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Fighting alongside each other was like trying to glue pieces of a puzzle together that clearly didn't fit.
All week the young Shadowhunters had trained tirelessly to get a feel for each other's fighting style. It was harder to move into a rhythm of that which is already so clearly in tune to something else.
Alec, Jace, and Isabelle were obviously well off in their teamwork. They were like a well-oiled machine. Together, they had all they needed.
Alec had his bow and arrows, from a range he could pick off enemies one by one.
Isabelle had her whip, which she could use to hold away their enemies.
Jace had his seraph blades, and he was always the first to lead the fray—taking most of the heat.
So where did Lyra and Henry fit in? That was yet to be determined.
Lyra's weapon of choice were twin sai daggers made from adamas. The handles were bandaged for a more comfortable grip and the thin blades had the tiniest of carvings of runes. They were small and skinny, just like her.
Henry's weapon of choice consisted of a single katana—that he had joined at his hip. It was long in length, and quite a beauty to behold even when it wasn't being wielded. And to watch the man as he sliced through the air, it could leave anyone awestruck.
The two were quite skilled and found that with just the two of them, they could find that rhythm. It was actually quite the sight to behold.
"Ha!" Isabelle's whip crackled through the air. It latched onto the slimy neck of the Shax demon. With one tug she brought it to the ground.
Behind her, another Shax demon reached for her. An arrow cut through the air and hit the demon, and it turned into ash and dust.
Alec lowered his bow. "Jace," He called for the man to finish off the Shax that begins to stand up.
Jace came forward. "I got it," He flipped the seraph blade in his hand and moved to finish it off.
Another harrowing screech sounded followed by Lyra's body twirling into the air, before she landed gracefully in front of him. Sweat dripped from her body, like the others, and she panted heavily. The Shax demons' claws rush down to get her until—
Henry's katana sliced the Shax demon in half. His collected appearance visible when the Shax burns up into nothing. He gives a small nod to Lyra, who smiled back at him.
He turned to finish off the last one still trapped by Isabelle's whip. And a second later, he bumped roughly into Jace, who's sword immediately sliced into his forearm, cutting through the sleeve. "Damn it!" He cursed, more angry that the other had gotten into his way. "Watch where you swing your blade, Wayland!"
"You were in my way, Darkblood!" Jace argued back, glaring at the blood now staining his blade.
Everyone stopped, still huffing and panting. The simulation in the training room fell apart and brought them back into the Institute. Leaving only their tired appearances behind.
"Henry!" Lyra came forward with worried eyes. "Are you okay?" She tried to get a look at his arm, but the other quickly closed a palm over his wound.
The blood seeped through his fingers, but Henry didn't care by the way he glared at Jace in irritation. "If this were a real mission, you'd wounded me and the Shax demon would have broke free. You'd doom us all," He seethed through clenched teeth, stepping forward to the man.
"I had a clear hit," Jace stepped forward as well and matched his level of stubbornness, "You got in my way. It's your own damn fault."
"You are blaming me?!" Henry raised his voice incredulously.
Alec immediately put a hand up between the two. "Hey, this isn't helping our training," He tried to calm the situation, and turned to Henry, "Jace stepped forward for the kill and you got in the way—It was an accident."
Henry turned to him with displeased eyes. "Accidents can't happen on the job—not for Shadowhunters," He argued.
"I agree," Alec eased while raising his hands up in surrender and his tone softened, "I'm not saying who was right or wrong. This was just an exercise, so that this doesn't happen again. Better in here, than out there. Agreed?" He looked between Jace and Henry.
The two men's eyes never strayed—still filled with contempt. Both of their warring presences created a more tense atmosphere.
"I don't know you or how you trained, and I don't care," Jace said in a low voice, his eyes narrowed, "I know what I'm doing. Out there, I don't need you getting in my way," He ordered.
Henry's chin raised in a haughty manner. "Do not order me around." He smirked. "I beat you once. I'll be happy to do it again."
"You know what—" Jace lunged for him.
Alec and Isabelle jumped to hold him back. Keeping him at bay before he could get his hands on the other.
"Jace, stop it!" Isabelle threw a nasty look to Henry. "He's not worth it," She mumbled her distaste.
Henry's expression never wavered but he did look away at that. He immediately turned to leave.
"Wait, Henry," Lyra goes after him and grabs his arm, "I can help you with—" She jumps when his ripped sleeve tears off and she notices the scars littering his skin. A small gasp escaped her.
Henry ripped his arm away, quickly hiding it. He shot a cold glare at her. "I don't need your help. I can do it myself," He glowered, before rushing away, this time faster.
Lyra's eyes widened after him. Left wondering if she'd imagined those deep, discolored scars—or if they had been there all along, hidden.
That night, Lyra couldn't get much in the way of sleep. Her restlessness kept her up into the early hours of the night with multiple thoughts keeping her mind awake.
Henry...Alec, Jace, and Isabelle...her parents...
