Chapter Text
Luke walked amongst the carnage of the battlefield, past friend and foe indistinguishable in death. The grass, churned to mud beneath the feet of hundreds of nephilim and Downworlders, was darkened with blood.
There were a few he passed, as he walked, still breathing, still groaning in the dirt, still sobbing or staring blankly over the limp body of a friend or a partner, of a child or a parent. For these, Luke could offer nothing they didn’t already have.
He didn’t stop.
Besides, his was a far more important task. For each body his gaze passed over that didn’t belong to one of the teenagers he’d grown to love as his own, his breathing eased a little. For every step that didn’t bring them to his side, the wolf within howled ever louder.
Then, there. In the distance. A shape. Two shapes, together, curled around each other. Both standing.
The howl changed tune, almost victorious now. Proud. Possessive.
He made his way with easy long strides towards Clary and Simon, wrapped around each other at the top of a shallow rise but facing away. He called to them as he approached.
Simon barely reacted at all, tensing slightly, releasing Clary, who threw a glance over her shoulder at Luke, responding to his greeting only with the words “Can you help him?” and “We didn’t know what to do.”
He nodded, smiled reassuringly. Between their world-saving activities and how much they’d changed over the last few years, it was easy to forget they were still teenagers looking to him for a proper adult. For someone to make sure everything was okay.
It probably would be; they rarely came to him with problems he couldn’t solve. In that, too, they were more mature than he remembered them being before.
He stepped up next to them on the ridge, clasped Simon's shoulder tightly, then turned to face whoever it was that needed him this time, and the ground fell out from under him.
Jace was only identifiable by the few streaks in his golden hair not stained by blood, or darkened by sweat and mud. That and the hunch in his shoulders, the tight-muscled stillness broken only by hitched breathing and a slight sway, as if a breeze might knock him over but if an army tried the same he wouldn’t budge.
It was a posture that had become heartbreakingly familiar, recently. Usually, Luke would only catch glimpses out of the corners of his eye, in training rooms early in the mornings, or late at night through a door left slightly ajar.
Luke squeezed Simon’s shoulder again, pulled Clary’s chin up so they were both looking him in the eye, and murmured, “It’ll all be alright. Go find the Lightwoods and get yourselves checked out, and I’ll bring Jace back with me.”
They seemed conflicted, but both obviously wanted, deep down, to be anywhere but here.
Starting towards Jace, part of Luke agreed with them.
“Jace?” He kept his voice soft, but couldn’t keep it from wavering. Even the wolf inside was cringing at the violence, growling at Luke to get away.
But also to get his pack away.
“Jace, can you hear me?”
He wasn’t sure exactly when he’d started thinking of Jace the same way he thought of Clary and Simon. When the wild part of him had first raised hackles and bared teeth in the boy’s defence.
Teeth were bared now, but from the look of the scene layed out in front of him, there wasn’t anyone left to be bitten.
“Jace, it’s Luke. I’m gonna come closer, okay?”
It was a bloodbath. The ground was soaked in the stuff, so dark it was almost black in the harsh light. Jace, too, was coated in red. It dripped from his hair, which fell limp past his face as he stared at the ground.
At the small area in front of him that was clear.
Luke stopped just out of his reach. Watched the ground around him. There wasn’t anywhere he could look without a body, or two, dead Circle members and piles of demonic remnants. He only saw one Shadowhunter body amongst the remains, eyes open and vacant, jaw hanging unhinged, black leather torn to shreds. No Downworlders.
Jace’s sudden speech made him jump.
“You can go back to Clary and Simon, if you want. I’ll be okay. Just. I was going to get up.”
“I want to be here, Jace. Are you-” Why was this so hard? “Are you okay?”
“It’s not my blood.”
“That’s not-” Jace went–if it was even possible–more tense. Luke sighed. “Alright. You’re not hurt, that’s good. If you- We can wait. We don’t have to go back to the others just yet.”
Jace didn’t respond, didn’t really do anything at all, but a little bit of the tension bled out of his shoulders.
Luke stood there, just waiting, trying to give Jace the space he needed, and the time. He barely remembered the last time it felt this awkward with Clary or Simon. But Jace hadn’t come from the same place as them, not really. He was a different kind of person.
Maybe-
“Luke?”
He jumped again. Laughed at himself a little inside.
“What can I do you for?”
Jace turned his head, just a little, and made a face like he was about to squint in confusion, but it faded back to that blank stare, and he said, “I don’t- Did I do all this?”
He sounded so small. Only seventeen, the weight of the world on his shoulders, the weight of everyone else’s decisions about him. Something pulled deep in Luke’s chest, and the wolf howled, a pain-filled, mournful sound.
“I- I don’t know, Jace. Clary and Simon were here, but they didn’t say anything about it, they just- They just wanted to make sure you got help.”
That broke through his vacant expression again, doubt or confusion or disbelief flashing across his face, then gone again.
“They were here?”
“Stood on the ridge behind you. They just want you to be okay.”
Jace didn’t respond.
“Jace?”
Nothing.
“Jace? Come on. Can I- Do you want-” Why couldn’t he just ask? Fuck. “I’m gonna come closer, Jace. I’m gonna- Is that okay? Come on, Jace. Give me something.”
“Hm?”
“Okay, that’s okay. I’m just gonna-” He bent down, knees creaking far more than he’d like, and knelt in front of Jace in the bloodsoaked dirt. “Jace? Come on, kid, can you hear me?”
“Luke?”
“Oh, kid. What can I do?”
“I don’t think I can get up?”
“Shit, kid. That’s okay. Are you- Are you hurt?”
Jace didn’t answer for a second, but something did change in his face. Something, painful, almost.
Something afraid.
When he answered, his voice was pitifully small.
“I don’t know.”
These kids were gonna be the death of him.
“That’s okay, that’s alright. It’s gonna be alright. I’m here. We’ll figure this out.”