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The dye in his hair made him stink like a mix of sharp ammonia and metallic chemicals, a harsh, lingering smell softened only slightly by a faint hint of artificial fruit.
Clary had pulled him into the cramped bathroom of an abandoned chinese restaurant as soon as they had gotten deeper into the city, and immediately set to work on making themselves over. So we won't get recognized — Clary had told him as she sat him down in front of a cracked, smudgy mirror, a pot of deep black in her hands — Our hair… it stands out too much. Your father will be looking for us if he catches wind of any rumors.
He still didn't quite believe that assumption, whereas Clary was so insistent on it that in her eyes it might as well have been fact; she was certainly terrified enough of Sebastian to have covered them both from head to toe the moment they set foot in New York, her head whipping around so furiously at any minor noise that Ash was half afraid it would come right off her neck like a spinning top.
It wasn't that Ash was completely privy to his father's story. His mother had recounted him tales of his battles and always made sure Ash knew what a powerful and fear-inspiring warrior he had been, made sure he knew what kind of legacy she expected him to follow. However, he held hope that, while everyone who had been or was currently around him insisted that his father was a man driven by no more than carnal, violent instinct, he might come to care about him.
I wore a hat until now and nobody noticed a thing, he had replied as Clary dipped a gloved hand into the pot, suddenly fearful. I cannot keep my hair?
Clary had looked at him with her bright green eyes and said in a pleading voice, Ash…
He knew she was just trying to protect him the best she knew how, and so he had nodded and squeezed his eyes shut, shivering as she brushed the cold dye into his hair and soaked it onto his scalp.
Now, when he looked into that shabby mirror, he could scarcely recognize the boy staring back at him; wide green eyes and ink-black hair that looked almost very dark blue in direct candlelight and sunlight. The guy they had gotten the dye from had asked for the best part of their less-tattered clothes in exchange for it – a bit of a scam, in Ash's opinion, considering they had gotten just two boxes of it.
His hand raised to his throat where his scar laid — so imposing and exposed he couldn't quite seem to get rid of it— and kept he did, hidden beneath the warm wool of his scarf where it rested heavy and comforting against his collar bone.
Your father will be looking for us, her voice echoed, and, We can't let him find us.
She had made him shorten her hair whilst the dye set, and with heavy heart and hands he had clipped her long hair down so short they now brushed against her shoulders.
Why he felt on the verge of tears he did not know— Everything was changing so quickly once more and he mourned the clumps of hair that scattered the floor. It seemed in an instant everything recognizable, everything that made Ash himself and Clary herself was gone in a single eve.
At least, he thought mournfully as the red strands were devoured by flames, she hadn't made him cut his too.
The loud, grating noise of rusted hinges disturbed the dreadful quiet of the city. Clary gritted her teeth and pushed harder against the weight that kept the door from opening. Whatever was blocking the door seemed to weigh a ton and, as Clary moved it inch after slow inch, it screeched loudly against the floor of the warehouse, likely attracting every demon lurking around at least the next three blocks.
Whoever had crossed this path before them had done a good job of protecting himself.
When the rusted metal shelf finally gave them way, a hand wrapped around his mouth to keep him from screaming. At first, his brain yelled 'danger!' and Ash struggled against the grip, but then he realized what was surrounding them. Paintings were ripped, dangling from their nails. The sparse furniture was smashed into pieces, overturned. There were dark puddles, brownish and crusted, on the floor before them. Spatters of blood and a long, rectangular stain extended from the sofa to the shutter door, to the concrete of the sidewalk outside.
Something howled somewhere outside, further down the street, and the sound drew his attention to the door. The sound chilled him to his core.
Then Clary stepped forward.
There was a loud zip and a clank. Ash wanted to shout, to warn her, but he couldn't find his voice in time. At the center of the room, a fridge dropped to the ground, folding up the rope that was keeping it mid-air.
The voice came out then, Ash's scream echoing cacophonously in the empty warehouse as Clary's body fell like a dead weight, clutching her side, gasping in pain, her foot caught in a noose that dragged her across the dirty floor and lifted her up into the air, head down.
"Run, Ash, run," his aunt called, but he couldn't. He was bewitched; terrified. Freezing, too – his breath was coming out in harsh exhales. Clouds of condensation formed in front of his nose and mouth. He tried to clamber backwards but his limbs would not obey the instructions he was giving them. Ash could only watch her helplessly. A loud noise in the distance, behind them, worried him. Whatever the sound was, it was drawing closer.
