildings around him were dark, some of their windows were smashed in and the concrete walls were crumbling. The ghostly effect is enough to make anyone cringe, but Will didn't care. He's dealt with ghosts before, and, tonight, he knows he'll kill anything that even attempts to bother him.

          He steps through one of the shattered windows, and walks through the old structure. Glass crunches underfoot as he wanders through the countless rooms, never stopping, never really looking at anything in the emancipated warehouse. Then, his foot hits something hard. A step? He hadn't expected the extremely high ceilinged building to have a second story. His eyes follow the steps upward, coming to rest on a wooden door. The size and position of the door look vaguely familiar, and Will soon realizes why. It's almost identical to one of the doors in the Institute. The door to the roof.

          Will starts to walk up the stairs, but then he stops, hesitating. Go on, says a voice in his head, you've been on roofs before. This is no different. But it is different. Because Will has no idea what he will do once he is up there. He doesn't know how much self-control he has, but what he does know is that he's is definitely not mentally stable right now. However, his feet seem to have a mind of their own, and they continue to carry him upward.

         The wooden door is obviously just as worn as the rest of this place. The paint, once carefully applied, is now peeling. The handle is gone, but Will pushes slightly, and it swings open, brass hinges protesting loudly. Against his better judgement, Will steps onto the roof. A cool wind blows across the bare surface. A few fragments of glass, as well as some pieces of twisted metal, litter his surroundings. The clouds have not moved in the time he was inside the warehouse, but his eyes have adjusted, and he can see the glittering thread of a river in the distance. This area of London has no tall buildings, no towering church spires, and Will can see an expanse of darkness over the rippling water. Blackfriars Bridge. How fitting that he can see Jem's favorite place in London from where we was going to-

          Will cuts off his own train of thought, startled by what he is thinking. From where he was going to- What? What exactly was he going to do? What had his subconscious been planning as his rationality fled?  Will now stands at the edge of the roof, higher than the roofs around him, and much, much, higher than he can survive if he falls. Will looks down, and, in doing so, realizes that his left hand is tightly curled into a fist. He unclenches his hand and sees that he's still holding the silver ring that he took from Jem's bedside. The Carstairs ring. He takes off his own ring, with its pattern of flying birds, and looks at them both. They had been together for so long. He could barely remember what it was like without the constant reassurance and the kindred spirit that was Jem. Well, now he knew what it was like. And it was horrible. It was as if half of his body, the half that mattered, was torn away, and he was no longer a whole person, no longer human. He thought of Jem's last words: go in peace. How could he ever find peace again? He knew that if he went through with this, if he took that one more step, he would disappoint Jem, disappoint Charlotte, and Henry, and Sophie. But if he didn't, he would only be barely surviving, living a life he did not want. If he had known how it felt, if he had known about the emptiness and pain, he wouldn't have even considered the possibility that he could have persevered, that he could've possibly left that room and gone in peace. At least, in death, he had a chance of reunion with Jem.

          Will placed the two glinting rings on the roof beside him. He straightened and looked at the city he had called home. For just a moment, the thick blanket of clouds parted. Moonlight shone down on London, bathing everything in a silvery glow; dancing on the ripples in the River Thames, and illuminating Blackfriars Bridge; glistening off of the two bands of silver at Will's feet with vivid brilliance; shining down upon the black-haired boy with the dark blue eyes that suddenly gleamed as he looked towards the heavens and thought of the one other who had made up a part of his heart and soul.

          And with that, William Herondale stepped off of the rooftop. Plunging earthward, he had only one thought. A memory. It was the morning after his parabatai ceremony. He had been just thirteen years old, standing on the Institute roof, and looking towards the sunrise, wondering if he had done the right thing in allowing Jem to get this close to him, wondering if he would be the one to end the silver-haired boy's life. Just as he rose to go back inside, a roof tile snapped and tumbled off of the steep roof, sending him skidding towards the edge. He had been sure he was going to die, and thought bitterly that of course it would be the day after his parabatai ceremony. Of course, the world would try to rip away any possible happiness he had. But then someone had grabbed his wrist and pulled him up, away from danger. Will had looked up into Jem's face, which flashed with brief panic, and felt a flood of affection and relief. Jem had smiled softly as he hauled Will to his feet, and had said, jokingly, "Do you really want to get away from me that badly?"

          That had been the start of a new chapter in their friendship. They had been close before, best friends, but parabatai was something different all together.

          As Will plummeted like a broken-winged bird, his heart ached for the past, for that memory, for that time of happiness. But he knew that he could never go back. He knew that, this time, there would be no one to catch him and to save him from himself. Will fell towards the ground with no regrets except for the fact that, no matter how much research, how much endless investigation he had done, he was not able to save Jem from that horrible demon drug. His hair was whipping around him in a frenzy, the wind tearing violently at his shirt. Will should have felt alarm, but he only felt a slight trickle of hope and relief. Hope that, maybe, he could see Jem again, either in death or in the next life. Relief that this would all be over soon. He had thought that he might never feel those two emotions again, but there they were. Surfacing and blooming inside him as he fell.

           Fell like an angel from heaven. 

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So, that was that! 

I hope you guys liked it, and sorry I haven't been posting much :P I'll try harder.

If you have any criticism, comments, prompts, reading requests, whatever, just let me know!