Bloody Lining ➳ Alec Lightwood

chapter eleven

ignoble 

adjective | ig - noh - bul | meaning - of low birth or common origin ; plebeian 

an: just a trigger warning, there is a mention of someone committing suicide and if that's triggering for you please please please proceed with caution my love. 

chapter eleven

Beckett adjusted the pillows on Magnus' bed for the umpteenth time. Obviously, he was eternally thankful to have Magnus in his life and that Magnus had definitely just saved his life from an alpha's bite, but god did he hate how soft all of his pillows were. 

The werewolf tried sitting up, but instead ended up groaning in pain. His entire still body ached seeing as it was completely drained from all energy. Not to mention the fact that there was still a gaping wound on the back of his neck that had been hastily bandaged up, the pain still radiating from his hip, and dozens of bruised bones found anywhere one chose to look. And, curiously, Magnus had never gone and gotten him a shirt when he'd asked for one. 

None of that physical pain compared to the emotional anguish Beckett Jackson was currently experiencing, though. While he had been left in Magnus' room to rest while the others dispersed, Beckett couldn't even think about sleeping, because every time he even tried closing his eyes the same face flashed over the back of his eyelids. 

So instead of having to face that, Beckett sat up in the bed staring out of the window. His mind ran through thought after thought, all of which pertaining to the very topic he was trying to forget. But he couldn't. That old scar had been reopened and now Beckett wasn't sure he was ever going to be able to stitch it up again. So now Beckett heart was bleeding out and every thought and memory he'd pushed away wouldn't allow themselves to be ignored for any longer. 

Beckett had been through a lot, but he'd never been tortured in a way as cruel as this. 

"Hey. You, uh, you good?" Alec Lightwood, clearing his throat as he awkwardly hovered at the entrance of the bedroom. 

Alec watched as Beckett's eyes gazed out the window at the dark city. It was clear Beckett didn't hear Alec at first and after a moment he quickly blinked his eyes a couple times before turning his attention to the shadowhunter. 

"Hmm?" Beckett inquired, not quite being able to part his lips yet. 

"Uh, do you need anything?" Alec asked, still hovering uncomfortably. His eyes involuntarily scanned over the werewolf's exposed torso, which was covered in discolored patches of bruises and a long white scar right above his hip bone. Alec told himself he was assessing Beckett's condition to see if he was hurt anymore then he was letting on. But that wasn't entirely all of what he was doing. 

Beckett shook his head, saying, "I'm fine." 

Beckett was also lying to himself. 

Alec nodded his head, hesitating in the door way as Beckett turned to look back out the window. There were so many things he suddenly wanted to ask Beckett, so many things he only knew pieces about and wanted to hear the whole story on. Suddenly, Alec was looking at Beckett and he wasn't seeing an angry werewolf that despised shawdowhunters and had a knack for jumping into fights. Now he saw millions of puzzle pieces that had been carelessly thrown on the floor. Alec didn't know what the puzzle was going to show him when it was put together, but Alec wanted to see how the pieces fit nonetheless.