Dream a Little Dream of Me, a mortal instruments fanfic

I'M BAAACCCCCKKK! :DDD *high on ectasty face*

You guys know you've missed me. *scowls jokingly*'

Consider this a "Welcome Home" present. From the girl coming home...? Damn. Nobody even bothered to offer me candy...

Plus it helps with my writer's block in "Crazy". It's the only real reason I write these oneshots, besides...

Um, this is all human. OOC. Kinda fluffy. Some angst. Some violence.

No spoilers.

Rating: T for language. It's me, people...Did you really expect anything less? *crosses arms*

Disclaimer: If I were so lucky to own the books, Jace and Magnus would never leave my house. Magnus would be re-doing my wardrobe, and Jace...He'd be stripping away all of my wardrobe...;)

Clary

I fell onto the floor, the coppery taste of blood in my mouth.

"Worthless," kick to the ribs. "Little," an umbrella swung down to crack against my face. "Bitch," a fist grabs my shirt, pulling me up. Large fists strike at my face, and I feel my nose crack.

I don't make a sound.

As much as I'd like to say that, over the years, I'd learned how to numb the pain, I really hadn't. And the abuse, the hurt, the worthlessness: It was the same, everytime.

My mama's boyfriend was an asshole. He beat me in front of her, and she'd just sit there, cool as a cucumber, her green eyes, so much like mine, vacant and indifferent.

Teachers at school never commented on the bruises that marked all along my face and arms, the students avoided me, rumors that I got in fights over drugs spreading around the school like wildfire.

I didn't try to fight him. The pain for the refusal wasn't worth it.

I remained motionless on the floor, my eyes dry as he screamed how stupid, how ugly, how worthless, and how I costed him his job and the death of his son.

I don't think he's ever had a job. And I wasn't aware any woman had attempted to have a family, with this monster.

After screaming more profanities and lies, he walked off to his bedroom, the stale smell of old cigarettes and liquor swooshing out as he opened the door.

I didn't move.

I can't move.

...I think my leg's broken.

I turned my head to the left, and spit out droplets of blood from where glass had pierced my gums when Valentine had thrown me into the glass coffee table.

Ouch.

I sighed, ignoring the pain in my chest as I did so, and closed my eyes, tiredness washing over me like a tidal wave.

I fell asleep in a puddle of my own blood.

...

I opened my eyes, finding myself in a dark room.

A hand stroked through my hair, and glancing up, my eyes widened as I saw the most beautiful boy I'd ever seen.

He had the face of an angel, his eyes glowed golden, his hair a messy mop of blonde curls. My head was laying in his lap, and he was rubbing a warm wet cloth along the cuts and bruises along my arms.

"Where am I?" I croaked trying to sit up, but he gently pushed me back down, his hands light on my chest, as if he knew how tender I was there.

"Lay down, Angel," he crooned. "You just got the shit beat out of you. The last thing you need to be doing is trying to sit up."

I blinked as the swear word left his mouth; It seemed so comical for a beautiful creature like him to cuss.

Then the endearment finally reached my mind; Angel. Ha! I was broken and bloody, and from being called it on a daily basis, I knew I was far from attractive.

"Who are you?" I asked him, watching his movements warily, as he rubbed the cloth over a knife wound that ran down my ribs, hissing at the stinging pain. I was tense, waiting for him to snap and for his movements to become violent.

"I'm Jace," he said in that same sweet voice of his, with an underlining gruffness. "And what's your name, Angel?"

"Cl-Clary." I frowned, confused by his kindness. Surely he's just drawing the suspense out. He might be a friend of Valentine's, and this is just a game to them.

"Well, Cl-Clary, mind telling me where the hell you got all of this done?" Jace glanced down at my body, whistling under his breath. "'Cause it sure as hell looks painful."

Why does he even care? "Uh, I-I fell."

Jace gave a dry laugh. "Ah. The old 'I fell' trick. Classy."

I didn't say anything, but continued to stare at him. What a weird man.

