your wessa fic just killed me, could you maybe do gabriel and cecily for number 17?
i’m so glad you liked it! thanks for requesting:)
(17: “i can’t sleep, can i stay here?”)
“Why, Gabriel?” Benedict looked up at his son–when had Gabriel grown taller than him?–with a face full of sorrow and betrayal. One of his eyes was gone, replaced by a gaping hole that streamed blood down his face like tears, and Gabriel felt his stomach twist painfully. “Why would you do this to me?”
“What do you mean?” Gabriel asked, but when he looked down at his hands, they were painted with black demon blood, his bow slippery in his grasp. He choked on a gasp and looked back at Benedict, but his father was shifting, changing into something other than human, something that slithered and hissed and made pitiful wailing noises at all hours of the night.
“Gabriel,” it seemed to say, over and over again, its shrieks rising higher and more agonized with every passing second. “Gabriel, why? Gabriel, Gabriel, Gabriel–”
Gabriel sat bolt upright in bed, gasping, reaching instinctively for the dagger under his pillow. Once he realized there was no imminent threat to him, he put it back, but he still couldn’t force his body to relax. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead and neck, and his shirt stuck to his back with it, but he only felt freezing ice in his veins. He’d been having nightmares about Benedict for weeks, ever since he’d killed the demon that had once been his father, and every time it was the same; Benedict asking why, Gabriel with the bow in his hands, the transformation into the demon. It was all there, every time he closed his eyes, like a daydream turned on its head.
He got out of bed and got dressed, not sure where he was going but sure that he wouldn’t be able to sleep again. Outside, the sky remained pitch black; he guessed morning wouldn’t come for hours yet, and he didn’t know who he could go to that wouldn’t turn him away. The Institute still seemed huge and intimidating, the people in it nearly strangers. He thought about venturing to Gideon’s room, but he had spent too much time relying on his brother already, and couldn’t imagine bringing another burden to him to bear. He had lost his father, too, and asking him to comfort Gabriel when he was surely trying to grieve on his own seemed too cruel for someone he cared so much about.
His mind flashed to Charlotte, but it would be highly improper for him to barge into a married woman’s bedroom. Besides, he didn’t want to deal with Henry’s confused sympathy, or to seem like a young child clinging to their mother’s skirts for comfort.
That left only one other person. Almost without thinking about it, Gabriel creaked out of his room and padded down the hall to the last door on the right, his heart pounding in his chest. He raised his hand to knock, feeling foolish but resolved to see it through anyway, and waited for what felt like an eternity, nervous sweat slicking his palms.
After an agonizing wait, which he spent debating whether or not he should just go back to his own room and try to rest, the door swung open and Cecily peered out at him, illuminated by the witchlight in her hand. Her hair hung around her shoulders in tangles, and her eyes, so much like her brother’s, were half-lidded and drooping with the remnants of sleep. She was wearing only a nightgown, and Gabriel’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. What did he think he was doing? If Will caught him here, he thought, he would surely be killed on the spot–
“Are you all right?” Cecily asked, her voice nearly a whisper. “Gabriel, what’s wrong? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I–” Gabriel swallowed and shuffled his feet, trying to keep his eyes focused on hers. He couldn’t voice how close she was to the truth. Every time he saw his father in his dreams, it felt like seeing the ghost of him, a memory of the man he was, before Gabriel had killed him–it–had killed his own father--
“I can’t sleep,” he said finally, with nothing better to say. “I was wondering if–well, I–Miss Herondale–Cecily, can I stay here?” he blurted, before he could second-guess himself.
Cecily raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised, but she didn’t turn him away immediately, and Gabriel felt the knot in his chest loosen a bit. “Why didn’t you ask me right away?” she demanded, a smile curling the corner of her mouth. “Of course you can. It would infuriate Will, and besides, you have obviously had a difficult night so far. I will not ask questions if you do not wish me to, though if you want to tell me what is troubling you, I will listen.”
“Do I really look that terrible?” Gabriel asked, trying to lighten the mood, but his voice cracked halfway through and he sighed. Cecily stepped back, gesturing for him to come inside, and he closed the door behind him feeling like someone entirely different than himself.
He approached Cecily, who had climbed back into bed and was watching him from under the covers, though she didn’t look tired anymore. She seemed to be waiting for something, but he didn’t know what. He decided that if he was going to wake her up in the middle of the night and come into her room, she at least deserved an explanation. “I have been dreaming about my father,” he said, twisting his hands behind his back. “Terrible dreams of blood and demons, and always my hands covered in blood. He always asks me why I did it, and I can never think of an answer that he wouldn’t be disappointed in.”
Cecily was silent for a moment, her face thoughtful. “And you had one such dream tonight?” she asked.
Gabriel nodded, at a loss for words. After a moment’s hesitation, Cecily moved over to the side of her bed and patted the spot next to her. Join me, the gesture said, and Gabriel’s heart launched into his throat at the thought of lying next to her. It was inappropriate, he knew it was, and the consequences could be great, but the way she was looking at him made him sit on the very edge of the bed, as far from her as he could get, and take a long breath. “Your father wouldn’t be disappointed in you,” Cecily said finally, after the silence had stretched between them for what felt like ages. “I think … I think that if he was still himself, if he could still think and act like the Shadowhunter he was, that … he would have been proud of you, Gabriel. You did what you had to do to protect yourself, your family and friends. You shouldn’t have to feel guilty for doing your duty.”
“I know,” Gabriel whispered, and to his surprise, he found that his eyes stung with unshed tears. He took a shaking breath and stretched himself out carefully on the bed, not quite touching Cecily but close enough that he could feel the heat rolling off her body from where he lay. He turned his head to look at her, and her eyes held respect instead of pity, and perhaps a hint of admiration, or maybe he was dreaming. Another silence fell between them, but this time it was comfortable, and Gabriel felt himself relax at long last. “Cecily?” he said, when his eyelids started to droop, exhaustion winning out over his fear and shock that he was lying in bed with Cecily Herondale, of all people.
Cecily smiled and moved closer to him, until their shoulders and knees and feet were touching, and laid her hand over his. “Of course,” she said, and she sounded wide awake. Gabriel fought to stay with her, to just lay and talk with her until the sun came up, but as hard as he fought against it, sleep came to claim him.
For the first time in weeks, Gabriel slept without having a nightmare. Instead, he dreamed of a girl with raven hair and blue eyes that seemed to look into his soul and a soft voice that carried him through to the morning.
He would have been proud of you.
-send me a pairing and a prompt!-
