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sandersgrey · 1 year

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A Study in Greys

Eventual Kit/Ty Endgame, Mutual Pining, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Psychological Trauma, Kit Rook Has ADHD, Kit Rook has C-PTSD.

First / Second / Third / Fourth / Fifth / Prev. Fic also available on ao3.

Wordcount: 6k.

A/N: Huge thanks to everyone who commented and gave me the motivation to finally finish the chapter. As always, shout out to @thechangeling for being a very supportive friend and not killing me for the hiatus, and @jynxlovesluck for being the amazing partner and beta they've been this entire time. I could not do it without you. At the very least, I could not do it this well. TW for a bit of unconscious self harm right at the beginning, and for a lot of conflict between characters, including brief fear of domestic violence that doesn't come to pass. (Not a lot of physical injuries, though. Not... yet.)

Seventh Chapter: The Ghost At The Feast

“Absolutely fucking not.”

With her arms crossed and that snarl, Livy would be any horror director’s first pick. Ty could feature in it, too; he’s pretty enough to be the star cast in marble in the dusty light of the room, his silence heavy. He hasn’t spoken in five minutes.

Kit would have liked to say he’s been handling this tension with all the poise and resilience of a Herondale. It’s true if you know a Herondale’s bad habits. He’s bit down so hard on the inside of his cheek that the thin rope of badly-healed skin split open again, coating his tongue with a taste of iron.

He’s never been good at arguing with people he actually likes. It’s his biggest flaw.

Still. No better time to learn than the present. Draping a shaky arm over his knee, Kit risks a grin: “Are you sure?”

Livvy’s stare grows unimpressed:

“We’re not using you as bait.”

“Why not?” Kit asks. “I’d be really good at it.”

Ty’s frown deepens. He’s been incessantly tapping the ground since the idea first came up, faster the longer it went on. It’s honestly a little insulting. Kit might not be the best with a dagger, but he can figure out a social situation better than anyone in this room, alive or dead, that’s for sure. He resents the worry.

“No,” says Ty.

Livvy emphatically gestures at him. “Yes, thank you, Ty. It’s a terrible idea.”

“Eh, is it?”

“Kit, we’re not risking you getting hurt.” she sighs.

That gets a snort out of him. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m already at risk. I’ve been at risk since the beginning. The safest option- for everyone- is to shut down their entire operation as soon as we possibly can, or did you forget about their whole Puppet King idea?”

“That doesn’t mean we should put you at more risk!” Ty blurts out.

“I think that’s really up to me, isn’t it? We’re-” - sitting on top of a time bomb, waiting for it to explode- “ risking more the more we wait. Someone might figure out we know; I’d be really fucking surprised if they don’t already suspect you, and I’d really rather not figure out how subtler the next assassination attempt is gonna be, okay?”

Ty presses his thumb against the center of his palm, massaging the muscle. Stress tightens his shoulders into boulders- it makes Kit feel a little bad, honestly. He doesn’t mean this to be anxiety inducing to anyone else.

Rolling his tongue against the open wound in his mouth, Kit waits.

The mortar between the stones, at least, is easy pickings for a clever enough hand. He digs his nails into it and wonders how long it’d take to bring the whole castle down in itself. Longer than he has. He picks at it anyway.

“It’s too big a risk,” Ty says at last. “I won’t be able to get to you fast enough if you’re caught.”

Shaking his head impatiently, Kit says:

“Look, I can do it, alright? It’s like ten, fifteen minutes, tops, and then we’re home free. I know I fumbled it- I know I should’ve realized what they wanted sooner, but I’m not completely incompetent. I can handle some manipulative idiots.”

A tilted head. Confusion briefly crosses Ty’s expression, resolving itself into something unreadable. His clever fingers grip the hem of Kit’s jeans until the fabric stretches, near painfully, over his bruised knee. Kit doesn’t flinch. He can’t.

“It’s not about whether you could do it. You shouldn’t have to.”

Kit shrugs. “I shouldn’t have to do a lot of things.”

“What does that mean?”

Right. He sighs, more disappointed in himself than on anyone else, and pinches the bridge of his nose between his pointer and thumb. No more cryptic bullshit: Ty doesn’t play mind games.

But, as he opens his mouth… Kit finds himself stuck. He pauses, wondering, and closes it back again. What does that mean? Does it mean anything?

For some reason, what comes to mind is this: his ten years old self, the Market, and a pocketful of stolen wallets. Then: his fifteen years old self, the Market, and a pocketful of strange ingredients. The way he had felt stuck back then, too. The way he’d felt useful.

Ty’s attention tastes like iron. It feels like it, too.

