BREAK FREE 20 : 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲'𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 !
TRIGGER WARNING !
The following chapter contains severe panic attack and very mild form of self-harm (pulling hair) that may be triggering for some readers. Proceed with caution.
TRISTAN LAYS BACK ON his bed with a long sigh after separating from Alec and Brian, squeezing his eyes shut from the sudden tiredness that overflowed him. Speaking of tiredness, he hadn't gotten the chance to talk to Brian about the obvious exhaution the Thornhill displayed.
Brian had been constantly letting out drawled out sighs on their way back to the Institute accompanied by slight delay in his steps, which Tristan, Alec, and Isabelle didn't fail to notice quickly. Although the blue haired boy attempted to cover it up or shrug it off, all of them knew it was far from nothing as he seems to get lost in his thoughts unusually easy. It made Alec unable to leave his side with Isabelle watching out for him worriedly and Tristan trying to soothe him through their parabatai bond. As soon as they entered the Institute, Alec had offered to walk Brian to his room and the latter, surprisingly, nodded without arguments.
Tristan couldn't exactly pinpoint what's running through his parabatai's mind, but he had a good guess. Crucial moments happened one after the other starting from Penelope's arrival and her sharp words digging into Brian's heart, to Clary sneaking out and getting kidnapped with Simon and Alec, to Jace lashing out on him unfairly ― it's too much, and it's possible Brian's getting mentally exhausted.
Tristan bit his lip, thinking carefully.
How can I help him? All he can do is comfort and soothe Brian through their bond, but is that really much of a help?
Before he could further indulge himself in worrying about his best friend, the ringtone of his phone interrupts the silence lingering in the air. Wondering who could call him at a time like this, Tristan looked at the caller ID and immediately rolled his eyes in annoyance.
"Oui, papa?" (Yes, papa?) Tristan answered annoyedly, already wanting to drop the call.
"Don't use that tone on me, young man." His father, Philippe Robespierre, sternly scolded with his deep and low voice that Tristan oh so hated.
"What do you want?" It pained him to even talk to his father. "Are you gonna tell me to stop being with my parabatai again or what? You know I'm so sick of hearing you say that like we could just stop being parabatai all of a sudden."
"It's already bad enough that you didn't ask me for permission to form that bond, but to hear that he's been transferred there? It's unbelievable," Philippe seethed. "He's a sorry excuse of a Shadowhunter for even being fond of the half-demons! He should be ashamed to carry a big of an honor!" He ranted, rubbing his face with one hand.
"There's nothing for him to be ashamed of. You're the one getting jealous of a nineteen year-old for his achievements instead of working on yourself to be better, not Brian." Tristan sassed with an exasperated look.
"And the people you're talking about are called Downworlders, not half-demons or half-breeds. Show some manners like the adult you are, papa." He spoke condescendingly, somehow being defensive over the way Philippe seemed to use degrading tone when referring to Downworlders.
"I'll treat them with manners if I actually see the worth of them."
Philippe's cold reply made Tristan scoff out a mocking laughter, utter disbelief plastering on his face. Brian was right, as always, his father is a twat and a fucking imbecile.
An extremely arrogant person with superiority complex who believes that his prejudice towards Downworlders are just; almost as worst as Penelope Thornhill. Almost. Philippe disliked Brian just because the boy's way better than him, holds the title of Perfect Shadowhunter that are admired by many — being the center of attention most of the times — and have beliefs which breaks generational tradition. Brian Thornhill was unique and special in every way from how he thinks all the way to what he believes in; and Philippe Robespierre, for whatever immature reason, could not handle that. It makes Tristan really, really wonder how his very thoughtful and kind mother hadn't divorced him yet.
"I do not have time for this," He muttered low and went to drop the call, but Philippe's next words made him stop.
"Is it true you've been talking to a warlock?"
Tristan sighed, massaging his temple and leaning back on the bed frame. This was starting to give him a headache. He did not want to deal with another obnoxious insults and childish Nephilim traditional prejudice being shoved down his throat after a long day of whatever the fuck happened to them.