He sighed, and wrapped some gauze around my arm that was sprained from last week, when Valentine had pushed me down the stairs and I'd landed on my arm. "You do realize that excuse is about as useful as "My Dog Ate My Homework"?"

I shrugged, wincing as my shoulder cracked. "Ow."

Jace swore under his breath. "You're torn up, Angel." He shook his head. "Whoever's doing this to you, you need to leave them."

I know.

But I can't.

He'll find me.

He always finds me.

I smiled thinly, and nodded.

Liar.

Jace scrutinized my face, and shook his head again. "Nobody deserves to be hurt like this," he whispered.

I nodded again. If only he'd meet Valentine. Maybe than he'll realize I can't stop this.

"You sure you're okay?" He asked, those pretty yellow eyes, like a cat's, looking at me with concern. It made me feel uncomfortable. I wasn't...used to having anybody take my wellbeing into consideration.

"Uh...yeah," I croaked out in a whisper. "I'm fine." I wasn't. I hurt. All over. Luckily, it was pretty obvious, and Jace rolled his eyes, and began to rub some sort of nasty-smelling, muddy-colored balm over the raw, fresh, and old injuries on my ribs, arms, abdomen, and legs. Normally, I'd be struggling to shut down my mind, numbing myself from the violating feelings of a man I didn't know, touching me.

But there was something about him...I don't know. It was...Reassuring. Comforting.

It was going to suck if he really was a friend of Valentine's.

"So, Angel," he said, in an oddly cheerful voice, as he began wrapping some more gauze around my ribs. "Where do you come from?"

I didn't answer him. Why did he want to know? What was it to him? Was he some sort of pedophile? Stalker? Serial killer, and wanted to pull a Jeffrey Dahmer on me? Or would he have to be gay to want to do that...?

He paused, and gave me a sardonic look. "Since you're in pain, I won't give you shit for ignoring me." He resumed to his "healing". "But while we're having this one-sided conversation, you may as well tell me something about you. Because I hate small talks and awkward silences, and you aren't really helping."

"You're not very polite," I informed him, in a blunt voice I hadn't used since my Daddy had died, when I was ten.

Jace stared at me.

I winced, realizing what I'd just said.

He's going to kill me.

Oh, my God. Why the hell did I just say that to someone who's capable of murdering me?

Why am I even worrying? He's probably just a hallucination. Or a friend of Valentine's...

Is this what it feels like to have somebody slip a drug in your soda?

"I-I'm sorry." What did I say? He hadn't moved. Normally, by now, somebody would've punched me. Or clocked my ears. I wasn't sure how to handle it.

Nice. The closest conversation I'd ever experienced to being teenage-girl awkward, is with a guy I don't know is real or not.

Jace lifted his hand, and I instantly squeezed my eyes shut, and tensed up. Waiting for the strike. I just don't understand why he would bandage me up, only to try to hurt me again...

Instead of feeling a slap, or better yet, a baseball bat, I felt knuckles. Not even strong enough to bruise. Like...I'd imagine brushing against a bird's wing. Or butterfly. They slid down my cheek, irritating the huge, fist-sized bruise there.

"You have the cutest freckles, I swear," he said. I opened my eyes, and gaped at him.

Had he actually just complimented me? After I most-likely offended him?

"Thank you?"

Jace grinned. I blinked, my stomach squirming in a way that was slightly unpleasant, but exciting and thrilling at the same time. My skin felt warmer. He really needed to stop smiling at me like that.

Right now.

"There. You are capable of saying more than two words." He looked satisfied. "So, Angel." He sucked his teeth. "How did you "fall", exactly?"

I sat up, sucking air through my teeth as my body jolted with intense pain.

"Lay back down!" He exclaimed. "Idiot. I'm pretty sure your ribs are broken. Why in the hell would you be trying to get up? Am I not good enough company for you, Angel?"

