#and Thomas would always defend Alastair which meant having conversations about Alastair nearly impossible without upsetting someone | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

naerysthelonesome · 3 years

Text

The Sanctuary Scene

From Alastair’s POV

(I tried, okay?)

Start of fic:

Upon being securely locked into the Sanctuary, Alastair had swiftly moved to one of the bedrolls provided, and pulled out a book (Machiavelli’s The Prince- one he’d read many times before), trying as best he could to take his mind off of Thomas’ inescapable presence. He’d settled himself among the provided blankets and pillows, moving only to take off his jacket and flip pages.

Thomas apparently determined to make himself near impossible to ignore, walked about, observing anything and everything, and generally making himself a distracting nuisance. He’d even knocked over a candelabra at some point. It had taken every ounce of Alastair’s self-control not to look.

He continued to stare at his book with unseeing eyes, trying as hard as he could to concentrate on the story. There was, however, none of the curiosity that might have motivated him. He could just have picked up one of the books provided by Eugenia, who admittedly had quite good taste, but that would have required him to move from his inconspicuous perch. And drawing Thomas’ attention to himself just would not do.

He knew he’d made the right decision to follow Thomas all those evenings, and he would do it again in a heartbeat. But now they were locked together for Angels knew how long, their only key to getting out, far away in Paris. Paris. That city brought back memories he would rather not think of right then. Memories of ink against warm skin, sparkling eyes, and a boy that was nothing less than a painting in motion.

He shook his head and focused his eyes on the pages in front of him. He had successfully kept to himself for hours now; what were a few more? But the silence was starting to get oppressing, as were the eyes that seemed to periodically settle on him. He could not imagine what Thomas thought of their situation.

As if in response to that thought, the boy in question darter to the door and shook it. A valiant but damned effort.

“A little menacing that the Sanctuary bolts shut from the outside, isn’t it? I never thought about it much before”, He said, making Thomas jump slightly. He allowed himself to look as the boy turned toward him.

Thomas looked surprised at Alastair having spoken to him at all, but attempted conversation, nonetheless.

“I, er, suppose one might have to keep an unexpectedly dangerous Downworlder out or something”, he said, making sound but obvious sense, as was his way.

“Maybe”, Alastair replied with what he hoped was an amicable shrug, “On the other hand, it does give the institute a makeshift prison”. Idle conversation, but surely something to think about. He looked back down at his book and kept them firmly there as Thomas came closer.

He felt the other boy stare at him, unmoving. He could be thinking of any number of things. Maybe he was thinking of a response to what Alastair had said, or maybe about how ardently he hated him.

Thomas’ tone, when he finally spoke was demanding, almost angry. It shifted completely the comfortable energy that had started to establish between them.

“Why have you been following me around?”

Alastair’s breath hitched in his throat. Here was the question he’d been dreading all this time.

“Someone had to”, he said, for lack of a better answer. How was he supposed to tell Thomas that he had done it because he had wanted him to be safe? That he hadn’t wanted any harm to come to the person he should be feeling only apathy- or maybe shame- towards? How was he supposed to explain himself?

“What on Earth does that mean?”

Alastair nearly flinched, but kept his face impassive and eyes trained on his book. It was as easy to act unbothered, as it had been to act cruel. Alastair was no stranger to wearing masks.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to, Lightwood”, he said with all the condescension he could muster.

Then Thomas did the first truly surprising thing he’d done all night. He sat down beside him, and the movement startled Alastair enough that he couldn’t stop himself looking up at the boy.

“I do want the answer”, Thomas said decidedly, “and I will not get up until you tell it to me”.

Well, damn him. Alastair could hardly blame him for wanting to know. He was owed an explanation, but that didn’t make the decision to give it to him any easier. He slowly closed and placed his book aside, steeling himself for the surely nerve-wracking talk that was headed his way.

He looked at Thomas, who was once again staring. Alastair had to admire the determinacy with which he was approaching a conversation with him.