“I just want-” Kit swallows. His exhale cracks, brittle. “I don’t know. I guess I can’t go home.”

He picks at a loose thread in his jeans, wrapping it around his finger until it turns his skin swollen, a purple protest. Lets go. Once, twice, a third time, relieving the pressure just before it bursts. Ty says:

“You could go.”

It hits like a wave of nausea. Kit squeezes his eyes shut, dizzy with it.

A familiar tempo, discarded like a dirty coat on the ground. There’s nothing to say. The thread digs into his knuckles, a bright spot of pain in the darkness, and Kit holds onto it.

“What we mean ,’ says Livvy, in a meaningful tone of voice, “is that it’s a really fucked up situation that you don’t need to stay in. We’re not saying we don’t want you around.”

“Of course we’re not,” Ty says, a little perplexed. His elegant fingers twitch towards Kit’s own.

Kit can’t help it: he laughs. God. How like Ty to utterly destroy him without even meaning to. Dragging a hand over his face, he presses the palm against the orbit of his skull until he could map the bones by feel alone and asks, tired:

“What even for?”

It’s nearly comforting how baffled Ty’s “What for?” sounds, like he can’t even figure out why they’d need a reason at all. Ty pauses, his grip on Kit’s jeans tightening. “Just because, I guess.”

Just because.

It’s not anything. It’s just a sentence. Kit lets his hand fall on his lap, exhausted, the strength of Ty’s earnest expression a little too heavy to bear. It’s no good. Kit can’t deal with that right now.

“I-”

His phone rings.

The sudden trrrrrrrr makes Ty wince back, his entire face scrunching up in pain.

Scrambling, Kit paws at his pocket, frantically mumbling sorry sorry sorry until sweat-slicked fingers manage to get a grip, pressing against the screen harder than they usually need to. He hangs up.

Ty rubs a thumb against the palm of his other hand, self-soothing. “Who was that?”

“It says Nessie”, Livvy observes from over Kit’s shoulders. He sighs, mourns his privacy, explains:

“A friend from Devon.”

“You’re not going to call back?”

A grimace. Kit gently kicks at Ty’s thigh until he gets the memo and lets his foot go. Pulling his knees up, Kit rests his chin in his arms, just a little bit colder, and says:

“Nah, all my friends at home are mad at me. I’m going to wait til the dust settles.”

Ty frowns, the perfect line of his jaw tightening, but Livvy tilts her head and a few of her hair strands no-clip into the wall. It never looks quite right. Kit holds back a shudder.

She asks:

“Why are they mad at you?”

He sucks air in through his teeth. “Well, Lizzie and Mari are mad because I left with Zach, which makes sense. He was a dick to them. Nessie is mad, because…” Wincing, Kit raises a shoulder in a how to put this? way. “Well, because I’m here.”

Ty shifts his weight to lean closer, staring down at the thread around Kit’s finger until Kit lets go of it, shame-faced. “What do you mean?”

The awkward position strains at the seams of Ty’s right sleeve, the sculpted, lean shape of his arm tensing to keep him upright. There’s deceptive strength there. It had felt like a steel bar across Kit’s chest when Ty had caught him.

Someone pointedly clears their throat:

“Could it be,” entones Livvy, “because you left? Did you even tell her you were coming here?”

The tiniest flicker of a flinch in Ty’s hand. Kit tightens the reins on his own gaze, tips his chin up at Livvy, half-lidded and scornful:

“How would you want me to explain this to her? Sorry, I can’t hang out this week, I’m too busy scheming? Would you mind putting our plans on hold while I uncover a conspiracy I can’t tell you about?”

“If that's the truth,” says Ty. Kit scoffs:

“She would’ve wanted to come.”

“Then let her.”

“Yeah, that sounds like such a great idea,” Kit sneers, then pauses, chagrined. Adds: “That’s sarcasm. Nessie is a vampire. Letting her come would probably be the most efficient way to get her fucking killed. It’s too dangerous. No , thank you.”

Ty says, aggrieved:

“Then tell her that.”

“Yeah? Have you told Alyssa?”

A pause. “How do you know about her?”

Kit looks away, dragging his feet across the floor. He hadn’t meant to say that.

(Dust rises through Livvy’s form. She shakes herself off, impatient, and floats a little away when that previsibly fails to do anything. Like this, they can barely see her.)

“You’re not hiding it as well as you think you are,” he says. “Not everyone thinks you’ve cut off all contact.”

“Ragnor wouldn’t tell.”

“You’re right, he wouldn't. He didn’t need to, anyway. Harry noticed you’ve been sneaking off.”

“Like you do? You haven’t been all that careful either,” Livvy points out.