Each of them came with their own set of problems.
Lyra didn't want to think about it all. She hoped for a distraction, or at least, something to put her mind at ease. And when she poked her head out into the dark hall, hearing nothing but the rain pattering the windows, she decided to head for the kitchen.
Perhaps a midnight snack could ease her.
She'd passed the training room, stopping momentarily when she saw Henry training away again.
I don't sleep much, he'd told them.
And that was right. Every night, she would pass by his room to see his light still on. She could hear him when he went to train in the middle of the night, only to return in the early hours of the morning. How he managed to stay awake throughout the day certainly amazed her.
For a moment, she opted whether she should go to him. However with the troubled expression on his face and the way he beat the punching bag, she thought it wise to leave him be. So, she continued up the stairs for the kitchen.
When she entered, she found a different surprise that she hadn't expected.
"Jace," Lyra called to him in surprise.
Jace pulled out of the fridge and overlooked the door. He was in pajamas with his blond hair all over the place. He'd obviously just rolled out of bed. And he had a grain bar stuffed into his mouth, half of it sticking out. "Lyra," He mumbled, and almost choked on the food he had stuffed in his mouth. He quickly pulled out a water and began drinking desperately.
She giggled and stepped further into the room. He moved aside a step when she peeked into the fridge beside him.
"Anything good?" Lyra asked.
The fridge only contained few items, and mainly pots and trays of Izzy's meals that no one ever bothered to touch. Some were days old, while one red pan in particular almost made her want to barf again.
Isabelle had insisted she try the dinner casserole she'd made. She seemed so sad and Lyra felt bad, so she tried to cheer her up by trying the casserole.
Except, Lyra soon realized that it was the biggest mistake of her life. And with not wanting to face her wrath, she was forced to eat the rest of her plate.
Maybe that explained Lyra's restlessness.
"You're looking as green as that casserole," Jace joked while he smirked at her expression, "Did Izzy strap you down and hold you hostage?"
"It would have been kinder," Lyra shivered in horror.
Jace released a hearty laugh.
It was the type of laugh that didn't fit him, or his whole bad boy theme. So when she heard the sound, and looked up at him, she could only smile and blush.
She kind of liked the sound.
"Well, I'm sorry I wasn't there to save you." Jace pushed one of the trays aside and reached his arm into the fridge, a moment later he emerged with a bag with large Chinese characters and a duck on the bag. He grinned as he held up the bag to her. "I hid this so Hodge or Alec wouldn't eat it, and so Izzy thinks I eat her food for dinner when really I just throw little bits of it away every night," He explained.
Lyra's eyes gleamed as if she'd found the golden prize. She sniffed and her mouth watered at the thought of actual food. Her eyes turned big and round with pleading. "It's beautiful," She gaped dramatically.
Jace winked at her as he shut the fridge and placed the bag on the counter. "And good news for you, I'm feeling charitable. So, we can split. As long as you don't tell Alec where I hide the good stuff," He raised a brow while he proposed his offer.
Lyra beams her smile, nodding. "Chivalry isn't dead, I see. Mr. Wayland, you have my undying gratitude," She proposed back.
The two laugh at their own antics, smiling at one another.
Lyra realized that, as she stared at him, Jace was actually quite handsome. He definitely held a mean expression most times but now he smiled, it was bright and contagious. She began to wonder why he didn't do it more often. He definitely wasn't as lax as Isabelle or as intense as Alec. Jace seemed to be somewhere in between, she thought.
When their laughter died and their smiles lingered, Lyra watched Jace's eyes scan her once more. She didn't take it so seriously, or in that type of way. Mostly because of her own obliviousness.
"While this warms up," Jace suddenly grabbed her waist and lifted her onto the counter, before his arms gripped the marble counter on either side of her, "Why don't you and I get to know each other?" He suggested charmingly.
Lyra only laughed softly.
Back in the training room, Henry's swings never faltered in their power. He struck hard and fast. With each hit, the sandbag bounced back strongly.
A part of him wasn't there—his mind had decided to haunt him again with the memories of his home.
You will never be good enough. His brothers' vile and menacing voices filled his head.
Punch.
He could hear the screams of a child. Of himself. Could still feel how his nails grew bloody from how hard he'd clenched the floorboards.
Punch.
"Abeoji!" The child cried, begging for mercy while he was dragged into the basement. His father had turned his back then, no hint of remorse while he let his other sons drag him down the staircase.
Punch.
The gleam of the knives—the way his brothers laughed as they kicked and punched him down, terrorized him.
"Ah!" Henry felt a rush of anger flood through him and he punched harder than ever.
The sandbag broke off the hinges and flew towards the door, hitting the frame just as Alec narrowly stepped aside and missed the bag. His surprised gaze whipped toward the man, who panted heavily.
Henry's body was thick with sweat. He ran a bloody, bandaged hand through his wet hair. His lips chapped as he licks them momentarily. He eyed Alec warily, "You're not supposed to be up," He pointed out.
