Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He calls Jace again and again. He tries to track the man through magic and CCTV. He calls Clary, but they don’t pick up. They don’t respond. They’ve fallen away from contact. Anger starts to burn low and hot in Alec’s gut, and he can barely think. His sister is in danger and he’s been betrayed by his parabatai.

Terror begins to take over and he runs to the only person he knows will help, and it isn’t his mother or his father or his friends or colleagues. He finds Magnus and collapses in his arms, the tears fast and as painful as they are relieving. Magnus doesn’t seem surprised by Alec’s sudden presence, or the obvious heartbreak weighing down the young shadowhunter. “Where is he, Magnus? Why won’t he help me? My sister, she’s--she’ll be--”

“I know,” Magnus whispers to him. The warlock murmurs to him, in a room away from the prying eyes of the Institute, in all the different languages he knows. Alec doesn’t understand the words and Magnus barely knows what he’s saying but what’s important is the support he gives the Lightwood without pause. Without regret.

Within hours Jace and Clary are back with Jocelyn and the cup. Isabelle is released into her brother’s arms who shakes with joy and left over fear. He throws an absent minded thanks towards Clary as he holds Izzy close to him. He doesn’t spare the redhead another thought after that, his attention on Izzy’s beautiful smile and Magnus’ smug expression. Gratitude makes his knees weak in a way he’s not familiar with, but leaves a wide grin on his lips that feels both natural and light.\

Underneath the relief and joy there’s a broken rift of hurt and betrayal, all aimed at his parabatai. When he glances at Jace, Alec sees the same shattered look he knows his own eyes hold, but he looks away and clings harder to his sister. He doesn’t know if he can forgive Jace and after the stunt he pulled with the bond rune while he was trying to locate Jace, their bond is already so weakened.

Then Jace is apologizing to him at his bachelor’s party. They come clean to each other and talk about their fears, in a way that leaves them both breathless despite their still bodies. Alec is reminded of just how well he knows every flaw and doubt of Jace’s mind, of why he holds Jace so dear to him, and why the blonde does the same for him. They avoid talk of the future: they don’t speak of the war, or of the Clave.

“Why didn’t you answer me?” Alec finally works up the courage to ask.

“What do you mean?” Jace asks.

Alec can feel the old fire begin to flame inside him as he clarifies, “When Izzy was in trouble, you ignored me. I called you, texted you. Hell, I used the bond to cry out to you.”

Jace’s brow crinkles, “All I felt through the bond was anger.” He runs his hands through his hair and then adds, “And you didn’t call me, Alec. I checked, like every minute, I mean, I was terrified . I didn’t know what was happening.”

Alec looks at Jace and tries to detect the lie in his voice. “You’re lying to me again.”

Jace’s face falls and he replies, “No, Alec. I’m not.”

“I called you and Clary!”

“Clary? She didn’t say anything about that.”

Jace pulls out his phone and shows it to Alec and true to Jace’s word, there is no history of any calls. Alec looks further into the settings and he hisses in anger when he finds that his number has been blocked and deleted. He shows it to Jace who looks beyond confused, and the befuddlement in his parabatai makes the fire die down again, to be replaced with a new cold suspicion.

Jace looks at him and his brother looks like the world’s been turned upside down and shaken. Alec swallows at the faint but still evident pain that pulses dully through the bond on his abdomen.

“But I don’t understand. I would never block you.”

Alec whispers, “Clary.”

Jace shakes his head, “No, no. She wouldn’t.”

Alec looks at him, and Jace looks down at his fingers as his mind scrambles to catch up. “Clary understands,” Jace insists. “She lost Simon, she knows how it would feel to lose you or Izzy. She wouldn’t.”

Alec pulls Jace into his side and the blonde drops his face into Alec’s neck even as he continues shaking his head. “There’s only one way to find out.”

It’s a simple matter for Alec. He leaves Jace behind, and walks through the Institute. He sees the redhead practicing on the sparring ground. He walks by her jacket on a bench and slips the phone from the cloth with deft movements ingrained from his constant training. He doesn’t stop walking and doesn’t even glance in her direction, knowing that if he did his anger would bubble forward. Violently.

When he returns, they look at Clary’s phone and finds dozens of calls and messages. All ignored. All never mentioned. Jace reads each and every one of them and uses his every breath to apologize again and again to Alec. To Izzy, even though she’s far from sight.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of, Jace,” Alec insists.

“I should have known,” the blonde despairs.

“Why is that? I know you, Jace. Trust doesn’t come easily.”

“But Izzy...she almost--because of me…”

“No, because of Clary.”

“Closer than blood,” Jace says, looking up at Alec.

“What?”

“Closer than blood. You and me. I guess it’s true, heh? Clary is my sister.”

Alec blinks in understanding and he reminds Jace, “Izzy is okay. I’m fine. You’re back. We can do this. I will never betray your trust, J. I will never leave you behind. I will never manipulate you. I love you. I will protect you with my life and soul. I will cherish you as family.”

Jace looks at Alec, and his eyes are shining and his lips trembling, but he grabs his older parabatai’s hand and repeats, “Closer than blood. I will protect you with my life and soul.”

Both boys feel tension leaking from their bodies as they feel their bond runes glow and warm up with their words. Alec and Jace talk then, of Jace’s father. Of Valentine. They talk about Clary and Izzy, and of everything that had been locked in their rib cages by fear and uncertainty. They relive childhood memories and make jokes until they fall asleep huddled in a corner of the room, where they had gone to etch designs into the floorboards with their steles, like when they were kids. With each scratch in the floor boards and each shared laugh or tear, the bond strengthens until it buzzes constantly with its normal depth and presence.

When they wake up, the morning of the wedding, their parabatai runes are warm and sharp. Their bond renewed.

They venture into the rest of the Institute and the atmosphere around the campus is light and hopeful as everyone readies the chapel for the wedding...

Alec has never felt so confident and yet so confused as he steps into the church and walks up the couple of stairs to the dais. He watches as clave members trickle in to watch the wedding.

His parents come to him and his mother hugs him close. “I was mad when you picked Lydia, rather than letting me decide your match. But now, I understand why you did it. The Branwell and Lightwood line will be made stronger than ever, and I’m so proud of you,” his mother says. He looks at her in disbelief at those words, having never heard them fall from her lips.

He doesn’t know what to respond with so he only nods dumbly and watches as she walks away from him to sit in the front row to the side with her back straight and expression expectant. His father shakes his hand and looks just as lost for words as his son. They part ways quickly with a matching set of forced smiles.

Alec pauses and takes a second to breathe in deeply, trying to come to terms with the words of praise he’s so unfamiliar with. It makes him feel light headed with confusion and a strangely reluctant satisfaction. They’ve beaten and insulted him. They’ve told him over and over again that he wasn’t good enough and compared him to Jace. But today…

Alec turns at the feeling of a hand on his shoulder to see Jace. Alec grins at him and pulls him into a quick tight hug. “Are you ready for this?” Jace questions, making sure to watch his brother’s expression, trying to see the truth.

A picture of Magnus Bane flashes across Alec’s mind, but he swallows and says, “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Jace looks at him and says earnestly, “I’ll always be here. Wedding or no wedding.” He pauses and adds, “Woman or man.” Alec looks at the other sharply and he opens his mouth to protest, but Jace holds up a hand for silence. “I know, your parents, our parents , don’t respect that. But they’re wrong, Alec. Whatever you do, I’m there. Whoever you choose, I choose. They will be my family as well, and all I want from them is to make you happy.”

Alec doesn’t manage to reply before another older couple comes by to congratulate him and take their seats. When they’re gone and Alec turns back Jace is helping other guests sit and answering questions. Alec stands at the front of the chapel motionless, listening to his own calm steady heart beat. He doesn’t feel nervous, he feels...resigned. He cracks his neck to the side and catches a glimpse of Clary’s red hair. He watches in detachment as she hugs Simon, and he wonders if Simon would remain loyal if he knew what Clary had done.

Alec looks to Jace and sees him watching Clary. The blonde’s expression is blank, but his eyes are shining with hurt, echoing the pulses he can feel through their connection. He wants to go to Jace and comfort him, but more people come up and demand his attention. By the time he’s through with the formalities, everyone is ready for the ceremony, and he’s ushered up the dais to stand and wait.

Alec doesn’t notice when the music starts playing, but his eyes alight on his sister as soon as she appears in the archway. He automatically smiles at her, she looks beautiful as always, and she holds his eyes the entire walk down the aisle. When she passes by him to stand on Lydia’s side of the dais, she runs a hand down his arm. He hopes his smile shows his full appreciation of her. He’s always nervous that his love for Izzy doesn’t shine through as easily as it does for Jace, since though they’re related by blood, he and his sister don’t share a rune bond. He wishes he could shove his gratitude and love through a link into her soul. His fingers itch to grab her and pull her into a hug, to whisper his pride and respect for the woman she’s become.

Everyone lets out a murmur as Lydia passes through the arch next, and Alec can hear a stifled gasp coming from his sister. When he follows Izzy’s gaze he sees Lydia, she looks like a goddess. She steps confidently as she walks down the red carpet and up the stairs to stand next to Alec.

Her movements betray no nerves or doubts, though her heart flutters with nerves. She smiles at Alec, knowing that she doesn’t love him like she did her John, but knowing a deep and full respect for the man before her. That is enough for her and for the Clave.

Neither of them really hear what the silent brother is saying, but Lydia’s hands are sure when they pick up and place the bracelet around Alec’s wrist. He in turn clasps the necklace for her, and she thinks of the wedding several years back, where she wore a similar necklace. She pushes aside the pang of loss and turns to Isabelle. She gives the younger Lightwood a smile as she takes her stele. Isabelle looks back at Lydia with awe and a strange amount of what looks to be sadness. Lydia feels her throat go dry, and she quickly looks away and back to Alec.

“It is time for Alec Lightwood and Lydia Branwell to mark each other with the wedded union rune. A rune on the hand, a rune on the heart. A union is born,” the silent brother speaks in the crowd’s mind.

She touches the block and the rune with her stele and steadies her hand above Alec’s wrist. They look at each other, both feeling the same need for a breath, a pause, before she starts to lower the stele to skin.

Both of them, as well as the entire room, look to the sound of doors banging open, and Lydia’s hands fall away when she sees Magnus Bane standing there, eyes only for Alec. The Lightwood in question stares at Bane, eyes wide and mouth open in surprise. His breath is suddenly stolen and his heart rate rockets, in the way it hasn’t all day, as he continues to look upon the comely warlock. He wants to run to Magnus. He wants to run away from the rigidity of this ceremony and the demanding looks from his mother. An urge he ruthlessly squashes before it can take root.

“Alec...Alec!” Lydia whispers. His eyes turn back to her as he struggles to breath. He looks at her smile and wants to return it, to be the man she needs.

Instead he only manages to gasp, “I can’t breath.”

Her eyes twinkle knowingly and she says, “I know.”

“I can’t do this,” he says, before his mind catches up with him. “I thought we were doing the right thing, but this isn’t it.”

Lydia’s smile falls and she licks her lips as she thinks. She looks at Alec and places a hand on his cheek, “I know. You deserve to be free, and I deserve to be with someone who loves me. Alexander Lightwood, you are an honourable man, and a good man. I will always be tied to you by honour, but I don’t want to kill your spirit. Go, you deserve to be happy.” She steps forward and places a lingering kiss on his cheek before pulling back and giving him a light shove towards the steps.

He looks at her in awe and says, “I’m so sorry, Lydia.”

She winks at him and says, “I’m not.”

He laughs without breath and his eyes return to Magnus’ unmoving body. His mouth is dry and he tries to swallow before he chokes on nothing. He can see his mother striding towards the two of them from the corner of his eye, but he can’t tear his gaze away from the warlock in front of him. He can hear the sharp edges to Maryse’s words even though he can’t understand their meaning, but he hears Magnus’ reply, and knows he will never ask him to leave. Never again.

He nearly trips when he steps down the couple of stairs, and then he’s moving towards Magnus. His mother is spitting words at him but he only bites out, “Enough.” He’s finally able to touch, and he watches his hands reach out and grab Magnus’ jacket and pull.

They both shock at the first contact of lips, but then sink into each other. For Magnus it feels like finally coming home. For Alec it feels like finally finding freedom. Alec pulls back and his eyes check with Magnus for assent, for approval. The other man’s lips chase his as he does so, and Alec sees nothing but a softness in Magnus’ expression. He dives down for another taste of Magnus and sighs into it. He feels unstoppable, similar to the feeling of weightlessness after Izzy’s trial.

When he pulls away again, he feels the full responsibility of his actions fall upon his shoulders and he can’t stop himself from looking to his mother. Maryse is still standing a few feet away and she marches forward and backhands Alec hard enough for him to stumble to a knee. Magnus looks enraged, but Alec holds out a hand and says, “No!” before Magnus can act. The warlock drops his glowing raised hand with difficulty and glares at Maryse.

Alec regains his footing and looks at his father who is watching the scene with no expression. He returns his mother’s angry gaze and says, “You will never touch me again.” He’s impressed by the amount of steel he can fit into the monotone calmness he’s famous for. “No more pain runes, no more silence runes. You will no longer antagonize me or starve me. You won’t title me a failure or demand my obedience.”

There are murmurs all around them and when he glances at Magnus, he can see a sadness there that confuses him. He belatedly realizes he just admitted to being abused in front of a room full of important families, but he brushes it aside as unimportant. Maryse looks furious and embarrassed. She spits, “Alexander Gideon Lightwood. You don’t dare talk to me like--”

“Maryse,” Alec states.

“What makes this different than the other times you threatened to leave, Alec? I still have all the same cards to play.” She leans forward to whisper, to threaten him without outside ears listening in, “You leave and I will be forced to place your responsibilities upon Isabelle.”

Alec inhales harshly and he can feel Magnus stiffen even further next to him, but Alec looks at Maryse with no surprise or remorse, “Because before now, I thought I would be punishing her by forcing her against the Clave. Against her family. I didn’t want her to have to choose between us, but you're the mother that helped arrest her, and the mother that supports the council that almost had her stripped of her runes for being compassionate. I’ve learned, Maryse , that I don’t need to protect Izzy from the Clave, I need to protect her from you. ”

Izzy approaches them as Alec speaks and she looks at her brother with tears in her eyes. She smiles and says, “I am so proud of you, Alec.”

Alec smiles and pulls her to his side, safely between him and Magnus. Jace is next, walking to stand on Alec’s other side. Maryse turns to Jace and says, “You can’t possibly think this as well, Jace. You are the perfect soldier. I gave you everything you needed.”

Jace nods, “You’re right. You gave me a family. My family is Alec and Izzy. And now… Magnus.” Jace sends a tentative smile towards the warlock and Magnus returns the grin with relief and excitement.

The crowd is standing now, murmuring and pointing, and Maryse looks around herself with unease. She points at Alec and says, “This is not over, Alec. You are my son. You are a shadowhunter. You answer to me and to the Clave.”

Alec says nothing, just watches her walk away. He sighs and slumps his shoulders back into their constant slouch as the fight seems to suddenly escape him. Lydia lifts his head and he relaxes at the sight of her broad smile. “What will you do now?” he asks.

She shrugs, “Throw myself into work? I don’t think there’s a place for me here. I don’t want to break apart your family.”

Alec shakes his head and takes her hand with both of his, “You will always have a place here. You are not breaking us apart, you are helping us rebuild.” She sniffles and lets a tear slide out and down her cheek and he leans forward to place a kiss on each cheek. “Thank you, Lydia Branwell. May our names be honour linked, and you be welcome to our family.”

Izzy cheers where she stands and wraps her arms around Lydia for a massive hug. Magnus, in turn, takes Lydia’s hand to place a kiss on it, and murmurs a quiet heartfelt thanks into her ear. Simon appears in the group and begins to ramble about a movie that Alec has never heard of. When the man finally stops talking Alec deadpans, “Who invited the vampire?”

Simon’s expression falls and he sighs out, “Really?” But then Simon catches the small uplift of Alec’s smirk and he beams at him again, “Oh, whatever, Elaine, I’m happy for you!”

Alec smiles genuinely at the previous mundane but he’s interrupted by Clary saying, “I invited him. He’s my best friend.” She smirks and says with a light air, “My parabatai if you will.”

Magnus asks, “Ah, yes, biscuit. I have brought together all of the items that could lead to the book of the white. If you all will come with me.”

Clary tries to fall back to Jace, but Alec quickly blocks her from his path.

Magnus stops them at a table at the center of the Institute. He waves his hand, and blue light hovers over the table as a small collection of random magical items appear. A casual display of power that is so very Magnus.

“It’s something in this pile, but I have no idea what,” Magnus muses, while he’s gliding over to stand next to Alec. Magnus places a small hand on Alec’s back, and the tall Lightwood wears a goofy grin with no bashfulness.

Clary gasps and picks up a torn cloth bookmark, “It’s this. I saw this in the other dimension. You had it in a book of spells, Magnus. A large white book.”

Simon snorts, “Well, at least we know the name is accurate.”

Magnus ignores Simon and says, “You’re sure?”

“Absolutely. And now we can track it to whoever has it, right?”

Jace shrugs and says, “Sure,” as he reaches out to take it from her hand.

Magnus’ hand flashes out before his and picks it neatly from her frail fingers. “Warlock tracking is stronger,” he says. Jace smirks in Alec’s direction who blushes.

“Sure,” Jace agrees loudly, but makes no move to take it back.

The others wait as Magnus closes his eyes and begins tracking the trace energies in the cloth. They can feel the hum of magic around them as the warlock works and it makes their skin tingle slightly.

Clary glances at Jace and understands that she won’t get Jace alone, not if the past few hours are anything to go by. So she bites her lip and steps in front of Jace and Alec and proclaims, “Jace, we need to talk. You can’t just keep ignoring me.” It’s clear that she’s hoping to guilt Jace into giving in.

Jace scoffs and Alec widens his stance, as if getting ready for a fight. “I don’t know, Clary. I guess you should tell me, after all you’re great at ignoring people,” Jace snaps.

Clary looks confused, and the rest of the group turns to witness the argument with varying degrees of confusion. “What? I don’t ignore you,” Clary replies.

“No, you don’t ignore me. You just manipulate me.”

“What are you talking about, Jace? You’re being ridiculous, and can we please take this somewhere more private?” Alec watches her feet shuffle side to side and knows that the girl understands exactly what they’re talking about.

Alec sneers and deadpans, “He’s talking about when you blocked my number on his phone and almost got Izzy’s runes stripped from her by ignoring my frantic messages for Jace.”

Everyone falls silent and Clary’s eyes are wide and her breathing is fast. She yells, “You’re lying!” She turns to Jace, and the change in her expression is so fast it makes Alec dizzy. “Jace, come on. You know he’s never liked me. He’s had it out for me since the beginning.”

“I guess he was right. I should never have trusted you.”

Simon steps forward and his voice is weak when he says, “Come on now, guys. I think there must be some kind of mistake here…”

Alec says, not unkindly, to Simon, “I guarantee you there’s not.” Simon looks up at him with a scared and lost expression.

“Jace, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Did you mean to hurt Alec? Or Izzy?”

Clary shakes her head, “Of course, not. How dare you, I was just trying to help my mom.”

“How dare I?” Jace parrots back in obvious disbelief.

“Why do you trust him over me, Jace? After all we’ve been through!” Clary cries.

“I believe him because he’s my parabatai, and because he’s never lied to me! And because we looked at your cell, Clary.”

“You have no right looking through my things!”

Alec places a hand to his head and mutters, “That’s the argument you want to have right now? Do you even hear yourself when you speak? You’re the one who blocked my number in Jace’s phone in the first place!”

“Says you!” she says in desperation.

Jace nods, “Yes. Says my parabatai.” There is no doubt in his voice or eyes.

“Alright, parabatai vs. parabatai. Ask Simon if that sounds like something I would do.”

Alec argues, “He’s not your parabatai!”

“Why? Because we don’t have runes to show it?”

“Yes! And because you swear to protect them with everything you have. You’re the one who couldn’t even answer the damn phone for a week when he was going through withdrawal, and got himself killed.”

Jace turns to Simon and adds off handedly, “No offense.”

Simon nods numbly, but his eyes are large and on Clary, as if in a daze. Alec wants to both slap him to get a response and to pull him into a hug and comfort him. Neither of which he is used to feeling.

Clary growls in frustration and finally turns around to Alec, her face contorted with a rage he didn’t know she could possess, “Fine. Yes, I blocked your number, because I didn’t want to deal with your petty possessiveness over Jace. Everyone knows you’re just in love with him; you’ll do anything for his attention. Did you tell Magnus that? Does he know that he’s just an excuse?”

Alec steps back as if slapped and the room goes quiet. Alec is looking at Clary and he can’t recognize a single aspect of her. Before, she was infuriating and destroying his world, but at least she was honest hearted.

Alec starts speaking, and every person who hears it flinches at the obvious danger of it, “Clary Fairchild, you are more demon than shadowhunter, but more than that you’re a fool. I love Jace. He’s my parabatai and nothing will change that.” Jace lays a hand on Alec’s shoulder at those words and Alec straightens his shoulders at the show of support, and looms at his full height as he looks down upon the redhead in front of him. “But don’t you dare drag Magnus into this. I won’t pretend that I didn’t idolize Jace, but we all have pasts. We’ve all made mistakes and been confused. Magnus is the first person who’s looked at me like I can be loved. He’s the only person I’ve ever lost my breath around. Magnus has supported me through the mess you’ve made of everything , and I will not allow you to insult or invalidate his importance to me and my life.”

Alec takes another step towards her and she shrinks back underneath his gaze, “You manipulate Jace again and I’ll remove you from the field entirely. You endanger Izzy again and I will take your stele and rune lock you into a cell for years to come. You try to attack Magnus and I will beat you down with your own blade. If you ever comment or insult those that I love again, I will make sure you regret it. You dare to jeopardize any and all of my people and I will put a kill order on you, and unleash you to the demons. By my word, Clary Fairchild, you will not harm them again.”

Alec’s voice by the end of his small rant is hoarse, not used to saying so much at once. He feels a chill to the air and looks around to find everyone’s eyes on him. He doesn’t dare look at the expressions of those standing closest to him.

Alec blinks and steps away from them all, uncertainty rushing through him, but then Jace’s hand, still on his shoulder, tightens. Alec looks at Jace, who says, “And we won’t let you be harmed again, parabatai.”

Alec can feel heat spreads across his face and down through the rest of his body as he looks down at the ground. He can still feel eyes on him, and he’s not sure what to do with so much attention.

Simon brushes at the tears on his face and suddenly understands the respect all the shadowhunters in the Institute pay to Alec Lightwood. He sees the man that Alec has been hiding behind snark and sarcasm, but more importantly he sees the ugly rage that Clary’s been hiding. He’s caught glimpses of such fury and darkness before, but they were mere flashes before now. He’s learned to follow her orders and to not push her too hard. He’s learned her every reaction and the best way to avoid her ire, but having it laid out before him, aimed at someone else, and so... vindictively…. It leaves a stone in his gut that makes his head swim and pound.

He’s been trying to keep up with her for weeks, but now that he’s finally got his fledgling feet back underneath him, he barely recognizes his friend. The thought that she would do that to the Lightwoods, even so far as to endanger Izzy...

He turns away, breaking the intense atmosphere and hurries for the door to the Institute. He needs to breath, he needs to be away from Clary and away from the others. He can’t help but start to wonder how often she has manipulated him in the same way. How much of what she’s said to him in the past, has been to keep him on a tight leash. All his half realized suspicions from their years of friendship coming to the front of his mind with sickening vividity. He’s not entirely sure that the floor isn’t heaving underneath him and the walls closing in on him.

The others watch Simon retreat, and Alec almost reaches for Clary as she runs after him, but Jace catches his hand. Alec takes a deep breath and looks back at the items before him, still unable to look at the warlock. “So, what’s the news?”

“Bad or good?” Magnus asks.

Alec finally looks up and is frozen by the sheer amount of emotion that is brimming in Magnus’ eyes. “Both,” Alec whispers.

“Good news is I know the owner. Bad news is, it’s Camille,” Magnus replies with confidence.

Jace glances after Simon and runs to catch up to him. The others watch the blonde stop him just before the door with a shouted “Simon!”

The tall gangly brunette turns at the shout and looks at Jace with red rimmed eyes, faint smudges of blood caught in his eyelashes. Simon ignores Clary who is standing directly next to to the vampire and trying to speak to him. He walks slowly back to Jace; meeting the blonde several meters away from the table, but still within earshot of them all.

“We need your help,” Jace beseeches. Simon looks at the blonde in confusion. “Please,” Jace adds, and there’s genuine respect in his voice.

It’s that tone that has Simon nodding and saying, “What do you need?”

Jace takes a deep breath, “Camille.” Simon flinches back and away from the name and Jace quickly reassures, “You don’t have to be there, but she has the book. We need to talk to her.”

Simon tries to smile and wave off the concern, but he lets it fall after a moment. He nods meekly and says, “I’ll set up a meeting with Raphael.” When he turns and retreats, it’s with vampire speed, and he’s out of the Institute in seconds.

Clary glares at them all and stalks away, towards the private wing of the Institute, where their rooms are.

Alec moves away from the table as well saying, “I’m going to check on Lydia.” As he departs he can hear familiar a set of footsteps following him.

Magnus doesn’t stop him until they’re a good distance away from the group. “Alec,” is all the warlock says.

Nothing else needs be said though, Alec comes to a nearly involuntary stop and begins playing with the cuff to his sleeve. Slipping his jacket off and onto a nearby table, just for something to do. “Glad we got away from all those people. So intense,” he says, trying to make a joke.

