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It's a mess. That's the best way Thomas can describe it. Everything around him is chaos, there are too many demons and too few Shadowhunters. Thomas swings his bolas at one of the demons battling Christopher, giving his cousin a chance to drive his seraph blade into the one in front of him.
He moves forward, killing demons in his wake. The intel they received was greatly misinformed. This was a hoard of demons, and not just a dozen, as they'd been told. Thomas curses under his breath as he slices down another demon with a swing of his bolas. They're outnumbered—and they shouldn't have been.
He has lost the sense of time. He has no idea how long they have been fighting; completely engulfed by the heat and rush of battle. He strikes down another demon, then another, trying to keep his friends safe. Always covering for them, looking out for them.
The battle goes on and he keeps swinging his bolas, throwing some daggers in between, not registering anything besides the next demon to kill. There's blood and sweat running down his arms but he ignores the stinging pain; keeps moving, keeps fighting. That is, until one of the demons sneaks up behind him while he's fighting another, and strikes him with a long, slimy tentacle. He goes down in a shout, the scream of his name from his friends' mouths ringing in his ears.
The demon who attacked him goes down with James' thrown dagger, and the one he was fighting is killed with the flash of a golden blade. But Thomas can only manage to double over in pain, clutching at the side of his chest where the demon had hit. There's blood pooling around his fingers, he knows, he can feel it. But his head feels heavy and he can barely make sense of what is going around him.
"Tom. Tom, no. Stay with me," he registers Lucie's panicked voice through his muzzled state. But he can't make himself reply, or reach out, only managing to cry out in pain. The sensation of his body being lifted is the last thing he can make out in his muzzled head before unconsciousness takes over.
***
Time passes in a blur of pain and screams. He knows the Silent Brothers come to treat him, from the brief moments his body returns to consciousness. But all he remembers is writhing and howling in pain till he is knocked out again with some medicine or ointment.
When he finally comes to for a while, there's an army of people surrounding him. Sophie and Gideon tearfully hug him, while he makes a futile attempt to hug them back, barely able to lift his arms. His friends—James, Christopher, Matthew, Lucie, and Cordelia—all tell him how glad they are that he is okay, tear streaks on their faces.
Everyone leaves not long after, the Silent Brothers ushering them out so he can rest. His mother hugs him one last time before pressing a kiss to the side of his head and saying, "Call out to me if you need anything, okay?"
Thomas nods, and Brother Zachariah tells him that it will take some time to get his strength back as the demon poison was too potent before leaving. He falls back asleep soon after his bedroom door is closed.
***
The first thing he registers when he wakes up again is a warm weight on his hand. He knows, without even opening his eyes, who it is. Alastair. He almost sighs in relief. Slowly, blearily opening his eyes, he mumbles a barely audible, "Alastair."
Alastair's head snaps up at that, and he rushes to stand and hover over Thomas. "Tom, Tom, hey. You're okay. You're okay," he rushes out as he cups Thomas' face with both hands.
Thomas tries to nod, the movement too heavy for his still fuddled brain. "I'm okay," he manages to let out, his voice rough from sleep.
"I—I was so scared. I was so scared. If something had happened to you—" Alastair gasps. "Never do that to me again, you understand? Never scare me like that again."
Thomas manages to curve his lips into a little smile. He doesn't say that he's a Shadowhunter, and that Shadowhunters get hurt on patrol sometimes; that that's just how it is. He knows Alastair knows that. Instead, he simply whispers, "Okay."
Alastair sighs and nods. Pressing a kiss to Thomas' head, he pulls back. "I should've been there. I could've protected you," he says in a low voice.
Thomas gives a slight shake of his head, the heaviness weighing him down and not letting him make a lot of movement. "It was just a patrol. You couldn't have known there would be more demons than anticipated. We didn't."
"But—if I had just gone along with you lot, you would not be in this condition right now. I could have prevented this if I had been there. I could've protected you, Tom," Alastair says, his voice hitching at the last part.
Thomas knows what that catch in his voice means, knows that Alastair is close to crying. He also knows Alastair doesn't want to cry right now, so he gathers the strength to lift his arm and cup Alastair's face. "You're here now. That's enough for me. And besides, I'm large enough to protect myself, in case it escaped your notice."
Alastair rolls his eyes at Thomas' poor attempt at humour. He hesitates for a moment before nodding. Thomas knows he wants to disagree, but is holding back because of him.
"You should go back to sleep. The Brothers said you need a lot of rest right now," Alastair says, leaning down to press another kiss to Thomas' head, his lips lingering there for a beat.
Thomas nods when Alastair pulls back, too tired and weary to disagree. He closes his eyes, and feels weariness pulling him into sleep in a few moments. But then, as if suddenly remembering something, Thomas reaches out and grabs Alastair's wrist. "Hey. Don't go. Please," he mumbles, barely making sense of his own words, eyes still closed.
He feels Alastair removing his grip from his wrist and is about to protest when there's a warm hand running through his hair and Alastair's deep voice saying, "I'm not leaving. Go back to sleep, love. I'll be here when you wake up."
"Mmm, don't stop doin' that either," Thomas mumbles.
There's a soft press of lips against the back of his hand. The feel of Alastair running his fingers through Thomas' hair again is the last thing he can make out before he falls into slumber again.