"Ce n'est pas votre affaire," (It's not your business) Scowling, he quickly shut down his father's attempt to ruin his day again. "I had a long day, papa, and I do not want to have anything to do with your immaturity. I talk to anyone who I want to." He rapidly talked with irritation, the sudden language switch causing his French accent to come out even when speaking in English, before dropping the call abruptly.
Sighing again, he threw his phone carelessly across the mattress and laid back, unable to keep himself from rolling his eyes in annoyance.
Philippe always had the tendency to fill his heart with hatred by attempting to drill his mind with prejudice against Downworlders and brainwash him. Keyword; attempting.
Being with Brian nearly all the time allowed him to be immune to his father's cruelty because he used to accompany the then brunette to different libraries. While Brian studied hard to learn everything his mother asked him to and what he wanted to, Tristan was reading fascinating books about Downworlders, which actually gained him more knowledge about them than his parabatai did, although Brian was quick to catch up to him. They went to all kinds of libraries, even those not owned by Nephilim, even when Brian wasn't exactly fond of them at that time. Because, well, Brian doesn't discriminate just because he's not fond of them. Also, he hates everyone equally, Downworlder or not.
So, very thankfully, no matter how much Philippe shoved those prejudice down Tristan's throat almost religiously, he always failed. Tristan knew better than him, but Philippe wasn't aware of that. He's just full of his shit, really.
As his mind recalled all those things he read about Downworlders, Tristan's thoughts had subconsciously shifted to the magical High Warlock in shiny glitters and pretty eyeliner.
Magnus Bane is a man of his dreams, Tristan can admit. Maybe, he really is playing hard to get. But his feelings were complicated ― too complicated, in fact ― especially when he had just been crushing on his parabatai before they met. It was messing up his mind and he didn't want anyone, especially Magnus himself, to think he's just using Magnus as a rebound. No one deserves that. Magnus doesn't deserve that.
However, more than that, Tristan was afraid.
He was always afraid of the what ifs. Above all is the what ifs of being a second choice, again. He always feared that.
If Brian Thornhill was the fearless man, then Tristan Robespierre was the fearful man.
He had fears that didn't make sense a lot of the times. Some are very difficult to mention or even speak about, because he believes it's silly. All of them are, but he can't help himself from being afraid, can he? He's far from perfect ― he never was, actually ― so having fears is rational yet still very silly.
Tristan wasn't loved first. He's always the one loving others first, and his love often was bigger than theirs, and every single time, he gets his heart broken in the end. He's tough enough to endure it, but it always takes a piece of his soul away. Tristan Robespierre dreamed of being the first option, of being put first, of being actually loved. It's kind of sick and twisted, he knows, but what's he supposed to do?
"Fucking hell, Robespierre." Tristan groaned, grabbing a pillow and covering his head with it.
All those thinking just made his headache worse, ugh.
Can't they ever get a break from all the bullshit?
In the other room simultaneously, Brian was not doing any way better.
Alec respected his wishes of being left alone, but instead of resting like the Archer told him to, he was standing stubbornly and playing violin with more aggressiveness than usual, eyes shut closed. Despite the loud music of his own instrument, Brian felt as if he had went deaf and lost all sense of calmness. He was exhausted, and breathing hard, but laying down would only make things worse.
He couldn't hear the melody. He couldn't feel his body melting to the tunes. He couldn't enjoy it. He fucking couldn't.
"Maybe your mother was right to treat you that way!"
"You're such a disappointment."
"I didn't raise you to be a failure."
The tune of his own violin becomes gradually aggressive and rapid as those unavoidable whispered thoughts devour his mind, grips on the instrument tightening until it hurts. He clenches his jaw, teeth grinding almost painfully to keep himself from lashing his frustrations and anger out.
"You see, my dear? They only love you because you're perfect."
His room suddenly falls into silence as the all too familiar taunting words whispered in his head and made him abruptly stop. He opened his eyes, face now pale, his shaking hands still holding the violin and bow in its place. He swallowed thickly and moved the bow to create another tune, only to fail as all it did was make a creaking sound.