Magnus grabs Alec’s arms and turns him around to face the warlock fully. “You never cease to amaze me, Alexander.”

Alec looks down into Magnus’ eyes and sees only pride and affection.

Magnus adds, “And I have to say, you really know how to make a statement.”

Alec huffs out a laugh and says, “Yeah, I guess I do. We haven’t even gotten that drink I owe you yet.”

Magnus winks, “Can’t wait.”

Alec sighs and brings a hand to set on Magnus’ waist. “What Clary said, I--”

Magnus holds a finger up to his lips, and the action is so familiar that it makes Alec grin sheepishly. Magnus smiles back at him and says, “If I doubted where I stood with you before, then I certainly don’t now. Alexander, you are a wonder.”

Alec tries to play it off with a shrug, but Magnus pulls him in for a short embrace and the warlock whispers into his ear, “I would tear apart the world for you at a word.”

Magnus pulls back then and says, “Incoming.” The warlock gestures behind them and Alec turns to find his parents swiftly approaching them.

Magnus steps away as Maryse stops in front of her son. “What have you done, Alec? To us? To this family?”

“This isn’t about you,” Alec responds.

“Of course it is. You are either being selfish or naive. This wedding was your idea from the start, and now you have humiliated us in front of the most respected members of the Clave. I don’t even recognize you anymore.”

“Why? Because I’ve finally done something for myself?”

“And all for a downworlder .”

Alec nearly stamps his foot in frustration but manages to say, “He’s not a--Mother. Downworlders are just the same as us. Our blood doesn’t make us better, and Magnus is a better man than any others I have met.”

“He isn’t a man at all. He’s a warlock! And of all warlocks, him? ”

“He is a person, Maryse. A person that I have full trust and faith in.”

Robert adds in, “Even among downworlders, Magnus has a bit of a... reputation .”

“You know nothing about Magnus Bane, Alec,” says Maryse.

“Then I plan to get to know him. And if you guys have a problem with that, you can deal with it. Now, I have to find Lydia. If you’ll excuse us.”

He pushes past his parents and holds a hand out to Magnus to lead him down a few stairs. Magnus nods to the Lightwood parents, takes the offered hand, and follows Alec away and into the deeper recesses of the Institute.

They’re nearly to the door of Lydia’s office when Magnus asks, “Are you okay?”

Alec chuckles half genuinely as he turns to Magnus. He stops walking and just studies the other man. “Actually, I am. As weird as that may be, things are finally just out in the open.”

Magnus inches closer to him and prompts, “Your parents?”

Alec reaches out to Magnus’ waist and pulls him into his body, smelling the shampoo in his pink highlighted hair. “Reacted about as well as expected.”

“Those things you said at the wedding...how bad was it?”

Alec pulls back and hums in confusion, not understanding the question.

“The abuse. You said they hurt you.”

Alec straightens in realization but quickly slumps back down into his poor posture and says, “Bad, but rare. Most of the time they would merely yell or manipulate or keep food from me. They needed me to be the best son. To be the man that could uphold the Lightwood name.”

“But?”

“But, sometimes it would get out of hand. It was...I mean, sometimes they would activate a pain rune or something, and leave me locked in rooms for hours. One rune in particular. It’s faded now, hasn’t been used in years, but it’s still there, you can still see it, if you look close enough.”

“Where is it?”

Alec nuzzles into the side of Magnus’ neck and says quietly, “My lower back. I was always glad I didn’t have to see it too often.”

Magnus runs a hand through Alec’s wild hair and presses a kiss to his chest. “I will never hurt you, Alexander.”

Alec smiles into Magnus’ darker skin and mumbles, “I know.”

“And I will do anything to keep away others who want to hurt you.”

Alec lifts his head high enough to place a kiss to the nearest cheek and whispers again, “I know.” Then he kisses the other cheek and adds, “Thank you.”

Alec lingers in Magnus’ hold but pulls away with a groan and says coyly, “We owe Lydia like the best wedding present ever.” Magnus chuckles and nods his affirmation.

Alec knocks and opens the door slowly. He gasps and runs to Lydia’s side when he sees her collapsed on the floor, with Magnus right behind him. When Lightwood looks up, Magnus is on her other side. He gives a nod, when he feels her pulse, and Alec sighs in relief. He bends down to wake her up, but not before he says, “What, in the name of Raziel, happened?”

Chapter Text

Raphael is next to him by the time Simon has gotten a few steps through the door of the hotel. The older vampire’s eyes scan Simon up and down. “Those hunters try to pull anything, bebe?”

Simon smiles at the nickname, all the vampires of the clan have been calling him similar names. “No, no. The wedding was dramatic though. Magnus burst in, and Alec left his future wife at the altar to mack on the warlock’s face.” Simon doesn’t mention the drama with Clary after the fact.

Raphael rolls his eyes as he replies, “Trust Magnus to never let things be simple.”

“It was awesome. I was telling them, it’s just like a movie. I’m proud of Alec, though. There’s no reason he should be ashamed of who he is.”

“Except that he’s a shadowhunter.”

Simon throws a weak elbow into Raphael’s side and he feels a pleasant burning sensation in his chest when Raphael chuckles at the movement. Simon swallows down his giddiness as he turns to face Raphael, “They want a meeting with you, Rafa.”

Raphael’s small smile slips when Simon’s words catch up with him, “What? Why?”

Simon pauses and swallows roughly, his eyes falling to the floor. Raphael lets out a small noise of complaint and Simon can feel the other’s hand come up to his chin and tilt his face back up. Raphael looks at him and asks, “What’s wrong, conejito?”

Simon clears his throat and looks up into the surprisingly soft dark eyes looking at him, “Camille. It’s about Camille.”

Raphael’s hand drops as if burnt, and Simon swallows back a whimper at the loss. “She’s where she deserves. La bruja malvada no te hara daño otra vez.”

Simon has a very small understanding of Spanish, though his high school classes are slowly coming back to him the longer he is around Raphael. “What?” he asks.

Raphael waves it away and instead asks, “What about her?”

Simon shrugs his shoulders and his eyes go to the floor again, “A book. Of spells.”

Raphael curls a finger through Simon’s belt loop and pulls slightly to get the fledgling’s attention, “Tell them they may come. Midnight. Tomorrow. But conejito, do not let them do anything you do not want. Comprendas? Clan watches out for itself, above all others. We are your family now, Simon. Let us take care of you.”

Simon looks up at Raphael with a flicker of hope and affection. “My family never cared about me as much as you do.”

Raphael gives a small sad smile, “Welcome home.”

Simon lets out a huff of fond amusement, but there’s still a weight to his shoulders that he can’t shrug off. Can’t forget the Clary Fray that was revealed to him just minutes earlier. Perhaps just the Clary that he’s been trying not to see.

Raphael’s name is called softly from a doorway and the leader’s head comes up to nod in understanding. “Simon,” Raphael says, “I have business to attend to--”

“Right, right. Of course,” Simon stutters, backing away from the older vampire, “I didn’t mean to--”

“I will look after you, you know that, right?” Raphael interrupts, stepping with Simon as he backs away.

Simon looks up at his leader and smiles shakily, “Yeah. Thanks, Raph.” Simon licks his lips in thought and he wants nothing more than to lean forward and press his own lips to the full red ones in front of him. Instead he says, “Being your advisor, I should be helping you, shouldn’t I?”

“Not tonight. Go. The others will want to hear of the wedding, I have no doubt. They have not seen their fledgling all evening.” Raphael once explained to Simon that fledglings are particularly cherished in clans. Protected. Spoiled. Loved.

Simon, being himself, has every vampire in the clan wrapped around his little finger. Beyond the normal bond of fledglings in clans, he’s endeared himself to every individual, in mere weeks. His laughter so bright and his smile so sunny, that every vampire is proud to have him near.

“Lily is a gossip, isn’t she?” Simon giggles lightly.

Raphael runs a hand down Simon’s arm and releases his hold on the younger man’s belt loop with the other hand as he steps away. “Go,” he says. “You are safe here.” Raphael then walks away, his stoic expression and stance slipping back into place as he walks further into the hotel.

Simon walks in the other direction, towards the main area of the hotel, where the clan members come together to socialize. A family in every sense of the word. Simon allows himself to be snatched up by Lily and Eliot and led to a corner where he’s showered with drinks and questions. Soon he’s laughing with them as he tells them in dramatic detail of the wedding, and the fledgling forgets his worries. He’s lulled into an increasingly familiar warmth of family and safety as he jokes and laughs freely.

It’s not until he’s back in his room, readying himself for sleep, that his anxiety begins to set in again. He wraps himself in blankets as shivers start to tear through his body. He hums the theme for Star Wars under his breath, trying to calm himself and desperately attempting to avoid his own thoughts and fears. He shifts and turns in his plush bed for a couple of hours, before drifting into an uneasy sleep. He wakes with a scream, not even an hour later. He bites off his cries for help and wipes a few tears of blood away as he gasps. He reminds himself that Camille can’t get him. Not anymore.

His body is shivering even harder now and he rolls out of his bed and onto clumsy feet. He begins to shuffle out of his room and through the hotel to Raphael’s rooms. The leader has an entire floor to himself, but Simon has done this often enough in the past, to quickly make his way to the bedroom. The door is closed, but Simon pushes it open slowly and closes it behind him just as softly. He looks at the figure in the bed and says softly, “Raphael?”

Simon steps closer to the bed and tries again, “Rafa? Are you-- Can I--?”

Simon can see the figure shift and then he hears the rough sleepy voice of his leader say, “Conejito? Is that you?”

Simon sniffles slightly, ashamed of the hot bloody tears that roll down his face at the sound of Raphael’s voice. The vampire in question is up and wiping the red away within the next second and he pulls Simon into his chest. “What’s wrong, little one?” he asks.

“I just can’t stop thinking about--she kil--it hurt so much and I just--” Simon stutters.

Raphael shushes him and guides him to the edge of the bed. Raphael lifts the smaller body easily and lays Simon down gently. Raphael then climbs in after him and pulls Simon to his chest while running cold fingers through Simon’s trussed up hair. “I’m sorry, Simon. You should not have had to go through that. But remember, I will keep you safe now. The clan will keep you safe. Camille cannot hurt you.”

“Well, she already killed me,” Simon snarks, and the sarcasm feels good in his chest. Some of the fear draining from him at the feel of Raphael’s hand in his hair.

Raphael growls at the words and Simon’s lips twitch into a quick smile, the frightening sound comforting him in a way he never would have imagined a month ago. Simon scrubs at his stinging eyes and lets out a long breath.

“Sleep. I will wake you if you have another nightmare,” Raphael murmurs, half asleep again himself.

Simon tries to nod at the words, but he’s asleep before he manages to. Raphael lays a simple kiss in Simon’s hair before following him into slumber.

“I knew you would return to me, my little caramel,” Camille whispers into his ear. He feels her snap the fragile bones in his left ring finger and he cries out. “You’ve been seeing me everywhere, haven’t you?” she asks, proceeding to break the next digit.

“Ple-please,” Simon gasps repeatedly as she continues through each knuckle of each finger before moving to his wrists and arms.

“It’s a pity I don’t have the time to really take you apart. I bet you’re a screamer in bed, aren’t you?”

Simon can barely hear her over the pain in his head and his agonized sobs. He cries for help again, but his voice is weak, and he knows no one will come even if they could hear him.

“No one can help you, caramel. No one but me.” She smiles down at him and lowers her head to steal the next breath that falls from his lips. Her own lips push hard against his and she cuts into the soft flesh with her fangs and smirks when she pulls back. “You’re a pretty one, caramel. I might have kept you once upon a time. Drunk from you for weeks, until you were too weak to fight me for anything.”

Simon tries to roll away from her, his body is broken and everything hurts, but her eyes on him make him feel like he’s burning alive. They rake over his body and a fear he’s never experienced before is threatening to suffocate him.

She straddles his hips and lowers her body down to whisper breathily in his ear, “Would you have liked that, sweetness?” Her lips press kisses down his neck and it sends shivers down his spine that feel like daggers. He wants to squirm away, never having felt so exposed, so completely out of control.  Her lips pull back to show her fangs and she tears at his throat, lapping up the blood, even as her hands continue to grab his fragile bones and crush them. He screams and screams until he can taste his own blood. He screams and gurgles until he can’t feel his lungs. Then he cries, tears silent as he feels all warmth leave his body, the heat of his own blood underneath him, the only thing left of his life.

When Simon wakes up, Raphael is gone. The fledgling half stands, half falls out of the bed, with the nightmare fading away as he wakes up more fully. Simon manages to fall all the way to the floor by the time Raphael opens the door. Raphael blinks at the sight of Simon tied up in blankets and sprawled across the ground before he smirks and says, “About time you woke up.”

Simon just grins widely at the upside down image of his leader and chirps, “I’m up! In some meanings of the word.” Simon struggles with the blankets for another moment, and Raphael just leans his shoulder against the door frame and watches the show. “You’re supposed to protect me, Raph! The blankets took me prisoner!”

Raphael snorts out half of a laugh, before he walks over to Simon and lifts him to his feet. Simon knows that if he were human, there’d be a heavy red blush across his cheeks right now. Instead, Simon just grins even larger and says, “My hero!”

Raphael rolls his eyes and turns to walk away, “Get dressed, conejito. It’s almost midnight.”

That sentence has Simon’s grin melting away and he hurries back to his own room to change. After a few minutes he returns to Raphael’s rooms and steals some of the clothes in the massive walk in closet there. Then he heads down to where his leader waits.

When Raphael sees him, the older vampire motions for Simon to take a seat at one of the small tables around the room. Only a couple of other vampires are present, but from past experiences, Simon knows that all the vampires in the hotel are primed for action at the smallest sound of trouble. That thought helps calm him down.

He sits down on one of the high barstools and Raphael steps up close to him, nearly standing between his legs. “You don’t have to be here if you don’t want, Simon,” Raphael says.

Simon shakes his head and says, “No, Clary would expect me to be.”

Raphael looks at him for a long moment and Simon can’t read the expression on the other’s face. Simon wants to ask, wants to know what he’s thinking, but doesn’t want to shatter this moment of silence between them. Raphael opens his mouth to speak, but the doors open and two vampires escort Clary and Izzy into the room. Raphael steps back, waits for Simon to stand, and then walks with Simon to stand in front of the two women.

Raphael’s mouth curls into a snarl when he sees the red head. Clary Fairchild. The girl with Simon’s heart. His fledgling would do anything for Clary, but the girl barely sees what she has. “You know, for shadowhunters, you don’t do a lot of shadow hunting.”

Izzy scoffs and says, “There’s more to the job than killing demons.”

Clary speaks then, “We need to talk to Camille. We know she’s here, we tracked her to the DuMort.”

Raphael doesn’t miss the cringe that shocks through Simon’s body at the mention of his sire’s name. He keeps his calm to reply, “It’s true. But she’s a bit tied up at the moment. Is there something I can help you with?”

Simon steps forward and motions for the girls to wait and pulls on Raphael’s arm slightly. The leader steps away with him and Simon says, “I know it sounds crazy, but we have to let them talk to Camille. She has a book that can wake up Jocelyn Fairchild. If Valentine has the cup, then the whole Downworld is in danger.”

“She’s too dangerous, or don’t you remember what happened the last time you ‘talked to her’?”

“It’s not like she can kill me again,” Simon says. Raphael can hear the offhandish quality of the statement but when he actually looks at Simon, he can see terror in the dark eyes that look at him.

“Conejito, no. She’ll just make things worse. Especially if Valentine has the cup.”

“But what if she--”

“No.” Raphael steps closer to Simon and says softly, “There are other ways, Si. We can figure this out, without letting that monster out of her box.”

Raphael turns back to the girls and says, “I can show you her things, but speaking to her is out of the question.”

“Her things?” Clary scoffs. Simon has never heard that particular edge to her voice before. “This isn’t the kind of book she would just leave sitting around.”

“I’m sorry,” Raphael replies, though he sounds anything but. “That’s the best I can do.”

Clary shifts and steps forward pleading, “We’re supposed to be allies--”

“And we are. But shadowhunters have no business interfering with the Night Children’s affairs. You may look to the Clave for justice, but the vampires look to me. Camille stays where she is.”

Clary purses her lips and says, “You’re making a huge mistake.”

Raphael stays silent, but maintains a steely glare with Clary. He turns away leisurely and calls out, “Get Camille’s things ready for study.” A nearby vampire nods and walks out of the room.

Clary grabs Simon’s arm and pulls harshly on her friend. Raphael hisses at the force, but Simon holds up a placating hand. He lets Clary pull him away from his leader and protector, though not out of the vampire’s hearing range, and faces the two women again. “Are you going to let him treat us like this, Simon?” Clary demands with obvious disbelief.

“What?” Simon asks numbly.

“I can’t believe you. I have never let you down, Si. We’re a package deal, remember? You have to help me wake up my mom.”

Simon bristles at the words and says, “I don’t have to do anything, Clary.”

Clary blinks at him and then her sweet bearing drops away entirely and she hisses out in rage, “ Excuse you? Jocelyn practically raised you, Simon! She helped you when your mother got raging drunk and held your hand above the stove on New Years.”

Simon flinches back from the words and his eyes are large and frightened as he stares at his best friend. “Clary..you said you…” Simon trails off. This is the time he would normally backtrack and ask for forgiveness. Bend over backwards to please her, but this time she doesn’t even give him time to consider it, and it feels like she’s been holding this speech in for a while.

“We paid for hospital bills when your uncle gave you a concussion the weekend before finals. Luke helped you with your accounting homework, and I helped you write your college entry essays. I’ve always been there for you, Si, and now you’re picking these bloodsuckers over your own family?!”

Simon trips over his feet in his haste to back away from Clary’s words. Raphael catches his body before he can fall and there are hisses punctuating the air all around them, as vampires all fall into defensive crouches at the pain their fledgling has been put in.

Simon clears his throat and says, “Clary. Stop. This isn’t you.”

Izzy steps forward then, her eyes wide and on Clary, “They’re right, honey. We know you’re stressed, but that’s no way to speak to Sim--”

“You don’t know, Izzy. So shut up.”

Raphael bites out the words, “Camille stays where she is. She is a danger to me and mine.”

“You and yours? Does that include Simon here?”

Simon’s voice is shaky and weak when he says, “They’re my family, Clary. I can’t let you endanger them. Clary... She killed me.” It’s not what he meant to say, but it’s too late to take it back now. He can feel Raphael’s growing tension, and he doesn’t understand how this situation got so out of hand so quickly. He can barely look at his friend before him, and his insides are twisting like he’s going to be sick.

Clary’s eyes are hot and dark when they land on Simon’s again, “And I BROUGHT YOU BACK!”

Simon opens and closes his mouth a few times before turning away from her and staring blankly in front of him. Clary seems to finally understand all of what she’s said and her expression crumples. “Simon, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me, Si. I just...I need to help my mom. You understand that, right?”

Simon doesn’t answer, just leans into the presence of Raphael next to him and blinks back more bloody tears. It’s a silent rebellion against her and they both know it. He finally turns around again and looks at Clary, who has tears sparkling in her eyes. She’s beautiful, just like she always has been, but Simon doesn’t see that, he only sees the ugly lines of anger in her face. “You can’t talk to her, Clary. Raph here knows more about her than almost anyone though. We can help you. We want to help you.”

“You can help by bringing me to Camille.”

Raphael curls his arm around Simon’s waist and holds out a hand in front of Clary, “Shadowhunter, shut your mouth or I won’t be held responsible for the actions of my clan.”

Clary looks around herself for the first time, noticing the many vampires that are watching her with bared fangs and a focused intensity. More and more of them are slipping into the room around them as well, sensing their fledgling’s pain and misery.

“You can follow Merda here to Camille’s things. Then you will leave my home.”

Clary scoffs and stalks off after the named vampire. Izzy takes a few steps to follow her, but her eyes are flicking between Simon and Clary and Raphael. She stops and looks at Simon, “I’m sorry, Simon. She’s just--I don’t know what’s gotten into her. She doesn’t know what she’s saying.”

Simon smiles up at Izzy with clear pain and whispers, “Yes, she does. That’s what makes it so hard.”

Izzy swallows and looks away from Simon in shame, her mouth slightly open as if waiting for the right words to come to her. After a moment her shoulders slump in defeat and she rushes after Clary, leaving Simon brokenhearted and slumped in Raphael’s grip.

The leader himself is nearly vibrating with anger as he holds Simon up. “Conejito?” Raphael asks softly.

Simon jerks back to himself and stands unsteadily. “Sorry, yeah. That went well, huh?” Simon asks, trying to play it all off. Raphael doesn’t respond, just continues gazing at the fledgling, and Simon’s lips wobble with the effort to keep his sobs inside his chest. “Let’s go check on them, yeah?”

Raphael catches Simon’s arm before the fledgling can trip again and helps lead him after the girls. “They can’t treat you like this, Si,” Raphael says.

Simon stops where he is and turns to look at his leader. “Seems like they can.”

Raphael growls and he bites out, “One word, Si. One word from you and they’re gone.” Raphael glances back the way the two shadowhunters disappeared and adds, “They’re only this far because of you. And they’d be dead or seriously maimed for what she said, if I didn’t know that would make you feel much worse.”

Simon blinks up at Raphael and smiles, and it’s not as bright as normal, but Raphael can still feel the drops of sunlight on his skin from it. “You know, Rafa, I don’t know how you can be so completely terrifying and such a teddy bear at the same time.”

Raphael groans and steps back from the fledgling, “Dios, Simon.” Both vampires know that the words hold no heat though, and they smile softly at each other as Raphael ushers them onwards.

They see Izzy standing nervously next to the table covered in Camille’s belongings, and the instant that she comes into view, she’s rushing towards Simon. “Si, I’m so sorry. I had no idea, and she’s been stressed out and nearly unbearable at the Institute. She’s desperate to wake her  mother up, but if I had known that she would treat you like that, then I--”

“Then what?” Simon interrupts. He shakes his head at the harsh tone to the words, knowing Isabelle doesn’t deserve it. “It doesn’t matter, Izzy. Clary’s right, we need to get Jocelyn awake. She’s the only advantage we have against Valentine.”

“Camille?” Izzy dares to ask.

Simon clenches his jaw and insists, “Stays where she is.”

Izzy nods but looks away from him, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. She starts to ask questions about the items on the table but Raphael asks, “Where’s the other one? The red one?”

Izzy looks over at them with big eyes and Simon’s stomach sinks. “She’s just talking to her. Nothing else,” Izzy pleads.

Raphael growls and moves with vampiric speed to run from the room, but is pulled back by a flash of silver around his arm. Izzy stands with her whip out and a torn expression on her face.

“Izzy, let him go,” Simon says.

Izzy looks at him and she looks so confused that Simon’s heart reaches out for her. “This isn’t the way to do things, Izzy. You know that.”

“Clary said--”

Raphael scoffs, “She said a lot of things, Isabelle.”

Izzy just hangs her head and with a small flick of her wrist, her whip slithers to the floor, releasing Raphael. The clan leader is out the door before Simon can blink. Simon glances back at Izzy’s sad form before following after his leader.

He nearly runs straight into Raphael and a group of huddled vampires as he turns a corner. He steps up to stand next to Raphael and his throat closes in on itself when he sees Clary and Camille standing before them.

“Camille,” Simon stutters.

The slender vampire smiles and coos, “My little caramel! Just the person we were looking for!”

Raphael snarls and demands, “What the hell does that mean?”

“The shadowhunter and I have a deal. The book of the white for Simon’s signature.”

“My signature?” Simon asks, a wobble in his voice despite his efforts to keep it level.

“A contract of a sorts. That you wanted me to turn you.”

The entire group of vampires hisses and Raphael holds up a fist to keep them in their place. After half a breath it’s Simon that speaks, “No.”

Clary frowns and says, “Come on, Simon. Just come with us and sign the paper, so we can get the book.”

Simon stares straight into Clary’s eyes and he repeats himself, “No.” He looks at Raphael for a second before turning back and continuing, “I am the proof of Camille’s crimes, and the piece of evidence that put Raphael in power. I will not threaten that leadership or the safety of my family.”

Clary looks like she wants to shake him when she insists, “ I am your family , Si! Jocelyn too! These monsters are the people who kidnapped you. They’re the reason you no longer have a heartbeat.”

Simon clears his throat before speaking, with a calm that he’s rarely felt before, “No. Camille kidnapped me. Camille killed me. Camille threw the first punch. But you’re the reason I’m a vampire.”

Clary steps back and lets out a small gasp, “Simon, you said you--”

“And you said you would always support me,” Simon interrupts. “Yet, here you are, working with the woman who murdered me. Against my advice. Against my pleas.”

Camille rolls her eyes and says, “This is taking a long time. Come, my little caramel, before I lose my patience.”

Raphael steps in front of Simon, teeth bared and eyes hard. Camille merely clicks her tongue at him and says, “Simon will come with me. And I will leave New York. You can have the clan,” she utters the last word with disgust. “Or, I will fight fang against fang until you are dead, and the clan is mine again.”

Izzy pushes through the gathering of undead and stops once she reaches the front of the stand off. She says between heavy breaths, “I called Alec, and they’re on their way here n--”

The atmospheric pop of a portal has all eyes turning towards the purple light forming in the side of the hall. A moment later Magnus and Alec Lightwood are stepping through and into the scene. The warlock steps back on instinct when he sees Camille and Alec steps forward to place himself between the two.

“Magnus!” Camille exclaims with obvious malice. “I need you to draw up a contract, my love.” Camille takes advantage of the confusion and lunges toward Simon. Raphael is a blur as he moves to defend the fledgling, and Camille stumbles back with an angry red cut across her cheek. “Fond of the fledgling are we, Raphael?” she mocks.