“I knew you were taking extra patrols”, Alastair said truthfully, “And more than that- going out by yourself with a murderer on the loose. You were going to get yourself killed. You’re meant to take someone with you”. He only narrowly avoided sounding cross or accusatory.

“No thank you. All these people going out in pairs, announcing themselves every time they speak, unable to make a move without consulting each other- they might as well ring a bell to let the killer know they’re coming”, Thomas said scornfully, “And meanwhile, if you’re not on the schedule, you’re supposed to just sit around on your arse doing nothing. We’ll never catch the murderer if we avoid being out on the streets. That’s where the murderer is.”

The indignant expression Thomas was wearing, and the little speech he’d just made, amused him. He and his friends were all so alike. Alastair knew Thomas well enough to know that while those words may not have been entirely honest, the sentiment behind them was sincere. He had just so badly wanted the killer gone.

“Never before have I heard such a concise statement of the ludicrous philosophy with which you and your school friends go through the world, running toward danger.” His arms were starting to hurt, so he stretched them out over his head, and went on, “But that’s not why you were doing what you were doing. There’s a little truth to what you just said, but not the heart of it”.

“What do you mean?”

“You couldn’t save your sister, so you want to save other people.” he said, hoping he wasn’t going too far, “You want revenge, even if this isn’t the same evil that took Barbara- it’s still evil, isn’t it?” The look in Thomas’ eyes confirmed that his assessment was true, so he continued, “You want to behave recklessly, and you don’t want your reckless behavior to compromise a patrol partner’s safety. So you went alone.”

Alastair had understood his motivations easily enough. Thomas was complicated, but he had never been hard for Alastair to read. At the heart of him, he was simply good, and kind, and fiercely loyal. It was a miracle his friends hadn’t seen through him.

“Well, I don’t believe that you really think we’re stupid,” Thomas said, “Or that we willingly court danger for danger’s sake. If you believed that, you would do more to stop Cordelia spending time with us.”

Outwardly, Alastair scoffed. But it seemed Thomas was not the only person easily read.

“My point,” Thomas went on firmly, “is that I don’t think you believe the rude things you say. And I don’t understand why you say them. It doesn’t make any sense. It’s as if you want to drive everyone away.”

The audacity of Thomas to believe that Alastair was any sort of good; the nerve he had to believe he was rude for anything but selfish, cruel reasons- Alastair had never wanted to embrace another person so badly for being wrong.

“Why were you so awful to us in school? We never did anything to you”. The words were not spoken with any venom, and yet, they stung. Alastair winced.

For the first time, he really considered letting someone in. He needed someone to know the truth of his actions. Cordelia was the only one who even remotely understood why he had done the things he had done, and although he still felt his behavior inexcusable, telling her had been a small comfort.

But the words would not come easy.

“I was awful to you… because I could be.”

“Anyone can be a bastard if they want to be,” replied Thomas, verbally batting away his answer, “You had no reason to do it. Your family are friends with the Herondales. You could have at least been kinder to James.”

He could have been. But he had had a reason.

“When I got to school,” Alastair said, forcing himself to breathe; he had never spoken about this before. It had never been easy, and it wasn’t now- “loose talk about my father preceded me. Everyone knew he was a failure, and some of the older students decided I was an easy target. They… let’s just say that by the end of the first week, I had been made to understand my place in the hierarchy, and I had the bruises to remind me should I ever forget.”

Thomas seemed to be having a hard time wrapping his head around what he had just said. And understandably so. Alastair wondered if he’d always appear the bully in Thomas and his friends’ eyes.

Thomas didn’t inclined to talk just then, so Alastair went on before he lost the nerve, “After about a year of being knocked around, I realized I could either become one of the bullies, or suffer the rest of my school days. I felt no loyalty to my father, no need to defend him, so that was never a problem. I wasn’t very big- well, you know what that’s like.”

He looked at Thomas then, noting the broad, strong width of him, and the way his shirt sleeves hugged his arms. He didn’t miss the way he seemed to shrink back into himself at the gaze. Alastair looked away.