"How can anyone ever love you if you're not perfect?"
"You're such weakling."
"Do better or be nothing at all; no son of mine is a disappointment to our family."
A loud thud erupts from the impact of the violin and bow hitting the floor as Brian gritted his teeth, closing his eyes tight. He rubbed his face harshly as his breathing becomes rigid.
Penelope always knew which words to speak just so she can stab his heart and destroy him out of selfish desire to get what she wants. She was scary; her words were scary. Sometimes, he could bare it — her harshness, the cold surrounding them entirely, her haunting eyes drilling into him. But other times, when Brian knows he failed, he could never seem to get rid of them nor get them out of his mind.
He swallowed down the lump in his throat, trying to blink his tears away. Biting his tongue hard enough that the taste of copper spreads in his mouth to keep himself from making any noise. His hands beginning to desperately grasp on his chest, fisting the sweater he changed into before, as he felt his chest increasingly tighten. The room felt suffocating.
"Fucking useless!"
"Bastard child! You listen to me!"
"You're nothing without me."
Brian couldn't hold back a choked whimper. He stumbles back and crashes on the floor behind him, his breathing harsh and uneven as his body shake, tears spilling from his eyes.
What the fuck is wrong with him?
Everything.
He squeezed his eyes closed. "No, shut up..." He croaked with a weak tone, and even that made disgust rise within him. The hands that were clutching his sweater fly up to grasp his blue hair, fingers clenching at the locks and hoping that the string of pain will do something, anything. But he knew they won't. It never worked, never overpowered the pain in his chest or head.
"You're always so perfect like a fucking doll... It makes me feel sick." A guy had said to him once while looking at him weirdly, like something was seriously wrong with him.
Was there anything wrong with him? There had to be, right? Otherwise, that guy wouldn't have said anything. Penelope wouldn't have treated him worse and George... George would've cared. Why is he even here? Why is he alive? Why can't he just be perfect for everyone? Why can't he do the right thing, why can't he do the wrong thing? What is he even doing? What is happening to his life? What's happening to him?
Brian's hands slammed on his ears at the whispered voices that got gradually loud, desperately hoping to shut them out. However, it's merely a poor attempt. Nothing can shut the voices in his head, his own voice mixing in with the harsh words he remembered people throwing at him until the whispers reduced to his own inside his head.
"You can't follow a simple duty, how pathetic."
He flinches at the sound of his own cold and heartless voice.
"You said you would make our mother proud. How did that end for you?"
The words got stuck in his throat. Everything's too much. He doesn't know what the fuck's happening to him, to his mind, to himself. Heavy and strong emotions assault his chest all at once, chaotically mingling together yet not mixing well that has him overwhelmed and confused. He's suffocating, feeling like the room's shrinking on him just as much as he shrinks himself, as if to try and escape from everything.
Brian's shut eyes snapped open and his blood ran cold at the sight of himself standing in front of him, looking down on him like he was something unworthy of, utterly cold and emotionless, exactly what Penelope had taught him how a Perfect Shadowhunter look like.
Is this a fucking hallucination? Is his mind playing tricks on him?
"You always fail her. Can't do a simple task, can't follow an order... How can you be me?"
His eyes frantically looks around the room to see anything that can ground him to reality.
Fuck, Brian knows he's having a panic attack ― but he never experienced this before. Maybe he had, had he forgotten about it? Brian didn't know what was happening and he was afraid. The boy looks like himself, giving him an unsettled and disturbed feelings. It's like looking into a mirror of who he could've been — what his mother wanted him to be.
He had to get away, away from here, away from him, but his trembling body couldn't move. He felt too weak and drained.
"You know we can't escape her, don't you?"
Brian paused, panting heavily, looking up at himself with wide eyes.
The reflection of his own self merely let emotions of pain and sadness flash on his expression before making them disappear completely. It's as if he's in full control of his emotions, like a perfect machine. Practically the epitome of what Penelope wants Brian Thornhill to be, but despite looking exactly as a Perfect Shadowhunter, he looked just as miserable. Too miserable, in fact, because his eyes were dead. The eyes that had never seen light, never touched happiness, and just stopped feeling altogether.