“You will not touch him,” Raphael says lowly.

“On the contrary, he’s mine. I will find him and dispose of him. If he’s lucky I’ll keep him alive for a few months. Play with my toy.”

“He’s not yours!” Raphael snarls.

Camille straightens her shoulders and looks around the group that has gathered. “It’s only a matter of time before I can find him alone. Before I rip out his throat. Or, he signs the document and I will take my leave of New York.”

Raphael smirks and squares his shoulders with confidence, “ Or, we kill you right now, the way we should have before.” He and the rest of the vampires at his back all tense, ready to pounce. Before they can move a light flashes between them and Camille.

“You will not hurt her. Not until we have the book,” Clary says, seraph blade drawn and ready.

Alec startles at the change and demands, “Clary, what are you doing?”

“I’m doing whatever I have to, to get the damn book.”

“Even if that means hurting Simon?” Izzy asks softly.

Clary doesn’t respond but she readjusts her grip on her weapon. Raphael looks at her with a dark glint in his eyes that she can barely stomach.

“You disgust me, shadowhunter,” says Raphael.

“You turned my best friend against me!” Clary shouts.

“No, you turned against him. Simon has only ever helped you.”

“You wouldn’t let me see Camille! You brought this down upon yourself.”

Alec’s monotone voice draws everyone’s attention as he says, “You’re acting like a child, Clary. You can’t throw a tantrum just because you don’t get what you want.”

Clary’s eyes flick between the individuals around her, but she just repeats, “You don’t touch Camille until we have the book.”

There’s a buzz in the air that’s potent with potential violence. The vampires are still as statues, muscles ready, eyes never leaving Camille and Clary. Clary’s hand is shaking, but her face is set with determination. Magnus and Izzy are wary but reluctant, and Alec’s fingers lay on his bow. There will be blood, and Simon can’t stomach the thought of losing any of them.

“I’ll do it. I’ll sign the damn contract,” Simon says, his voice loud in the harsh silence.

Raphael’s head turns to look beside him and he urges, “You don’t have to do this, Simon. The clan will protect you.”

Simon smiles and it’s sad and lopsided as he says, “And I will protect the clan. He turns to the warlock and says, “Magnus, if you would?”

The warlock hesitates but with a look at Alec, he snaps his fingers and a large rolled piece of paper, that shines momentarily with blue light, appears in Camille’s hands. She smiles down at it and unfurls it slowly with her long blood red nails. She opens her painted lips to speak, her eyes coming up to Simon, but the fledgling cuts her off before she can start. “I will sign it, but only after you bring us to the book.”

Camille’s expression falls and her lips pull sideways in a silent snarl, but she swallows and nods. “Fine.” She turns to Magnus, and her eyes roam over his body with a dark intent. “Magnus, love, bring us to my home in the east. That’s where the book is.”

Magnus moves his hands in rhythm and brings together the energies needed to make another portal. As soon as it opens, Camille is striding towards it and through. Clary follows next, while the others trickle in slowly behind them. Raphael orders the clan members to stay and secure the hotel, leaving Raphael and Simon to be the last moving through the purple light. They step into a large room full of shelves that are in turn full of books.

Camille gestures around and says in a sing song manner, “It’s here.”

Clary looks around with frustration and asks, “Where?”

Camille looks at Simon and waves the parchment in front of her. Simon sighs but steps forward towards her and the paper. Raphael shadows his movements and the three vampires move to a desk to the side of the room. Simon holds out his hand for the paper, but Camille instead picks up a quill and slices Simon’s finger open with it. Simon hisses but gets the message, and takes the quill to sign in his blood.

She moves so fast, that neither Raphael nor Simon have time to react. She tackles Raphael backwards and drags Simon across the room and into her chest. She pulls his head to the side, and bares her fangs over his neck. Raphael jumps back to his feet, but stays where he is, unwilling to endanger his fledgling’s life.

“Simon,” Raphael says. There’s a note of desperation in his voice that the others don’t expect, and when they look over to the clan leader, his eyes are fixed on Simon. His hand shakes as he holds it up and pleads, “Don’t hurt him, please. Camille, he signed, we won’t pursue you. Please.”

“As if I’m going to trust you ever again, Raphael. I need time to leave the city, and Simon and I have so much quality time to catch up on. I’ll return him to you, if he’s still alive once I’m done with him.”

Raphael looks at Simon and the fledgling tries to give a little smile, but it wobbles and falls when Camille scratches a fang across his pulse point, leaving a very shallow cut. Raphael growls at the small sound of surprised pain Simon lets out, but remains frozen to the spot. Terrified of moving and inadvertently hurting Simon.

“You hurt him and I’ll kill you,” Raphael threatens. “And I’ll make you suffer, just like you did Simon.”

Camille pauses, but there’s a smirk growing on her face. “You’re really soft for the boy, aren’t you? But for what? He’s just a fledgling. You haven’t…” She trails off as if in deep thought before she cackles and says, “Ohh, Raphael, Raphael. This is going to be so much fun .” She licks across the cut on his neck and Simon whimpers, trying to wriggle away from her. “And he is delicious . Have you sampled him yet, Raphael?”

Raphael’s entire body is alight with tension and there’s a pained look of hatred and fear on his face. “You hurt him and you won’t get away with it.”

“I can take care of myself, Raphael. Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s had a hankering for my head.”

Alec’s clear voice cuts across the tension between the two vampires, “Not like this you haven’t. Release Simon.”

“Awww, your little boy toy is so strong and brave, Magnus. Tall, dark hair, a little bit dangerous, he’s just your type.”

“I don’t have time for this. Release Simon, or face your further existence with every warlock, shadowhunter, and child of the night searching for you.”

Camille’s expression falters just slightly, her lips pulling down in realization. “Magnus,” she says, her eyes moving past the boy and to the warlock, “I like him. He’s...quaint. I give you a good twenty years before he starts to bald and gain weight. Thirty before he’ll need to pop viagra like tic tacs. You can find me again in fifty years when he’s gone and I’ll remind you what it’s like to be loved by someone who can give you eternity.”

“Excuse you?” Alec snarks. “Speak to him like that again, and I’ll put an arrow between your eyes.”

“The book isn’t here, is it?” Clary asks. The others blink in confusion and surprise at the question.

“Who gives a fuck about the book?” Raphael cries out.

Clary glares at him, “The book is the whole reason we’re even here!”

“I’m here because Simon is. I’m here because you let his murderer free, and now she has him again! Because of you!”

Clary looks at Simon and she says, “Everything’s going to be okay, Simon. I found you once, I can find you again.”

Alec looks at her in rage and Magnus has to put a hand on his shoulder to stop him from stalking towards the other shadowhunter, “What?!” Alec stumbles then and grabs his side, falling to his knees. His face contorts with a quick pain and he gasps out, “Jace!”

Magnus kneels next to him, his hands frantically hovering about his body, searching for an injury. “What’s wrong?” Magnus asks.

“Parabatai. He’s tracking me,” Alec says. “He’s...panicking. All I can pick up from him is terror.” Alec looks up at Magnus with fear and the warlock helps him to stand up once again.

“He’ll get to us. We’ll figure it out together.”

Clary asks again, “Where’s the book?”

Camille shrugs and replies, “I don’t know. The warlock Dot hid it here, even from me. I couldn’t tell you where it is even if I wanted to.”

“Forget the book!” Raphael shouts, his eyes are red rimmed and he looks close to crying. “Take me. Take me instead. Let Simon go.”

Camille pretends to think about it for a second before shaking her head and saying, “No, that wouldn’t be nearly as fun.”

“Camille, don’t do this,” Magnus says.

“Are you concerned for me, Magnus, darling?”

“Far from it. Simon is my friend. Let him go, for me .”

Camille’s eyes narrow as they take in the dishevelled appearance of the high warlock of Brooklyn. “You’re such a disappointment, Magnus. Helping shadowhunters , again. Becoming a pet, and all for what? A boy? A mere child?”

Jace bursts through the doors in that moment, startling everyone.

“Valentine is coming,” Jace gasps out, his eyes immediately searching out Alec. There’s a pause as everyone takes in his words.

Alec steps forward and pulls Jace into a quick embrace as he asks, “When?”

Jace shrugs, “I don’t know! Soon. I’m so sorry. I took Hodge’s ring, to talk to him. And now he’s…” Jace gestures vaguely, at a loss for words.

“What are you all doing here?” Jace asks.

There’s the faint sound of light footsteps and the woosh of movement behind them all. Raphael stumbles forward a couple steps in clear panic and shouts, “Camille!” Everyone turns to find her gone, and Simon along with her. Raphael growls and his gaze sweeps around the room. “She’s gone,” he says. The latino looks like he’s about to tear someone’s throat out.

“Now we have to find the book,” Clary says.

Jace looks at her and says, “No, now we need to get out of here.”

“I’m not leaving until the book is in my hands!”

“Fine,” Raphael states, “But I’m not sticking around. I have to find Simon.” Jace moves to follow Raphael out, but they’re both stopped when men and women flood in from the three different exits. The group is taken by surprise and they are rapidly outmaneuvered. Each person held against the chest of a circle member, blade at their throats, except for Jace.

Alec’s eyes sweep over the room, sticking on Izzy and Magnus. He itches for his bow and feels so completely powerless. He grits his teeth and watches a portal form in the middle of the room.

Jace stands before the portal, his expression determined and scared. He catches Alec’s eyes and they nod at each other. Whatever happens, they are dealing with it together.

“Son,” Valentine’s voice croons as he steps through the portal.

“Valentine,” Jace responds.

Valentine’s eyes lazily move over the captured individuals. His eyes stop and linger on Clary with open disappointment settling in his expression. He turns away from her and back to Jace. “You don’t belong here with these people, Jace.”

“This is exactly where I belong.”

Valentine’s eyes flick to the vampire and he scowls at Raphael, “You’re consorting with downworlders?”

“They’re my friends.”

“You don’t have friends, Jace. I taught you better than that.”

Jace cringes and replies, “You were wrong. Love makes me stronger. I fight united.”

Valentine’s eyes flick down to Jace’s abdomen for a moment, before they slowly alight on Alec and Izzy. “You’re bonded, yes? You have a parabatai?”

“Proudly,” Jace answers, holding his head high.

“Is it this one?” Valentine gestures at Alec. “Don’t trust him. You can’t trust them. My parabatai betrayed me. It’s only a matter of time before this one does the same.” The disgust and betrayal is obvious in the man’s voice, still raw despite the time passed.

Alec glares and replies, “You know nothing of loyalty.”

Valentine glowers in his direction, and a throwing knife is flying through the air towards the boy, before Alec can blink. The knife hits a flash of blue light, just before hitting skin, and falls to the ground with a jangle. Valentine looks around with narrowed eyes and finally notices Magnus. “Magnus Bane. My people have been looking for you.”

“Oh, and I do hate to disappoint,” Magnus drawls.

“I heard about how your warlocks were found in your secret hideout,” the man prods.

Magnus’ face turns angry and he fights against the man holding him, trying to get free and attack Valentine. Many lives were lost that day and Magnus holds each of those deaths to his own mistakes.

“That one hit a nerve, huh?” Valentine jokes. He steps forward, a hand coming up to touch Magnus, when Jace knocks his arm aside.

“Enough,” Jace says.

Valentine turns to his son and smiles widely. “You’re quite right, my son. We’ve spent enough time here. Come with me and lead by my side, Jace. I made you, honed you, for power. It’s your right to lead with me.”

Jace shakes his head, “No. I’m nothing like you. I’m my own person.”

“Naturally. That’s how you can bring invaluable experience to this war, Jace. With me, we can destroy the Clave.”

“And the downworlders? Destroy them too?”

Valentine shrugs and waves it off, “They are a problem to be solved. Eradicated. Only those of angel blood can continue. The demon blood in them, those creatures , will drive them to evil. It’s only a matter of time.”

“You’re wrong.”

“I can show you the truth.”

“Stop,” Jace pleads. Backing away from his father with one of his hands up to his temple in distress. Jace looks at the faces of his friends and family and knows what he has to do. “I go, and they’re released.” It’s not a question but doesn’t hold the bite of an order either, he sounds painfully young and lost.

Valentine nods and with a gesture the circle members release their hostages, though they are still guarded, disarmed and closely watched. Jace nods and looks at Alec sadly. The oldest Lightwood is scanning the room, desperate to find something to help him. “Don’t do this, Jace.”

“You know I have to. You’d make the same choice. I won’t let him or you threaten the safety of everyone here.” Jace says with an attempt at a smile that falls short.

Alec nods and drops his hands. “We’ll find you,” Alec says earnestly. Unlike Clary’s similar words just minutes earlier, these are a promise and an acceptance. Alec trusts Jace to make the best decision as well as his own ability to find and protect his parabatai.

Jace’s hand comes to hover over his parabatai rune on his stomach before he turns to follow Valentine through the portal. Alec sees a flash of red hair as Clary charges forward towards Jace, crying out his name. Alec moves forward to stop her, seeing the knife that Valentine draws from his belt, and knowing this can only end in blood; the blood that his brother has just done his best to avoid. Alec catches her frantic figure just in front of the portal, holding her back. Valentine watches his daughter flail in Alec’s arms and he smiles. Clary lets out another cry and she kicks out with her heeled boot, and knocks Alec’s kneecap out of the socket. She slides her other foot around and knocks his right leg out from underneath the dark haired man.

Alec cries out in pained surprise and Clary darts past him to grab Jace. Alec stumbles to his feet, hands going for his bow as Valentine’s men rush forward to subdue them, but belatedly remembers his weapon was taken.

Clary takes advantage of the confusion and pushes a surprised Valentine further into the swirling purple of the portal. She shoves Jace back into the room with the others, his body dropping to the floor with the force of her push. She grabs Alec’s arm and uses it as leverage to pull herself out of the closing portal, making Alec stumble backwards on his feet again. Alec falls into the portal as it closes behind him and Valentine.

“ALEC!” Magnus screams.

Chapter Text

There’s a blast of red light and a surge of energy moves through everyone’s bodies. When the shadowhunters recover, all the circle members are frozen in place, with Magnus standing in the middle of them, red magic flickering in his hands. Jace and the others take advantage of the moment and dispatch their enemies with ease. Magnus releases his hold and the bodies fall to the floor with sickening thuds. Magnus is breathing hard, eyes where the portal has just disappeared from. There’s red sparks crackling around him as his magic lashes out, trying to find a victim for its anger. Its rage.

There’s a deep guttural growl and then Clary is knocked back off of her feet and to the ground. Raphael punches her across the face, feeling her nose crunch in satisfaction. She pulls a seraph blade and swipes it out at him, but Magnus snaps his fingers and it’s gone. Raphael twists her attacking arm and pushes it to the floor, knowing it will hurt. Savouring that pain.

He glowers down at her, his chest moving in breathes he doesn’t need. He painfully crushes Clary to the floor and spits in her face. “You son of a bitch! I will tear out your throat and leave your soul stuck in limbo!”

Clary wipes at her face and scowls at him, “You have no right to be so upset!”

Raphael reels back and backhands her hard enough to leave her head lolling for a moment.

Clary ignores her tears of pain and continues, “He was my best friend. You barely know him, and you’ve spent your time ridiculing him!”

“Simon is a part of my clan. I’m the one who has been looking after him for the last month. I’m the one who has held him through nightmares of his murder. I’m the one who has treated his burns from the sun and helped him get used to the taste of blood. All while you’ve been running around and pretending to be a shadowhunter, sacrificing people left and right to get what you want.”

“Jace! Get him off of me!” Clary shrieks, kicking uselessly at the vampire’s back. The pain in her arm is making it hard for her to both think and move. She slowly subsides when the blonde shadowhunter doesn’t come to her rescue and she looks around to find him standing with Izzy a few feet away. They both look murderous. It’s easy to forget sometimes that they’re honed lethal weapons, bred to hunt and kill demons and the damned. Clary can feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand up straight, as her mind clambers that she’s in danger. She feels like she’s being hunted. “Magnus, please!” she cries instead.

Magnus steps up beside her and looks down at her. His magic has created a dull aura around him, as if keeping his emotions contained. His face is completely blank. His glamour gone. Cat eyes peer down at Clary, and she can feel the energy rolling off of him in terrifying waves. He bends down on one knee to get a better look at her and he says, “Oh, biscuit, I don’t think you appreciate just how hard it is for me right now, to not just smite you. You just shoved the man I desperately want to love, through a portal with one of the most dangerous men alive. I think, for your sake, that you’d best stay with Raphael.” He pats her cheek twice, each touch sending a strong magical jolt through her jaw.

Clary has never heard that tone before. Magnus has always seemed so bright and fun and charming. She didn’t realize until this moment, that Magnus works to be as non-intimidating as possible. The bubbly personality, the swirls and dramatic movements. His magic, his eyes, his everything hidden away.

But this...This is Magnus Bane, bare for all to see, and Clary finds she’s lost her voice. His movements are still as graceful as ever, but hold more purpose. His eyes sport split cat pupils and his face is drawn, as if in pain. Each thought and twitch of his fingers brings another pop of energy. Clary suddenly understands just how old Magnus is. Just how powerful.

Magnus moves then and looks around at the books surrounding them. His eyes catch on one particular spot, and he walks over to find a large cookbook, with the other half of the bookmark closed in it. He picks it up, and they watch in amazement as it blends away and into an intricate thick book. “Dot. Always so predictable.” He doesn’t say another word while he opens a portal, only waves the others through ahead of him. Izzy and Jace step through and into Magnus’ living room. Raphael drags Clary through next. Magnus closes the portal behind himself.

Clary grabs her stele and begins to activate her iratze rune, but Magnus snaps again, and it disappears into air. She shrieks indignantly and rounds on Magnus. “You took my stele!”

“You took my lover!” Magnus shouts. He marches over to stand in front of her and he says with a crisp tone that grates on the ear, “You are a child, Clary, and nothing more. You are not special , you are not talented . All you are is a fool in over their head with a morality problem. All you’ve done since you’ve shown up, is destroy things. You talk nice, but you treat downworlders like dirt, and treat your friends like tools. If you don’t start to show some amount of usefulness, then I will call the nearest memory demon here, and feed you to it.”  

Clary goes pale and she stutters out sounds that aren’t words, caught between fear and anger. Her eyes flick to the door and Magnus snaps, the lock turning can be heard from where they stand. She looks at the others present and finds no friendly faces. Magnus rolls his eyes and snaps, creating a large metal barred cage, that Clary stands in the center of. Raphael laughs, and it’s a harsh furious sound. Magnus turns away from the red head and moves to the couch where he collapses with the book in his lap.

The warlock looks calm and collected, but his body is shaking with anxiety, and his vision is blurry from panic. The aura and harsh hum around him slowly subsides as his anger melts away to fear and grief. He stares blankly down at the cover of the book in his lap, thoughts on where Alec is. What Valentine could be doing to him. Magnus brushes away a tear, smudging his eyeliner in the process, without comment.

“We’re going to have to go back to the Institute,” Jace says softly.

“Why?” Raphael asks as he paces the small room.

“Because Simon and Alec were taken while trying to get that damn book , and now that we have it, we might as well use it. Jocelyn could, after all, give us some information to put us at the advantage against Valentine.”

Magnus nods, “He’s right. We have to wake up Jocelyn Fairchild.”

Izzy nods, “Okay, great. Then what?”

Raphael growls, “Then we find Simon.”

“And Alec,” Jace adds.

“Alexander,” Magnus mumbles, his fingers tightening compulsively around the book.

Izzy look at the brokenhearted men around her, and tries to keep a firm hold of the panic that is threatening to explode out of her own chest. Her brother missing. Her friend gone. She clears her throat and says, “Come on, guys. Moping never helped anyone. Can we track Simon or Alec?”

Magnus stands without a word and walks out of the room. He returns in a few moments holding a rather dilapidated black sweater in his hands. He closes his eyes, and a dull red light pulses through the fabric, but Magnus just opens his eyes and frustrated tears run down his cheeks. “I can’t see him,” he says, and his voice breaks at his perceived failure.

Raphael drags his hands across his own face, letting out a frustrated groan. He stands and says, “I’ll be back with something of Simon’s.” He doesn’t wait for anyone to respond, just sprints out of the room.

Clary clears her throat, and when Magnus, Izzy, and Jace turn to her with fury, she has the sense to look chagrined. “I was just going to say we should call Luke. If Magnus can’t track Alec, then that most likely means he’s in water, right? Luke and the police force can sweep the docks, see if they can find anything suspicious.”

Jace kicks the ground in agitation and says, “I wish that wasn’t such a good idea.” He pulls out his phone and walks away from them and into the kitchen. His voice can be heard faintly where they remain in the living room.

“About my mother,” Clary hedges.

Magnus lets out a harsh breath and snaps, “Don’t worry, Clary, the sacrifice of both Simon and Alec was not pointless. We’ll get your fool of a mother awake. Who knew removing your memories would come back to bite me in the ass like this ?”

Clary swallows and she whispers, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pull Alec into the portal. I was just trying to get out myself.”

“It doesn’t matter what you meant to do, does it? That doesn’t help Alec! He was only there because of you . He was trying to stop you from being killed by your own father! And this is what he gets.”

“I didn’t know--” Clary starts.

“Yes, you did,” Izzy cuts her off. “Just like with Simon. You knew what you were saying and doing. You have no anger control! No loyalty!”

“That’s the difference between you and him. Alexander wouldn’t have endangered anyone else like you did. Alexander wouldn’t have made such rash decisions,” Magnus says. “No matter what your mother has told you, or what you say to yourself at night, you are not a shadowhunter. Alexander Lightwood is. But now he’s gone and we’re stuck with you. ”

Clary looks like she wants to argue, but she settles back and wipes at the blood on her face instead. Izzy sits next to Magnus on the sofa, and she leans into his side with a small sniffle. The fact that her brother has just disappeared with Valentine finally registering. Magnus immediately opens his arms and encourages Izzy to lean into him. He idly plays with her hair and they have a whispered conversation.

Raphael walks through the door holding Simon’s glasses. “Can you use these?” he asks.

Magnus nods and gently extracts himself from Izzy’s small form. He takes the glasses in hand and concentrates. His magic pulses an almost sickly brown, not the biting red of his earlier anger, but no where close to his peaceful blue.

Camille’s image flashes before his eyes and there’s a smirk on her face. “Damn it,” Magnus hisses. He opens his eyes and looks into Raphael’s hopeful ones. “It’s Camille. She knows the way I work, she knows how to confuse my tracking.”

Raphael’s shoulders slump, but the calm mask he’s wearing doesn’t slip. He’s not particularly surprised. “So nothing?”

Magnus shakes his head, “No, I can tell you where she isn’t.” He pauses, his magic pulsing around the frames in his hand again. “She’s nowhere new . Which means she’s using one of her own places. Somewhere she’s worked before.”

Izzy asks, “But surely there must be scores of places she could bring him? She’s had hundreds of years to sink her claws into this city.”

“At least it’s something,” Jace says from the other side of the room, where he’s just entered. “Luke says in the morning he’ll have the police on the dockside.”

Raphael mutters in Spanish and begins pacing again. “We can’t just sit here. Simon could be being tortured or killed!”

Magnus flinches at the words and the implication that Alec is no better off. “We can start by looking for Camille. She’s the weakest link right now. Valentine has warlocks and an army of shadowhunters, but Camille is alone and running.”

“Do you have an idea of where to start then?” Raphael asks.

Magnus shrugs, “A few.”

The doorbell rings, startling all of them in the room. They all stare blankly towards the doors in confusion. “Is someone going to answer that?” Clary asks. The doorbell rings again, as if the visitor heard her wry question.

Jace swears under his breath but walks to the doors, unlocks them, and pulls them open. The face waiting for him is not at all what he expected.

“Where are we?” Simon asks. “You know, the DuMort wasn’t really to my tastes, but this...did you even try? Just throw some paint on the walls really, and--”

“Do you never shut up?” Camille interrupts.

Simon almost points out that he shut up when she killed him, but bites back that comment, not wanting a repeat performance. “The easy way to fix that would be to let me go…”

Camille sighs harshly and slaps Simon. He barely keeps his balance in the chair that he’s tied to, and her ring leaves a long bright cut on his cheekbone. She steps closer and runs her fingers over the slash, digging her nails into it, before licking the blood from her hand. “You really are delicious. Too bad I don’t have time to play.” She walks away with a saunter.

Simon looks around himself: they’re in the basement of some decrepit restaurant long out of business. Camille is muttering over a table that the fledgling can’t see the top of. He starts tapping his toes on the ground, his restless energy needing to find its way out of his body somehow. Simon sees some old pizza boxes on the ground to the side. Unused and crumpled.

“Are we in a pizza restaurant?” Simon asks, not expecting an answer. “I wish I could eat pizza. You know, the whole vampire thing, I got used to it pretty fast. I mean the sun already burnt me, cause let’s face it, I’m pale, so no big difference there. But the food. Oh, man. Didn’t realize how much joy I get out of--”

Camille spins around and glares at Simon. “SHUT UP!”

Simon stares back at her and tries not to think about his bones breaking under those painted fingers. He nods dumbly and watches Camille continue working on whatever is on the tabletop. A few minutes later and she exclaims in victory, holding up a bowl. Her eyes dart to Simon and she smirks. “Now it’s your turn to help me, caramel.”

“I’m not sure it’s ‘helping’ if it’s under duress,” Simon quips.

Camille ignores him, setting the bowl on the ground near the center of the room. She takes out some chalk and draws an ornate yet crude shape around the bowl. The liquid is viscous and the stench of it is slowly creeping over to Simon. He coughs at the taste in the back of his mouth the smell creates and asks, “What the hell is that?”