“What I did have,” he said, “was a savage tongue and a quick wit. Augustus Pounceby and the others would collapse laughing when I cut some poor younger student down to size. I never got my hands bloody, never hit anyone, but it didn’t matter, did it? Soon enough the bullyboys forgot they’d ever hated me. I was one of them.”

None of what he had said earlier had been an excuse. In a game of hurt or be hurt, he had chosen to hurt. It had been self-preservation, but it had still been selfish.

“And how did that turn out for you?” Thomas said, with distaste.

Alastair had no misconceptions regarding the consequences of his decisions, so he met Thomas’ glare and replied, “Well, one of us has a close knit group of friends, and the other has no friends at all. So you tell me.”

“You have friends”, Thomas said, but a hint of doubt crossed his face even as he spoke the words. It was unsurprising to Alastair that Thomas had not paid him enough mind to have ever realized otherwise. Why would he have?

“Then you lot arrived, a bunch of boys from famous families, too well brought up to understand at first what went on far from home. Expecting the world would embrace you. That you would be treated well. As I had never been”. He was unable to restrain the jealous tinge in his voice. “I suppose I hated you because you were happy. Because you had each other- friends you could like and admire- and I had nothing like that. You had parents who loved each other. But none of that excuses that way I behaved. And I do not expect to be forgiven.”

Alastair felt close to tears as he came to the end of his story- physically exhausted- and his hands were shaking. But he did not regret it. He hoped Thomas would not cause him to regret it either.

“I’ve been trying to hate you-” Thomas said in a quiet voice. The response did not faze Alastair. It was what he deserved. “-for what you did to Matthew. You richly deserve to be hated for what you have done.”

It was true that Alastair had hurt Matthew in terrible ways, but he had hurt Thomas as well. He was tired of Thomas’ refusal to acknowledge it. What he had said about his family more that warranted Thomas’ own hatred of him.

“It wasn’t just his mother I slandered. It was your parents, too. You know it. So you don’t have to- to act all high-minded about this. Stop pretending you are only upset on behalf of Matthew. Hate me on your own behalf, Thomas.”

“No”, Thomas said, then paused.

The word brought only a fleeting comfort with it, and Alastair waited for the other shoe to drop, for the blows he deserved to rain down upon him, this time deserved. But they did not come.

“The reason I cannot hate you is because- because of those days we spent in Paris together,” Thomas said, and the words damn near stopped Alastair’s heart in his chest, “You were kind to me when I was very alone, and I am grateful. It was the first time I realized you could be kind.”

The tears that had threatened to come up earlier, nearly made their presence known again. H stared at Thomas with lucid eyes as he tried to process those words. Memories came back to him unbidden, and he heard himself say, “It is my favorite memory of Paris as well.”

“You don’t have to say that. I know you were there with Charles”. That was all it took to wrench him out of his mind and back to the present. He felt his defenses go up again at the mere mention of his former lover.

“Charles Fairchild? What about him?”

“Wouldn’t that be your best memory of Paris?” Thomas replied, undeterred.

Consciously, he knew there was no danger here. Thomas would never use this information against him, and besides… he had his own secrets. This did not keep him from responding defensively, as he was wont to do, when it came to Charles. “Exactly what are you suggesting?”

“I’m not suggesting anything. I’ve seen the way you look at Charles, the way he looks at you. I’m not an idiot, Alastair, and I’m asking…”

Time seemed to stop as Thomas shook his head and sighed, coming to some kind of abrupt decision. A decision that began with words that as good as ripped apart Alastair’s defenses yet again.

“I suppose I’m asking if you’re like me.”

End of fic.

This turned out so much longer than expected- If you read it all the way through, you likely have a slight obsession.

#thomastair #the sanctuary scene #chain of iron #chain of iron spolers #alastair's pov #alastair carstairs #thomas lightwood #this was NOT as easy to write as i thought it'd be #I think i've maintained canon-compliance but idk #it's 5am here guys. please be nice #idk if i should do the second part?#i don't know if my writing is worth the effort D:#i have never written anything this long im-

45 notes · View notes