Shrugging, Kit leans back against the wall as casually as possible. He tips his chin up, allows a leg to extend, and keeps a very tight lid on his voice as he says:

“Sure. The difference is that people suspect Ty’s ‘consorting with the enemy’ because he’s openly done it before,” like an idiot, Kit doesn’t say. “They think I’m having an affair because that’s the fun and exciting thing to believe.”

Ty pauses. “They think you-”

“There’s no proof, obviously, but that doesn’t matter. It makes sense. You should’ve given them a hint of a scandal, Ty… It would’ve worked better than silence.”

Shoving the (quite helpful, honestly) suggestion away with a gesture, Ty frowns:

“They think you’re having an affair… with me ?”

Livvy turns to the wall, concealing her laugh with a cough. Briefly, but fervidly, Kit wishes for the ability to banish a spirit.

“Sorry”, Kit says. “I know I’m not your type, but I figured it’d be safer than them realizing we’re colluding. It gets the message across now that they know they can’t just kill you off openly. Heather had a moment-”

“The poltergeist.”

Kit nods. “I know you noticed. Me insisting on going with you is what sealed it, I think. Now she’s at least going to be a little subtler about it- make sure it can’t be tracked back to her.” A pause, then: “You should be careful.”

“You should have told me.”

“I knew you already knew you were in danger, Ty.”

Ty drags himself into an upright position, jaw tight with the kind of defensiveness Kit usually saw in him around Julian. His dark brows are furrowed. They cast a shadow upon his eyes.

“I didn’t know about this ,” Ty snaps. “I’m glad you trust my intelligence, but I can’t just guess what you want, Kit. I can’t just know what you’re thinking. You need to tell me things.”

He bristles. “You didn't tell me anything until last night either!”

“I didn’t know you wanted to hear it.”

“Of course I do!”

“Kit”, Ty says, “I didn’t know. Of course I didn't tell you. The last time we’d seen each other you said you didn’t know when you’d forgive me, and then you show up here, years later, dating one of the people who are trying to kill me. I knew you were after something, but fuck if I knew exactly what-”

“I had to do that! I had to date him, how the fuck else was I gonna get here-”

He bites down, but it’s too late.

Dread filling his chest cavity with something far too cold and heavy to name, he watches, scared even to blink, as the blood drains from Ty’s face. There is something devastating about the delicate pink of Ty’s mouth trembling, the dark brows creasing his marble-perfect skin into the kind of expression that would send Kit to his knees if he could move at all.

Kit watches, and fears, and regrets only that he misspoke.

Slowly, Ty says: “You’re using him.”

The tone is very nearly casual. It’s the phrasing that sends a jolt of ice into his stomach. Kit lowers his head, sinking his teeth hard onto the inside of his cheek, and waits.

“That’s why it didn’t fit. That’s why you felt so off around him. You knew he was a centurion; you knew he could bring you here, so you… instead of doing anything else, you…”

“He was insulting my friends in a downworlder restaurant. He wanted a fight.” The voice out of his mouth is nearly unrecognizable. “Ty, he was a threat. I was unarmed.”

“And now?”

Hands into fists. Sharp nails.

“He’s still a threat. This is my best weapon.”

“So you lied to him.”

Kit raises his head, heated. “We just found out that they sent him as bait on purpose, so what does it matter? That’s what I was meant to do!”

“You didn’t know that back then!”

“I knew he was a racist piece of shit who would love a chance to kill all my friends,” he says. “I knew things were going wrong here and I knew that you’d know that, but- I couldn’t just stand there! I couldn’t just hope you’d be fine!”

That pale throat moves as Ty swallows, his face a blank canvas- Kit could project anything on it, anything and nothing at all. His mouth moves:

“You said you didn’t forgive me.”

“I don’t.”

“ When,” bites out Ty, “will you start making any fucking sense?”

Kit throws up his hands, careless of the dust:

“Well, fuck me, Ty, I don’t know what you want me to say!”

“Why are you here?” Ty immediately lists. “Why would you put yourself through all that trouble for someone you’ve said you don’t forgive? Why would you send the necklace? Why would you send the book ?”

Bashful, Kit says: “So you know about the book.”

“Of course I know about the book. There aren’t that many people who would anonymously send me a special edition of Sherlock Holmes. It was either you or Ragnor Fell.”

“Ragnor doesn’t do presents.”

“Yes. I know.”

Kit runs a hand through his hair, tugging just enough to feel it under his skin. “I don’t forgive you,” he says. “Fuck. That doesn’t mean I don’t…”

“You don’t?”

A strangled, frustrated noise, deep in Kit’s throat:

“Don’t make me say it.”

“Say what?”