"My name's Clary." I didn't lay back down, despite my ribs feeling like they were on fire. "And I'm trying to get up because I don't know you. You could be a serial killer. Or rapist."

Jace scoffed. "Paranoid little Angel, aren't ya?" He shook his head. "Nah. The biggest thing I've killed was probably an opossum. And that was because I ran over it with my car."

He was so weird.

I squinted my eyes at him. "You know Valentine?"

"Course I do," he said, easily. "The Day of Popping Cherries, the guys at my school call it."

I shook my head. "Never mind." So. He didn't know Valentine.

He kills opossums.

He thinks my freckles are cute.

And he makes my stomach feel weird. And my chest hurt.

Wasn't he supposed to be making me feel better? Not worse?

I pushed thoughts of him away. No need to think about any guy like that. He could turn out to be just like Valentine, for all I know.

"Where are we?" I asked him.

Jace shrugged. "I don't know. But you look like hell, still." He gave me a once-over. "Get some rest. I'll take you to the hospital tomorrow."

I nodded, and laid back down.

I didn't think about him cutting my throat when I fell asleep.

I didn't worry about him dragging my body off to a river full of piranhas.

I didn't think about I had no idea where I was.

And I most definitely did not think about how warm he felt, even with at least a foot distance between us. Or how I could feel him watching me, even with my eyes closed.

I also didn't think anything of it when I felt him run his hand over my hair and whisper "Good night, Angel".

Yeah, I'm screwed.

...

I woke up.

No gauze.

No clumpy, gross-smelling balm.

No Jace.

No empty dark room.

I was on the floor of the hallway of my apartment.

Still in a puddle of my own blood.

I dreamed it.

He isn't real.

...

When Valentine threw a pan at me that morning, I didn't bother ducking. I welcomed the sharp, ringing pain it brought to my skull. The pain screamed over the mantra in my head: He isn't real. He isn't real. He isn't real. He isn't real.

Of course he was.

Too good to be real.

I wondered if it was possible to go into depression from disappointment.

Over something as silly as a boy I barely even knew.

...

I limped out onto the balcony of our apartment, and just looked out. My cheek throbbed from the beating it'd gotten from the burning skillet, earlier.

I wonder if Jace would've cared. If he was real, I wondered if he'd rub some more of that disgusting balm on my cheek. Maybe give me a hug.

I really ought to stop tormenting myself with these sorts of thoughts.

The smoke from Mom's cigarette drifted through the crack of the sliding glass-door. I closed my eyes, the familiar scent washing over me like a comforting blanket. Daddy used to smoke. That's what killed him.

And then the comforting blanket suddenly became extremely smothering.

I sat down on the lumpy gravel, and rested my head on the wall.

Maybe I should just...jump off. Nobody would miss me. Except maybe Jace. If he were real, I wondered if he would miss me.

My eyes slid shut.

...

He was there.

I felt happy.

So, so happy.

We were in the black room. Empty black room.

He was sitting on the floor, his back to me.

"Jace."

He turned, and smiled brightly when he saw me. "Angel!"

I limped towards him, and sat down next to him. "Hi."

He leaned forward, and hugged me.

I froze, the unfamiliarity of being touched, in a nonviolent way, shocking me. It felt...Nice. He smelled like lemons. And sunshine. I relaxed a bit, revelling at how warm, how strong he felt.

"Sorry." He pulled away, and I wanted to scream, because I felt so empty, so raw without his touch. He grinned ruefully. "I just can't believe I'm seeing you again. I thought I'd dreamt you."

Really? "I'm real," I told him. "I dreamt you up, though."

Jace blinked. "Weird." He shrugged, then scooted back, looking at me. "Feeling any better? Went to a doctor? What's broken?"

I shook my head. "I feel better." It was partly the truth. Being around Jace made me feel immediately better, even though I still felt like I'd been rolled over with a bulldozer. "Can't afford to see a doctor. I'm too scared to check and see if anything's broken."

Jace scowled at me, and I felt my stomach flop.

He must be disgusted at me.