Camille shrugs, “A little bit of everything.”

“What are you doing with it?”

She smiles and looks at Simon, “Not what I’m doing with it. What you’re doing with it.”

“What?” Simon asks, his eyes flit around, searching for a friend or a weapon or even an exit.

Camille stands and walks over. She stops when she’s directly in front of him and leans down to be face to face with the boy. “Yes, fledgling. You. You are exactly what I need to finish a business transaction. This way I can keep a promise, and hurt Raphael. It’s perfect!”

“No, no. See, I have no good redeeming qualities. Trust me, Raphael will tell you. I’m annoying and small and--”

“Raphael. Yes. He’s smart. Strong. Apparently more motivated than I had given him credit for previously. What he sees in you...I don’t understand.”

“Exactly! I’m not particularly good at anything. Besides math. I can help you with balancing the checkbook, but whatever this is, no. I’d just hold you back.”

“Relax. You can’t mess it up.”

She grabs one arm of the chair and easily pulls it across the room. She only stops once Simon is next to the bowl. Simon realizes with a sickening horror that the liquid is moving. There’s something alive in the putrid concoction. “What is that?” he asks in disgust.

“Oh. That’s your new roommate. In a sense.”

“What? No. Please, whatever you’re going to do, just don’t. I’m sure London or somewhere else is better than New York this time of year, right?”

Camille pulls a key from between her breasts and unlocks Simon’s shackles. He’s tempted to break for it, but her hand comes up and around his throat, as if sensing his intentions. She pushes him to his knees on the ground and kicks the chair away and out of the circle. She slams Simon onto his back and Simon experiences a strange sensation of being winded, without the need to breathe.

She moves to hold Simon down with her knee as she leans to the side. Simon hears a metallic clinking, but when he turns to look, Camille’s hair is blocking the view. Camille takes his wrist and pulls his arm out straight, palm facing up. Simon is about to ask what she’s doing again, when Camille moves suddenly and pain rushes up Simon’s arm. He screams as his body begins writhing to get away from the source, but all he feels is a sickening pulling sensation. Camille switches to his other side, grabbing his second wrist. He tries to fight back, to kick and scream and pull his hand back, but she’s stronger than him.

He looks back to his hurt hand and nearly vomits up blood when he sees a large metal stake going through the middle of his palm and pinning him to the floor. His body goes into overdrive, using all his strength to get Camille off of him, but she merely curses at him, and slams the next stake through his hand. Simon hears his screams as an echo in his head. It makes his vision swim and his stomach twist. Nausea and pain make his arms shake with tension, which only irritates the wounds on his hands, brushing raw edges against rusty metal.

Camille stands and moves away and out of sight. Simon lets himself breathe and cry, trying to allow the panic an escape, in the hopes of being able to focus more in the near future. He wants Raphael. Simon is momentarily distracted from the pain at that thought. The first person to come to mind is his leader. Not Clary. Not his childhood friend and confidante, but the vampire that had kidnapped him and mocked him.

His muscles minutely relax little by little when he thinks of Raphael’s small smile. The one he wears when he wants to laugh at one of Simon’s jokes, but won’t allow himself to. He thinks of how messy and curly Raphael’s hair is when in bed. He thinks of the words and comfort Raphael gives him after nightmares or panic attacks.

Everything about Raphael feels safe. Feels good. Raphael protects him.

“How is this helping you get back your clan?” Simon asks. His voice slurs when he talks, whether it be from exertion or pain, he’s not sure.

Camille is chaining his feet down when he asks, and she chuckles as she tightens the restraints. “I’m just getting you ready. Then the rest of the plan.”

Simon tries to look down his body at her, but finds that the grey cobwebby ceiling is a more calming view. He lets his head fall back and he can feel a few more bloody tears run down the side of his face. Camille wasn’t supposed to get out. She wasn’t supposed to hurt him again. Raphael had promised.

Simon scolds himself for thinking along those lines. Raphael does everything he can to protect him and Simon knows it. Simon thinks of the clan, and of how welcoming they were. How they taught him to dance when they went out. How they asked him questions about his music. Even letting him play for them a bit. Simon hears a sob echo around the room, knowing it’s his own, but unable to feel his chest move.

Camille’s face is suddenly looming over him and he startles, pulling at his hands. Another wave of nauseating pain moves through his body. Camille moves to straddle him, low on his thighs and she rips his shirt in two and off of his body. She throws it somewhere behind her, and looks down at Simon with a hungry expression.

“Shhhh, caramel. I promise this will be agonizing . And slow. Worse than last time, I can assure you,” Camille whispers to him.

“What is it? What are you doing?” Simon whimpers.

Camille reaches down to place a flat hand over his unbeating heart. Her hand slides down until her fingers are pressing into a rib just below his pectoral muscle. She then takes her sharpened fingernail and slices Simon’s side open from pectoral muscle to hip bone. Camille snarls when Simon screams and his body spasms.

Simon is gasping for breath, on instinct, and his mind is alight with pain. Fishing around for extra strength in his body or mentality to help deal with how his side has just caught on fire. He sobs brokenly and almost misses the words Camille is speaking. They’re not english. Or any language Simon knows. It feels old. Ancient even.

She stands once she’s finished speaking and places the bowl next to Simon in the circle, a foot away from the hole in his side. Simon can see his blood moving across the floor and his eyes roll back in his head as his stomach threatens to empty itself.

Simon doesn’t see anything besides Camille’s legs, too taken by the pain in his body, but he senses when a third entity joins them. Simon can only see pieces of who it is. The voice sounds familiar.

Camille asks, “I trust Valentine sent you?”

“Yes,” replies the voice. “Have you succeeded?”

Simon can tell that Camille is gesturing towards him by the flash of her nails above his head. She says, “I’ve done it. Should take a day at most. Then he’ll have more than enough of the blood he wants to continue experimenting with his new shadowhunters and pets.”

The other man’s voice is closer now, “Very good. And who is this?” Simon sees a tan hand pointing to him. He struggles to focus and moves his eyes up the finger to his hand to his arm to his neck to his...Oh.

“A friend of the Clary girl,” Camille states.

“Is that so?” Raj asks with delight, looking down at Simon. “Valentine wants you to watch him while he incubates. Then pack things up here and get them to the harbour. There you’ll get access to transportation to the ship.”

“I’m not going on that ship. He’ll kill me,” Camille responds.

Raj laughs, “Fine then. Send them with the boat crew.”

“And our deal stands?”

“Deliver the goods, then talk to him about your petty clan problems.”

Camille growls but it only makes Raj chuckle again. “Patience, Camille. You have plenty of time.”

Raj steps over Simon and very carefully upsets the bowl on the ground, causing it to fall over. Something heavy falls out and to the ground with a thud. Simon watches in pure horror as the thing picks itself up and begins to scuttle around. It touches a tendril of his spreading blood and, like a dog with a scent, follows the trail across the cold rough floor. Simon’s vision is going black around the edges now with blood loss and his mind is lagging harshly, but his eyes widen in realization as it moves closer to his side.

It looks like a beetle, but heavier. With more legs. It nearly the size of a baseball but flatter. It has a large pincer mouth and Simon wants nothing more than to crush it with his shoe. Simon’s breathing increases again, he’d be hyperventilating if he was human. The beetle stops just short of his wound. Its legs test the side of the torn flesh and Simon tries to inch away, but he’s hindered by his weakened muscles and his restraints. The beetle makes a faint chittering noise and dives into the gash, munching happily at muscle and bone as it works its way into Simon’s body.

Simon screams and screams. He hears the others talking again, something about blood transfusions. The words fall over him in waves, much like the pain. Simon tries to calm himself, but every time he feels a brush of the creature’s legs or the shearing pincer inside him, he screams again. He hears a particularly loud crunch and before he can feel the pain of whatever just broke, he’s falling into black.

“Who’s at the door?” Izzy calls from the living room.

Jace looks at the visitor and asks, “Why are you here?”

“Luke said Simon was missing?” Gretel asks. There are a couple of other people behind her, but they seem content to let her do the talking.

Jace nods his head and says, “Uh, yeah. Simon and Alec.”

Gretel sneers, “We’re not here to help shadowhunters.” She pushes past him and through the door. Walking towards Izzy’s voice, who is asking questions again. Jace watches the others follow the silver haired woman. He closes and relocks the door behind them.

Izzy is staring down Gretel with a guarded expression. Raphael is glaring with outright disdain. “What the hell are you pups doing here?” Raphael asks.

Gretel glares back just as hard and replies, “Simon.”

“He’s not here. You’ll have to settle your grudge at a later date,” Magnus says in a monotone.

Gretel scoffs at the words, but she doesn’t speak. She rubs the tip of her shoe into the carpet and clears her throat. She finally glances up at them and says, “We’re here to help.”

Clary asks, “Did Luke send you?”

Gretel looks back towards her voice and raises a brow when she sees the cage. Her lips twitch into a smile momentarily when she sees the redheaded shadowhunter bloodied and slumped to the ground. She turns her attention back to the others. “No. We’re here on our own.” She looks back at the three burly men that have so far still not uttered a word. They nod at her and she says, “Simon may be a bloodsucker, but he’s our vamp to pick on. We’re not going to let some bitch hurt him, when he should be insisting that vampires can eat mushu pork at the Jade Wolf.”

Raphael’s face has gone carefully neutral. He clears his throat and says, “Fine. Fine. You can help. Just try not to get fleas on the furniture.”

Gretel snarls at him, but they both relax where they stand. An understanding has been reached. Izzy is beaming at them, and she moves to sit back down next to Magnus. “Guess he really was the werewolf ambassador, huh?” she throws over her shoulder at Raphael.

Raphael ignores her, but there’s a throb in his heart as he acknowledges her comment silently. Simon will never stop surprising him. He’s desperate to get to his fledgling, and he’s not going to say no to extra help. Not if it gets the nerd back into his arms. “How’s your tracking?” he asks. The question may have sounded patronizing, but he looks at them with honest curiosity.

Gretel shrugs, “Depends. Watcha got?”

“We have his glasses,” Raphael gestures to the frames. He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a piece of fabric, “and I grabbed his pillowcase.”

Gretel steps forward to take the pillowcase from his hands and she says, “This will do. We’re going to need a good place to start though.”

Magnus jumps up from the couch and snaps a notebook and a pen into his hands. He starts muttering to himself and writing. After a little while he holds out the small book to her and says, “Start at these properties. These are Camille’s...acquisitions. Everything she’s gotten in the last couple centuries that are still within the city limits.”

Gretel looks at the list, there are nearly thirty addresses on it. She sighs loudly through her nose and says, “I’m going to have to call in the pack. Or at least, anyone willing.”

Raphael jumps to say, “My clan will help if you need anything. We’ve still got about 6 hours of dark.”

Gretel shakes her head, but then nods it slowly. “Can they take half the addresses, and we can take the other half?”

Raphael nods and Gretel carefully tears the paper down the middle. Raphael turns to Magnus and says, “Meet back up at the Institute then? You guys can wake up Jocelyn, see if she has any information that can help find Alec.”

“Deal,” Magnus agrees. “Call as soon as you find anything on Simon. You’re going to want me with you if we have to go up against Camille.”

Raphael nods and Magnus can see a reservoir of restless energy starting to ignite in his old friend. The clan leader is anxious to jump into the dirty work of finding his fledgling.

Raphael and Gretel move together towards the door, voices running fast, even as Gretel is texting madly on her large phone. Magnus watches them leave with raised eyebrows. “Well, that’s a first,” he comments with a dry tone.

Izzy laughs and the furniture and home around them greedily suck up the mirth. The rest of them, excluding Clary, feel their spirits lift ever so slightly. Magnus levers himself up from the couch and says, “Okaaayyy,” with a dramatic sigh.

He snaps his fingers and Clary, who had been sitting on the floor of the cage, drops a few inches to land on the floor as the cage disappears out from under her. She glares up at Magnus, but quickly looks away when he raises one imperious eyebrow at her. Magnus takes a moment to make a portal, it taking more focus than he’s used to, as his thoughts are panicked and jumping about.

As soon as they step into the Institute, they are besieged. Lydia is speed walking her way to them and she asks rather breathlessly, “Where is Alec? I need him. We need to go over these records before the Clave official from Dubuque stops by. Not to mention the foreign officials of the Mumbai Institute.” Her eyes scan them and she adds as she walks away, “Send him to me when you see him, yeah?”

Izzy reaches out a hand and Lydia freezes at the light touch on her arm. She turns back around and looks at Izzy. One look into the younger woman’s eyes and Lydia’s eyes are watering. “What happened?” she asks.

“Clary,” Magnus bites out.

Jace steps forward and says, “He was taken by Valentine.”

Lydia pales and she takes a step back as the news hits home. “Is he…” she trails off, not knowing how to ask the question.

Jace shakes his head resolutely, “No, he’s alive. I can feel him through the bond.”

Lydia nods and she motions for them to follow her. Izzy walks next to Lydia as they move through the Institute towards the woman’s office. Magnus and Jace hang back behind them.

Maryse finds them before they can reach peace though. “What are you doing here?” she demands upon seeing the warlock of the group.

Magnus stares at her, but doesn’t give a hint of a reaction. She shuffles her feet where she stands in discomfort, and eventually looks over the other three shadowhunters. She asks imperiously, “Where’s Alec? How many times do I have to tell the boy that these ‘missions’ you rebels keep going on, will not go by unnoticed. The Clave will put a stop to it, if you don’t. And honestly Izzy? Why can’t you dress in a way that wouldn’t leave Raziel blushing? It’s a wonder between the two of you, that the Lightwood name isn’t a laughing stock back in Idris.”

Maryse moves to take another breath before continuing on her rampage, but Izzy cuts in, sharp and succinct. “Alec fell through a portal with Valentine.”  

Maryse looks at them all in turn, “What?” she asks. “A portal? Was this your doing?” She jabs a finger towards Magnus at the accusation.

Magnus looks exhausted when he says, “No, I would never do anything to harm your son. Unlike you .”

Maryse’s eyes narrow but she continues on as if she never stopped, “Find him. We need to ready ourselves. Alec could bring this Institution to its knees.”

What?” Jace asks. He ignores the fact that he sounds like he’s repeating the woman and presses on, “What do you mean? Alec isn’t working with Valentine. And he’s not going to break.”

Maryse looks hard at Jace and says, “You don’t know that.”

Magnus gapes at her and asks, “You seriously believe your son might be aiding Valentine? On purpose ?”

“On purpose or not, it doesn’t matter. Alec has a lot of information. High Security Risk.” She presses her lips together and her hands rests on her hip as she looks intently at Magnus. “One never knows how a shadowhunter will act when they mix themselves with downworlders.”

Magnus doesn’t move but he says, voice filled with steel and crackling with magic, “Alexander is your son . He has done nothing but try to prove himself to you his entire life. He has always done what you want, and has raised Izzy and Jace basically on his own. He’s the one who looks out for every hunter in this organization. He’s the one who is constantly punished by you and the Clave. He’s the one who is suffering at your hands and every other family of bigoted traditions like yours. You know why he does that?” He pauses take one step closer to her before he continues, “It’s because he’s loyal . And by the Angel, it’s not to you, Maryse. You can’t beat that sense of love and protection and duty into someone. No, he’s loyal to the people under his care. Izzy, Jace, Lydia, the hunters, the trainers, the children. So if there’s something you should always count on Alec for, it’s protecting those he loves. How dare you accuse him of betrayal! Of treason!”

Magnus storms away down the hall, leaving a very shocked and speechless Maryse in his wake. Izzy pulls Lydia by the elbow, and encourages Jace, to follow Magnus. They find him pacing the floor of Lydia’s rather large office. Lydia collapses into the desk chair and Izzy sits on her desk next to the blonde woman. Jace looks around and plops himself into a large leather chair that is not as comfortable as it is made to look.

“Where’s Clary?” Izzy asks.

“Probably with her mother,” Jace provides.

Magnus nods and snaps his fingers. The book of the white appears in his hands and he begins to search through the spells, his lips moving silently as he reads. He continues to pace as he looks and it’s making Jace sick watching him. He decides to train and work off some of his tension. Izzy and Lydia follow suit.

They pick staffs, and they drill each other over and over. They take turns dueling, and they gain a lot of attention. They flip and swing and tumble so fast that even the best trained are struggling to keep up with their movements. Izzy shouts in triumph when she disarms Jace and swings the end of her staff to rest on his shoulder. “Down,” she says with a proud grin. There’s sweat cooling on all three of them and the shake of anxiety in their limbs has been replaced with the shakiness of well worked muscles.

“I liked the variant you used during that fight,” Lydia calls over to Izzy as she approaches the two of them. Izzy blushes and busies herself with rewrapping her staff. Jace watches her in confusion, never having seen Izzy react like that.

“Alec taught us that. Best staff fighter I’ve ever seen,” Jace informs her.

Lydia cocks her head at him and she says, “I didn’t know that. Why doesn’t he fight close contact then?”

Jace snorts, “You couldn’t get Alec to fight close contact unless absolutely needed.”

“Why?” Lydia frowns, she never thought of Alec as a coward.

Jace sensing her thoughts just shakes his head at her. “Not for the reasons you’re thinking. Alec will jump in the fray, even if it seems suicidal, if we’re stuck. But he always stays back. Always archery. That way he can watch us and protect us. Like he always does.” The last sentence was tacked on with a wistful note. Jace looks like he wants to snatch them back, but then he sighs and lets his head fall back and stare at the ceiling. He can feel Alec’s absence like a steady throbbing through his bond rune.

“I have it,” Magnus announces. They all turn in surprise to find the warlock standing outside the training area. He doesn’t speak again, but turns around and walks away. They quickly follow him to the room where Luke has been staying with Jocelyn. Luke looks like he hasn’t slept in days and his facial hair has an attractive shadow to it.

Magnus looks at Clary, asleep on the nearby bed, with open disgust. “Why is she asleep? Couldn’t she watch Jocelyn for you? For a little while at least?” the warlock asks.

Luke shrugs, “She said she was tired. I told her she could sleep.”

Magnus waves off the words and snaps his fingers. Clary startles awake as a burst of water falls on her face. Magnus smirks slightly but doesn’t say anything. He turns to Jocelyn, holding the book of the white in one hand, and holding the other over Jocelyn’s hovering form. He centers his energy in all the right places, and then follows the instructions in the book. At first he doesn’t think it’s worked, but then she slowly begins to sink down to the floor. Luke hurries to hold her and her muscles start to twitch a little. She opens her eyes then and the first thing she sees is Luke and Clary.

Magnus and the others leave for the teary reunion, settling themselves in the hallway outside. Jace is glaring daggers at the door and he finally hisses, “She doesn’t deserve that reunion. Not when my parabatai is missing because of her.”

Izzy frowns and says, “Maybe, but I wouldn’t take this away from my worst enemy.”

Magnus sits in uncharacteristic silence, legs crossed and sat on the floor of the hallway. His brows are slightly pinched together and his lips pressed tight to each other. He slowly opens his eyes, a second before the door opens. Luke ushers them all in.

Lydia, Izzy, and Jace sit along the edge of the bed with Magnus hovering behind them. Jocelyn is lying on the other side and Clary is standing by Luke, bent over her mother’s form. Jocelyn looks surrounded, but serene.

“Valentine has my parabatai,” Jace blurts out, unsure how to start the conversation they need to have.

Jocelyn’s face turns in pain, “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” he repeats.

Jocelyn looks around in slight confusion, “Yes? Should I not be?”

Izzy pats Jace on the leg and moves on, “We need your help to find Valentine.”

Jocelyn takes one more look at Jace’s angry features before looking to his sister. “I don’t know how much help I’ll be with that.”

Magnus turns to look at her, body taut, “You must know something. You were with him for weeks.”

“I could only hear things on and off during my coma. And you guys have already been there, or so I’ve heard from my daughter.” Jocelyn watches everyone tense as their eyes cut over to Clary. Clary looks down at the floor and bites her lip to stop herself from saying anything.

“What is Valentine up to?” Jace asks.

“His experiments most likely. He’s obsessed with making the perfect soldier. He experiments with different bloods, both race and species. Different cellular makeup. Training. Goading. Surgery. Anything that doesn’t kill the subject he’s willing to do. And pretty much everything else.”

Izzy and Jace both shrink into themselves at the words, unable to stop picturing Alec on an operating table. Imagining the pain and fear. Magnus clears his throat, trying to tear himself from similar thoughts. “You must have heard something of import. Did he say anything about water? Or a boat? Or an island?”

Jocelyn shrugs her shoulders and Magnus wants to shake her. Wants to yell that this is important and she must at least act like she gives a shit. Luke says firmly, “I think she’s tired. It’s best we let her rest for awhile.”

Jace leads the way as they exit the room in single file. All keeping their gaze carefully away from Clary.  “All of that, and she has nothing?” Izzy reflects.

“Nothing,” Jace says grimly. He punches the wall of the hallway and curses the angels. He pulls his bleeding digits from the hole he’s left. Without a second glance he continues walking. “We can’t just wait here! There has to be something we can do!”

Magnus asks, “Do we have a choice?”

Magnus’ phone rings loudly and he pulls it out with shaking fingers. He quickly answers it when he sees the number on the screen.

“Dios, Magnus. We found him. Esta aqui! Esta aqui! We found Simon!”

Chapter Text

Raphael can smell his blood and it’s driving him frantic. He wants to rush in and scoop Simon up in his arms, but he can smell Camille in there with him. If he focuses he can hear the clack of her shoes on hard ground. Raphael bites his lip, trying to be patient and understanding but Magnus isn’t there yet. His fledgling is suffering and Raphael’s never been particularly patient.

Gretel steps up next to him and the two of them stare in companionable silence at the pizzeria. A wrecked scream invades their senses and they both flinch at the sound of it. Raphael’s muscles twitch and snap him forward, but Gretel pulls him back harshly. “You said we need to wait for Magnus. We don’t know what’s happened to Simon. We may need Magnus to get us to him safely, or to get Simon out without hurting him more.”

Hurting him more . It’s foolish to think he’s not been tortured. The smell of his blood is heavy and sickening. Too much blood.

Raphael barely sees the glimmer of a portal to his side, announcing Magnus’ arrival, before he’s shoving past Gretel and breaking through the front door of the pizzeria. He can smell stale blood now and hear shifting bodies at the back of the restaurant. He runs through, his clan just a couple steps behind him, to find a vampire nest. They’re half rabid, mostly dead mundanes scattered around them. Looks like Camille’s sloppy handiwork. Raphael growls at them when they move to attack, but he falls back, searching for his fledgling, and trusting his clan will do what’s needed.

Gretel catches his eyes, and she points to the door she’s standing in front of. Raphael nods and hurries over to kick down the door. The cloying smell of Simon is overwhelming, it hits the two of them the instant the door is down. Raphael can hear Magnus’ voice behind him somewhere, but he can barely hear the words over the quiet whimpers of pain coming from the room before them. He runs down the stairs, Gretel on his heels, and spies Simon’s bloodied figure on the floor. There’s a blur of motion and suddenly Raphael has to pull up short as Camille moves into his path and stands her ground with a glare.

“Get out of the way, bitch,” Raphael snaps.

“Raphael!” Camille exclaims with a faux amiable tone. “Just the traitor I was looking for. The fledgling? I think he’s too far gone to save.” She looks over her shoulder towards Simon and adds, “I mean, I had to find some way to top his first death. No one can say I don’t take my profession seriously.”

“What did you do?” Gretel demands.

Camille’s eyes snap to the beautiful silver haired woman and sneers, “A dog, Raph? Really? Should I call animal control for you?”

Gretel growls and it sounds feral, so at odds with her human appearance.

“What are you hoping to get out of this Camille?” Jace’s voice interrupts the three. The blonde shadowhunter and Magnus are standing at the base of the stairs now, eyes hard as they lock on Camille.

Camille chuckles, but there’s a nervous edge to it, she’s outnumbered. She replies, “I remember you. You were there when the wanna be mundane was buried.”

Jace twists his mouth into the semblance of a smile and says, “That’s me. Now step out of the way, or--”

“Move or I’m going to rip your throat out like I should have the first time! This has gone too far, Camille. You are done.” Raphael finishes for him.

Simon twitches his taxed and torn muscles when he hears the shout. It sounds familiar, and just the vibrations of the voice make his addled mind relax slightly. It sounds like home, it feels like safety. He groans out, trying to call out in return to the owner of that voice. Instinctually knowing it means help.

“Simon!” Raphael shouts. He shoves Camille hard, sending her flying across the room, and he runs to his fledgling’s side. Raphael’s stomach threatens to empty itself when he sees Simon sprawled out. There’s dried and congealed blood around the stakes in his hands, and the floor is covered in blood. There’s a couple of empty blood bags next to him, the latest one hanging on a rusty metal hook, the blood moving through a small clear tube and into his arm via an iv. Raphael swallows the rock in his throat down and brings a hand to Simon’s cheek. “Conejito?” he asks, his voice wobbling.

Simon’s eyes flicker open but they’re dull and unfocused. The young vampire’s lips move but there’s no sound besides the soft breath of a gasp. Raphael ignores the blood running down his own cheeks as tears and moves his hands to hover over the ripped hole in Simon’s side. He places a hand on Simon’s stomach but snatches it back when he feels something move.

Raphael’s eyes widen as he looks closer at Simon’s bare abdomen and sees the slight ripple of movement underneath his skin. When he moves his face closer to the wound, trying to see into it, he can hear faint chittering noises. A shiver rips its way through the leader’s body and he gasps out Simon’s name in horror. Raphael looks around himself, trying to find something he can use to help Simon.