“Oh, you never forget anything”, says Kit, bitterly. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out if you dig hard enough. It was a big day for you.”

From behind the dust, Livvy says: “Don’t talk in riddles.”

His amygdala screams. Feeling a little like he’s buzzing, Kit cradles the elbow he’d thrown against the wall and considers, not for the first time, the very few weapons the living have against the dead.

“ Fuck, Livvy, you scared me!”

“Boo”, she says flatly. “Shouldn’t have forgotten I’m here.”

“ Say something next time, Jesus-”

“I did-”

Movement in his periphery startles Kit back into his guard. Ty has taken a step forward, his delicate fingers hovering over Kit’s hold- too afraid to touch and overstep? The darkness of his brows have furrowed further, worried:

“You’re hurt.”

Kit shakes his head, softening. “It’s fine. I was just startled.”

Finally resolving himself, Ty lays a gentle hand on top of Kit’s. His skin is dry and bitingly cold, the tips of his fingers and parts of his palms hard with calluses, his grip loving. Kit clenches down on the shudder before it starts.

“If you weren’t fine,” says Ty slowly, “would you tell me?”

No. Kit wants to lean back against the wall, wrestle himself back into the shape of someone who doesn’t care about it, but he can’t risk Ty moving away. He stands still. “Does it matter?”

“ Yes.”

“I came here because you were in trouble,” Kit says, because that , at least, is easy. “I sent you the book because I thought you might like it.”

Something about Ty’s mouth softens. “I do.”

“Good.”

“I still don’t get it, though.”

He shakes his head:

“I can’t explain.” Please. “Don’t make me.”

Ty’s hold on his arm tightens, sinking nearly deep enough into his flesh to be satisfying, before Ty lets go. “Fine,” he bites out. It doesn’t feel good.

Hardly anything does, these days.

“I have to go back before anyone gets suspicious. We should put the plan in motion tonight- it’ll only get harder the longer we wait, alright?”

Alarm and frustration rise with Ty’s head: “Kit, no- you should at least have a weapon-”

“I’ll come with you,” Livvy interrupts. Both boys stop in their tracks. “It’s been a while”, she explains, confronted with Ty’s surprise. “Promise I won’t read over your shoulder, Kit.”

It’s a lie.

Kit lets her tag along anyway.

It’s not so bad at first. Livvy hums, some unfamiliar melody that echoes strangely in the stone corridors. Sound carries. Kit can imagine the notes floating down, down, down into the lived spaces where the enemy lies. He nearly tells her to be quieter before he remembers. If no one else can hear it, does it even make a sound?

Her white dress flutters to a wind that isn't there. Her hair is as still as the grave, irradiating a cold spot big enough to envelop Kit in its gelid embrace.

It’s never good to spend too much time around ghosts. You’ll forget how to be warm.

Her legs curl under her as Livvy leans forward, unbothered by gravity:

“He’s right, you know. You really should have something to fight with if you’re going through this.”

Didn’t help you, he doesn’t say. “I guess.”

Kit’s never liked swords much. They always make him feel like he’s pretending to be the storybook hero he just isn’t, but, besides the gun, they’re still what he’s best with. Getting close enough to use a dagger isn’t exactly his favored position.

And things are not nearly bad enough for the gun. He hopes, at least.

He’ll just stand behind Zach around his little posse. Idiot or not, he could make a good body shield. The shame churning inside his stomach isn’t relevant.

Livvy hums. “I’ve been thinking a lot about when we met.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s been three years…” and I haven’t changed since, her frown says. She catches him looking. “Kind of weird to be nostalgic for that, right? Everything was so awful.”

“I get nostalgic about that, too. Sometimes. I think it’s just human nature.”

That makes her smile. It’s a thin one, nearly invisible against the backdrop of the stone wall. “Back then,” she says, “did you already know?”

Kit sighs, resigned.

“Know what?”

“That you’re in love with my brother.”

This time, he manages to avoid his elbow making contact with the wall- Kit still curses, unnerved, and turns to her with about the same urgency of a spy who just heard his co-conspirator sneeze mid-infiltration:

“Don’t say that!”

Livvy straightens herself up, unimpressed: “If I can’t say it and you won’t, what’s the plan there? Morse code?”

“I’m not saying shit, and you better not fucking tattle.”

“Yeah, I got that . That’s why I’m asking about the plan,” she drawls. “I don’t think you’re the type to keep Zach as your pet centurion after this is over, but then again, I didn’t think you’d do it at all. Where did you learn how to honeypot?”

Sighing, he gently butts his head against the closest wall. Wishes for brain damage. Then starts walking again:

“I’m a good improviser.”

“I guess,” says Livvy, doubtful.

