Shadowhunter Songfics

Hello (Waywood)

Robert had badly wanted to make things up with Michael by treating his son Alec far better than what he did to him.

But even after all these years, when he had finally accepted his son's sexuality, guilt still consumes him. It was always there, only today it's becoming weaker, slower, but not weak nor slow enough for him to pretend to be numb again.

After the Uprising, he badly wanted to meet his parabatai even for just a moment, even if it clearly means that he will be disobeying the Law. Michael's punishment had separated them, but the Law is not strong enough to destroy the bond between them - for him at least. He had always thought that he reacted so bad that it was enough to drive Michael away.

However, when Jace arrived at his doorstep bearing his parabatai's name, his world started crushing down on him. It was too late for him to make things up, for his parabatai is already dead; he died as a reject, and it made the guilt inside him stronger. He died with a scar inside his heart; a scar made by Robert's own words. Eliza eased his pain -- he's sure of that -- but when she died he is sure it made things worse, and he wasn't even there for him.

When Jace arrived at his front door, he thought he could make things up with him by taking good care of his son, that over time he could finally let go and let his guilt die, but as years passed by everything seemed to worsen for him. Jace reminded him painfully of Michael's humor, and he started to panic when he started to notice how Alec looks at him.

On cold days like this, where everybody is too busy decorating their homes for the Christmas season, he'd lock himself inside his office or his room with a bottle of whiskey in his hands. He'd drown himself over the alcohol and the memories of his teenage years -- the memories he cherished the most. In the back of his head, he could see him and Michael on mundane concept stores shopping for sweaters. He could see two boys on their horses back at Wayland manor racing against each other. He could still hear Amatis' cries and screams, for he could recall the plastic cockroaches they put inside her bag. Luke scolded them, the guy clearly doing his best to block Stephen's glare. He missed those days, when they were still young and free. He was so caught up of today's tragedy that he can barely recall yesterday's joy and purity. A part of him had hoped that somewhere, Michael is watching him, hearing his pleadings of forgiveness in hopes that the heavy weight of guilt on his chest would finally go away, but as years passed by, the weight crushed him and his hopes further. Wishing for forgiveness, he considered as delusional. But he dared hoping, even if he knew that the distance between the two of them is the distance between life and death; one has to live or die in order to reach the other.

He filled his glass to the brim and started drinking recklessly, not even caring if he gagged nor the burning sensation that's sliding down his throat is unbearable; he emptied his glass even if it hurt. He kept on drinking, until he could finally find himself calling out Michael's name. He is sure he is alone inside the mansion; Maryse now lives in her family manor, Alec is in Brooklyn with Magnus, Jace is now the occupant of the Herondale manor, and Isabelle and her boyfriend Simon had offered their services to help him and Clary decorate the place. On times like this he could allow himself to ask forgiveness even if he knew that he clearly does not deserved it. Between the two of them, Michael was the light, and he is darkness -- darkness that is powerful enough to taint the light's purity, when it should be the other way around. He kept on calling out for him, each cry a crack webbing with the other cracks on the surface of his heart. On moments like this he will allow himself to mutter his odes and pleadings and confess his sins. He knew that all his words would be drowned by the empty silence, but hoped that the words would drown enough to be taken to the afterlife, where Michael now lives in peace. Whether he hears it or not, Robert is at least relieved to let all his guilt out temporarily just on this moments. The pain will never leave him, but at least he tried to ease it with his own effort. He broke his own heart when he broke Michael's, and it still tears him apart up t this day. Michael, he was sure, was at least unbothered and he is happy about that.

Robert can't help but wonder how Michael is feeling right now -- he is still wondering if Michael still feels the same way even in the afterlife, how he feels about his life decisions, if he is feeling okay after his death. Robert knew that asking answers for these things are foolish. He does not have the right to ask for answers when he is basically the one that made the questions. He can only pray that Michael and his son are doing fine now, for they suffered a brutal ending during their last moments here in this world.

And what about him? Why can't he bring the same wishes to himself? The question was left hanging inside his head as he filled his glass again, his head starting to swim away from reality. He probably damaged his voice - cold alcohol and pointless screams would probably give him a very raspy voice tomorrow. He knew it wasn't worth it, but his drunken self disagrees. He cried and drank harder, his arms now covered in snot and tears and spilled whiskey. He cried out of pain to drive it outside of his body. He knew it wasn't working, so he drank harder until the pain is slowly numbing. He knew this is temporary, but he indulged himself, until he can't take it anymore. He slumped on his desk and passed out, completely spilling the cheap whiskey all over his desk. He could feel the liquid dampening the side of his head. It felt like Michael was smearing cold blood in his face. He felt light headed as his head throbbed painfully, his stomach spinning aangrily his mouth repeatedly mumbling Michael's name as he drift to sleep.