Chapter Text
Jonathan didn’t understand her. He didn’t understand most people but he tried. He understood why people were scared of him. He understood why people were angry with him. He understood why people hated him. Even if he didn’t understand how those feelings felt, he could understand why people felt that way.
But Jonathan didn’t understand her at all. She should hate him. Of all the people who occupied the New York Institute, she was one who should hate him the most and yet…
Jonathan tipped his head up. He knelt by her feet. He could feel the harsh wood floor against his knees. He might have bruises later. He’d been here for a while but how long exactly, he had no clue. Long enough for Isabelle to be mostly through the stack of paperwork she’d picked up when they first sat down. Long enough that his legs were numb. Long enough that Isabelle’s free hand must be sore, though she still tugged her fingers gently through his hair every few seconds.
He couldn’t remember what happened this time. He just remembered being angry. He remembered being so angry that he couldn’t contain it, though he didn’t remember exactly what he’d been mad about.
She glanced down to him, her expression soft and tired. She’d taken on a lot since Alec left for Idris. Now, New York was under her command. Jonathan could see no one else more fit for the role but that didn’t mean she wasn’t overworked with too much on her plate and too few people to delegate any of it to. Plus, she had Jonathan to worry about now.
“Do you feel better?” She asked quietly.
Jonathan frowned and shifted to sit up. His legs burned in protest but he ignored them. “I don’t remember what happened,” he murmured in lieu of an answer.
She didn’t look surprised. Often, he didn’t remember. “You yelled at Nikias,” she stated simply.
Jonathan frowned deeper. “Why?”
Isabelle shrugged. She shifted to place her paperwork down and sighed softly. “I don’t know. He bumped into you. Maybe, you didn’t like the look of his face. I’m just glad you didn’t punch him.”
There was an unspoken, ‘like you did last time’.
They both fell silent before Isabelle’s phone buzzed from the bed. She moved to grab it.
Jonathan watched as she read a text before she smiled softly and typed out a response.
It was Sebastian, most likely. Her friend, who as far as Jonathan knew was still in Idris, recovering from a kidnapping that Jonathan could remember more than he’d like. When she placed her phone down again, she looked back at Jonathan. She patted the bed next to her in question. After a moment, he moved to crawl on top of the covers.
Not a single thing about her made sense to him.
Jonathan peered up at her from the bed as he thought about it.
It hadn’t always been like this but it felt natural now that it was. They’d never talked about it aloud. They’d never put words to anything they did but everyone knew that Jonathan was hers. They all regarded him like some broken toy. If he malfunctioned, they called her. Somehow, he had become her responsibility alone.
There weren’t words for that. He wasn’t her boyfriend. They weren’t dating nor were they friends. Friends didn’t kneel by their other friends' feet when they got overwhelmed. Friends didn’t share a bed to chase away nightmares.
Jonathan didn’t understand much about human nature but he understood that Isabelle Lightwood shouldn’t like him. He understood that for some reason, she did.
Sometimes, Jonathan felt like he was missing something. He felt like there was some grand scheme in all of this that he was failing to see. Maybe, this was all a plot to get back at him. Maybe, she was just trying to gain his trust so she could screw him over. That would make a lot more sense than the alternative - that Isabelle Lightwood was choosing to do this because she cared about him.
.
The next day, Isabelle caught him staring into the mirror.
“You look handsome,” she murmured from the bed.
The comment came unprompted but when she spoke, Jonathan frowned and turned away. After everything had calmed down, a healer had been called to try to help him. Magic could heal many things. The scars that used to cover his entire body were gone. Now, he just had a few left. Some stayed across his left cheek, down his neck and scattered across his chest. The rest of his skin was unblemished. He found it hard to conceptualize what he looked like now. The sight that met him in the mirror didn’t seem to fit what he thought of himself.
It still looked like a glamour, as fake as the sight of his face wearing Sebastian’s body had been. Only it was real this time. It was his.
“I look strange,” he replied finally.
“You look normal,” Isabelle corrected. She was amused with him. He wasn’t sure why.
Jonathan frowned. “Strange,” he repeated.