“And there’s no plan,” he adds. “ I’m going to get this over with, make sure Ty’s okay, and- I don’t know, go home, probably, if my friends aren’t waiting outside with torches and pitchforks… Livvy?”

She’s only a step or two behind him. Her expression is dark.

“So you’re leaving him again.”

“It’s not leaving him”, Kit scoffs. “What, did you want me to move in permanently? I should be going home soon anyway . Didn’t you guys just say I could go?”

“That’s different.”

“ How?”

“You’re not leaving because it’s dangerous,” she accuses. “You’re leaving because you’re a coward. You’re too afraid to be around him.”

There is, he thinks, something deeply wrong with his heart. “ And ?”

“You can’t do that to Ty. Not again.”

Kit scoffs, and turns to keep walking.

Temperature shock stops him in his tracks as Livvy emerges from his body and plants herself in his way, a dangerous glint in her eyes . His body shakes. The hallway behind her nearly fades from view.

Silver-green eyes.

“Christopher, you’re my friend,” her voice is like velvet. “But if you break his heart again, I’m going to make your life a living hell.”

It gives him a second of pause. Mostly, to assess the damage. It’s not so bad- he’ll stop trembling, but his body doesn’t know it yet. That’s always the hardest part.

“I didn’t break his heart a first time,” he finally says. “It’s not like that.”

“You didn’t see him then. Kit, he was-”

“Yeah, because the thing with you didn’t work. I bet he was fucked up about it, but it was never about me. ”

Livvy crosses her arms, stubborn as a mule and just as strong. “He needs you.”

“Sure,” Kit says, “like a thief needs a crowbar. But I’ve taught him about picking locks. He’ll be fine.”

“Could you, for just a fucking second, pretend like I know what I’m saying about my own twin brother and listen ?” Livvy snarls.

A half mocking sweep of the arm: “Go ahead.”

“He does need you, Kit. Not just to help solve this situation. He was devastated when you left- I’ve never seen him quite like that before, not once, and it wasn’t just because of me. I know you don’t want to believe it, but he lov-”

“No.”

“Kit!”

“Don’t you dare stand there and tell me that. I don’t want to hear it.”

She makes a deeply frustrated noise in the back of her throat: “Why not?!”

“Because,” Kit grits out, “it’s not fucking true.”

“But-”

“I told him, okay?” Kit snaps. “I told him, back then, and it changed nothing. I was never anything more than- than a shiny new toy, someone he could drag around and have fun with. It was never about me , Livvy, it was about the first guy his age who wasn’t either related to him or a piece of shit, and good for him!! I’m glad I could help for a bit! But I can’t- I can’t- I can’t let myself believe it means anything again. Livvy, you’re my friend, too, but let’s not pretend you wouldn’t bleed me like a pig if it would make Ty even slightly happier. I can’t do it, okay? I don’t have anything else to give.”

Livvy tries: “I wouldn’t-”

“You’re doing it right now,” says Kit. “You’re even doing it to yourself. Are you happy like this , Livvy? Really? Or are you just sticking around because you think that’s what Ty needs?”

The ghost says: “Fuck you.”

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m not even the one who dragged you back up.”

A sneer:

“You didn’t stop him.”

Kit lunges.

Something is deeply, deeply wrong.

It takes a small eternity. The fingers of his right hand cramp with the bone-deep certainty of the cold, but he sets his jaw, ignoring the oppressing pressure of Livvy’s presence grasping at him with much more force than a non-corporeal being should have any right to. She’s dead . She can’t keep him. That’s not how it works- that’s not what happens, and Kit shoulders through.

When he emerges, shivering, her eyes are as wide as plates.

She opens her mouth- Kit snarls, something primal taking over- and she snaps it shut with an expression of deep resentment.

Wordlessly, she turns her back and leaves.

And he’s the coward?

It takes him a long time to stop shaking. It’s not even the cold; it’s the fragile, flimsy way it’d made him feel, like ice ready to shatter. The pain is nearly welcome compared to that.

Distantly, Kit thinks his phone vibrates a few times while he gets himself together. It’s such a far off worry it barely registers until he can breathe again, uncurling himself from a fetal-like position next to the wall. God. With numb fingers, he clicks on his messages.

Jem. Jem, and an answer.

Not much, Kit thinks, could make him smile right now. This does.

It’s not a nice smile. It’s not a nice smile, but it’ll do.

He does get lost on the way back, though.

It’s fine. If you keep walking long enough, eventually you’ll get somewhere.

And, anyway, it’s not his fault every single hallway looks exactly the same. The Scholomance, Kit thinks, was designed by someone who thought labyrinthine was in fashion and so was bare, grey stone. You could drop a Minotaur at the center and it would not find a way out in seven years. It’d have to make itself wax wings. It’d have to drown.