His body is thrown back to the floor and the movement shocks him long enough for Camille to pin him down to the ground. Raphael stares up at Camille and her bared fangs. She looks over her shoulder and Raphael follows her gaze.

Jace, Magnus, and Gretel are all frozen mid movement. Jace has a bloodied tear in his shoulder, and Gretel has blood covering her hands, though it doesn’t appear to be her own. “Don’t come any closer, Magnus,” Camille threatens. Camille’s dress is ripped up and her face is revealing far more fear than Raphael has ever seen on her.

Magnus freezes where he is, between Camille and the other two, halfway across the room. He’s only a few meters away from Raphael. Magnus holds up his hands and takes a step back. His eyes fall on Raphael’s and there’s fear there as well. Fear for Raphael. A desperate Camille is a dangerous vampire. “Come on, Camille. There’s no need for more blood shed. You’ve taken enough of my friends this night.”

Camille grins with bloody teeth and replies, “I’ll let him live, if you let me leave.”

Magnus nods his head immediately. “Deal. Let Raphael be, leave Simon here, and get out.”

Jace protests, “Magnus, we can’t just let her--”

“We can and we will.”

Raphael’s shock from seeing Simon, and the following attack, is wearing off rapidly. He glares up at Camille above him, her hands keeping him pinned to the ground. He can see Simon’s tousled hair from where he is and an explosion of protectiveness surges through him. He needs to keep his fledgling safe. Needs to keep his love safe. It’s a painful need as it knots his stomach with desperation.

Camille smiles down at him and she says, “I’ll leave the fledgling be, he’s done for anyways. You take my clan, I take your boy toy. Consequences , Raphael.”

He growls and it rips out of his vocal chords and through his throat, and its ferocity startles Camille whose hands release him fractionally at the instinct to protect herself. He uses every ounce of strength he has to take advantage of that surprise, and breaks free from her grip. He’s on top of her the moment after that, tearing with his hands and ripping with his teeth. He can feel her own nails shredding his front, but can’t feel it. All he knows is she’s a threat between him and Simon. Unacceptable. She’s screaming underneath him, but all he can smell is Simon Simon Simon. He can hear pained noises falling from the fledgling’s lips even now.

There’s a pull at his arm, but he snarls and fights to reach his prey. He must get rid of the threat. Must protect. His vision has gone red and hazy. His instincts roaring to life in a way he’s never felt before. Too raw.

He can hear his name being shouted and he slowly begins to understand the words. “Raphael! Stop! She’s done! Raphael! Raphael!”

Magnus’ voice punches through the haze when he shouts, “Simon needs you, Raph!”

Those words have his head snapping up and his eyes land on the prone figure of his fledgling immediately. He scrambles off of Camille and towards Simon. He stops by his side and lets out a whimper of his own when he looks down at Simon’s pained expression again. “Simon,” he whispers, smoothing the boy’s hair back from his sweaty forehead. Raphael’s stomach flutters when Simon moves further into his touch.

Raphael forces his eyes away from his fledgling’s face to look at the rest of the damage to his body. He snarls as he pulls the stakes out of the ground and back out of Simon’s hands. The fledgling screams hoarsely, but it has no volume to it, and his throat is audibly torn up.

Raphael throws the metal spikes away from them and with an extreme show of strength, rips the chains around Simon’s feet to pieces. Raphael turns his attention back to Simon’s middle, but he eyes the wound uneasily. He looks around the room and spots Magnus leant over Camille. “Magnus!” Raphael pleads. “I don’t know...he’s...his stomach…” The clan leader gestures helplessly at Simon’s stomach at a loss for words.

Magnus looks up at Raphael, and his eyes are full of tears. Raphael blinks in startlement, but his eyes fall to Camille. There’s a lot of blood around her. She’s not moving anymore. “Is she…”

Magnus nods, but he moves clumsily to his feet and walks over to Raphael’s side. He falls to his knees, mirroring Raphael’s stance. Magnus chokes when he sees the movement inside of Simon. His gaze falls on the tipped bowl and he touches the liquid with two fingers. He brings his hand to his nose and sniffs. His nose wrinkles and he coughs, quickly wiping his hands clean on a cloth he snaps into existence.

His eyes flick back to Camille’s body and his gaze is less grief filled this time. His sadness melting away to rage. “I can’t believe she would do this,” the warlock mumbles.

“What is it? It’s inside him, Magnus,” Raphael whispers.

Magnus locks eyes with his old friend and nods somberly. “It’s something that I thought extinct. Purged from the earth.” Magnus studies Simon’s wound for a long moment, and then he removes the iv from Simon’s arm. “We need to get him to my place. Now. ”

Magnus moves away, standing to pull at his magic and create a portal to his home. Jace and Gretel come up to help lift Simon’s body, trying to move his damaged body as little as possible. Simon still cries out at every step and Jace and Gretel both pale at the sight and sound of their friend.

Magnus swipes everything off of a long table in his living room and they place Simon’s body on top of it. There’s a trail of blood across the room following them as they move. Gretel pulls back as soon as his body touches the wood. Her eyes are huge and round and her hand comes up to cover her mouth. Her eyes begin to tear up and she runs out of the room.

Magnus sighs and his magic starts to crackle through his fingers as he touches the raw edges of Simon’s wound. Raphael looks down at Simon’s face and tries to smooth out the wrinkles of pain with his thumbs. “Is he going to be alright?” Raphael asks.

Magnus doesn’t reply but sends him a knowing look. Raphael swallows and nods, his hands picking up Simon’s lax one. He grips Simon’s slim calloused fingers in his own hands and watches Magnus work, trying to keep his panic down. Magnus sighs and pulls back from the gash. He hurries away and collects ingredients and tools as he moves through his house.

He returns quickly, his arms heavy with what he’s gathered. He dumps it all on the table next to Simon and sets to work. He looks up at Jace and says uncertainly, “He’s going to need a transfusion to keep him alive during this…”

Jace nods without hesitation. “He’ll have it. What do I need to do?”

Magnus beckons him over with his fingers and Jace comes to his side. Jace looks down at Simon’s ashen coloured skin with concern and fear as Magnus slips a needle, and then an iv into his forearm. Magnus sets Jace down on a barstool next to the table, and slides the other end of the iv into Simon’s arm on the side of his body without the wound.

Magnus then sighs forcefully and says, “Okay. Okay. I know what I need…” He searches through the assortment of ingredients and tools and pulls out a set of forceps as well as a small bottle. He snaps another cloth into existence and wets it with the contents of the bottle. He hands the cloth to Raphael and says grimly, “We can’t put him under for this, or he may not wake up, but this should help dull the pain. Hold it over his nose so he can inhale it, like chloroform, when he starts to scream or thrash.”

Raphael swallows thickly but takes the cloth with a nod. Magnus spreads the edges of torn flesh apart and holds them in that position with magic. He bends down to look into the wound, his forceps in one hand. He sends a wisp of magic into Simon’s body and there’s a loud agitated chatter from the wound. Magnus reaches in swiftly with his forceps and pulls out a wriggling insect like creature. He drops it into a thick glass jar and screws on a steel lid.

“What the hell is that?” Jace exclaims, his knuckles white as he grips the edge of his seat.

“It’s a daenea. A thing of dark magic. They were supposedly hunted to extinction hundreds of years ago. How Camille found one, and then successfully woke it...I don’t know.”

“What was it doing inside Simon?” Raphael asks, his voice breaking on every word, terror in each sound.

Magnus begins mixing ingredients together in a bowl and he talks as he works, “Consuming him. They wake and find the closest suitable...victim. They burrow into the center of a body before they lay their eggs and die. This one has already laid its eggs, it will die soon.” All three of them look toward the jar where the thing is crawling angrily around its prison.

“And Simon?”

Magnus sighs, “It depends. I can’t see how deep the damage has gone. And I need to get all the eggs out. If they hatch inside him, there’s no surviving that.”

“What is going to hatch? More of those things?” Jace asks gesturing towards the jar.

Magnus shakes his head, “No. Daenea have different cycles of life. This is the second stage. They’ll hatch as a bat like creature, and the young will eat the organs of their host. Traditionally they prefer downworlder bodies, especially immortals. Daenea attempt to keep their victims alive, so the organs stay good as long as possible. But this one...Camille must have made the cut herself to speed things along. That’s why he was on the blood bags.” Magnus begins artfully dripping magical energy into the bowl he’s using. “Daenea then grow into fearsome demons. One of the blackest of history. Horrible things.”

“Why would she be making demons?” Jace asks.

Magnus shrugs with bafflement. “I don’t know. All I know is that this process is cruelly agonizing.”

Magnus finishes mixing with a flourish and spreads the concoction around the tattered edges of the wound. Simon screams and Raphael snaps the cloth down over his face, and Simon’s body goes lax underneath the warlock’s hands. Magnus’ lips are pressed harshly together and he looks pinched and anxious.

Raphael moves the cloth away again and resumes the movement of his fingers through Simon’s hair. “Oh, conejito. I am so sorry,” Raphael whispers. “Lo siento, mi corazón. Please…”

Magnus places the bowl aside and runs a glowing finger across the edges where he’s applied the paste. Simon’s body tries to curl away from the warlock, but he’s too weak. Raphael smells the odor of burnt flesh and his eyes flash down to watch what Magnus is doing.

“Are you cauterizing it?” Raphael asks in astonishment.

Magnus nods grimly and says, “I need to get into his abdominal cavity without making it worse.”

Raphael puts his head in his hands where he sits. “Oh, Dios mio , Simon. That... is torture all over again.”

Magnus looks to Raphael with understanding but doesn’t speak any further.

Alec really wishes he had his stele. His knee is aching and he’s lightheaded from hunger. He’s certainly been hungrier though. Much hungrier thanks to his parents. He doubts that they had intended to prepare him for this situation, but he’s taking all the wins he can get at this point. He glares down at his chest where he knows his nourishment rune sits, knowing it could help him, but unable to activate it without his stele.

He sighs and slides down the wall to sit in the corner again, tired of his pacing. He’s been here for a few hours now, with no sign of Valentine or any of his cronies. Valentine had reacted terrifyingly calmly to Alec’s presence instead of Jace’s. He had studied Alec, taking his time. He’d then ordered his men to lock Alec up in solitary.

Alec has to admit that being stranded with Valentine has been….anticlimactic. He’d expected torture or death. Not...being left in a small dark cell with nothing in it. Alec hears a lock tumble open and he stands to his full height as the door opens outwards. He blinks at the figures, trying to get his eyes to adjust to light streaming in from the outer room. Two pairs of strong hands grab his arms and haul him out of the cell and into the light. Alec hesitates for only a moment, trying to let his eyes adjust completely, but then he’s moving. He swipes out to the left, landing a solid blow to one of the hands owner’s windpipe, and uses his bad leg to swipe the second man’s feet out from under him. He looks around to find three more men approaching, and the two he’s taken down are recovering from their surprise.

He looks around and sees a lot of cages with downworlders in them, in all states of duress. But his eyes keep moving, keep skimming until they find a loose pipe. He rolls over his shoulders and past the approaching attackers. He scoops up the pipe with his left hand as he uses his right to steady his weight. The pipe isn’t a great weapon, but it’s a couple feet long and made of solid metal. He’s done better with less.

He allows the men to surround him and he catalogues each of their sizes and expected speeds. The more people that show up the further they allow themselves to relax, assuming that Alec can’t fight against such a number. They think he’s done for.

The moment the first man makes a step towards Alec, the shadowhunter erupts into movement. The men are slow compared to his lithe figure, though their arms are decorated with runes. Alec doesn’t often fight like this, and he’s forgotten how good it feels to have complete control of your body during a fight in the thick of the action. He hits at vulnerable spots and nerve clusters, sending men to the floor between one blink and the next. More men come, but Alec has trained for this. He knows his body’s limits and strengths on an instinctual level.

Eventually Alec scans the room for more enemies, but only finds slumped figures. Nearly twenty of them. He looks at them all and takes in the runes on their arms and chests. They didn’t fight like shadowhunters. They fought like common thugs.

Alec realizes these must be the ‘new’ shadowhunters, and he wonders how many mundanes had to die to get these twenty or so soldiers. He thrice curses that damn cup.

Now that Alec has cleared the field, he starts to really look at the prisoners around him. Some are locked up in cells like a prison, others are hanging from the ceiling in cages. There’s blood on the floor in a lot of places and several tables at the center with heavy duty restraints, though no individuals are strapped down at the moment.

Alec slowly moves around the room, keeping to the edges. He looks into some of the cells to see sick people of every race. Seelies, wolves, vampires, fae, warlocks, demons. They’re all being forced to live in dirt and their own messes. Alec thinks about releasing them all as a distraction so he can get off ship, but one look at the runed locks tells him he can’t do that without a stele.

He feels tears in his eyes when some of the prisoners looks a little too much like Magnus or Simon. He can’t help seeing his friends in there, beaten and broken. Alec hears the faint sound of a light footstep and he ducks down and whirls to look towards the source. He’s surprised to find a man standing down the path between the cages that Alec is using. Not many can sneak up on him. Alec turns fully, eyes checking for others, straining to hear another quiet footfall.

“Valentine,” Alec greets with a nod of his head even as he tightens his hold around the now bent and dented pipe in his hand.

Valentine laughs at the cordiality of the young man’s words. “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage. You are…” Valentine trails off, waiting for Alec to reply.

“Lightwood.”

Valentine’s grin grows larger at the name, “Lightwood, you say? Would that be the child of Maryse and Robert Lightwood?” Valentine doesn’t wait for a reply. “Those two were good hunters. Solid. Strong. Bloodthirsty. But in the end, they were cowards. They can’t stand up to the Clave.” Valentine walks a few meters closer to Alec, who is backed up against the far wall. Only about twenty feet separates them now. “Tell me, baby Lightwood, like mother like son?”

“Like father like daughter?” Alec retorts.

Valentine chuckles and nods defeat to Alec. “You fight like no other shadowhunter I’ve seen.” He points to the scene of his earlier fight over his shoulder. “Beautiful and natural. How long have you been training?”

Alec shrugs, matching Valentine’s careless posture bit for bit, “Always.”

“I would expect nothing less from Maryse’s son. What was your name again?”

“You didn’t have it.”

Valentine holds out his hands like he’s giving a gift and says, “Indulge me.”

“What are you doing?” Alec asks instead. “What are you planning to get out of this...talk?”

“You’re Jace’s parabatai, yes?”

Alec nods but keeps his lip pressed together to stop himself from asking further questions.

“Jace is my son, you see. You are his parabatai. You can see why I would be curious.” He takes a couple more steps, and they’re close enough for a normal conversation now. “I wanted to see if you were good enough for him. A parabatai bond can go either way. My own weakened me. I can’t let my Jace have that same weakness.”

“And? What do you think?”

Valentine’s eyes drag over Alec’s body and Alec has to concentrate to stop his muscles from tensing obviously at the inspection. “I like you. You’re strong. That can be an asset.” Valentine turns his side to Alec and says, “Walk with me.”

Alec looks at him with a confused raised brow, skeptical of the seemingly innocuous request. Valentine sighs and says, “I can guarantee you that you’re not getting out of this room if I don’t want you to. I have a small army of shadowhunters outside these doors and the doors themselves are locked with a rolling code. The metal can’t be cut by a seraph blade, not that you have one, and the ducting is secured with runes.” He smiles again suddenly and this man is leaving Alec with emotional whiplash. “So, you can either walk with me, as per my request, or I can call in my men and have them riddle you with sedatives until you can’t move your own tongue.”

Alec weighs his options quickly and steps forward, “Very well.” As an afterthought he lets the pipe fall to the ground with a clang. He doubts it will lend him much help now anyways.

Valentine rubs his hands together as if preparing for something exciting and begins walking. Alec quickly matches his gait and walks beside him. “I need people like you, you know,” Valentine says after a moment.

“I can tell you now, you won’t find anyone like me here.”

“You’re too right. Not because you’re noble or such nonsense, but because true shadowhunters, real weapons , are hard to find. They’re rare. There’s my son. And now there’s you.”

“Jace and I are more than weapons.”

“Shadowhunters are bred to be weapons. The weapons of the angels. Our purpose in life is to scour the earth of demons. Of evil things.”

“So why all this? Why not just get back to killing demons?”

“Because it’s more than just demons. Downworlders have demon blood. They are slow hosts of corruption, and if they aren’t kept in check, they will eventually overrun this world.”

“Downworlders are people . Our blood doesn’t make us any different.”

“Oh, but it does,” Valentine insists with a passion that could be admirable if it wasn’t focused on hatred. “We are the Nephilim. We are the blessed . We are meant for more than demon duty. Don’t you see? I’m trying to help rebuild this hopeless world!”

“Who said it was broken?” Alec challenges. He watches Valentine press in a code to open the door out of the bunker like room they’d crossed. He memorizes the numbers absently, but knows it will have changed by the time he has any chance to use it. Valentine leads him through the door and up a few staircases before they exit out onto the main deck of the ship. There’s water in every direction, but the harbour is only a mile or two out.

Alec looks to the railing, only a few feet away, and contemplates jumping. But Valentine is watching him with keen interest, and Alec knows that’s not his escape either. He looks at Valentine with one raised eyebrow, a non verbal question, and Valentine laughs with real mirth. “Oh, I really like you, mini Lightwood. You are, of course, absolutely right in assuming that over the railing won’t end well for you.” He stops a passing soldier and puts his hand on the back of their neck like a friendly embrace. But then he pushes the man's head over the railing, and it hits an invisible wall. The wall buzzes with a raw energy that Alec can feel from six feet away and the smell of burning flesh is distinct and pungent.

Valentine finally lets go and the body falls to the ground, one half of his face a grotesque burnt crisp. Alec swallows and catalogues the information away, before returning his attention to Valentine. “Impressive,” Alec murmurs, trying to not choke on the smell. “Powerful wards. Warlock?”

“Warlocks,” Valentine says smugly.

“You hate downworlders so much yet you still use their abilities?”

Valentine answers with an earnest look in his eyes, “Of course. We need to fight fire with fire. Warlocks and seelies, all of them, they have such unique capabilities. I’d be a fool to not use them.”

Alec shakes his head in confusion. “You’re talking about the end of the world here. Most mundanes can’t become shadowhunters. If you make everyone drink from the cup there will be so few left alive.”

“But those few will be strong. That’s what matters.”

Alec looks at him and states, “You’re insane.”

Valentine’s face twitches at that and he slaps Alec across the face. Hard. Alec’s vision tunnels for a moment before he comes back to full awareness. He’s fallen to his knees, his hands on the ground before him. He slowly stands and turns to look back at Valentine who no longer looks playful. “I was wondering when that would happen,” Alec deadpans.

“I like you. So you have two options. Very generous of me, might I add. One: help train my men. You’ll have access to your iratzes and other runes, though no stele. You’ll be well taken care of in every way. You’ll have space and students and any equipment or resources you could ever need.”

Alec’s stomach flips at the thought of an enemy soldier using Alec’s own fighting style against his sister or Jace. There’s no way he can give Valentine’s army any sort of advantage. “The other option?” Alec asks.

“You don’t want to pick the other option,” Valentine says with a dismissive shake of his head. “Think of Jace. He wouldn’t want you to be hurt or punished for such obvious talent. You’re his parabatai, and he’s destined to lead with me.”

Alec does think of Jace, and the thought of his brother gives him strength. Jace is a good man, despite what anyone says. Jace has become stronger through the worst of times. His unending respect for Jace is only tamed by his annoyance at his recklessness. The choice is easy. “I’m going to have to decline your offer. There is no way that I am going to help you put soldiers on the front line that will fight against my family.”

Valentine’s expression turns stony. “Fine,” he bites out and he steps up next to Alec, bringing his hand around to the side of his neck faster than Alec can dodge. There’s a pinch and then the sickening cool tendrils of an injection working its way into his body. The horrible feeling and the shock on his system is all the opportunity Valentine needs to knock him to the ground and into unconsciousness.

Magnus sets the tupperware down on the table next to Simon’s still form. It’s nearly overflowing with goo covered soft shelled eggs. Raphael thinks they look rather like fish eggs. But bigger and gooier.

Jace gags at the smell, but doesn’t move away from his barstool, still hooked up to Simon’s arm for the blood transfusion. “Is that all of them?” Jace asks.

Magnus has sweat running down the sides of his face and his hair is wet with it and falling from its usual flawless styling. Raphael’s heart goes out to his friend, he’s been working on Simon for a couple hours straight, under high stress. “I think so,” Magnus says. “If not, we’ll soon know.” Raphael’s grip on Simon’s hand tightens at the words. Magnus threads a curved medical needle and cleans Simon’s wound one last time before he starts stitching his side back together. “Simon has a lot of… ichor inside him,” Magnus gestures towards the black goo covered eggs, “and his body is going to have to cleanse. That increases the likelihood of infection and will slow down his healing abilities.”

Raphael stands and looks down at Simon, for the first time allowing himself to build his hope up. Simon is still here with them now. Raphael can once again picture his smile in his mind. Magnus glances up at Raphael and snorts through his nose in amusement and irritation. “What?” Raphael asks defensively.

Magnus just points to his chest and Raphael looks down. His shirt and jacket are completely shredded and he can still see a few deep gouges that are nearly healed now. “Oh. I didn’t even notice,” Raphael muses. He rolls his eyes and lets himself place a hand on Simon’s cheek and berate the boy. “I don’t understand your grudge against my jackets, conejito.”

Magnus slips the iv out of both Simon and Jace and rubs the blonde’s back when he slumps over in exhaustion. Magnus steps up next to Jace so the shadowhunter can lean into his side. Jace reaches out to touch Simon’s leg, for just a moment, to reassure himself that he’s still there. “Do you think he’ll wake up before his body finishes cleansing or whatever?” Jace asks. The question is muffled as he talks through Magnus’ shirt, but no one present has any trouble understanding the words.

Magnus shrugs, careful to not hit Jace with the action, and he places his hand flat on Simon’s chest. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen a survivor of this.” Raphael and Jace both shift uncomfortably at those words, but Magnus is always honest when it’s important, and they wouldn’t ask for a lie, no matter how comforting.

Jace sluggishly pulls his phone out of his pocket, it takes him three attempts, his fingers struggling with their fine motor skills. He stumbles to his feet and manages to get to the couch before he collapses with the occasional help from Raphael. The clan leader’s eyes stay on the shadowhunter for a minute while he talks to Isabelle over the phone. Raphael wouldn’t say he’s surprised that Jace had risked so much for helping downworlders, or trusted him and Magnus so easily, but he’s certainly impressed.

Magnus catches his eye when the vampire turns around and there’s a small satisfied smirk on the warlock’s face. Magnus winks at Raphael and says, “I told you so.”

“What? That blondie was helpful?”

“That they’re a new breed.”

Raphael thinks about the other two shadowhunters, Jace’s dark haired siblings. Raphael sets his forehead down on the table Simon’s laying on top of and lets out a mumble that sounds vaguely affirmative. Magnus chuckles and says, “You need to rest. We all do.”

Raphael jerks up and says, “No, I’ll watch Simon. I don’t want anything to happen, and if I’m…”

Magnus smiles and even though it’s sad, Raphael prefers it over the strained expression that Magnus has been bearing for the last couple of hours. “I’ll tell Jace to get Isabelle to come over. She’s had some rest. She can watch over Simon for a couple hours so we can crash.” Raphael looks like he’s about to argue but Magnus beats him to it, “You’re gonna prefer to crash now than crashing later when he may actually need you.”

Raphael’s mouth snaps shut and Magnus smothers another amused snort before he goes over to Jace and takes the phone to talk to Isabelle. When he hangs up, Magnus tries to hand it back to Jace, but the boy is already asleep. Half falling off of the couch and the whole nine yards. Magnus snaps and salty crackers and apple juice appear on the floor next to Jace for when he wakes up.

Magnus looks back at Raphael, “You want a spare bedroom, there’s plenty to...well, spare.”

Raphael shakes his head and just lays down on the floor between Jace and Simon. “It feels better here. More comfortable.”

Magnus nods his understanding. Himself planning to stay in the room as well, not wanting to leave his friends’ sides. Magnus goes to the other couch in the room and manually pulls it out into a small bed, which shows how exhausted he is magically. He falls down on top of it and focuses on his breathing until Isabelle shows up. He briefs her on what she needs to know, she shares that the Institute has found no clue of Alec, and then he falls quickly into the grasps of sleep. His magical, emotional, and physical energy maxed out. He dreams of Alec. Hazel eyes and runed skin.

Chapter Text

Alec can feel the pain gradually worsening the closer to consciousness he comes. It’s a sharp ache in every inch of his body. It feels different than an overworked muscle though, it stings like a burn. The next thing he feels after the pain is leather round his wrists. He pulls at his hands but there’s no give, and his feet are restrained the same. He breathes deeply to quench his panic before opening his eyes. As he expects, Valentine is standing off to one side next to a small metal table with wheels. Alec realizes he himself is laid out on a metal operating table, strapped to the surface. Alec examines the restraints and knows he won’t be able to break them or wiggle free, not that he expects any less from his captor.

Valentine is humming as he works, though Alec can’t see what he’s doing, as the man is standing with his back facing him. Alec swallows around his dry throat and asks, “What’d you inject me with?” Alec is terrified of the answer, but he’ll be damned if he lets Valentine know that.

The man in question turns with a dark smile and answers, “Blood. Your first dose.”

“What kind of blood?”

Valentine looks at him and Alec cringes at the gleam in his eyes. “You’re something special, baby Lightwood. I’ve been waiting for someone strong enough to test this out. The first few tries were...well, agonizingly deadly. I gave up the whole endeavor. But you , I have hope for. A shadowhunter with warlock blood, that’d be something, huh?”