"When the hell did you get that?" He demanded hoarsely, pointing at my face.

I stared at him. "Get what?"

His index finger traced over the area where the pan had been thrown at my face earlier, and I flinched away. "That."

"This morning." I shrugged, ignoring the furious look on his face. "It's no big deal. Really. I've had worse."

Jace shook his head. "No, it is a big deal." His brow furrowed. "I worry about you, Clary. You need to take better care of yourself. Leave whoever's doing this to you. Because, speaking from experience," he fixed me with a stern look. "It only gets worse. Never better."

...

And that's how things were for us.

The start of out friendship.

He would make me feel better, temporarily, and then, when I woke back up to reality, I was a zombie, in my own little world of conversations with Jace I'd had before.

I lived for him. For out conversations. Honestly, if it hadn't been for Jace, I probably would've killed myself by now. Because he was right. Things got worse.

Mom left.

Gone.

Valentine got custody of me, since I have no living relatives.

Which means that Mom would never dump him, and he'd never leave.

He was here to stay.

When I told Jace what had happened, during one of our nightly conversations, he told me what he always did. "Leave."

But I couldn't leave.

Where could I go?

"I can't leave," I told him one night, my head resting on my lap, his fingers threading themselves through my curly hair. "He'll always find me. He'll kill me."

Jace leaned forward, kissing the small scar that cut through my right eyebrow. The familiar gesture, as brotherly as it was, always sent adrenaline shooting through my veins. "I don't want to lose you, Angel." He'd told me. "I have a feeling this Valentine bastard plans on doing that."

I knew he did. I knew if it went as far as to death, he would do it. He'd kill me, without a second thought.

Jace knew it, too. I think that's why, whenever I felt myself beginning to wake up, he'd hold me, really tight, and be reluctant to let me go, whispering in my ear that I'd better be back later.

...

His hands were on my throat.

He was pressing me against the wall.

I couldn't breathe.

Oh, my God, I couldn't breathe...

This is it. I'm going to die.

He's really going to kill me.

"You ugly little whore," he spat, his face pressed against mine. "You made your mother leave me. It's your fault I'm alone."

I felt myself begin to shake.

My vision was growing blurry.

I'm sorry I couldn't be stronger for you, Jace.

...

I woke up, to my surprise.

I'd thought for sure I would've died from that.

Valentine wasn't there. My guess was that he'd locked himself up in his room, like he always did.

I crawled to my room, exhausted and terrified. He'd almost killed me.

I could've died.

I laid back onto my bed, and tried to go to sleep. I needed to talk to Jace. I needed him to hold me. Comfort me. Tell me everything was alright. That everything would be fine.

Nothing.

I had a nightmare. No Jace.

Valentine was in my dream, laughing at me.

Had me tied to a chair.

Striking me. Repeatedly.

Where'd you go, Jace?

Why aren't you here?

...

A week passed.

Still no Jace.

...

I think he got tired of me.

He didn't want me anymore.

Valentine was right.

Nobody cared, anymore.

I left.

I was sick of living here.

My mom hated me.

Valentine hated me.

Jace had been lying the whole time; He was never my friend. I wasn't his angel. Bullshit.

The whole thing was bullshit.

I wondered if I would fade away.

Starve to death, probably. Not many people survived long on the streets. Especially somebody as beaten and weak as me.

I snuck onto a bus out of Florida.

I would try to hitch rides all the way to...Somewhere. Far, far away from Jacksonville.

New York sounded nice.

Real crowded.

Valentine would never find me there. And if he did, I'd probably be dead by then.

...

I entertained myself the five day trip, with thoughts of Jace.

His scent. The way his dimple would pop out whenever he smiled that special smile at me. The one that made my stomach drop. The way he would fill in the silences I would create with my shyness, with his dry, dark sarcasm, and rude bluntness.

I was proud of myself for making up such a perfect creature.

And hated myself at the same time for it.

...

New York.

It was mindblowing.

Cold.

Packed with people.