At least it’s marginally warmer without any ghosts around. Raymond’s coat tail does briefly infringe upon his peace of mind, but the local spirit grimaces at him and disappears through a wall. Kit’s not even offended. He gets it.

He would also disappear through walls if he could. He’s done that once or twice, actually; it’s called climbing through windows.

Still. Ghosts do have an advantage in that field.

The window he’d nearly fallen through on his first day is, therefore, a welcoming sight. He has kind of some idea of how to get back from here.

“You’re really quite low, though,” Kit tells it. “That doesn’t seem safe.”

It doesn’t answer, which is good news.

The halls get less and less dusty as he goes on. His fingers stop leaving cleaner trails on the walls, gathering a thick layer of grime themselves. There’s a packet of tissues in his pocket, which means he can get most of it off, but seeing it there reminds him of Mina’s own sticky fingers, and it’s just- he misses home. He misses his family.

It’s better like this, though. If even shadowhunters are already trying to use him, they’re probably safer with him away. At least for now.

He wonders what his dad- what his first dad would say. Nothing good, probably. Nothing helpful.

What would his first mom say? Kit doesn’t know. She hadn’t stuck around long enough for him to be able to guess. Then again, maybe that’s an answer in and of itself. Maybe she’d agree with him.

Tessa wouldn’t. Kit sighs, shoving cleaner hands into his pockets.

“Herondale?”

“ Fuck ,” he groans.

The centurion, sword fortunately sheathed at her hip, raises a judgemental eyebrow. “Hello. I was unaware there were any cremations here today.”

He’s taken aback for a second before he realizes that the dust coating his jeans is peeling off, leaving a gray, grimy trail on the ground. Maddening. It’s stone, who the fuck cares- she should be at home with dust by now, old as their fucking traditions are, no chance centurions lower themselves to do spring cleaning.

None of that leaves his mouth. Instead, he smiles blankly and says: “Can I help you?”

Looking a lot like she wants nothing more than to correct him on the proper usage of can versus may , the centurion replies “No, I don’t think you can. However ”, and, with a flourish, takes an envelope out of her pocket, “I believe I can help you. This was left with the rest of the mail this morning. We checked for traps.”

The reason is clear. There is no name on it besides his, not even an address at all, and none of the marks of a fire message. “And it came out negative?”

“ Obviously,” she rolls her eyes.

He takes the envelope. It’s immediately, nearly dropped.

What the fuck? Even to his numb fingers, the stiff paper is cold- much, much colder than it should be, nearly enough to burn. His hand cramps again; he fumbles with the envelope, catching it at the last second.

The centurion scoffs. “Jace Herondale is alive and well, I presume? We all wish him a fruitful marriage.”

Envelope forgotten, Kit tucks it into an inner pocket and straightens up:

“Thanks. Virginia Whitecastle, was it?” Same patrol shifts as Zach. Which means he’s off duty right now, and yet was not the one to bring him the letter. Fuck shit damnit. “How’s your brother? Still hasn’t been sent out?”

Her upper lip curls. Bingo.

“He’s too important to be on the field,” she blusters.

“Oh, I bet. Don’t worry. I’m sure your brother is very, uh… integral to the cause, somehow. What’s he called again?... “

Whitecastle’s face is a silent mask of fury. “Shut it, H- Carstairs. I’m not here for chit chatting. Some of us are working, you know- you may want to check your correspondence yourself from now on.”

“Of course”, Kit says sweetly. “Thanks again for taking the time. I know your family is very busy.”

Her hand twitches toward the pommel of her sword; Kit tips his chin up, daring her. It twitches again, but she moves it away, her jaw set.

“You’re welcome,” she grits out.

Her tightly wound retreat, it must be said, is a sight for sore eyes.

Zach’s door looks the same as it has always been, which is to say: better than a lot of people.

The doorknob is a beautiful round mirror, as silver as mercury. Kit can never get himself to grip it right away- it always feels like he’s going to dirty it, somehow. Even the wood itself is shiny. The zipper on this hoodie, Kit knows, is rusted.

Eventually, you do have to face the music. The smooth surface of the doorknob feels judgmental.

“Christopher.”

Of course.

Zach is waiting for him on the bed.

Much like the door, he is- hatefully well groomed. Shoulders squared, hair carefully combed to a solid geometric shape, uniform precisely creased. His shoes shine so bright Kit starts automatically planning how to steal them.

When Zach’s eyes flick up to meet his, they’re shadowed by a deep scowl.