He could still hear the echoes of demons in his head, murmuring that he was too pretty. It hadn’t been a compliment then. Now, Jonathan had to admit that he was pleased Isabelle liked the sight of him, even as foreign and wrong as it looked in the mirror.
She thought he was handsome. Jonathan forced down the smile that threatened his face at the thought of that.
.
Jonathan rarely left the Institute.
He wasn’t allowed on assignments. He couldn’t do patrol. He couldn’t even leave on his own. He was allowed to stay in the Institute but his privileges didn’t extend beyond that. He was supposed to stay in the Institute, where people could watch him all the time. To leave would be too dangerous.
The Clave was giving him this one chance at redemption. Their oversight had allowed Valentine to poison him. Their oversight had allowed Valentine to cast him to the demons. Their oversight had allowed him to grow into this.
Their guilt meant that he had one chance at redemption before they wrote him off entirely. If he messed this up, he wouldn’t get to try again and they all knew it.
The only exception to this rule was when he was with Isabelle. She thought it was good for him to get out. She saw value in the mundane world. She saw value in interacting with them and being normal.
Jonathan wasn’t so sure that getting coffee would be the factor that saved him but he didn’t protest. It was interesting at least. While Isabelle sat in the coffee shop and caught up on paperwork, Jonathan watched.
He watched the mundane come in and out. He watched the baristas behind the counter make coffee and call out orders. He watched them make phone calls, meet friends and sometimes, make art.
Art fascinated Jonathan. There was no point to it. It didn’t provide any advantage. It didn’t contribute to anything meaningful. He could see no reason to work hard to get good at something that meant nothing, that did nothing. It was the most useless skill.
Yet, Jonathan admired it. There was something nice about doing something that would make no difference in the world, just because it was pretty. It reminded him of Clary every time. He wondered how she was doing. He wondered if she was happy in Idris with Jace.
Isabelle spoke to her a lot. Jonathan had spoken to her a few times. She tried to call him at least once a week. Often, Jonathan ignored her. He wanted to answer but he never knew what to say. She always asked how he was doing. There was always the unspoken question of if he was getting better or not and Jonathan didn’t know what to say to that.
They all wanted him to be normal so badly. They all wanted him to heal and be just like them. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be like that. Some weeks, it felt easy. It felt like he was better. It felt like the person he’d been a year ago was so far away but some weeks, it felt like he hadn’t changed at all.
He couldn’t bear to hear the disappointment in his sister's voice when she heard he’d messed up again. She never expected it. Clary was always so hopeful that this would be the time he never slipped up again. Jonathan had no such hope. He always knew he’d mess up again. He always knew he’d let her down.
Jonathan pulled out his phone. He sent Clary a text message, asking if she’d been drawing recently. At least in a text, he didn’t have to hear her voice. He could pretend he wasn’t hurting her, if he didn’t have to hear it. That made it easier.
.
Sometimes, it came out of nowhere. He’d be okay for so long and then one day, a flip would switch and he wouldn’t be. It would surprise even him how quickly things could change. Andrew had seen Jonathan flip out before. Like Isabelle, he knew how to handle it. He knew to get Jonathan away, so he could calm down. He knew that trying to argue with him or yelling at him would only make things worse.
Jonathan liked Andrew. Andrew was one of the few people in the Institute who was nice to him and one of the few people who didn’t annoy him with it. Andrew was cautious around him. Sometimes, he eyed Jonathan like he was a wild animal he didn’t trust but he also said hello in the morning. He’d make polite conversation, conversation that Jonathan now knew how to navigate.
Every morning, when Andrew asked how he was, Jonathan would respond with ‘good.’ That was the acceptable response and the easy one. Then, Jonathan would ask how Andrew was in return. Andrew’s conversational skills were a bit more advanced than Jonathan’s. Sometimes, Andrew would give a one word answer but sometimes, he’d say more. He’d tell Jonathan about whatever trouble he was having with the new system or the interns or the Clave.
Jonathan didn’t think he always responded right, when Andrew went off script like that but he was thankful that Andrew pretended not to notice the perplexed expression on his face, as he tried to figure out what to say. He was thankful Andrew kept talking to him anyway.