“What happened to the first subjects?” Alec asks as he eyes the large syringe in Valentine’s hand.

Valentine shrugs and gives Alec a mocking wink, “The blood melted their veins and killed them.”

Alec can’t stop the shudder that wracks through him as he realizes that must be the sting under his skin that he can feel in that moment. He chastises himself mentally when Valentine looks gleeful at the show of fear. “Warlock blood then?” Alec forces himself to ask with a light tone.

“Indeed. I’ve found, of all the races I’ve worked with here, warlock blood to be the most potent. It’s naturally designed to absorb magic. Energy. But the strain of that blood is taxing on the normal body. But, of course, you don’t have a normal body or normal blood. You’re a shadowhunter . Of course, with the strain on the body comes risk, but great things can only be accomplished with taking even greater risks.” Valentine lays a hand down on Alec’s chest, and the young Lightwood wants to bite the man’s fingers off, but instead looks the man in the eye stoically. “We’re taking this journey together, my friend. Can you imagine the possibilities if this works? You’ll be more powerful than any other shadowhunter in existence.”

“Aren’t you concerned that if it works I’ll just kill you?” Alec asks.

“As I said, risk . That doesn’t just go one way.” Valentine’s hand drags across Alec’s chest to his right shoulder, and then his fingers brush down the skin of his arm to stop at the crook of his elbow. Alec belatedly notices he’s been stripped down to his short sleeve undershirt, and takes a moment to apologize to his sister, who would be furious that he lost such an expensive brand. Alec tries to move his arm out of the way of the syringe, on instinct, but Valentine just makes a tsking noise with his tongue and holds the arm in place.

Alec winces as the thick needle enters his vein and he clenches his teeth to keep back a scream when Valentine pushes the blood into Alec’s arm. He does it carefully, watching Alec’s expression as he does so. It burns on contact, and Alec can feel every cell that makes up his veins as they cry out in alarm. He breaks out in an immediate sweat and curses low under his breath. He clenches and unclenches his fists in pain, but can’t move his body an inch, even though his body is begging him to curl up into a ball of agony.

Valentine watches the young man with rapt fascination. His hand comes up to Alec’s face and settles on his forehead to check his temperature. Then he pulls Alec’s eyelids back from where they’re pinched shut, to get a look at Alec’s pupils. They’re unnaturally dilated and his skin is burning up. Alec releases small sounds of pain and turns his head away from Valentine as tears come unbid to his eyes. Valentine moves out of Alec’s sight, but soon returns with a chair, that he places on the ground without a word. He sits down to watch Alec.

After an hour Alec starts to feel the burn recede. It doesn’t disappear but it fades to a sting instead of a burn. Similar to how he felt when he first woke up on the table. He catches his breath and looks at Valentine, who hasn’t moved from his chair for the extent of Alec’s pain. “Am I a good test subject?” Alec bites out.

Valentine looks at him with big eyes and he answers earnestly, “The best.” Valentine stands and approaches his victim, but thankfully doesn’t try to touch Alec again. “You’re still alive!” The statement is said with such stark surprise and elation that Alec feels almost proud of his hardy constitution. Then he remembers who he’s talking to and it all boils away to leave only rage.

Valentine turns and walks back to the table he was at before. Alec turns his head to keep track of Valentine’s movements. The man picks up another syringe and uncaps the needle. “Third dose, Lightwood. Make me proud!” Valentine urges.

Alec clenches his teeth to make sure he doesn’t bite off his tongue as Valentine pushes the blood into his arm. He only has a second before the burning races through his veins and his whole body again. Worse this time, like scraping at a fresh burn and he can’t help but scream. The small amount of panic and energy that the noise lets him dissipate is well worth the drop of his composure.

Alec tries to think of anything else. Anything besides his veins burning away like acid. He frantically thinks of Magnus, bringing to mind his smile and mentally sorting through all the different rings his boyfriend wears on a daily basis. He tries to remember how Chairman Meow’s fur feels or the view of the city they have from Magnus’ home. It helps him keep sane and focused, but Alec can still feel every ember of agony inside him. He quickly loses track of time as he battles the blood rushing through him, and he tries, but fails, to ignore Valentine’s eyes on him.

Raphael shakes his head vehemently, “No,” he states. There’s no room for argument in his voice and his stance is wide and strong, bracing himself on reflex. Magnus sits across from him on a couch in the warlock’s living room and he looks at Raphael with impatience and irritation.

“I understand you want me here in case Simon’s condition worsens, but your boy isn’t the only person who went missing! Or in probable pain!” Magnus snaps. Raphael has always tried his patience, and with Alec still missing many of Magnus’ less savoury characteristics are making themselves known.

Raphael’s eyes drop at the retort but his jaw is still set in a stubborn expression. “Simon isn’t in the clear yet, Magnus. He needs someone to look after him, to be there for him when he wakes.”

Magnus nods, “Yes, he does. And Gretel has volunteered to help you with that job, and she’s more than qualified. Keep the wound clean, keep him hydrated with blood and don’t let him tear his stitches.”

“A werewolf, Magnus? You expect me to leave my fledgling, completely vulnerable to attack, with a werewolf?”

Magnus holds his hands up in exasperation and stands from the couch, displacing Chairman Meow rather aggressively as he does so, and replies, “Yes! She helped find him! She has shown no desire to hurt Simon in any way. And besides, you’ll be here too. I’m not asking you to go with me. And I am not asking to leave,” Magnus’ voice has taken on a dangerous edge. “I am telling you that I am going to the Institute to work with the shadowhunters so we can find Alexander.”

Raphael sighs and finally nods his head but he still throws out, “Can’t believe you’re doing this all for a pretty shadowhunter.”

Magnus ignores him, uncharacteristically allowing the chance for insults and banter to slip past him without complaint. The warlock just sighs and walks towards his bedroom, “I’m going to freshen up. I set out a shirt for you in the kitchen.”

Magnus enters his room and he eyes the bed tiredly, the soft sheets looking very tempting to his taxed body. Then he thinks of Alec, and how his adorable boyfriend would love this bed compared to the cheap old one he has at the Institute. The sheets no longer look welcoming. He sits down in front of his vanity and stares at his reflection for a few minutes. He knows that he should be aghast at the way he looks, his hair greasy and unkempt, his clothes wrinkled and torn, his eyeliner smudged and messy. But he can’t make himself care.

He begins to take his makeup off by hand, trying to conserve his magical reservoirs for later. It takes more time than he’s accustomed to, but the activity is oddly peaceful. When he’s done washing his face he changes into a new outfit and sits back down. Just changing his clothes has left him tired and on the verge of tears. Magnus’ hands itch to touch black curls and he wants to hear one of Alec’s terrible attempts at a joke to cheer him up.

He had just found the man that finally filled that hole he’s been trying to fix for centuries, and now Alec is just gone . Through a portal and away from Magnus’ protection. He fights the strong urge to throw the vanity across the room and watch as the mirror shatters into pieces. Instead he picks up his eyeliner and focuses on that.  It’s not nearly as satisfying as he had hoped. Magnus watches his freshly applied eyeliner smudge a bit on the left as a tear manages to escape his control. Magnus idly snaps his fingers and magically waterproofs his makeup.

There’s a terror in his chest that’s been eating at him since the moment Alec fell back towards the portal. It’s a very mortal fear. It’s new . Of course, Magnus is scared of losing Alec. Magnus is also fully aware that his time with the shadowhunter will be short, as the other man ages and dies, but Magnus can’t stand the thought of Alec dying before he has an opportunity to love the boy the way Alec deserves . Magnus wants so badly it aches and leaves his fingers curling around nothing.

He can see the sun dropping towards the horizon from the window and he sighs as he pushes himself up to a standing position with the aid of his vanity. He walks to the doors and out. Despite his melancholy he has to chuckle at the sight of Raphael and Gretel bickering over Simon’s prone figure. Unfortunately he doesn’t have time for it. He had fitfully slept throughout the day while caring for Simon. Izzy sending update texts as the Institute works nonstop to find their missing member. It’s nearly evening again and he needs to focus on finding Alec instead of missing Alec.

Magnus gathers the energy needed to form a portal and steps through to the Institute. He’s standing on the raised walkway that runs around the center control room.

Lydia sees him almost immediately and hurries over to his side. She smiles at him in her usual toothy and professionally enthusiastic way, but her hair is falling out in small pieces and there are bags under her eyes.

“How are you holding up, Lydia?” he asks in concern, though he’s sure he doesn’t look any better.

She waves off his concern with a hand and replies, “I’m fine. It’s just stressful.”

“What is?”

“Alec’s job. I had no idea he does so much around here. They always made jokes about him running the Institute, but I hadn’t known…” she trails off and just gestures around herself. “I mean, the others are crashing without him. Alec has really changed the way things are done around here for the better, but he’s left some big shoes to fill. He’s a marvel of a leader, really. I think we sometimes forget because he’s so...well...he’s Alec.” Lydia stops rambling for a moment and just sighs heavily, her shoulders drooping as she does so.

Magnus feels a warmth growing in his chest and it takes him a minute to realize that it’s pride. He knew Alec was doing more than he let on. He knew Alec was the true head of the Institute. Magnus hums as he contemplates just how one of a kind his boy is.

“Anyways, Jace and Izzy are in my office, away from all the...ruckus,” she points down the short stairs and into the hub of activity and technology. There’s a tangible difference to the atmosphere, it’s not huge, but the normal calm is charged with tension. Folders and papers are everywhere and people being forced to speak over each other. There’s confusion and disorganization everywhere you look. Everything and everyone looks frantic and beaten down.

Maryse enters the hub of the building and spies the warlock nearly as quickly as Lydia. She marches across the floor with her eyes locked on Magnus. “What do you think you are doing here?” she demands.

Magnus replies, trying to keep his frustration from showing, “Just here to help.”

Lydia’s shoulders have snapped back to their perfectly straight posture and she adds, “I called him in to aid with the search for Alec.”

“And why is it that you didn’t run this decision by me?”

Lydia’s eyes spark with a fire that Magnus loves, and reminds him of Alec, and she replies, “Because, Maryse , I am the acting head of this Institute. My decisions do not require your... expertise. ”

Maryse stands taller at those words and she frowns, “We’ll see how long that lasts, Branwell. This Institute needs a Lightwood.”

Lydia nods, “It does. But it’s not you .” Maryse looks furious, and Magnus is ready to step in and stop a slap or other form of attack from the older woman. She clenches her jaw though and turns on her heel to walk away from them.

Magnus looks at Lydia and eyes her appreciatively, “Oh, I like you. I can see why Alec proposed to you.”

Lydia flushes at the praise but wastes no more time and hurries them to her office. Both Jace and Izzy jump up from where they were sitting on the couch when they enter. “How’s Simon?” Izzy asks.

Magnus smiles tiredly at the younger Lightwood and says, “He’s fine. He’s with Gretel and Raphael.”

“The werewolf?”

Magnus smiles and it feels real and lessens the weight in his stomach, “Yes. It seems our dear Simon has made quite the impression on the young woman, not to mention the pack in general.”

Jace scoffs, “I just can’t believe it’s a good one.” He sounds winded and exhausted.

Izzy slaps a hand on the back of his head for the comment. Jace glares at her, rubbing at his head, and asks, “Any news on your end?”

Magnus shakes his head and says, “Tracking still isn’t working, and I have no sources that are close to Valentine. Or at least, none that are talking to me.”

Jace swears under his breath and wipes a hand over his face. His forehead glints with sweat and his eyes won’t settle on any of their faces, or anything else for that matter. He runs a shaking hand through his hair and closes his eyes, looking like he’s going to puke. After a moment his face clears of the pain and his eyes flicker open again. Izzy looks at him with concern but speaks to Magnus, “Luke just came in a little before you guys and said that the police have spent all day searching the docks, but they haven’t found anything. No unregistered boats or fights or weapons. Nothing.”

Magnus looks at Jace and rather than reply to the bad news he asks, “Is it the bond?”

Jace looks up at him and nods, “Yeah, I feel like I’m burning up, you know? Just can’t shake this fever, and the rune has throbbed badly every once in awhile throughout the day. Sometimes I can feel him, his mind, but it’s...confusing. There’s not really anything there, it just seems...heated.” Jace sighs in frustration and continues, “I know that doesn’t make any sense, but I’m pretty damn sure it’s not a good thing. We have to find him.”

Magnus steps closer and waving his hands at Jace’s shirt he asks, “May I see?”

Jace pulls his shirt off over his head and everyone's eyes immediately alight on the rune. “Is it normally like--” Magnus begins to ask.

“No,” Jace says. “It’s not normally like that.” His hand comes to hover over the rune and he adds, “It wasn’t so bad just a couple hours ago even.”

Magnus leads Jace over to a large recliner and sets him on the arm rest. Jace slumps down, his body shaking and looking absolutely exhausted. Magnus examines the parabatai rune on Jace’s abdomen. It’s raised from the skin and it’s a muddy red brown, rather than the normal black of the runes. It looks like a badly healed scar and when Magnus touches it, ever so lightly, Jace sucks in a sharp breath and Magnus pulls his hand back in surprise. He looks down at his fingers and says, “It’s hot. Not just hot, it’s scalding. ”

Magnus and Jace both jump in startlement when a door slams shut down the hallway. Magnus doesn’t pay it much mind after that. He puts the back of his hand on Jace’s forehead and his eyes wrinkle in concern at the obvious heat. The sound of raised voices can be heard from the hallway now. The others look towards the door in interest and concern.

“How’s your hearing? Sight?” Magnus asks Jace. Jace’s eyes are lagging as they move to Magnus’.

“Uh, fine, fine,” Jace says slowly. Magnus puts his hands on either side of his face and looks into Jace’s clouded eyes intently.

The door to the office slams open and Maryse is shouting over Jocelyn’s raised voice, “Where is he?” Everyone in the room freezes and looks over to the doorway where Jocelyn and Maryse are arguing loudly. Maryse’s eyes narrow and land on Magnus and Jace. Jocelyn’s voice putters off to silence as she notices Jace’s obvious failing health.

“What are you doing, warlock?” Maryse demands.

Magnus’ hands slowly come down to his sides and away from the man in front of him.  Jace’s head slumps to the side and his eyes flutter. “What did you do to him?” She asks with her eyes burning into Magnus’.

Lydia replies, “He’s checking on Jace. His parabatai rune is hurting him.”

Maryse looks to Jace and asks, “Is that true? Why didn’t you say anything?”

Jace’s face is flushed with fever and his eyes are closed. Magnus almost wants to push him, just to see if the shadowhunter had managed to fall asleep, but resists the urge. “I think he should come with me back to my--” Magnus begins to say.

“Absolutely not!” Maryse cries. Jocelyn, who is standing next to Maryse, takes a deep breath to start arguing with her again. Maryse turns sharply to Jocelyn and says with a steely quiet tone, “Enough, Fairchild. It is not your position to second guess my orders, or the Clave’s. If you do not desist, I will have you escorted out of the Institute.”

“You can’t do that!” says a familiar and incredulous voice. Clary pops her head into the room and continues, “There you are, mom. I couldn’t find you or Luke, why is--”

“Luke has been detained,” Maryse says cooly. She looks at Magnus and says, “As will you. All downworlders in the Institute shall be detained and questioned, orders of the Clave.”

Lydia blinks in shock and then argues, “They’re here on my permission, you can’t detain them, they have rights .”

“The Accords clearly state--”

“The Accords are clear as mud,” Jocelyn says over Maryse.

“The warlock and the werewolf have overstayed their welcome here. In times of war we can’t let suspicious characters inside our walls.”

“Suspicious characters? Really mom?” Izzy questions. “I could maybe understand Raphael, but Magnus? He made the warding! He crafted the glamour!”

“Precisely. Reasons why we shouldn’t let him slip away.”

“We don’t have time for this!” Magnus shouts. “Jace is hurting and Alec is still missing! Get your priorities in order Maryse, or I will!”

Maryse doesn’t look fazed as she replies, “The pain the parabatai rune is causing Jace is only a sign of Alec’s own sympathies. Valentine is using Alec and that’s all the more reason to tighten security. Alec knows too much.”

The lights explode on the ceilings as Magnus’ temper and magic mix with an angry crack. “Alec is the best shadowhunter and man I’ve ever known. Stop trying to steal that from him, and for once just give him the credit he’s due. Alec would no sooner kill you or me or his own parabatai than work with Valentine, and we all know it!”

“Warlock. You are to surrender to this Institute or face punishments from the Clave.”

Magnus instead just gathers his magic preparing to create a portal but Maryse says, “You try to leave and the Clave will try you for breaking the Accords.”

Magnus freezes and rage boils underneath his skin. Maryse smiles with far too many teeth and her eyes are studying him with dark intent. Magnus sighs and suddenly he’s just so very tired. Physically tired but also just tired of having to fight the Clave expectations and being treated like a second rate being. He just wants Alexander back and he wants to not be treated like a tool or a monster. Alec never talks to him like the other shadowhunters do. Alec doesn’t care about the benefits that Magnus’ magic can bring him, he just cares about Magnus. That’s one of the reasons Magnus fell so hard for the man, Alec is so pure .

“You know, as well as I, that if you do that, I will be in no position to help find Alexander,” Magnus says quietly. Lydia and Izzy’s fists clench at the defeated tone in his voice.

Lydia tries to reason with Maryse, “This is not going to help find your son, Maryse. Alec is the priority here, not petty grievances over the Accords!”

“You fool, this downworlder is just using us. Using my son. For all I know he could be the reason Alec is now in Valentine’s hands!” Maryse spits the words out and Magnus has to force himself not to flinch as they hit his skin.

“What? Mom! Alec fell through a portal! Because of her!” Izzy shouts pointing at Clary.

Jocelyn holds up her hands and argues, “Clary was just trying to stop Valentine. In the heat of action things happen! I will not stand here while you accuse her of such monstrous actions!”

“Then leave!” Izzy dismisses her with a hand wave. “Mom, we need Magnus. Alec fell through a portal with Valentine. It had nothing to do with him.”

“The portal is one of Magnus’ own designs! You’re telling me he can’t control his own machinations?” Maryse hisses.

Magnus’ vision tunnels around Maryse at those words. He wants nothing more than to blast her through the door she came in and out the other side of the Institute. Then they could focus on Alec instead of Maryse’ inbred bigotry. “And you helped found the Circle! Can you control that?”

Maryse looks like she’s been slapped and for a second Magnus thinks he may have gotten through to her. But then her expression darkens and Magnus’ skin tingles, Maryse is not a woman to be trifled with. She is a shadowhunter after all, and she’s survived Valentine. “Magnus Bane, by order of the Clave, you are ordered to come with me to be questioned.”

Jace reaches out for the warlock, missing spectacularly, and barely manages to stop himself from tumbling to the floor. Once he’s steadied himself, with one arm on the chair behind him, he glares at Maryse. His mind is a mess of his own emotions and Alec’s. Of heat and confusion and fear. “His people will be my people. His god will be my god,” Jace croaks. It’s hoarse and mumbled but the words are clear and poignant. Jace tries to stand and put himself between Magnus and Maryse, but he just falls to his knees instead. Jace crawls slowly to kneel at Magnus’ feet. “His people are my people. Please, Maryse...Mother, he’s just here to help me find my parabatai. My..my...Alec. His people...” Jace is breathing heavily and his hand is pressed tight against the rune that’s creating the fever. Magnus pushes his own leg forward and into the shadowhunter’s back to help support Jace’s shaking body.

Magnus feels his eyes tear up as he looks down at the delirious boy trying to defend him, because Alec isn’t here to do it. He’s starting to see why Alec and Jace are better together. Bonded by soul. They are the same in their loyalty and courage, but together they form a pureness that souls alone cannot.

This time when he wakes the first thing Alec notices is, of course, the burning pain under his skin. The second thing is the pain in his arms. He blearily blinks his eyes open and looks up to find his wrists and hands tied up with heavy duty chains that are clipped to a large meat hook. His toes brush the ground but it does nothing to help ease the pressure on his shoulders or the tightness it creates in his chest. He whines before he can remind himself not to and he hears a chuckle to his side, a sound that is becoming increasingly familiar.

“What happened to the injections?” Alec asks trying to keep his voice mocking and not tight with pain.

“Oh, they’re here. You’re on your...what...eighth dose now? But I think you’re still riding the chops of your last shot.” Valentine walks into his field of vision and Alec becomes worried when it takes far too long to focus his eyes on the man. “You’ve been lying to me, Lightwood.”

Alec looks genuinely affronted and he says, “I don’t lie.”

Valentine rolls his eyes and it’s such a casual action on such a terrifying man. “Fine. You’ve been withholding something.” Valentine steps closer and slams his fist into Alec’s exposed stomach. Alec doesn’t remember losing his shirt. He’s surprised to find that the only thing remaining of his own outfit is his pants. He wastes a few second to wonder where his shoes went. His memory of the last day is blurry with pain and half lucid conversations with Valentine.

“And what is it that I’ve not said?” Alec asks after he finishes gasping for breath from the punch.

“Who you are exactly.”

“I’m a Lightwood.”

“Not just any Lightwood though, are you? Heard tell your name is Alexander Lightwood. Alex for short? Or…”

Alec grunts and can’t help but correct him, “Alec.”

“Ah, yeah, that’s it. Alec Lightwood, head of the Institute. I didn’t realize just who had stumbled through that portal with me. You’re like a celebrity!” Valentine claps his hands in mock glee and begins to walk in circles around Alec. “You and me, my friend, could take that damned place down. Burn it to the ground only to restore it to its former glory.”

“I kind of like it’s present glory better.”

Valentine punches Alec in the side causing the boy to accidentally bite through his lip. His abuser says, “The point of this is I shouldn’t just be using you as an experiment. I want information.”

Alec asks, “What kind of information? Couldn’t you just read a book?” Alec tries to tense his muscles to minimize the pain of the next hit but it doesn’t come. He turns his head to look at Valentine who is off to his side. Once he does, the larger man hits him across the face. Alec closes his eyes as colours burst across his vision and he moves his jaw around to make sure he hasn’t broken anything.

Valentine throws punches and kicks into Alec’s body again and again. Alec coughs until he’s spitting out blood and his abdomen is turning black with bruises on bruises. Then Valentine moves to his back, aiming for his kidneys. Alec remains silent for the beating, knowing that Valentine is trying to soften him up before he starts demanding answers.

It takes a few seconds for Alec to realize that Valentine has stopped. Valentine doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t come around to face Alec. There’s just an uneasy silence around them, broken only by Alec’s laboured breaths.

“Where do I know this from?” Valentine murmurs and Alec’s heart stutters when fingertips brush over the rune on his lower back. His pain rune.

Valentine makes a sound of surprised realization and then there’s another long moment of silence. He eventually comes around to stare at Alec, and Alec maintains his eye contact as best he can. “I’ve never had that rune on my skin, but I’ve seen it on someone else,” Valentine’s voice is almost soft. “I’ve never seen a man collapse like that. He said that it’s not like any other pain. Is that true?” Valentine is standing only a couple feet away from Alec, his eyes searching the boy’s.

Alec takes a breath to steady himself and replies, “It’s true. It doesn’t hurt like a burn or an ache or a break.”

“What does it do then?”

Alec wants to do anything but think about his memories of the rune, but he knows Valentine will not take silence as an answer. He tries to make sense of it in a way he can explain, “It’s not a real pain, but it hurts more. Think on it, it’s a rune. We can only bare the runes because we are part angel. So the runes interact with what makes us Nephilim, right?” Valentine nods his head absently, avidly listening to every word Alec says. “So that part of you, the strength and presence of the Nephilim inside you.. .that’s what the rune targets. Or, at least, that’s my philosophy. I have had both plenty of experience as well as time to come to terms with it. Nothing is actually pressing on your skin or stabbing into your body. It doesn’t burn like fire or frostbite. It leaves your body unharmed. No visible proof but the rune itself. ” Alec stops talking for a moment, lost in remembered pain. He used to spend hours thinking of this, trying to find what it is that breaks inside him every time the stele activates that cursed rune. When he does speak again it’s barely a whisper, “That’s why it’s the perfect torture.”

Valentine blinks harshly as if coming back to himself and steps back with his eyes falling to the floor. Alec watches as Valentine breathes evenly for a long stretch of time. When he does look back up at Alec it’s with a pondering expression. “I’m going about this all wrong, aren’t I?”

Alec lifts an eyebrow and replies, “Which part?”

Valentine’s lips twitch with the aborted beginnings of a smile. “You.” Alec doesn’t reply, he’s trying to figure out if any of his ribs are broken, he’s concerned about the effort it takes to breathe. “This,” he says gesturing at Alec’s current state, “isn’t going to work on you, is it? You’ve already known greater pain than being a punching bag. That rune on your back is a stamp of strength, Alec. You should be proud.”

Alec closes his eyes to gather himself before he replies, “What of those who drew it?”

Valentine pulls his stele from his pocket and walks towards him. Alec’s heart is in his throat in a fraction of a second and he’s mentally panicking. But Valentine doesn’t move around to his back. Valentine reaches up, using Alec’s shoulder as a balancing point, and activates the iratze rune halfway up Alec’s arm. Alec can feel his body starting to mend itself immediately. “Those who drew it are either very clever or shameful cowards. Knowing your parents, I’d say a mixture of the two.”

“How’d you know it was them?”

Valentine scoffs and replies, “Because I know them. I know their hearts.” He walks away and comes back with the same style of syringe as the first eight times. Valentine reaches up and carefully slips it into Alec’s vein before pushing the plunger all the way, releasing the blood from the container and into Alec. Valentine hums as he works, and the sound has almost become calming to Alec. That thought almost hurts more then the blood forcing its way into his body. Valentine draws back and watches Alec grit his teeth in pain, all with that same contemplative look on his face. “You’re worth more than you could ever imagine, Alec.”