I saw a girl sniffing up something through a window, in a fancy restraunt, her parents oblivious.

I saw a man with the most amazing voice singing at a bus stop. Better than some singers I'd heard on the radio. He had beer cans thrown at him, and a cop came down and dragged him away for "disturbing" the tourists.

Definitely different from Florida.

I fell asleep on a bench.

It began raining, which woke me up. Well, that, and a rat was crawling up my leg.

"Holy shit!" I sat up, flicking the rat off my leg. Meh. Valentine was scarier than the ugly piece of crap. I looked around, wondering who'd just screamed.

I spotted a tall, beautiful girl with long black hair, staring at me.

"Ew," she spat, her inky eyes squinted. "That thing was on your leg!" She shuddered. "Are you alright?"

I nodded, drawing my legs up to my chest. "I'm fine."

She walked up to me, and I noticed she was wearing ridiculously high heels. It was a wonder she wasn't wobbling.

"You sure?" She looked down at me. "You're new, aren't you?"

New?

"I just moved here," I told her.

"Your boyfriend?" She quirked an eyebrow.

I frowned. "Never had one. Why?"

She pointed at my badly bruised face. "I had one of those." She bent down. "My brothers met up with him, after they found out. Police never did find the little shit's body." She winked.

Weird. Her sense of humor kind of reminded me of Jace.

"That's..nice." I shifted. "So, ah...Why are you out here in the middle of the night?" She didn't look homeless. Or like a hooker. She looked rich. Short, black, leather dress with a diamond necklace and large hoop earrings. I'm surprised she hadn't been mugged.

"Clubbing." She flicked her hair over her shoulder. "Met the sexiest geek ever."

I nodded. "Okay..." What did she want?

She paused. "You never met a guy you liked, or something? Or are you one of those girls who wants to castrate every man on earth, and that's why you look so pissy?"

I shook my head. "No. I just never really...had that much luck with guys."

She winced sympathetically. "That must suck. I have amazing luck. I'm Isabelle." She stuck her hand out. "You can call me Izzy. Isabelle makes me feel like I have a stick shoved up my-"

"I'm Clary." I took her hand, and shook it. "Nice to meet you."

Izzy snickered. "Weird name. My brother had an imaginary friend named Clary."

I cocked my head. "How old is he?" I can only imagine how Izzy acted as an older sister...

"Seventeen."

My mouth fell open. I had no social life myself, since Mom and Valentine never really bothered with sending me to school, but I knew that wasn't normal. "Um..."

"He's normal, besides that." She waved an airy hand. "And his abnormal douchebaggery."

I had a feeling this conversation was ready to end. "Well..." I shrugged. "'Night, Izzy."

"You're seriously staying out here?" She gaped at me. "It's raining. Rats are attracted to you. And it's really stupid to stay the night at the subway. You know how many people have been stabbed or shot down here?"

I gulped. "N-no."

Izzy lifted her chin. "You can stay at my house."

I stared at her. "But I don't even know y-"

She brushed that off. "Yeah, but I like you. You aren't an obnoxious bitch like every other girl I've met. Except my BFF, Maia. But she's out of town with her boyfriend." She wrinkled her nose. "So you can stay with me."

I wrapped my arms around myself. "I don't want to bother you-"

She scoffed. "Please. I have three brothers. You can't possibly be more annoying than them."

"O-okay. I guess."

Izzy grinned. "Excellent."

...

I'd never ridden in a taxi before.

I was shocked at how at ease Izzy was. Wasn't she afraid the cab driver would drive us off to an isolated alley, and stab us to death? Kidnap us? Be an escaped criminal? Stuff our bodies in the trunk?

When I voiced my concerns to her, she just laughed and told me I was just paranoid. When I continued telling her what the cab driver could be, she threatened squirt me with her pepper spray if I didn't shut up.

We arrived (finally) at a large church.

I glanced over at Izzy. "Why are we here?"