Sometimes, Jonathan wondered if Isabelle asked Andrew to talk to him, so he could practice. Jonathan didn’t want to know the answer.
That morning started off like that. It was a normal morning. Andrew and Jonathan made small talk. Andrew told him what he needed help with that day. Jonathan made a mental list of what he should do before he nodded and left Andrew to his meetings or whatever other important things Andrew was doing.
Most of the time, Jonathan did the boring stuff Andrew or Isabelle didn't want to do. He’d help sort paper. He’d make sure their equipment was working correctly. He’d do safety checks when no one else felt like doing it.
It wasn’t exciting work but he liked feeling helpful at least.
He was about halfway through his list when he heard someone come up behind him. Truthfully, he should have known who it was right away. Isabelle didn’t walk that strongly and there was only one other person who would approach him like that. Everyone else in the Institute stayed away from him. Even the ones who openly hated him wouldn’t walk up to him like that.
Except this time, Jonathan didn’t realize. He froze. The room seemed to slow down as he took in exactly how close this person was to him. In his mind, there was only one reason someone would be approaching him from behind. He was about to be attacked. This person was about to hurt him and he’d been stupid enough to let them get this close.
Valentine was going to be so mad at him. Obviously, this was a test and he’d failed before it had even begun.
The next thing he remembered was slamming the man into the wall behind them. They hit it hard enough that Jonathan could hear the thunk of air rushing out of the man’s lungs.
Jonathan growled. He asked the man who had sent him. He asked where Valentine was.
Jonathan didn’t remember much else, until Isabelle pulled him off. She shoved him, pressing hard at that spot in his neck that made him drop until he fell to his knees. One of her hands took his hair into her palm. She held tight and it burned where she tugged at him.
He could have signed in relief. He leaned over, his head pressing into her thigh as he let out a jagged breath. Every panicked thought left his mind. The pain was grounding. Her presence was grounding. She left no room for him to struggle or focus on anything but her.
Before him, Andrew gasped for air. Jonathan looked up with bleary, wet eyes. His shirt was disheveled. His neck was red. Had Jonathan choked him? He didn’t remember.
“Go,” Isabelle commanded. At first, he thought she was talking to him. He squirmed, until she tightened her hand in his hand and he stilled.
Andrew pulled himself off the wall and rose to his feet. He took a few deep breaths as he stared down at Jonathan before he turned and left the room without looking back.
Isabelle and him stayed there for a long moment. She held him tight and he didn’t dare move. He’d messed up, he began to realize. He’d messed up again.
“How are you?” She asked finally.
“I’m -” Jonathan's voice sounded hoarse, as if he’d been the one choked. He faltered. He didn’t know how to answer her.
“On a scale of one to ten?” She clarified.
Jonathan thought about it. She’d asked him this before. They used it sometimes, to gauge how in control of himself he was. It was useful when he could feel himself slipping or now, after he already had. It wasn’t much use if he was already gone.
“Six now,” he said eventually. “I thought he was…” Jonathan trailed off. He thought of every attack that had ever been thrown at him, every test. No one here would do that. No one here would test him like that or hurt him to see if he could protect himself. He knew that. It didn’t make it any easier to remember it. “I’m sorry.”
She slowly eased her touch on his hair. “I’ll meet you in my room.”
Jonathan nodded. His legs trembled as he pulled himself to his feet. When he got to her room, he stood in the doorway and hesitated. He didn’t want to sit on the bed. He always struggled with this. He felt the guilt crawl up his throat. He wanted to punish himself. He wanted it to hurt.
He sank to his knees by the bedpost and sagged against it as he closed his eyes. He sat there for a long time, until his phone chimed in his pocket. When he pulled it out, it was a text from Clary. She’d sent him a couple of photos of her sketchbook. She’d been drawing the scenery around Idris. It looked beautiful. Her art always did.
‘How have you been?’ She asked after.
Jonathan shoved his phone back into his pocket without answering.
.
“Andrew isn’t mad at you,” Isabelle murmured for possibly the third time.
“He should be.” Jonathan repeated again.