The only saving grace is that his sword has been carefully laid out on the dresser, out of arm’s reach. He’s not optimistic enough about human nature to assume Zach did it on purpose.

Resentfully, Kit allows the door behind him to slam shut with a bang. Zach winces. Good. Kit hopes he broke his precious door.

“It’s been an hour,” Zach informs him briskly.

“I’m sorry,” snaps Kit, “was I being timed?”

Thin lips purl like an asshole. “You know that’s not the point, Christopher. I can’t keep covering for your shenanigans. It’s not easy, people have already seen you chasing after ghosts like a madman-”

“You wanted a Herondale,” says Kit. “Don’t complain now that you’ve got one.”

“It’s not about that; I can’t keep protecting you.”

Halfway through hanging up his jacket, Kit pauses. “ Protecting me?”, he softly repeats.

Zach grimaces and turns his hands palm up in the air, pacifying: “Look, you know I think you belong here. You’re a shadowhunter too. But some people think- you weren’t raised as one of us, you didn’t drink from the cup, you don’t even live with other shadowhunters…”

“Jem was a Silent Brother. Tessa-”

“-is a warlock”, says Zach, “and Carstairs is retired, which isn’t supposed to happen. Face it. Your entire family is an outlier.”

Kit tugs the worn denim back onto his shoulders, its weight unnaturally light without the anchor of Oliver’s dagger. A muscle twitches in Zach’s jaw. His big hands flex, ripple the fabric of his gloves, but nothing else moves- still the perfect statue of a centurion. Raymond would be proud.

“And?”

“You can’t let them have leverage”, Zach emphasizes. “There are some concessions you get from being Jace Herondale’s cousin, but once people stop thinking you’re fun, they’ll- you’ll lose all privileges. Stop hanging out with the Blackthorn. He’s a ticking bomb.”

In a velvet tone, Kit says: “Would you like to elaborate on that?”

“Stop getting mad at me. I’m the one who should be angry- you’re making people think I’m a cuckold!”

“I haven’t done shit. It’s not my fault your kind doesn’t understand the concept of friendship. And, anyway, cuckold ? What the fuck kinda word choice is that? We’re not married, Zacharias.”

Zach says: “ Is it friendship, though? He has your fucking necklace.”

“It might be a little too complex for your little shadowhunter brain to understand,” Kit sneers, “But outside of this death trap of a cult, some of us manage to have meaningful friendships without having to have our skin burned about it.”

“You can’t possibly be comparing that to parabatai.”

The very idea is repugnant. Still- “I’m sorry, were you there for me when my dad fucking kicked it?”

“You haven’t talked in years!”

“As far as you know,” Kit scoffs.

“Why does it have to be fucking Tiberius Blackthorn, anyway? Can’t you pick literally anyone else?”

Kit takes a step closer. His hand grips the back of a chair, nails biting into the wood. “Oh? Would you like to explain to me why Ty is such a bad choice, then?”

Wisely, Zach stays silent.

“C’mon, now, don’t be shy. Tell me exactly what your thought process was on that one.”

“See?” Zach blurts out, glaring. “You’re even defending him now!”

It’s hard not to laugh at that. Kit doesn’t even try. “I never said I didn’t care. I’d like to believe I wouldn’t go for such an obvious lie, dollface.”

“You’re in love with him.”

Wood creaks. “ Don’t,” Kit bites out, “ ever say that again, or I swear, Zacharias Cross, I will end you.”

“You couldn’t. I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking, anyway.”

Carefully easing his death grip on the back of the chair, Kit puts forward a smile. “Oh, I love hearing gossip. Do go ahead.”

Stupidly, he does. “The Blackthorn’s family is half changeling already, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Tiberius were one of them, too. You know that. I don’t care how many privileges he gets because he’s the Unseelie King’s in law, the only one allowed headphones in the training room-”

“It’s not a privilege. He needs them.”

Zach makes a dismissive noise. “That’s what he wants you to think. The precious little Blackthorn- Ragnor Fell nearly bites off the head of anyone who dislikes him, it’s pathetic. You can’t expect people not to assume anyone who wants to be around that has ulterior reasons. You can’t expect them not to want to balance the scales a little.”

“I see.” Kit does. “Those people your friends?”

“Maybe. Maybe so.”

Kit allows the smile he can feel tugging at his mouth. Judging by Zach’s expression, he doesn’t find it very reassuring. What a shame.

“They actually tell you what they plan to do with their ulterior motives, or do you just do whatever the fuck they say and hope it works for the best?”

“Don’t- it’s fine, okay? They’re mad right now, but it’ll just blow over. I just need you to keep your head down.”

The bark of laughter startles both of them.