Was this the Brian Thornhill in everyone's expectation?
"You seem hopeful in here," The boy said while tapping his own chest. "You hope that someone will come and sweep you off of your feet, rescue you from this hell hole, even if you don't utter it out loud."
Brian avoided eye contact, breathing heavily.
"But who will?" The boy asked, tilting his head. "One way or another, everyone will leave soon until you're left all alone on your own. In our lives, no one truly cares."
Brian felt numb. Tears spilled continuously which left his face wet yet he didn't care, eyes distant and staring into space.
"It's either we try to survive on our own or get killed waiting for a certain Prince Charming to come and save you." The boy laughs in mockery, similar to how Penelope mocked his little dreams of becoming normal. "We could never have what we want. Mother will always be on our back and the people will only continue to celebrate the death of a child and birth of perfection."
Brian's body felt too heavy, exhaustion slipping through the cracks. Unknowingly letting his own mind take control of him as he listened to his own voice absentmindedly, the tremble of his body decreasing bits by bits.
"We could only rely on us, ourselves. We are one, after all." The boy grinned emptily. "It is he who becomes perfect will be the most honorable at last, remember? Becoming me — it's the ultimate survival."
Brian despised being perfect. Despised being a little doll people are pleased to see, despised being a robot who follow orders blindly, despised being a puppet who couldn't feel and controlled by the handler. But in this world that only seeks perfection and never failure, he could never be someone he always wanted to be. It shattered his heart, no matter how much he denied or hid it.
He can only ever be enough to become the perfect Shadowhunter, but he was never once enough to be Penelope's son, George's son, or simply Brian Thornhill. Because Brian Thornhill will never be relevant, who's only full of imperfection Shadow World Society could hardly accept.
If he doesn't become someone they — his mother, the people, the Clave — wanted him to be, how will he survive? If he doesn't become who they want him to be, where's his place on this Earth?
The voices, the fear, the distress were all too much that the room started spinning in Brian's vision, dizziness assaulting him as the threat of unconsciousness consumed his head. Cold sweat rushes down his body and nausea forms in the pit of his stomach, but he didn't feel like throwing up. Before Brian could process what's happening, his eyes had rolled to the back of his head and he fell to the floor with a thud, passing out from exhaustion.
The young boy is too young to be singing the blues, perhaps, yet he was singing so quietly that nobody had heard a single thing. The world could never be bothered to care or listen for a broken boy who just wanted to be loved and fixed.
▃▃▃▃▃▃▃
Tristan touches the parabatai rune on his chest, not feeling a pulse or emotion coming from the other end of the bond.
It must be blocked as usual by Brian ― which is absolutely astonishing considering the great amount of toll it takes to block the bond while simultaneously experiencing major mental health problems, not that Tristan knows of ― and the Thornhill's ability to perfectly hide himself from their parabatai bond frustrated the Robespierre to say the least.
They're inseparable, practically chosen soulmates bound for life, and yet, Tristan's never able to completely step into Brian's deep inner circle that just seem to only fit himself. The trust they have for each other is unbreakable, both confident that no obstacles can severe their bond, and Tristan was happy for that. However, sometimes he worried that they were not spiritually connected enough. Like one slash to their ties and they would come tumbling down. Brian was supposed to be the sun and he should be the moon, but Tristan oftentimes find themselves completely opposite; Brian hiding behind his shadows so Tristan would shine brighter to the point of almost blinding, as if the Thornhill wanted to disappear into thin air.
Tristan couldn't blame him. How could he? He didn't know half of what Brian's going through with that godforsaken woman.
But oh, Angel Raziel... he was terrified of getting used to the emptiness of their bond and waking up one day not realizing that Brian's gone because he never feels any emotion from it. He was afraid that he wouldn't know what's happening to Brian. He was so petrified of losing him. Everyone is, especially Alec, and it kills Tristan that Brian can't see people care due to Penelope gauging his eyes out and leaving him blind to love.