He knew of the curfew that Hodge had set out for them. Did any of them really follow it—no, but still, he didn't like this sudden interruption.
Even if it was from the pretty one.
Alec hit the lights to switch them on. This time he can actually see the man's bloody knuckles, and more so, the cut from Jace's seraph blood had bled through the bandage.
Why hadn't Henry used an iratze to heal up?
"You're bleeding." Alec ignored his earlier comment. His expression fell with a firm frown. "You shouldn't push yourself, especially not on the night before a possible mission," He advised.
Henry released a breathy laugh as he headed for the other sandbag in the corner. "Your advice is noted." He lifted the bag as if it were nothing over his shoulder, and continued back toward the hook. He didn't care about the blood smearing the leather when he hooked the bag up and stepped back, ready to throw more punches. But he didn't start when he found Alec still standing there. His arms lowered from his fighting position. "Is there a problem?" He sighed.
Alec's eyes were on the bandage on his arm. "Why haven't you used an iratze to heal that cut?" He asked, some kind of suspicion in his voice,
Henry followed his gaze, before he shrugged. "It doesn't bother me," He chuckled to himself, "I've had worse than a little cut from a seraph blade. I'm not going to waste time when it will heal on its on," He stated simply.
"But it'll leave a scar," Alec pointed out.
Henry began punching the bag. Pain striked up his arm and he flinched momentarily, before continuing on. He didn't want to know if Alec had noticed—he did. "Won't be the first, definitely won't be the last." He shot a glance at Alec, and seeing his hard eyes, he stops for a moment and sighs. "Look. Where I come from, we're trained not to use healing runes very often. Hardly at all, in fact. You get hurt, you deal with it. You fight through the pain," He explained.
Alec scowled at that tidbit of information. He scans Henry's form for a moment. "If that were true, you'd be covered in scars. I don't see other scars on you," He said in disbelief.
Henry raised a brow at that challenge. He began walking forward to Alec, slow and quiet. His head tilted down like a predator stalking his prey. "That's because you don't want to see them—If you really looked hard enough. They're there, just beneath the surface," He lulled in a soft voice.
Alec furrowed his brows, and his eyes widened immediately after when Henry pulled off his shirt. "What are you doing?" He snapped, eyeing as Henry stood but a foot away from him.
Henry's body gleamed under the light. His skin looked soft and smooth—and he could imagine running a hand down them would create a cascade of goosebumps.
His heart raced, pounded in his ears. His cheeks flushed red once again.
"Look harder, Alec." Henry stared into his eyes, patient and somehow looked more vulnerable. "Focus on me. What you see isn't real. Go ahead," His expression turned serious yet held a gentle aura, "Look at me."
Alec stared back at him in a momentary loss. His eyes flickered between the other's. His fear grew, slowly the longer he found himself lost in pools of brown. When he finally tore his eyes away, they traveled down Henry's torso and he focused. His eyes squinting at the glistening skin.
Henry pulled out his stele—the skinny rod was forged with raven wings encircling it. He allowed the stele to go over the activated glamour rune on the inside of his forearm and his rune deactivated.
Alec's breath hitched, and his eyes went wide.
Scars—they littered Henry's torso and arms. So many of them covered most of him that it was harder to find a spot unharmed. The majority of the scars were faint and barely noticeable—aged from years ago. But, some were large and discolored with jagged edges. It looked more intentional, the big ones, like someone skillfully dragged a knife through his skin.
The most prominent scar had to be the one that started just under his left peck and ran down to his navel. This was a clean cut and to anyone's horror, it still looked kind of freshly healed.
"Is this..." Alec couldn't help but gape, "...Are these from demons?"
"Some of them." Henry's eyes were on the floor in some sort of shame. "Not all of them." He did not go into more detail, which spoke volumes.
Alec's jaw dropped. "What—Who did this to you?"
"My brothers, mostly" Henry shrugged as if this were nothing, "Some are from my father. But all of them are apart of me, they healed and I've moved on. So, don't make that face," He smiled softly and fought the urge to give the other's chin a little love tap.
Alec scowled deeply. He wanted to ask more questions, but as soon as his lips opened, he'd noticed the look on his face.
Please, don't ask.
Alec's lips shut closed.
The two remained quiet for a few seconds. Neither knowing what to say or what to do now.
Eventually, Alec inhaled deeply and nudged his head for the man to follow. "Come on," He grabbed Henry's wrist and tugged him along.
Henry allowed the other to pull him out the room. His eyes stared at the back of Alec's head. "Where are we going?" He mumbled, tired.
"The infirmary. I can bandage your knuckles and draw the iratze for you so your cut heals," Alec's tone left no room for argument, "As long as you're here, I won't let you get another scar," He declared.
Henry didn't respond, mostly because he was left speechless. Then, he smiled.
Thank you, Alec. He wished he could say.
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thoughts?