He took a fortifying breath and instead shrugged off his backpack, kicking it aside.
The climb on top of the fridge was not an easy one, his shoes were caked with mud and wet with melted snow and his feet kept slippering away on the smooth surface, adrenaline making his limbs shaky and movements uneven.
The demons came almost immediately, startling him even though he had been expecting it. Maybe they had been there the whole time; waiting in silence. They crawled in like smoke, ink-black and toxic. They flooded into the warehouse, hovering over all of them like storm clouds. They were churning, drinking them in, devouring them.
Hand shaking, Ash reached for his dagger. The ropes were many and thick and knotted in a way that left them entangled, impossible to undo with bare hands, so he would have to waste time by cutting one by one. He sawed and sawed, head bent low and fingers cramping from the tight grip around the blade. He refused to lift his gaze, to see the demons crowded around Clary's hung body, to see them trying to claw at her, to hear them crave for her flesh.
It was halfway done. He had cut most of the outer knots, leaving the main supporting knot visible. Ash flexed his fingers, trying to get rid of some of the stiffness but a shadow at the corner of his eye caught his attention. A shout tore itself out of Ash's throat. He staggered backward, tripped, and fell, just as the demon lunged at him. He rolled to the side and it missed him by inches, sliding along the fridge's surface, its claws gouging deep slashes. Some part of Ash had passed beyond terror into a sort of icy stillness, he could only watch as the creature towered over him, when he heard something whistle through the air next to his head, making the creature hurtle back.
His head whipped up, eyes darting to where Clary was still dangling, now with a smoking gun in her hand.
"Ash," she snapped, eyes frantic, "Get out. Now."
He shook his head stubbornly and went back to cutting.
Abruptly, something slammed hard against the side of the fridge. Ash yelped clinging to the half-cut ropes as it tipped dangerously to the side. He held his breath as the world teetered along the wobbly fridge, rocking once, twice, thrice and finally toppling over, taking Ash with him.
He scrambled upright, looking around wildly for the source of danger. It was crouched against the floor, a long, scaled creature with a cluster of flat red eyes set dead center in the front of its domed skull. Something like a cross between an alligator and a centipede, it had a thick, flat snout and a barbed tail that whipped menacingly from side to side. Multiple legs bunched underneath it as it readied itself to spring.
The creature hurtled into him, knocking him to the ground, and his head and shoulders slammed against the floor. It was on top of him, an oppressive, slimy weight that made him want to gag. Ash twisted to the side, but it was too heavy, his ribs felt like they might shatter under its weight. His arm was pinned between his body and the demon's, the dagger's hilt digging into his back. Its lipless mouth twitched as its jaws opened, slowly, a wave of stinking breath hot in his face. The hot breath in his face stank of blood and decay, it burned at his eyes and made him unable to breathe.
From behind them, echoed more gunshots.
Looking almost surprised, the demon jerked back, screeching out in pain.
It was all the opening he needed. Ash's hand came free. Quick as lightning he reached for his dagger and with a scream he slashed out at the thing, wanting to cut it, to blind it. The blade cut into its throat and felt the hot, acidic blood spray out of the wound and spill in burning drops onto the bare skin of his hand and wrist. Gasping for air, Ash rolled over and threw himself at the demon, cutting and slashing at it in a frenzied bout of rage until the black ichor pouring from the wounds he had inflicted was a puddle around his feet and the twisted corpse was barely twitching, his arm and shoulder burning from the effort.
At last, the demon gave a squealing gurgle and slumped, its multiple red eyes going blank and lightless.
Ash stood from its corpse, breathing hard. The dagger's blade had already begun to erode under the thick layer of ichor that covered it so he rushed back to the toppled fridge, cutting away what was left of the knot until the thin thread that kept the blade still attached to the hilt shattered under the pressure, and the corroded blade clattered uselessly on the ground.
It was enough though.
He tossed the useless hilt aside and grabbed the frayed ends of the rope, pulling with every ounce of strength he possessed and, soon enough, it snapped in half between his hands, sending Clary's body crashing on the floor, limbs and hair sprawled messily around her.
Their eyes met across the room.