Without thinking much, Tristan's feet takes him to Alec's room where a little kid runs out of and bumps into his leg.
"Oh― sorry, kid―"
"T?" An adorable gasp erupt from Max, grinning wide at the sight of his favorite Shadowhunter.
"Hey, Max!" Tristan greets him, masking his previously worried expression with enthusiasm, and spins Max around before setting him back down on the ground quickly and crouching in front of him. "I wanna catch up with you, but I gotta see your brother first."
A disappointed pout appeared on Max's lips, but he shrugs it off. "Okay, I'll just look up the Extinguish rune dad said." He rolled his eyes and walked away, causing amusement to appear in Tristan's face. It soon changes to a polite look when Robert walks out as they share a nod and the older man follows after Max.
Seeing the Lightwood siblings seemingly talking among themselves inside, Tristan knocks on the doorway to announce his visit. They both turned around, Isabelle quickly greeting him with a smile while Alec seem to hold curiosity and confusion behind his hazel eyes. Tristan never visited him personally, not even after they became friends nor even before Brian transferred.
"Uh— Sorry to interrupt whatever you were talking about," He didn't look slightest bit sorry, much to both of their amusement. "I was just gonna ask if Brian's really resting after you took him to his room. Like, did you see him lay down or...?" Trailing off, he settles in with a gesture of rest.
Curiosity vanished from Alec's eyes, leaving only confusion. "No? He told me to leave 'cause he was going to change his clothes."
Change his clothes, huh. Tristan thought, suspicion rising in his mind, knowing fully well Brian could've changed without getting Alec out of his room. Since when did the Thornhill care about being seen shirtless?
"Tris, what's going on?" Alec was in front of him instantly with concern plastered over his face, probably now getting a feeling in his guts that leaving Brian alone might not have been a good idea. He didn't want to overstep Brian's boundaries and respected it, but it might've been a wrong move judging from the look on Tristan's face.
"He's blocking his emotions out from our bond so I wouldn't feel it," Tristan frowned. "He does that often, but now it's giving me a bad feeling."
The Lightwoods shared a look before their conversation was interrupted by the ringing of Tristan's phone. He took it out of his pocket and groaned with a roll of his eyes after seeing Jace's name on the caller ID, still pissed yet giving in to his guts that told him it might be an emergency, especially when the blonde's with Clary dealing with Downworld business. Tristan was never one to ignore a request for help, though his first priority is his parabatai.
"What the fuck do you want?" He snapped as soon as he pressed the green button, causing amusement to appear on Isabelle's face from guessing who it is. "I'm busy, and Robert Lightwood was just here so I'm pretty sure you're in trouble."
Jace rolled his eyes on the other line, "Whatever. I need your help."
A visible scowl of confusion appears on Tristan's face, "Huh?"
"I'm not gonna ask again," He replies begrudgingly. "Magnus needs you and asked me to call for you. It's to help Luke."
Tristan's face reddens slightly from the mention of the Warlock, but confusion hasn't left his face just yet. In fact, he was even more confused now.
"Why― Why me? Why do I have to go?"
"He needs your powerful Shadowhunter energy, or something like that."
"Don't know, ken doll." Tristan hesitates, glancing at Alec for a moment. "Kind of really occupied and honestly, I'd pick my parabatai over anyone else right now."
The worried tone he spoke in makes Jace frown, guilt slithering into his guts. "Is something wrong?"
"Yeah, thanks to you, bro." Retorting sarcastically, Tristan rolled his eyes and ignored the hint of guilt and worry in Jace's tone. "Look, I gotta go. I honestly don't give a fuck what you need at the moment, I have to make sure Brian's okay and unlike you, I actually care about my parabatai. Enjoy your day." He quickly hangs up before Jace could reply and shoves his phone back into his pocket.
When he looked up, Isabelle had her eyebrows raised while Alec had his arms crossed with a slightly fond and thankful look. It felt good to know both Brian and Tristan cared about the way Jace was treating him as a parabatai. The sarcastic jabs and insults they throw at Jace shouldn't satisfy him as much as it does, but with Jace's overbearing behavior lately, he supposed he's allowed to feel that way.
