Celestial Shadowhunters(the mortal instruments fanfic)

Dream

Hunter's pov

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  I dreamed I was back in my childhood home. Everything as it was before it happened. The sky clear and beautiful, the neverending rolling green grass that seems to dance with the wind and the small lake a few yards from the house, the sound of ducks as they quack and splash in the lake, and the smell of homemade bread coming from the open kitchen window.

  I remember running through the grass, laughing and happy. The sun was warm on my skin and as I tumbled through the grass I fell on a rock and scraped my knee. I went back to the house limping and sniffing, but not crying. Not really. I was never the crying type.

  I went into the kitchen where my mother was and when she saw me and my scraped knee she smiled sadly. She grabbed my tiny hand and led me into the living room. Our house was surprisingly big and the living room was no exeption. With shiny wood flooring and a soft brown paint that covered the walls, tall bookshelves that were always filled up with book that my father collected through his travels, a coffee table with the small TV on it-we rarely watched anything on there because 1) The sun was always shining out and I loved being outside 2) Mother would get upset when I was being lazy and 3) Because the darn thing hardly ever worked. The house over all had old yet beautiful architecture.

"Oh Hunter," my mother sighed, "how is it that you always manage to get yourself hurt?"

She popped up on a soft couch and she grabbed the first-aid kit from one of the drawers and took out a band-aid,some medicine to help stop the bleeding, and some achohol to keep from infection. She walked over to me again and examined the cut in my leg. She sighed again.

"This cut is pretty deep, Hunter. I'm surprised your not crying like any normal child will be," she said jokingly, emphasizing the 'normal'. Then she started tickling me and I giggled and squirmed until I could hardly breath. When she finally stopped, she fixed up my knee and smiled at me.

"There. All fixed. Now go find daddy for dinner, okay?" She said.

"Okay," I said to her.

I ran toward my father's study where he spends most of his time reading.

"Daddy!" I say as I ran into his study, "Mommy says it's time for dinnwo!" I remember when I still talked like that. When I was around 5 years old.

"Alright. I'll be right there," he said without looking up from his book. He had that look in his eyes. Like he was here but not here. Not physically anyway. He always did that when he was reading one of his favorite books. I have still wonder why he liked reading so much. "Whenever you just want to escape and be somewhere... happier you can travel anywhere and everywhere just by reading a book, Hunter," he told me whenever I asked. I tried to picture that. How the heck can you travel while being in the same place? And isn't everything already happy? Why would he want to leave?

"I don't get it!" I complained. " One day you will, Hunter."

"You always say that," I pouted. "You just have to be patient," he would say.

"What are you weading, Daddy?" I asked him now. He looked up from the book, finally and smiled at me. He closed the book and wavered me over to him.

He showed me the cover of the book. It had an orangey swirl in the middle with green on the top where the title was. "The Hobbit," I tried to pronounce, but instead it sounded like The Hoobbit.

My father laughed lightly. "The Hobbit," he corrected me, " it's about a creature called a hobbit whose name is Bilbo Baggins and a wizard named Gandalf. Gandalf is Mr. Baggins' friend and Mr. Baggins goes on a quest for treasure that is guarded by a dragon, " he says dramatically, but Gandalf-"