"Are you-" she began to ask, her question cut off as another demon sprang on her, tall and towering and much bigger than the one Ash had just killed.
"Clary!" Ash cried out. Clary lifted up her gun in front of her face and pressed the trigger, but she was only met with an empty click.
His entire body changed temperature as his blood grew cold with terror. The gun was empty, and he was weaponless too, completely helpless to do anything but watch. "Clary!" There was desperation in his voice. She kept struggling, hitting the demon's face and head with the heel of her gun but it was no use.
"Stop! Stop it!" he yelled foolishly, wishing with all his might that the creature could and would understand him, "Let go of her!"
It did.
Under his disbelieving eyes, the demon went still, as if he had suddenly been cut off of power. Then with a slowness that could only described as reluctant, crawled off Clary's body, moving to stand half-crouched next to her. Waiting. Beside it, his aunt struggled into a sitting position, a bloody gash on her face, pale and uncomfortable.
There were twin embers flickering inside the empty sockets where the creature's eyes were supposed to be, and they found Ash across the room. He held its gaze, paralyzed, hyper-aware of the tension in his muscles, the beads of sweat rolling down the back of his neck. There was blood trickling down his temple to his neck, too. Ash tried fooling himself into thinking that was what had drawn the demon's attention away from Clary. He knew better, though.
The demon faced him, staring him down appraising, waiting and waiting and waiting until it became clear that a second order wouldn't come, and forfeited, retreating with a subdued snarl. The others followed him. Just as suddenly as they had arrived, the creatures crawled back outside the warehouse, leaving a thick silence in their wake, broken by the thundering of his heart in his ears. Relief went through him like a hot wave, undoing the tight cords of tension that had held him together this long.
Ash shut his eyes and let himself fall to the ground, staring through the darkness at nothing in particular. His breath was quick, and the heaviness in his chest wouldn't go away. His stung with tears, but he wouldn't let them spill. Distantly, he heard footsteps approaching, and he glanced over to see Clary crouching over him. She must have seen the tears in his eyes because she put her hands on his upper arms.
"What's wrong?" she asked, and he looked up into her concerned eyes. "Are you alright? Are you badly hurt?"
Ash shook his head no, but couldn't speak because of the knot in his chest. Something in him seemed to snap, and he took in a great breath because it was suddenly harder to breathe. Clary frowned and did the only thing she could think of to comfort him. She wrapped her arms around him and held him to her chest, hiding him against her body. "I'm here."
His whole body shook, but he uttered no noise besides gasps for breath. They clung to each other. her hand cradling the back of his head, her other arm still holding him. "It's okay. I'm here now." She soothed him, fingers combing gently through his hair. "You did very well." Her chin rested atop his head, and he felt her holding onto him as tightly as she could.
"Let's… let's get out of here okay?" Clary's voice was thick as she drew back and wiped some of the blood off his cheek. "We need to get a look at those wounds."
Ash nodded silently, sniffling a little, shifting on his feet while Clary went to retrieve her backpack. He turned around and walked back to the fridge, picking up his own backpack. As he bent down, a silver spark struck off something on the floor, catching his attention. Ash stared down at the broken hilt of the dagger where only a small spike was left protruding from it, too small to make any damage or be of any use. Yet, the rose shaped ruby set in the pommel winked at him, enticing.
He slid it in his pocket and followed Clary out of the warehouse.
From their new home, a tiny place of red bricks and dark metals and faded-out flowery curtains pulled over boarded-up windows made prettier by old posters of tropical beaches and snowed-in mountains glued over, he laid awake in the cool night, unmoving, eyes closed in an attempt to succumb to sleep but unable to stop his brain from working a mile per hour.
He kept thinking he was hearing heavy footsteps approaching their door or low angry voices under their window. Ash shivered, the chain of daunting scenarios broken by the very much real snarling and rattling roars of demons from far off into the east where the broken ruins of the city left place to the limitless and unexplored expanse of the ocean.
And now he stared out of the window, his heart aching in his chest, before glancing to Clary who lay asleep in her makeshift bed at the feet of the couch. The only movement Ash could see her body produce was the gentle rising and falling of her chest.
Somewhere far away, the shrill cry sounded again, and Ash hoped with that childish, selfish hope he had come to loathe about himself that something good would be coming for them.