“He isn’t. Of all the people you could have attacked, you chose the one who understands what you’re going through most. Andrew’s been kept up to date on how you’re doing and what you’ve been struggling with. He knows you didn’t mean to attack him. He knows why you did.”
“So, that makes it okay then?” Jonathan questioned.
She frowned. “Of course, it doesn’t but we’re working on it. You don’t remember how bad you used to be. You don’t realize how much better you are now. You’re making progress.”
“It’s been a year,” he responded deadpan.
“It’s been a year and you’ve made more progress than anyone thought you would,” Isabelle snapped. She took a breath to calm herself before she pinched her nose between her fingers. For a moment, she seemed to consider if she wanted to speak or not. Finally, she spoke again. “We all thought you’d get executed.”
Slowly, Jonathan looked up to her.
“They said they were giving you a chance to be rehabilitated in light of everything you’d gone though but no one thought you would make any progress. It was an empty offer, so when they finally killed you they could say they’d tried and that it wasn’t their fault Valentine fucked you up so much.”
“They sent you here since Clary, Alec and I were the ones who argued for you. They wanted us to see you fail, to see that we’d made a mistake to push them to let you live. We all thought that’s exactly what would happen. Clary always hoped but she -” Isabelle broke off as if pained and then shook her head.
“She always hoped and when you came here, you surprised us all because you tried.” Isabelle’s brow furrowed. She kept speaking but she hardly looked at him. She was talking to herself now. Jonathan was merely listening. He’d heard some of this before. Most of it, he hadn’t. “You couldn’t be left alone for a second, you used to dig your finger into your skin when you were stressed out and you’d lash out at anyone who even looked at you.”
He couldn’t remember much of his early time here but he knew that she was right. He knew that was why Clary left so suddenly. She had wanted to help but she hadn’t wanted to see him like that. No one had.
“But you tried. I could tell you were trying. It wasn’t your fault that you could barely control yourself. It wasn’t your fault that you thought everyone was going to hurt you. You were trying to get better but you just didn’t know how. You didn’t know how the world worked, you didn’t know what kindness was like and you didn’t know how to do anything but be mad and angry.”
Isabelle looked up at him. She seemed to break out of the tangent she was on. “You told me that you were sorry.” She said suddenly. “Do you remember that?”
Jonathan frowned. He shook his head no.
“One of the first nights you were here. I didn’t know how to feel about you. I wanted you to be given a chance for Clary but I didn’t think it would do any good. Sebastian and I both thought you were beyond repair and Sebastian knew every horrible side of you that I didn’t. But you said that you were sorry. You told me to tell Sebastian that you were sorry you’d hurt him. You told me that you had to do it and that you didn't have a choice. You said that you’d never had a choice in any of it.”
“That’s when I decided I was going to help you. I told you that you had a choice now and that as long as you tried, I would help you. You don’t remember that?”
Jonathan thought back on it. He could remember some things. He could remember what Clary looked like. He could remember her covering her mouth and not wanting to look at him. He could remember the empty room they put him in and how he’d paced around until his feet hurt. He could remember Alec’s deep frown as he watched him and Magnus hesitating before trying to heal him for the first time.
He didn’t remember Isabelle talking to him.
“Well, I did and you’ve tried. You’ve done good. You’ve made progress no one thought you would. You can’t expect everything to be better overnight. You’ve made a lot of progress and you’re going to make more. You should be proud of yourself.”
Isabelle turned. She walked into the bathroom and a moment later, Jonathan heard the shower kick on. He stayed kneeling by the bed until she came back out of the bathroom an indeterminable amount of time later. She stared at him for a long moment before she sighed. “Get in bed,” she murmured. “What are you still doing on the floor?”
Jonathan scrambled up as she crawled onto the other side and flicked the light off. It was too early to sleep but Jonathan didn’t mind. He crawled under the covers and pressed himself into her side until she moved to wrap an arm around him.
“Isabelle,” he whispered a few minutes later.
He expected her to sound half asleep but when she spoke, she was wide awake. “What?”
Jonathan hesitated. “Thank you,” he finally murmured before he buried his face in her arm and closed his eyes.