Series of drabbles...Again.

Doesn't really have that big of a plot. Just some sibling fluff (STEP-sibling) and later on, fluff-fluff.

Jonathon

He hated school.

The bigger, older boys of the kindergarden class shoved him in a pile of mulch, a chip got buried in his gums as he'd screamed, facefirst in that stupid mulch, as the boys threw rocks at his body.

Jonathon Wayland bit his lip as he walked home, ignoring the stinging pain in his mouth, and the aching he now felt in his back. Oh, how it hurt.

Jonathon walked into the freakishly large, aristocratic house his stepmom had recently moved into, with her two-year-old daughter, Clarissa, who he called Clary when they weren't listening.

Clary, in his opinion, was the only good thing that came out of his father and her mother's marriage.

She was tiny and cherub-like, with wide green eyes, feathery-soft red curls, and constant dimples. He carried her everywhere, despite Jocelyn's worries that the five-year-old would drop the infant, but if she ever tried to take Clary away from her stepbrother, or he ever put her down, her little face would crumple and she would cry, until he picked her back up.

Jonathon smiled at the thought of Clary, wincing when his lips grazed against the cut in his mouth.

"Dad? Jocelyn?" He yelled shouldering open the screen door, glancing around the room, his lips turning down when he heard the faint sound of crying and screaming.

What was going on?

"Jonathon!" Amatis, his and Clary's nanny, rushed out from the kitchen, her wild black curls bouncing and her blue eyes wide. "I'm sorry-I know you just got back from school, but your parents aren't here, Clarissa won't stop crying..." She wringed her hands together, biting her lip. "Can you get her to be quiet? I've tried everything, but she just won't stop-"

Jonathon nodded, fighting back the urge to yell at the idiot woman. It was her fault Clary was upset, and if his little sister wasn't in need of him at the moment, he would've thrown a serious tantrum. Possibly kick Amatis's leg. Smash expensive China on the linoleum. Throw a chair.

"Where is she?" He snapped, struggling to keep calm. Clary needs me. Clary needs me.

"In the playroom-"

Jonathon didn't let her finish, and instead began running up the spiraling staircase, his heart beating faster and faster as the sounds of Clary's cries grew nearer and nearer.

He opened the door to the cheerfully-painted playroom, eyes snapping around, looking for any damages. More importantly, he was looking for Clary. Images of blood covering her small little body from falling out of the window, a lump the size of a goose egg sticking from her temple. Broken bones-

Clary was seated in the middle of the playroom, eyes squeezed shut, her face red and pinched, fat tears leaving wet trails down her chubby cheeks.

Jonathon's golden eyes quickly roamed over her small, pudgy little body, quickly scanning her for any injuries or bruises.

She was in perfect condition.

Jonathon frowned. "Clary?" He whispered.

Her screaming froze, her eyes popping open. Clary's mouth stretched into a wide, three-toothed grin. Her short, chubby hands reached up, begging him to pick her up.

"Miss 'Ace," she cooed. "Miss 'Ace."

Ace?

"Jace. Up. Up." She made a giggly/gurgly noise, her round green eyes innocent and sweet. "Miss you. Up."

Who was Jace? Instead of picking her up, like he'd usually do, Jonathon crouched down in front of her, frowning. "Clary. Why were you screaming? Are you okay?"

Clary smacked her lips, pouting as she reached out for him, once again. "Missed you. Up now."

Jonathon shook his head. "No. You can't thow fits just because I have to go to school."

"NO!" Clary threw herself at him, tripping and falling facefirst on his lap. "No go," she insisted, scrambling to sit so that she curled on his lap like a kitten. "Stay," she ordered, along with more babbling Jonathon couldn't understand.

Jonathon wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her shoulder, sniffing her comforting scent of honeysuckle lotion, crayons and apple juice. The events of the day trickled away from his mind, and Jonathon found himself feeling indifference instead of anger towards the jerks who'd beat him up earlier.

They didn't have Clary, who was now currently nuzzling her curious face into the crook of his neck, crooning about purple elephants and green zebras who hate muffins.

"Who's Jace?" He discreetly wiped at his eyes, trying not to show the flaring pain as her small little hands touched the fresh bruises dotting along his back and chest.

"You," she said, poking his chest with a stubby finger. "No go, 'Ace. No go."

Jonathon-Jace rolled his eyes, but stood up, picking her up with him. Clary's legs wrapped themselves securely around his waist, her head resting against his chest, murmuring 'No go', over and over, as her eyes slid shut. Jace once again felt anger, at Amatis's account. It was obvious to him that Clary had not been given a nap.

He walked steadily-So as not to shake Clary too much-carrying the dozing toddler to his room.

His room was white.

He'd overheard Jocelyn complain to Dad about it, talking about how a growing kid "needed color in his life". But Jace had always kept his room painfully clean and neat, void of any color. So Dad told Jocelyn to let his son be, if he wanted to be a stoic wet blanket, it was his decision.

Jace layed Clary in his bed, not tucking her in. He knew how much she hated being tucked in. At her age, it probably made her feel trapped. He was the only one in the house who never tucked her in. Not once.

Kissing her baby-soft cheek, Jace pulled away from her, ready to go to the kitchen to get an after-school snack.

"No go," Clary mumbled. "'Ace stay."

Jace sighed, fighting the urge to smile at the little girl's determination to keep her eyes open, though she was slowly losing the battle. It didn't help that his new nickname made her sound so much more innocent, making him want to go back to holding her, the scent and feel of her enough to chase all of his worries away.

"I'm not tired," he argued, half-heartedly. Even at two, it was impossible for him to try to keep anything away from his Clary.

Her eyes opened, glassy with unsheded tears, and Jace knew that the battle was over.

He sighed, and lifted the crisp white comforter, sliding beneath. Clary clapped and curled into his side, and promptly fell asleep.

Despite not being tired, and knowing that with her asleep, it was safe for him to sneak away, Jace shook his head.

He stayed, content with laying there with his sleeping stepsister snuggled into his side.

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