Kit leans into it, throwing his head back, until the hysteria bubbling up inside of him has left his stomach empty. He bares his teeth:

“Really? You think I can just keep my head down and everything will be fine ?”

“Sure. You’re a shadowhunter- you’re a Herondale. We’ll be fine. Just- just need to be careful, right now, just need you to stop acting like a Market rat, and then everything will be alright. It’s not like this shit will last forever.”

That’s hilarious. Laughter punches Kit’s throat, but he presses his lips together, grinning. The expression on Zach’s face nearly sends him right back into a fit. God. He should be spending more time around Zach, he really should; this is fucking priceless.

“Zach”, Kit manages, “They tried to kill you.”

A flinch. The smooth planes of Zach’s forehead scrunch up into mountain ranges, his confusion palpable. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Heather sent you to a famously shadowhunter-killing poltergeist in your uniform .”

“I mean, I know she wanted Ty to die-”

Now that’s new. Kit takes in a sharp inhale, reeling. “You knew?”

“It wasn’t subtle, of course I fucking knew. I knew as soon as Mayhew told me about the assignment- That’s why I volunteered. We don’t have enough centurions to be wasting them out of grudges; I knew you’d be acting up again, and I could handle it, anyway.”

“Aww. Could you?” A hysterical grin stretches Kit’s mouth a little too wide. He can see it in Zach, clear as day; the curl of his upper lip, the unnerved twist of his fingers against the bed, leaning away from him. “You were a second away from being minced meat when I saw you.”

“I had it under control-”

“She gave you physical weapon s to fight a ghost .”

“It worked the first time!”

Kit leans against the wall, running a hand through his hair. “You know, I did wonder about that. How could a poltergeist have turned up in Devon without me knowing about it? I have been dealing with those things for years.”

Zach’s eyes dart from him to the door and back, a cornered animal. Broad fingers twitch restlessly. His weapon is still laid out of immediate reach, an useless tool this far from home. Kit bets he’s regretting it now.

“Unless, of course, there was no poltergeist. Not really.”

“There was,” Zach immediately protests, “They wouldn’t-”

Kit drops the smile, face turning to stone. It makes Zach take a sharp inhale.

“They wouldn’t- what? Lie to you about it? You just admitted to believing they’re at least attempted murderers. Tell me, Zach. Did anything even happen when you walked into that first ‘haunted’ house?”

Silence. His lips twitch upwards.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

“That makes no sense,” says Zach, empty.

A carefully casual shrug. Kit’s hand finds the doorknob behind his back, curling around the key ring. “Face it, Zach”, he says. “Your entire social circle is a death cult."

"You're lying. You’ve always hated them- of course you're lying! You want to keep me away from them so you can have your way with Blackthorn! Well, fuck that shit, I’m not falling for that!" Zach stands up, a head taller, two heads wider. Kit's back touches the perfect door:

"Alright. You’ve done me a favor, Cross, so I’ll do you one better. If they don't think you're disposable, if you feel like they actually care about you- then why don’t they know you're only second gen?"

Mid-step, Zach freezes.

"How do you-"

"Your surname was the first clue. Cross isn’t really a shadowhunter name, is it?” Kit says. “You guys like to pretend you’re not painfully Christian where it matters. Now, Zacharias- that’s a good, respectable name for a shadowhunter, if a little overused. I never understood the urge to recycle all the same names.”

“Kit…”

“You have my dad to thank for yours, you know? Jem oversaw your mother's Ascent. Sarah- the real poltergeist- that’s what made me think about it, because why wouldn’t you accept at least a little disguise, unless you’re overcompensating- but he’s the one who really confirmed it for me,” Kit adds, pleased. “That's the thing about him being a retired Silent Brother; he can actually talk , now. You'd be surprised just how much ."

Unlike some, Zach doesn’t look good that pale. It just makes him look unwell.

"You can't tell them. Please."

Kit can't help it: he coos, as sweet and cloying as honey. "Aww, what's wrong, Cross? Do you not trust your friends to stick by you?" He clicks his tongue. "Afraid to find out how little they really care? You can't escape that, you know. No matter how fast you run, you’ll always just be- their tool . You’re not even that important, you know? They were talking about replacing you."

Zach’s hand closes around the pommel.

Kit lurches back, twisting the doorknob, and the cold air of the hallway hits his back like a physical wall- Zach's eyes widen in horror; he takes one, two, three quick steps forward- Kit slams the door shut on his face-

And, at the end of his last shred of self control, Kit does what he does best.

He runs.

#alex wont shut up #alex's arty: writing #tda #tsc #sobh #twp #kit herondale #kit x ty #ty blackthorn #livvy blackthorn #zach au #a study in greys #blood tw #self harm tw

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