Maryse looks at Jace with a twisted expression that Magnus would almost identify as guilt. But then her usual mask slips back over the emotion and she rolls her eyes, “Get off the floor, Jace. You’re being ridiculous and I don’t have the time to deal with your drama or angst! Lydia, move this warlock to the cells quickly, and be sure to restrain his hands. We can’t have him using his magic against us.”

Lydia appraises Maryse cooly and replies, “You will have to see to that yourself, Maryse. I will take no part in harassing our allies, especially those as affluent and respected as Magnus Bane, High Warlock of Brooklyn.”

Magnus jumps as his ringtone shatters the tense atmosphere. Jace who is barely conscious and propped up on his leg slumps to the side. Magnus moves to catch his body before it hits the ground and at the same time he pulls out his phone. His heart stops when he sees the call is from Raphael. He grimaces and uses precious time to grab Jace with both arms and lay him out on the floor safely. He’s moving to stand back up when a hand flashes through the side of his vision and snatches the phone away from him.

He straightens with surprise and stares at Maryse who is looking down at the screen with distaste. “No contact with the outside, warlock. No other downworlders will come and help you,” she says simply.

Magnus is completely thrown for a moment as he tries to come to terms with what has happened as well as stop himself from panicking. She looks down at the phone and says, “Raphael? He another rentboy like my Alec, or just another unsavoury client of yours?”

Izzy’s face drops and her eyes go to the phone with fear. But it’s not Izzy’s hand that grabs the phone from Maryse. It’s Clary’s.

Her eyes meet Magnus’ and she states more than asks, “It’s Simon isn’t it?”

Magnus doesn’t have the chance to answer before she answers the phone, and Magnus is thankful, for once, that the girl is so rash and thoughtless. The moment she answers the call the panic and mayhem on the other end of the line is loud enough to be heard by all gathered in the room.

“Oh my god, Oh my god...Sim--what the hell?!” Gretel’s voice shouts in clear panic.

“Hold him down! Dios mio, Simon, curse your fledgling strength. Gret--yeah, there!”

“The stitches they’re not--

A snarl interrupts the sentence and then a bone chilling scream echoes from the small speakers.

Clary’s face has gone pale and she practically shouts into the phone, “Simon!”

Raphael’s voice comes closer to the phone and he curses, “Fairchild?! Where the hell is Magnus! Simon is...I don’t know what’s happening, but he’s like seizing and his wound...Ah, goddamnit!”

Gretel shouts, “Sorry! We have to stop the tearing!”

Magnus stalks over to Clary and retakes his phone, “Raphael, is he awake?!” Magnus asks with a level tone.

“I don’t know. No? He’s writhing and screaming sometimes, and... Oh Dios. Magnus-- I think there’s still something inside him!”

Magnus curses and turns to Lydia, “I need to get to the infirmary, now!”

Lydia pushes Maryse out of the way and grabs Magnus’ hand to drag him out the door and down several hallways. Magnus struggles to keep up with her pace and hold the phone to his ear, but he wouldn’t dream of telling her to slow down. “Raphael? Hold him down, I’ll be there, just try to stop him from breaking himself anymore!”

Magnus’ phone drops to the ground in his haste to help Lydia open the doors to the infirmary and he races to the side of the nearest medical bed before opening a portal. Raphael and Gretel are moving through it as soon as it’s fully formed. They’re holding a twitching and whimpering mess of pale limbs that is Simon. Together they grapple Simon onto the bed and hold him down as Magnus runs around the infirmary grabbing supplies. Magnus absently notices that Jace, Izzy and Clary have gotten here as well and they’re watching Simon with large eyes.

Magnus comes to the side of the bed and examines Simon’s wound. Some black thick bubbles are popping out from between tight stitches and he swallows the food that tries to come back up at the sight. “We better pray to the angels that that thing hasn’t hatched yet. If it has then we can’t kill it.”

He grabs a stainless steel knife and cuts through the stitches as quickly and efficiently as possible. Magnus sighs in relief when he sees that the, now bloated, black egg isn’t deep inside the wound. Black thick ichor mixed with half clotted blood runs out to form a small pool on the bed beside him. The stench wafts through the room, reminiscent of rotting flesh and gangrene.

Magnus barely keeps himself from dry heaving, and by the sudden movement from Izzy’s direction and the noises behind him, he doesn’t think the younger Lightwood manages that herself. Magnus jumps back when the egg moves and it nearly drops off the edge of the bed. The warlock looks panicked as he grabs for the sulfate acid and alcohol he grabbed earlier. His hands are shaking as he pours them into a metal mixing bowl and he swears as a small talon breaks out of the soft casing.

Magnus shoves the egg into the concoction and pulls at his strings of energy to light it on fire. Several things happen at the same time in the next few seconds. The bowl in Magnus’ hand goes up in flames and there’s a high throaty screech that sends everyone to their knees and hands to their heads. Magnus drops the bowl and the contents spill out as it clangs to the ground. Raphael shoves Gretel out of the way of the toxic substances and scrambles away from the acid himself. Gretel lands near Jace’s feet with a quiet thump and then everyone freezes.  

Magnus gathers his courage and looks over the rim of the bowl. A small black streak of speed nearly impacts with Magnus’ face, but his magic pushes out instinctively to create a barrier that it collides with. The creature bounces off the shield and hits the ground near the bowl. Magnus stands so fast he gets dizzy and moves as far away from the thing as he can, but hits a wall with his back only a few feet away.

“What is it?” Lydia cries.

“It’s the daenea. There was still one egg left in Simon. I missed it, I--” Magnus berates himself.

“It doesn’t look so bad?” Clary asks tentatively.

“Daenea are hunters . They start small, this one is even smaller than normal, but they start about the size of your fist. Then it grows into the size of a large house cat. But Daenea are venomous. One scratch kills you within the hour. A bite kills you instantaneously.”

The demon has scrambled to its feet and is now sitting in a pile of sulfate acid and black goo. It’s eyes are bright red and they look around the infirmary almost clumsily. It backs up so it's under the bed, making chittering noises of warning. It stops once underneath, though still in plain view, and begins to clean the goo out of its feathers.

“It has wings?” Gretel asks in horror.

Magnus nods even as he backs slowly away and down the wall he was trapped against. He only speaks again once he’s gotten some real distance between him and the beast. “Daenea are nocturnal hunters. They have wings and feathers, but they move and look more like a cat. I’ve never seen one, they’re supposed to be gone , hunted to extinction hundreds of years ago. They’re a myth!”

“But you said they were hunted, so they can be killed!” Raphael reasons.

Magnus shakes his head, “No. The eggs can be drowned and burnt, but once hatched they’re near impossible to kill. The only weapon that works against them is a poison made from its own venom. The venom used to be a commodity on the black market, but now? It would take me years to find even just a possible owner.”

The creature drops its wings and settles its eyes on the room again. It’s eyes don’t have pupils and the orbs move side to side, most likely eyeing the many people in the room with it. It drops to all fours and begins to creep out from under the table. Everyone jumps at the sound of Maryse’s screaming voice. “How dare you, Branwell! You cannot treat me this way, and you cannot stop the Clave’s orders! My own daughter disobeying me I can possibly understand, but you are supposed to be…” Maryse continues yelling as she storms towards the open glass infirmary doors.

Lydia’s eyes go wide as the daenea’s back leg muscles tense to jump towards the opening. “We can’t let it out!” Lydia screams.

Izzy is reacting to Lydia’s command before she can even process her movements. Her hand moves with shadowhunter speed and pulls the lever on the wall next to her down. A metal gate slams down in front of the open doors, sealing the exit. There’s a clatter as all the vents around them close and the lights dim. A clear robotic voice says, “ Quarantine Activated: Level One.”

The daenea screeches in reply and darts forward towards Raphael in its confusion. Raphael trips over himself to get out of the way and falls to his side. But the demon is already moving away, and it claws at walls and flies into lamps in a rage. They watch as it finally settles on top of a cabinet near the farthest wall. They huddle in a loose group on the other side of the wide space that is the infirmary.

“What the hell, Izzy! You locked us in with it!” Clary hisses, not daring to raise her voice any higher.

Lydia is the one who responds, “Shut it, Fairchild. Isabelle was right. If this thing is as deadly as Magnus says, then we can’t risk it getting into the Institute or, Raziel forbid, out of the Institute.”

Clary stares at the red eyes and shivers but she says, “And if it kills us?”

Raphael hisses at her and then replies, “I’d rather it kill me than be stuck in here with you for much longer.”

“What if we set it on fire? Or drown it?” Jace asks.

“I don’t know if that will work, but I don’t see how we can try either without catching it first,” Magnus replies. “And I’m not eager to try to lure it out with a cookie.”

Jace’s face is flushed red and he’s sweating bullets, but when he sways a bit to the side Gretel wraps her arm around his waist and steadies him. He gives her a delirious smile and says, “You smell good.” Gretel snorts in amusement but her body remains as tense as the others’.

Clary watches the exchange with sharp eyes and she sucks in a breath between her teeth. “So we can’t kill it,” she mutters. “We can’t catch it.” An idea strikes her and she stands straighter and inches closer to Jace. “Magnus,” Clary says with a tone full of purpose.

“Yes?” Magnus bites back at her.

“I’m going to do something, and I need you to slow the thing down.”

Jace looks at her sharply and asks, “What are you--”

Clary shoves Jace backwards hard and grabs Gretel’s hand, pulling her out of the safety of the group and pushing her towards the demon. Gretel falls forward onto all fours and freezes there. She’s a few feet in front of Magnus and the others, and out in the open. She slowly raises her head to look at the daenea in front of and above her. It’s watching her intently from its perch on the cupboard. With a rustle of wings it hops down from the shelf and flutters over to stand in front of her.

Raphael catches Jace’s arm when he tries to rush after the two girls, and in the shadowhunter’s fevered state, the vampire has no trouble forcing Jace to his knees and holding him down by his shoulders. “Clary!” Jace berates.

Clary doesn’t respond, she’s standing to the side of Gretel and slowly inching her way forward. Magnus can feel sweat on his brow and he doesn’t dare blink. He just barely manages to form the shield in time to stop the thing from getting Gretel when it lunges. Gretel screams and falls back on her hands, scrambling backwards away from it. The daenea shakes itself and stands up before jumping towards her again with a sharp undulating shriek.

Gretel screams, Magnus tries to pull the energy forward but he knows he’s going to be too late. Then Clary’s darting forward, red hair streaming behind her, and her body impacts with the demon mid air. She falls to the ground in front of Gretel with a wheeze. There’s a second of silence as everyone stares at the mess of red hair on the floor.

The quiet is broken by the sound of Clary’s laughter. There’s a hysteric note to it but she rolls onto her back, and looking up at the lights on the ceiling, she lets loose another peal of giggles. Gretel’s face is a mask of horror and she looks at the girl in front of her with wide eyes. “What just happened?” she asks in a yell.

“I did it!” Clary says in hysteric glee. She holds up the small sketchbook in her hand and shows it to Gretel. There’s a terrifyingly realistic drawing of the daenea mid attack. Gretel flinches away from it but then her eyes widen and she just stares.

Jace shouts Clary’s name and stumbles to his feet, only to fall once again. “By the Angel, Clary!”

Magnus begins muttering in Spanish and Raphael and him start up a rapid conversation that leaks with their anger. Raphael looks as if he’s going to tackle Clary again, but Magnus pulls him by the elbow and they both move towards the bed Simon is still lying in. Izzy and Lydia are both still staring at Clary.

Jace stands more slowly this time and walks over to the petrified werewolf. He grabs Gretel’s hand and helps pull her to her feet. Her legs are as shaky as Jace’s, though for different reasons, and they end up leaning against each other to brace themselves precariously.

Clary stands up and brushes her clothes off. When she looks up and sees all the stares she says, “You’re welcome.” She turns the book so the others can see the picture of the demon, but it doesn’t have the effect she had been hoping for. She scoffs and says in a mocking tone, “I know, I’m not a real shadowhunter , but that’s not bad for one in training, yeah? Even Magnus was scared of this little thing! That’s gotta count for something.”

“Something?” roars Jace. “You almost got Gretel killed!”

“Relax, I had a plan. That didn’t end with anyone dying, especially me. And it was much better idea than locking us in with it .” Clary studies the picture and looks quite pleased with herself.

Gretel marches up to Clary and slaps her across the face. Her sketchbook goes flying across the room and Clary cries out in pain and surprise. Gretel says, “Next time, shadowhunter, risk your own life. Mine isn’t worth any less than yours.”

Clary looks shocked, “I saved your goddamn life!”

“Clary!” Izzy scolds hurrying to Jace’s side to brace him when Gretel’s support disappears. “It’s not saving a life if you’re the one who endangered it!”

There’s a low moan that breaks up the intensity of the moment, and every head turns to the bed. “Simon!” Clary exclaims in excitement. Jace tries to catch her arm and stop her from running to the young vampire’s side, but she’s fast and he misses. Depth perception is hard with a fever.

Chapter Text

Magnus hurries to clean and bandage Simon’s side as the fledgling begins to stir. He pulls calm cool power into his palms and presses it slowly into the wound to help stave off infection and numb the pain.

Raphael slowly reaches out and takes Simon’s hand to hold between his own two larger ones, his entire being aching for his fledgling to wake. He’s never felt this sort of need for another soul before, and he knows he should be more scared than he is.

He almost doesn’t see the red hair as it falls over Simon’s lap, too busy watching every twitch of Simon’s eyelids. His eyes narrow as he turns to see Clary leaning over Simon. His hand flies out to grab a fistful of the long curls and he drags Clary’s face close to his own. He stares into her green eyes with a hot burning hatred that leaves Clary going pale. He hisses, “You will not touch him, shadowhunter. Or you won’t have your hands come tomorrow.” He’s pulling her hair hard enough to bring tears to her eyes and she bites her lip but nods. She backs away from the bedside and Raphael sees Magnus move towards her, but doesn’t bother to make sure she listens to him.

His attention turns immediately back to his fledgling. He kisses each knuckle of the hand he’s holding and waits for the first hint of brown irises. After a long moment Simon manages to squint his eyes open, pupils adjusting rapidly to the light of the infirmary. Raphael gasps quietly when Simon’s eyes search out and hold his. The slow woozy grin that spreads across Simon’s face is the most beautiful smile he’s ever seen on the fledgling. Though perhaps he’s biased.

Simon and Raphael both stare at each other and smile like fools. A light but naturally husky chuckle pulls Simon’s eyes away from his clan leader to the werewolf standing beside Raphael. Simon’s grin twitches and he pulls a mock serious face, “Wolf.”

Gretel raises an eyebrow but her eyes are gleaming as she responds, “Fang boy.”

His expression cracks into one of relief and appreciation. “Didn’t know you cared, Gretel.”

She shrugs her shoulders looking genuinely uncomfortable, but she says, “Luke made me come help.”

Simon hums in acknowledgement, though they both know it’s a lie. “Good to know my werewolf immunity has come in handy.” Gretel scowls and she lightly slaps Simon on the knee, but it only results in him smiling wider.

Simon’s only about 30% sure he’s even awake at the moment. Sounds are distorted a bit and his eyes are having trouble focusing. He turns back to Raphael, the older vampire being the one thing Simon most deeply wishes to be true. “Rafa? You found me?” Simon whispers. His eyes are wide and his pupils large and shining when he looks up into Raphael’s own. The older vampire smiles down at Simon, and it’s one of the grins that’s reserved only for his fledgling. A grin that only Simon’s sunshine can drag out of him.

“Yes, conejito. I did. I always will.”

Simon wants to feel happy at those words. Wants that to be the end of the trauma, but he can feel memories starting to pry at his thoughts, trying to reassert themselves now that his body is fully awakening. There’s panic and remembered pain traveling slowly along his spine and it makes him want to curl up and fall back into the black of unconsciousness. Instead, Simon squeezes Raphael’s hand and closes his eyes as they hit him full force.

The first thing he remembers is Camille, and her red dress and red lips and his own red blood on her hands. The next is Clary. Clary protecting Camille, and drawing a seraph blade on his Raphael. An anger and a deeper sadness seeps into his chest as he sees it play out behind closed eyelids. The bug, that damned beetle crawls into his awareness then, and his body begins to shake as he hears the sound of it chittering in his mind, covered only by the sound of his own screams. Remembers the smell of the black concoction in the bowl. Watching in dread as it tips over.

Simon gasps and his eyes fly open in shock. The first person in his line of sight, however, is Clary Fairchild, and his direction of thought is frozen once again. He looks into her eyes and sees only the reflections of her own desires and a suffocating pity. Simon had believed for so long that without Clary Fray, he was nothing. That he had to hold onto her brightness or be lost in the dark. Being turned into a vampire has showed him that the brightness can burn, and he doesn’t know if he can survive the injuries of her abuse. Doesn’t even know if he wants to. His breathing picks up as he stares at his childhood friend. Her lips are moving but he can’t hear what she’s saying. She’s struggling in someone’s grip. A ringed hand pulls at Clary’s shoulder and Simon blinks at the familiar jewelry. Magnus.

Clary’s voice is too loud as she talks, more like shouts, at him. All of a sudden the bubble in his ears has popped and he can understand the words she’s spewing. “Simon! Si! I can help you through this! Like I always have! They’re trying to separate us, to pull our connection and break it! Simon! Please!”

The panic in her voice is only paralleled by the anger there. He feels sick as it pulses through him and he curls slightly in and towards Raphael. Raphael places a hand on his chest and pushes down with a purposeful weight. This is something Raphael has done for him during his nightmares. It helps Simon stay in the moment rather than fall into his memories, and Simon smiles at the familiarity of that comforting pressure.

He finds his voice again and says, “Stop…” It’s weak and quiet but everyone falls silent. Magnus lets go of Clary and the redhead smirks in victory. Simon has to swallow and glance at Raphael before he can find the strength to speak. He has to remind himself that he can be his own person without Clary guiding his every decision. Manipulating him at every turn. Siding with his enemies at the cost of his family. He has a new family to help him through this. He has Raphael.

He takes a deep breath and says in one long rambling sentence, “Clary, I don’t know if this whole mess has changed you or if I’ve just not seen the darkness in you...like Saruman. Yeah, you’re Saruman and I’m Gandalf, and...you helped my murderer escape so she could torture me and that...that thing ...it was eating me from the inside...and that’s what you’re doing to me too.” He presses his lips together in frustration, knowing he’s not making sense and just wanting to make her hurt with his words. He blurts out, “We’re parababreaking up!”

There’s a snort from the werewolf beside the bed and Jace’s expression twists into one of incredulous confusion. It almost makes Simon smile, but he feels more like crying and sobbing until he forgets where he is. Clary has been the center and driving force of his life for so long. It’s like looking back and realizing he’s lived a blatant lie, and he won’t ever be able to unsee that. “Raphael--Rafa…” Simon stutters, bloody tears building up in his eyes. Panic and guilt and anger swelling up and suffocating him, even though he doesn’t need to breath.

Raphael takes Simon’s chin in his own and turns his head to look at him. “Mi corazon, I am so proud of you,” Raphael murmurs. Simon leans into the hand that has moved from his chin to his cheek and closes his eyes. He calms with the knowledge that he may be losing Clary, but he’s gained so much more. His eyes snap open once Clary starts screaming.

“WHAT?!” she exclaims. “You can’t treat me like this, Simon, you can’t betray me like this. We’re a package deal, we always have each other’s backs! I’ve known you since before we could even speak, Simon! You’ve known these bloodsuckers and monsters for weeks! Weeks !”

Raphael and the others watch in frozen suspense as Simon’s large eyes fall on his raging best friend, who is once again being restrained by Magnus, as she fights to reach his bedside. There are tears in her eyes but the only emotion shown in her body is rage, and that’s not what Simon feels. Simon feels a crushing disappointment, the pain of cutting out part of his heart and throwing it in a fire. “Stop,” he whispers, voice cracking and tears finally brimming over to run down his cheeks. The red casts a sickening glint to the tears and the tracks they leave behind stand out painfully against his pale skin.

There’s a hitch in his breath as he speaks, but his words carry easily across the small distance, “Stop calling them that, Clarissa. They are my family. Wolf, vampire, shadowhunter, and warlock. Even blonde douchebag.” Jace makes a noise of complaint but Simon keeps talking over it, “ You are the monster, Clary. Not us. Only a monster would have endangered their friends’ lives so many times over. You keep saying you respect downworlders, but everything you do shows otherwise. I’m done, Clary. I don’t need you, I can look after myself.”

“Without me you’re just a bullied boy who talks too much! You’re just--”

Magnus snaps his fingers and Clary’s voice disappears. She continues speaking, but no sound comes out, not even a whisper. She looks horrified and then glares at Magnus heatedly, stamping her foot and pointing at her mouth. Magnus snaps his fingers again and she disappears and reappears at the other end of the infirmary. When she goes to storm back towards them, she finds her feet connected to the ground. She can’t move.

Simon tries and fails to bite back a sob and the sound causes everyone’s attention to turn back to him. “I’m sorry I talk so much. And dress weird and make too many inside jokes.” He has every intention of asking for their forgiveness, but Jace, and everyone is surprised that it’s Jace, interrupts.

“Shut it, Vampy,” he spits out angrily, but that anger isn’t directed at him and Simon knows that.

“Yeah, maybe you do talk a lot,” Gretel adds. “But quiet is overrated. You liven up the mushu pork.”

“Yeah, Shaqueel, who else will get drunk and have philosophical debates with my cat for two hours?” Magnus thinks for a second after that sentence and adds with a shrug, “Besides Alexander, that is.”

Simon smiles shyly and wiggles his eyebrows at Izzy, “Well, I am apparently, ‘nerd hot’.”

Izzy cracks up laughing, happy to have Simon back, even if her brother is still missing. One thing at a time. Simon looks over to his leader and melts when Raphael’s eyes meet his. “Thank you, Rafa. For looking for me. For helping a rebellious fledgling like me, even when I fought against it. Thanks for not giving up on me.”

Raphael smiles tenderly and brushes some hair from Simon’s eyes and says, “I cannot, and will not, ever give up on you, conejito. You’re stuck with me, for eternity.”

Simon grins and Raphael’s eyes fall to the quirk of those lips. Raphael’s eyes dart back up to his fledgling’s to find Simon watching him avidly. Raphael swallows with difficulty and he leans down and places a swift kiss to Simon’s forehead. “You are safe, mi corazon,” he mumbles into the skin.

Simon jerks and Raphael draws back in confusion, but Simon’s eyes are wide and staring off into nothing. “Camille,” Simon gasps.

Gretel places her hand back on Simon’s leg with a frown, “Camille is gone, Simon.”

Simon shakes his head, “No, Camille and a-a-a shadowhunter. She wasn’t alone!”

Jace, Izzy, and Lydia all tense up in unison and Jace asks, “A shadowhunter? No way.”

Simon nods his head earnestly and he looks around the room, searching for the familiar face. He relaxes when he sees the metal wall the quarantine had slammed over the doors. “He was there. Tall, darker skin. He’s the one who…” Simon gulps but plunges on, “Who knocked the bowl over so the bug could…” he trails off and shivers at the memory. He forces those images away and says, “His name was...Raj.”

“What? The guy who has had a crush on Alec for the last three years?” Izzy asks.

Simon’s brow furrows, “Really?” he asked. His eyes scan the group again and he adds, “Where is he anyways?”

Magnus’ face falls and Simon’s breath hitches when it looks like the mighty warlock is about to start crying. “Valentine. He’s been taken by Valentine,” he says, voice thick with many emotions, the most audible of which is hopelessness.

Simon jolts in recognition and says, “Valentine, right! Camille, the bug thing, Raj talked about boats and demon blood... fo-for Valentine .” He stutters through the words, struggling to put the memory fragments together.

Everyone’s eyes light up with realization and then they all start asking questions at once. Raphael places a strong hand on Simon’s back and helps the fledgling to sit up. He keeps his hand on the small of Simon’s back and rubs small circles into the skin under the borrowed shirt from Magnus’ closet.

Alec wakes back up on the table with pain running everywhere. It takes him a long time to fully take in his situation. Valentine is sat next to him like always, but his expression is more somber than Alec has seen before. And then his blurry vision falls on the iv in his arm. His eyes follow the tube of red from the crook of his elbow up to a hanging blood bag. Oh. Oh.

Alec didn’t know that the burning could get worse, but over the past couple of hours that’s exactly what has happened. It feels like his body is covered in burns, but now he’s being dragged behind a car across a gravel road. He screams and screams until he’s hoarse, and then he screams some more. He’s lucid enough to have the thought that perhaps he’ll die soon. It certainly feels like his veins have melted away. The possibility is far more calming than he ever wants it to be.

The shadowhunter knows Valentine has been talking for quite a while now, but he just can’t hear the words over the blood rushing in his ears. He starts when Valentine’s face appears right in front of him. “Alec? Alec! Stay with me!” Valentine demands.

Alec tries his best to glare at the other, but none of his muscles are really working any more. They twitch and contract constantly, but not at his command. Only in reaction to the burn . He loses the strength to keep his eyes focused on Valentine and his head falls to the side. He hears distant cursing and it sounds like Valentine, but Alec doesn’t know for sure. He doesn’t really care either. Everything is burning away.

His eyes glance down when he feels a pinch at his elbow, the pain so light that he almost doesn’t notice it. Perhaps out of instinct, his eyes go to the area and he’s surprised to find Valentine taking out the iv and bandaging his arm with extreme care. He doesn’t know what to do with that. Valentine is a muddled mess of comments and emotions in his mind, and it leaves him so very confused. Especially now when he can barely string two thoughts together.

