Nephilim

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December 6, 2009

The child sleeps peacefully in his parents' bed, his short blonde hair ruffled on his head, the slight red tint noticeable in the stream of light shining in from the hallway. The blankets of the bed are pulled up to his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around his favorite teddy bear. His parents, standing a door or two down, argue about the rate the child seems to be growing.

Having being born two days previously, you would expect him to be in a crib. Except, with his now ten-year-old sized body does not fit in the crib they had set up in the room next to their own, which was supposed to be the nursery. They were concerned, each having a different idea on how to solve this newfound problem, leading them into a heated discussion. It was because of this argument that Clary and Jace Herondale, the young boy's parents, did not realize that a shape of a man was looming over their son.

The man looming over him, trying to alter the fate his fellow Heavenly Warriors were currently deciding, was working on revealing the boy's chest. The image he needed was already fresh in his mind, just needing to be burned into the child's skin to keep him safe.

You see, the man- who is not a man, but an Angel- is trying to protect the powerful child that he feels strongly for, safe. His brethren above were currently discussing what to do about the rapidly aging child. While most of them were already decided on killing the child, he had argued that keeping him alive could be useful.

Angels are not supposed to feel, but he was not like most Angels. His Brother-in-Arms and closest companion, Castiel, had proven that when he nearly convinced him to fall alongside him. Ithuriel, however, did not believe that the Winchesters were worth falling from Heaven for. Clarissa Morgenstern and Jonathan Herondale, people with his blood running through their veins, he would risk himself for without question. Nobody deserves what her father did to them, himself included.

So, of course, how could he not protect their creation? After all, he is the way he is because of his blood. It would not be fair to the child if he dies for his grandfather's mistake of being an awful human, and his parents' love for one another. That awful man- and the child's parents with too much Angel blood for their child's own good, which was caused by said awful man- is how Ithuriel ended up here. Branding a child in his sleep with an Enochian symbol that will protect him from the Angels; and his own power.

The child's cries of pain do not go unheard from his parents, of course. They come rushing into the room, Seraph blades drawn and pointed at the back of the man standing over their son. He had been trying to shush the child, but quickly turned around, revealing an unknown face with the Angelic light flickering beneath the surface.

Jace raises his blade, pointing it directly at his head, "Who are you and what the hell do you think you are doing?" The blonde Shadowhunter's gold eyes seemed as hardened as, well, solid gold. His wife, the shorter redhead with just as much skill as him, was protecting and soothing her child.

Ithuriel slowly moves forward, enough where he could be seen easily in the light, "Relax, Jonathan Herondale, I was doing nothing but protecting the child." He gestured to the symbol burned into the child's shoulder, opposite of the one with the star-shaped scar of a Herondale male, "I was protecting your child. The Rune will bind the powers my blood coursing through your veins- and now his- has given him. Instead of the abilities that would have been bestowed on him, he will grow up as a normal Shadowhunter, the only breed of Nephilim that is not to be hunted down and killed."

Jace's blade slowly lowers, though every adult- and Celestial Being- knows that he could slice him through just as quickly as before. His wife, however, is the one to utter anything, "Ithuriel? What are you-"