"You, uh. . . You behave a lot like Brian when you're mad at someone," Alec's tone held a lot of amusement and fondness.
Tristan shrugs, nonchalant. "We've been with each other long enough to pick up one's traits."
The calm moment was suddenly interrupted by the loud footsteps that had rushed in, revealing a heavily breathing Jasper who wore an alarming look. "It's Brian," He breathes out, looking at all three of them.
Tristan and the Lightwoods exchanged looks before almost dashing out of the room and towards where they know the Thornhill resides. Once they barge in, the first thing to enter their sight was Brian laying limp on his bed, George Thornhill sitting on a chair by his side with tears spilling from his eyes. Their hearts dropped at the lack of rise and fall of Brian's chest.
"George. . ." The Robespierre slowly called, stepping in, eyes glued to his parabatai.
"He's alive," George immediately tells him, knowing the possible train of thoughts, making him sigh in relief. The most relieved one seem to be Alec, who swallowed the lump in his throat and carefully approached Brian.
Tristan gulped as he shared a look with Isabelle and allowed himself to take steps towards the foot of Brian's bed. Jasper closed the door behind him, his worried stare focusing on the perfect yet exhausted boy. "What happened?" Tristan asked, voice extremely quiet.
George sniffled, casting a glance at Brian's tense figure even when he was asleep. "We don't know. When we walked in, I— He was laying on the floor unconscious." He takes a deep breath, glances at Brian again before shaking his head.
Jasper stands beside Tristan, "We were so worried, Tris. His pulse is weak."
Tristan sharply inhaled, sitting down on the bed careful not to shake it too much. He rubbed his face with a sigh, all too familiar with the situation at hand. He should've known everything was taking too much toll on his parabatai; Brian rarely ever had very extreme reaction to things, but when overly stressful matters have piled one after another, his body shuts down like an automatic robot.
"Do you know what's happening to him?" Alec questioned, and everyone noticed the tremble in his voice but chose to ignore it.
"Yeah, he's self-destructing." Tristan breathed, displeased frown etched on his face. "At times like this, he goes through bad panic attacks that he couldn't control. He's always had self-loathing thoughts that's buried deep inside him, but it gets amplified and almost suicidal. In worst cases, his brain plays tricks on him." His gaze hardened, jaw clenching at another particular memory.
"Plays tricks on him?" Isabelle echoed, her brows furrowed. "Like hallucination?"
He nodded in confirmation, gently touching Brian's covered leg. "And he's passed out, so it means he had it." Tears brimmed in his eyes, staring at Brian with deep concern and concealed anger towards Penelope who's bringing this suffering to his best friend.
Alec sits down beside Brian and takes his unmoving hand, holding it dearly. He was speechless at this condition he's never known or seen before, but he wasn't stupid enough to not know who caused it. Brian's state seemed to have spiraled down after Penelope Thornhill appeared and pierced those sharp dagger of words into his heart. There must be some sort of explanation to what Brian's going through. Unfortunately, being a Shadowhunter means not having enough time to focus on themselves or get help they need because demons doesn't stop attacking.
He subconsciously squeezed Brian's unmoving hand, suddenly missing the blunt and sarcastic, straightforward comments of his. He was bold, harsh, cold, and ruthless, but at least he wasn't going through things like this.
Shock and disbelief coating his face, George turns to his son once again and stares with his lips downturned into a frown. All this time, he had been drinking too much to forget everything that he ended up ruining things with everyone. Guilt swarming his heart, George Thornhill swallowed thickly as unshed tears filled his eyes.
What has she done to you, my dear boy?
AUTHOR'S NOTE !
brian definitely listens to what was i made for by billie eilish.
this might be the first time i graphically described how panic attack feels like because i usually just tend to avoid it from how hard it is to write & can also be really draining to. hallucinations during mental health deterioration is no joke. they're just silly little young adults who are going through something, i promise it'll get better. (maybe)
please take care of your mental health all the time & find healthy ways to cope. bottling it all up will only result in something much worse. have a good day.