She rolled her eyes, throwing a couple of twenties at the driver as she got out. "I live here, silly."

She led me up the steps, and unlocked the door. "Everybody else is asleep," she warned me. "Be quiet and I'll get you some food. And if you hear any screaming..." She paused. "My brother's boyfriend is spending the night."

I raised my eyebrows, and nodded. She winked at me before hurrying away, I'm guessing to get some food. I could hear my stomach growl happily. I hadn't eaten in days, and I was starving.

I followed her, my eyes drifting to the walls, where dozens of pictures were hung.

Pictures of Izzy...Pictures of a short boy with large glasses...Pictures of a handsome boy who looked like Izzy, except for blue eyes instead of black...The handsome boy with a cute Asian boy wrapped around him...A gorgeous blonde-

I froze, my breathing cut off.

Oh. My. God.

It was Jace. The little boy with glasses was sitting on his lap, the other boy and Izzy sitting on both sides of him. He was smiling that crooked grin at the camera, his lion eyes mischevious looking.

"What are you-Oh. That's Jace. My older brother." Izzy appeared behind me, holding a grilled cheese sandwhich. "Real manwhore, me and my mom call him. Avoid him, would you?"

"I know him." My finger traced over his grinning face. "Jace. I thought he wasn't real..."

Izzy gave me a weird look. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah...I'm fine. Just surprised." And incredibly happy.

She handed me the plate. "I'm going to bed," she told me. "We have a ton of guests rooms...Just pick whichever you want. See you in the morning. Don't steal anything or I'll cut your throat." She blew me a kiss and left.

What a sweetheart.

I sat on the floor, and closed my eyes.

Jace was in this house.

Asleep.

I bit into my sandwhich, wondering what he would say when he saw me? Would he remember me? Or did he not dream of me at all? Did he miss me? Hate me?

"Izzy? Is that you?"

I felt my palms begin to sweat, recognizing Jace's voice.

I looked up. He was standing at the foot of the stairs, shirtless with nothing but plaid pants. His curly hair was messy. He squinted. "Did you shrink?"

I smiled. He was so cute when he was half-awake. "Hi, Jace," I whispered.

He froze, and his half-lidded eyes popped. "Clary?"

...

He stumbled over to where I was sitting, and sank to the floor, mouth open. "What are you-are you really here?" He reached over, touching my arm. Pinching my shoulder. "Ow!"

"Sorry." He pulled away. "I just-Shit, how'd you get here?"

"Izzy brought me." Wasn't he happy to see me?

Jace rubbed his hand over his face. "You're real," he mumbled. "You're really real."

"Yeah." I bit my lip. "I-Jace, I've missed you."

He looked at me. "I've missed you, too, Angel." He smiled. "I just can't believe you're really here. C'mere." He reached forward, grabbing my waist and lifting me up onto his lap. I rested my head back against his chest, smiling.

"Why'd you finally leave?" He asked, his hands running up and down my arms, and it hit me that this was really Jace. Not a dream. Or hallucination. Flesh and blood.

I snuggled into his chest, and touched my neck. "He tried to kill me."

Jace sucked in his breath, and his fingers, so much longer than mine, stroked over where my hand rested on my throat. "I'll kill him," he stated hoarsely. "I swear."

I remembered what Izzy had told me, and shuddered. "No, I don't want you getting hurt," I told him. "I'm here now. Isn't that enough?"

He grinned down at me, and leaned over, brushing his lips over mine. I held my breath, my eyes sliding shut. He'd kissed me before, but it was usually just a peck on the cheek or forehead. This was way different.

He sighed, and pulled away. "I'm glad you're here," he told me. "I've missed you, too."

He kissed me one more time, before lifting me up, bridal style, and carried me up the stairs, to his room.

Eh, sorry. I had no idea how to end it...And I wanted it to have a happy ending.

Drop a review, telling me how much you love me and missed me. ;) And if you request it, I'll tell you the creepy story my CIT (counselor in training) experienced, involving a violent psycho...

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