“Alec! No! Don’t go to sleep!” Valentine shouts. Alec feels a stinging slap to his cheek, but it only shocks him into awakeness for a second, before his eyes slip shut once again. And he welcomes the blackness that always promises an end to his pain. “Damn it, Lightwood! Wake up!”

When Alec next opens his eyes, he’s surprised to find himself lying on a cold floor. No restraints. No ivs. No needles in sight. And the cold cement or metal floor, he can’t see it particularly well, feels amazing on his heated skin. He vaguely remembers being told by his sister at some point that some children or young adults can get brain damage from fevers that are high enough. Alec hopes this isn’t the result of that.

A foot pushes on his arm and side and forces his body to roll over to his back. He blinks up into the dimly lit room and finds Valentine standing over him. The man smiles and it’s big and pleased. “You’re awake! Thought you’d finally given out on me.” Alec allows a groan to pass his lips in response. Valentine continues, “I know you’re tired. You’re going to be for a long time during this process, but you, Alec, are the thing that I’ve been waiting for. I’m going to turn you into the perfect weapon.”

Alec loses about every third word but he gets the gist of what the man is saying. Unfortunately he doesn’t have the energy to respond. He just continues staring up into that face, the only one he’s seen for days now. Valentine crouches on the floor next to him to talk more closely to Alec.

“I heard a rumour about you, Alec. A nasty nasty rumour.”

Alec manages to pull off a smirk and he whispers hoarsely, “I’m gay. Maryse couldn’t beat it out of me, I doubt you can either.”

Valentine chuckles but it’s a dark sound that sends shivers down Alec’s back, which only causes his muscles to contract even more painfully. Valentine says, “I heard that too, but that doesn’t concern me, Alec. Your beau is the one I’m unhappy with.”

“What?” Alec slurs. It’s not his shining moment, but he hasn’t had many of those for a while. It’s something he’s getting used to at this point.

“ Magnus Bane ,” Valentine sneers his way through the name. He looks like he may be ill as he continues, “A warlock that has pained me for going on a couple of decades now. And you’re letting him use you?”

Alec lets out the weakest scoff he’s ever heard but replies, “You sound like Maryse.”

Valentine smiles grimly, “It’s the Circle blood in her. She knows downworlders’ worth. Or rather their lack of any. This warlock...he’s a distraction. A tool. You can’t allow him to sully you or your mind. All downworlders are evil, it runs in their blood.”

Alec frowns in genuine bafflement, “You mean the blood you’ve been pumping into me?”

Valentine cocks his head to the side as if in thought and replies, “The key difference there is that your Nephilim qualities will at least slow down, if not altogether halt, the demon blood’s attempts to corrupt you.”

“You keep telling yourself that then.”

Valentine frowns and he places a very soft slap to Alec’s cheek, more to get him to pay attention than to punish. “No, I’m going to keep telling you that. Until you finally understand that they’re filth. Allowing one to defile you . I can’t even stomach the idea. You’re tainted, Lightwood, but I can fix you. I can care for you, and make you stronger than you can imagine.”

“Please don’t get me a hawk for my birthday…” Alec stammers and trails off, forgetting what his own joke even means.

Valentine chuckles at it and says, “Jace learned a lesson there. But I have a different lesson for you here. Downworlders will all turn on you. You have to keep your mind alert and prepared for an attack. But you first have to accustom yourself to the blood on your hands. So I’ve designed a game for you. To teach you!” Valentine looks delighted with himself and Alec wants to roll his eyes, but he can’t. So he does so mentally. He tries to curl his fingers into a fist and can only manage some weak twitching of his pinky. His body is so completely and utterly wrecked and exhausted.

Valentine whistles and a door opens. A figure is pushed through the door and they stumble to regain their footing. Alec notes the cloth bag over their head and a creeping cold starts moving up his spine. Valentine takes something out of his pocket and when Alec sees it his body starts twitching in anxiety, instinctively trying to run away. Valentine holds up a hand and shows him the syringe. “No blood!” he says coyly. The syringe is filled with a clear fluid and Alec doesn’t recognize it, though that doesn’t say much. Izzy is the scientist, not him. The needle that Valentine unwraps and twists onto the end of the syringe is nearly five inches long and it’s thick . Alec’s heart starts pumping hard again, and his mind starts filling with horrible possibilities.

Before Alec can react, or at least attempt to, Valentine brings the needle down and slams it into Alec’s chest by his heart. He pushes the plunger down rapidly and Alec gasps from the impact but also the immediate surge through his body. Valentine smirks and Alec understands. Adrenaline. A slurry of adrenaline among many other things at least. Alec can feel the terrible forced energy rushing through him and waking his body, even as it begs for mercy. Valentine moves away and towards the trembling figure that is standing stock still across the room.Valentine pulls the bag off and Alec can see the dazed eyes of a warlock slowly dragging across the room. Alec can tell he’s a warlock by the small horns sprouting from his head, but also because there are sparks falling from their fingertips. Alec’s eyes follow Valentine’s movement and he manages to sit himself up with great effort.

Valentine talks quietly with the man and Alec takes the time to stumble to his feet and lean against one cold wall. He tries to take a remedial survey of his bones and body, but can’t really feel where one thing starts and the other ends. He gives up on it quickly and tries to deepen his breathing instead, hoping to counteract the sickeningly fast heartbeat in his chest. Valentine turns away from the other and looks at Alec saying, “Alec, son. This is Gerbo. He’s a warlock. Or at least he used to be. He’s on the edge of death, much like yourself, and I’m giving you both the opportunity to impress me.” There’s a pause as Valentine searches Alec’s face for something. He then says, “To the death!”

Valentine exits the room and the door clangs shut loudly behind him. Alec blinks in confusion and dread, and he almost misses Gerbo’s sudden advance. The warlock shouts as he catapults himself across the small space and straight towards Alec’s body.

His mind is running too slowly to catalogue the movements and weaknesses like he knows he needs to be doing, but his body reacts instinctively. He drops to the ground and executes a smooth roll over his shoulder and pops back up on the other side of the attacker. He kicks out and hits a soft spot behind Gerbo’s left knee and the warlock goes down to the floor. Before he can fully process what he’s doing he’s snapped the neck in front of him and the body falls to the ground in a heap. The sickening result of a lifetime of lethal training.

Alec looks down in horror. He stumbles back several steps as comprehension floods him. He feels sick and drops to his knees as he starts to dry heave, nothing coming up from his empty stomach. He glances back at Gerbo’s body and he feels tears in his eyes. He’s unashamed as they roll down his face, too disgusted with Valentine and himself to really notice. When Valentine walks in there’s a wide smile on his face and he says, “Clean kill. Marvelous work. Couldn’t have done it better myself!”

Alec spits on the ground and pushes himself up to look at Valentine, “We are shadowhunters, Valentine. We are protectors! Warlocks are not the enemy, you are!”

Valentine’s smile fades and he says with an earnest face that Alec wants to doubt, but knows that Valentine believes, “You’ve been manipulated, Alec. These things ,” he gestures towards the body, “are what shadowhunters must destroy.”

Alec scowls and uses his left arm to brace himself against the wall behind him. “You’re a murderer.”

Valentine holds his hands out from his sides with a coy expression, “Let’s think about that, Alec. Who just snapped Gerbo’s neck?”

Alec’s face falls but he forces himself not to look at the body. Not again. He swallows thickly and his eyes drop from Valentine’s. The man whistles once again and two men come in to drag the corpse away. Alec wants to be sick for the second time.

Valentine takes another step forward, and Alec sends a glare at him that stops the man from coming any closer. Valentine doesn’t try to touch him but he smiles at Alec and says, “You’ll get used to it, Lightwood. Downworlders, there lives are so...short and...insignificant. Gerbo was put down. Put out of his misery. What you did was a good thing.” Valentine claps his hands together and his tone changes abruptly, “Now! How about I get you some water, before your next play date? You certainly deserve it!”

Jace groans as he tosses and turns on the bed next to Simon. The fledgling looks over at him in concern and sympathy, though Jace can’t see it, his eyes are pinched shut. He’s coated in sweat, and his fresh sheets are already soaked underneath him. He’s on an iv drip to keep him hydrated and Isabelle comes in and feeds him ice chips several times an hour, but he feels so hot .

“Do you need me to get Raphael or Magnus?” Simon asks.

Jace turns his head and stares over at Simon, they’re only a few feet apart. He tries to glare at the vampire, though he isn’t angry at Simon. If anything, he’s relieved the vampire is here, because he’s been going out of his mind the last 24 hours. He’s been trapped in here and Simon may talk too much and be too enthusiastic, but at least something is happening.

Simon snorts at Jace’s attempt to be his usual intimidating self and he says with ease, “Oh, if the demons could see you now!” Simon giggles. Jace, with a truly impressive show of coordination, manages to throw his pillow into Simon’s face. The vampire giggles more and Jace’s lips twitch up into a half smile. But it quickly falls when another sharp burst of heat and pain radiates out from his parabatai rune.

Jace decides to use one of his favourite activities of the last couple of days to help him cope. “Sooo, Simon. You land that fanged boss of yours yet?”

Simon’s expression goes from gleeful to humiliated. “Jace!” Simon hisses quietly, “He could be around here somewhere!”

Jace gestures vaguely and wildly, hitting himself in the face in the process, and mumbles, “Sod it. He’s already smitten with you, though I can’t for the life of me think of why …”

Simon’s face freezes, “Did you just say smitten ? How do you even know that word?”

Jace’s thoughts lag and he blushes even more than his fever causes him to, “I read!...and I’ve heard Isabelle use it before.”

Simon giggles and Jace pouts dramatically at the fledgling. “Admit it though, you’re as smitten with vamp boy senior as Izzy is with Lydia!”

Simon points an accusatory finger at Jace, it’s far steadier than anything Jace could have managed, and says, “I may be smitten. But at least he’s not my sister! ”

Jace chokes on his spit in shock and he coughs weakly as he glares at Simon with watery eyes. “Savage, vampire. Savage.”

A portal appears before the two of them and they watch as Magnus and Raphael step through. Raphael quickly strides to Simon’s bed side and he sits in the chair placed there. He leans in to speak to Simon in low tones.

Jace gags as Magnus walks to his side. Magnus winks at him and says, “Oh, shut it, blondie.”

Jace replies, “They’re even worse than you and Alec. And at least you two are like ‘official’ or whatever the mundanes call it.”

Magnus frowns slightly and they’re both abruptly reminded of Alec’s absence. Magnus shakes himself mentally and hands a potion to Jace. “Drink this. I brewed it last night. Should help cool your body down.” Jace sniffs at it and makes a face. “Raziel, save me from the stubbornness of shadowhunters. It won’t kill you, Jace, no matter how much I would enjoy that.”

Jace smiles easily, “Nah, you’d miss me.”

When Jace has drunk the potion and handed the cup back, Magnus pushes slow flowing magic into Jace’s heated skin and murmurs, “Sleep, shadowhunter. Let it take effect.” Jace’s eyes flutter closed as the cold pull of Magnus’ magic allows his mind to slip into a doze. He can hear the others talking and moving around for a few minutes before he falls into a deep sleep.

He’s not sure what wakes him, but his body tenses and he focuses on the noises around himself. He doesn’t want to give himself away by opening his eyes. It takes a long moment but he hears it again, it’s the soft sound of quick and quiet movement. He opens his eyes just a crack, enough to make out general shapes without giving away his ploy.

The sound is over by Simon’s bed and Jace’s eyes snap open to watch Raj plunge a broken off chair leg through Simon’s chest. There’s a shimmer in the air and Jace’s ears pop as Simon’s body disappears. Then there’s a blur of action that Jace’s fevered mind can’t keep up with. He hears Raphael snarling, and the crack of Izzy’s whip. There’s a blur of blue that he knows to be Magnus and the distinct sound of bone or cartilage breaking. Jace closes his eyes to steady his dizziness and when he opens them again it’s to see Izzy’s whip wrapped tightly around Raj’s neck and Raphael kicking the man’s legs out from underneath him. Raj lands with a painful smack on the hard tile floor.

Izzy pulls harshly on her whip and forces Raj to clamber to his knees. Jace sits up to get a better look at the traitor. A shadowhunter whom he had trusted. The sting doesn’t bite through him as hard as at Hodge’s betrayal, but Raj and him had trained together, learned together, for years. Raj is sporting an obviously broken nose and there are some more bruises forming rapidly on the side of his face.

Raphael slaps Raj’s face hard and leaves four deep scrapes from his fingernails. Raj is only kept kneeling by the tightness of the whip around his neck, and he chokes as his body tries to tumble to the floor. “Oh, what I’m going to do to you , boy,” Raphael says with a smooth voice and a carefully bored expression. “Have you ever seen a clan avenge a fallen member? What about a fledgling member? It’s enough to turn the stomach, to say the least.”

Raphael’s hand grabs Raj’s hair and pulls his head back, so his neck is bared to the room. “You smell…” Raphael pauses, “like fear and angel piss. Not my favourite flavour, but you work with you got.”

Raj’s eyes are huge as they watch Raphael gaze at his throat. His eyes flick to Izzy’s. She looks just as angry as Raphael, the hand around the handle of her whip shaking with the desire to snap his neck with a flick of her wrist.

“You really have no idea who I am, do you?”

Raj’s eyes widen even further at the sound of the voice. Raphael lets go of his hair so Raj can turn his head and look towards the source. He watches as Gretel helps a limping Simon walk across the infirmary. The usually kind and gentle brown eyes of the fledgling are hard and cold as they look down at Raj. Raphael moves to Simon’s other side, as he and Gretel come to a stop in front of Raj. Simon leans heavily into his leader and his tense muscles relax at the familiar smell of his protector.

“You tortured the wrong vampire,” Simon says softly, but the expression on his face remains hard and unforgiving. Raj eyes flick between Simon and the bed behind him. Simon sneers, “What? Can’t you see a glamour when you stake it?”

Raj’s face contorts and he spits out his words, “You piece of demon shit! You’re just a pathetic downworlder who can’t even die right!”

Raphael snarls deafeningly, but doesn’t budge from where he’s holding Simon. The fledgling winces at the words and turns his face into Raphael’s chest for a moment, but when he looks back he replies, “And you’re a shadowhunter that has betrayed the Clave and broken the Accords. Do you understand just how many people want you dead?”

Raj blinks and swallows as the thought permeates his angry haze. Magnus looks down at the man and the red sparks that flicker from his fingertips show the emotions crackling under the surface. “We need to talk,” Magnus says, voice silky smooth and screaming danger.

Magnus steps forward along with Izzy and he leans down to touch Raj’s forehead. The man screams in pain as Magnus allows some of the pent up energy course through his skull. It only lasts a moment but when Raj collapses back onto the floor, he doesn’t look nearly as confident.

He looks up at Magnus and says, “Camille talked about you. Said you were pathetic. Needy .”

Magnus doesn’t allow it to bother him, and it’s easier than he thought it would be. “Yeah? Well, Camille is dead . And if I was in your position, I wouldn’t push my luck.” Magnus rapidly makes a portal and throws Raj through it. They all follow and appear in Lydia’s office. The blonde woman looks up at them slowly from where she sits at her desk. She looks regal and beautiful and completely unfazed. When her eyes land on Raj they flash dangerously and a slow terrifying smile spreads across her face.

“Raj,” Lydia exclaims. “I’ve heard that you’ve been taking out your anger issues on our favourite vampire friend.”

“You’re all a disgrace to the shadowhunter legacy. Lowering yourself to the level of these demons,” he says jutting his chin out at Simon and Raphael.

Izzy lets her whip to unwind from his neck and it slithers across the floor and shrinks back to a bracelet around her wrist. Magnus snaps his fingers, and cold metal cuffs click shut around his wrists. Gretel walks by and shoves him back into the chair behind him. They all gather around Lydia’s desk and study Raj’s antsy figure.

Lydia finally says, “The Clave has become mighty curious about your extracurricular activities, Raj. But before I hand you over, we’re going to have a little conversation.” She pauses and Raj’s blood runs cold at her next words. “First question: How attached to your runes are you, Raj?”

Magnus growls as he speaks next, “And where is Alexander? ”

Chapter Text

“And where is Alexander ?”

Raj looks at Magnus with an upturned lip and says, “Alec is a true shadowhunter. He deserves someone better than you, Magnus Bane. All you’re doing is destroying his name. You will ruin him!”

Isabelle scoffs and she asks, “How much of that was intense jealousy? Frustrated that you’ve been by Alec’s side for years and he’s never once given you a second glance?”

Lydia picks up where Izzy left off, “Must have been a slap in the face when Alec finally wanted someone that very decidedly wasn’t you. Then Alec broke every rule to be with him. And for that man to be a downworlder? Is that why you joined Valentine?”

Raj stiffens and says, “I don’t work for Valentine.”

Simon scoffs and says, “Yes you do.”

Raj eyes the vampire and retorts, “All you have is an eye witness under extreme duress. He was not in full control of his senses. The vampire is wrong.”

Magnus steps forward slowly. It takes three long decisive steps to reach the chair Raj is collapsed in. Magnus gently places his right hand over Raj’s heart, fingertips touching the fabric like he’s going to rip the organ out. “I don’t think you understand what’s happening here, Raj. You’re not on trial. You don’t get to make a case to present to us. We. Are. Not. The. Clave.” Magnus sends a jolt of magic through his hand and into Raj’s chest with each decisive word. Raj groans in pain and his teeth snap together loudly as his jaw clenches. Magnus continues, “There is no circumstantial evidence to call into question or state of mind debates. This is us asking you questions and you answering them. And maybe, if you’re lucky, we’ll let you have that trial, and we’ll give you over to the Clave instead of Raphael’s clan or Gretel’s pack as a chew toy.” Magnus says this all with a graceful calmness. His voice is tight however and his muscles tense as he forces himself not to hurt or maim. Not too much. He needs the information this pathetic excuse of a shadowhunter has.  

Magnus withdraws his hand but there are visible sparks of energy clinging to his fingers and it’s all the threat he needs. Magnus sits in a chair near Raj and looks at the traitor. “Now that you remember why you’re here, and who you’re here with...how about you start talking? Starting with Alexander.”

Raj spits on Magnus’ shoe and the warlock immediately tightens the energy, practically dancing through his fingers, around the man’s neck, effectively choking him. “You and I have a problem, Raj. That problem is that I really don’t like you. I can’t tell you how hard it is not to feed you to a greater demon or just snap my fingers and have you swallow your tongue and suffocate. But the problem , is that if I do that, I lose. But so do you , my boy. ”

Raj is trembling in his seat but trying to keep up a brave face. When Magnus releases the man’s throat he gasps in air and says, “Maryse was right, you don’t care for anyone, you’re just out for our destruction.”

Magnus’ head cocks to the side in a mocking thoughtful pose, “You know the biggest reason Maryse hates me right? It’s not my blood, it’s who I am. She hates me because she knows, very well, just what I’m capable of…” Magnus moves his fingers through the air as if twirling a pencil through them, and his eyes never leave Raj. Slowly the air thickens around the movement of his digits and between one blink and the next, a stele is held in his hand loosely. Raj’s stele.

“I’m not lowering myself to yo--”

Magnus’ fingers spin the stele adeptly to sit in the palm of his hand and he stabs the stele down through Raj’s knee. He pulls the stele to the side, but doesn’t remove it from his leg, purely to watch Raj wince at the pain. “Wrong answer. Try again.”

Magnus looks into Raj’s eyes and slowly pushes the stele further into his leg. Raj whimpers and bites out, “A ship. Valentine’s on a ship, okay?”

Magnus pulls back abruptly, the stele disappearing into air, and stands up with a flourish. He skips over to stand with the group again and he quips, “Which ship?”

Raj groans but his eyes catch on Magnus and he swallows before answering, “It’s a big cargo vessel. Doesn’t have a name, but it has a number. 216. Down on the east docks.”

Magnus looks over at Lydia, and the two of them have a silent conversation. Lydia finally turns to Raj and smiles prettily, “Tell us everything you know.”

Raj sighs but complies. “It’s a huge vessel, and Valentine is raising an army on it, out just beyond the harbour. He’s gathering strong mundanes, usually from underground fight clubs and the sort. Then they drink from the cup and if they’re strong enough they pass into the next step of becoming a full shadowhunter. There’s easily hundreds of men on the ship, not to count the prisoners.”

Magnus’ whole body tenses noticeably, “Alexander?” he asks.

Raj shrugs his shoulders, “I haven’t been back in a week, so I haven’t been there at the same time as him. But I assume he’s somewhere in the lower cabin area where all the boss’ test subjects are kept.”

“Test subjects?” Jace asks in fear and rage.

Raj nods, “He has downworlders of all kinds hopped up on blood and anything else he can get his hands on. That’s what he wanted to danea blood for.”

Jace exhales forcefully through his nose and presses his lips together tightly, “So we go to the ship and get Alec.”

Raj chuckles and says, “No.” He holds up his bound hands when everybody glares at him. “Okay, yes, Alec is on the ship. But you guys can’t get on the ship. It’s wired up with some heavy duty, and I mean lethal , warding. The ship is constantly on lock down with a controlled entrance and exit. Only one way onto, and off of, the boat.”

“And what is that?” Isabelle asks.

“A security checkpoint for Valentine’s clients and visitors. And you guys are not clients or visitors.”

There’s a pregnant silence as everyone’s minds grind through the information, looking for a weakness. It’s Simon who speaks first, “Well, you told Camille to bring the bug to Valentine. The demon that ate me, whatever you just said it was. He’s expecting her.” Simon looked around at the others and shrugs, “We still have that thing. Someone could go as a delivery boy.”

Raj huffs, “And then what? There’s still only one way in or out. Nothing’s changed.”

Magnus shakes his head and retorts, “No, an inside man would change everything.” He twirls his fingers absently as he thinks. “How much do you know about the wards?”

Valentine sits on the ground a few feet away from Alec. Placed in front of the boy is a sweet roll and a protein bar alongside his third hard won bottle of water. Valentine studies Alec’s slumped form and frowns. “Why do you mourn the warlocks?” he asks the young shadowhunter.

Alec presses his eyes closed tight. He’d tried so hard to reason with the two warlocks after Gerbo. But they wouldn’t listen. They just kept attacking. Like rabid dogs. Alec killed them both when it became apparent that they would just run themselves to death trying to kill him. He can still hear the crack of bones and cartilage when he broke their necks. Valentine had praised him and given him more water each time.

He shoves away the image of beautiful golden cat eyes. Those warlocks weren’t Magnus, but Alec knows that doesn’t matter. They could have been Magnus, and that’s what’s killing him.

“What’s this?” Alec finally asks gesturing towards the food. He’s beyond hungry and malnourished, but his stomach only feels queasy when he looks at the potential nutrition.

Valentine blinks in surprise and says, “Your reward, of course!”

“For murdering innocent men? For surviving a situation you put me in?”

Valentine nods as if it’s obvious, and perhaps it is. Alec’s thoughts are dark and often shatter into pieces when he tries to get a better look at them. “You should eat. You’re due for your next treatment.”

Alec scoffs and he laughs bitterly, ignoring the pain in his chest at the action, “Treatment?” His limbs are growing heavier as the adrenaline begins to be purged from his system. The wall behind him the only thing keeping him up. Alec looks at Valentine and asks with no hint of emotion, “You do know you’re just killing me, right? You talk about how you care and you’re making me into a weapon, but you keep this up and I’ll be dead in a couple more days.”

Valentine frowns, “I don’t think I could kill you if I tried, Alec. The world has already thrown itself at you and yet you’re the one standing at the end of the fight.” Valentine pauses and he gestures to the food. “You need to eat or you will die. I don’t want you dead.”

Alec snorts, “Right, right. Cause then who would you torture and play your mind games with?”

Valentine frowns and he says, “I’m not torturing you, Alec. I’m helping you. You may not recognize it now, but one day you will.”

“Why? Why are you trying to help me? In this sick demented way.”

“Because you have shown yourself worthy of it. Because of that damned rune on your back.”

Alec blinks and asks, “What does this have to do with my rune?”

Valentine studies Alec for several long moments and Alec is alarmed by how normal it feels. How surreal this situation should be, but isn’t. Here he is laying on a floor with the world’s most dangerous man sitting crossed legged next to him. Alec watches Valentine watch him. The mad man’s eyes have taken on that contemplative look as they had before when they’d first talked about the rune. Valentine finally speaks, “Your parents are fools, Alec. If they had known the true meaning of that rune, they would never have put stele to skin.”

Alec looks up in confusion and he asks, “What do you mean?”

“It’s an old rune. Ancient even.  Where they learned it I can’t tell you, but they had long dark lives before they met me. Me? I saw it nearly a decade back. I told you that I knew a man it had been drawn upon. That he fell apart.” Alec nods, eyes intent on Valentine’s face. “He died, Alec. Didn’t even last ten minutes.”

Alec feels like he’s just been sucker punched, all the breath leaving his body in one strong swoop. “What? How is that even possible? Runes don’t kill the Nephilim.”

“That’s not true. Everyone knows that the more powerful a rune the worse the pain of the stele. The worse the exhaustion after it deactivates. To fight Greater Demons, you need Greater Runes. But that takes a toll on the body. It’s a give and take system. Everything has a precise balance.”

“Right,” Alec whispers, still in shock. “And the one on my back?”

Valentine pushes the water bottle towards Alec who absentmindedly picks it up to sip. He spills some on the ground because he’s shaking so hard, but the water feels good against his throat. Valentine continues talking when Alec starts drinking. “When Jocelyn betrayed me, I studied everything there is to know about angels and demons. Desperate to find everything I could to create the beings I knew the world needed. The perfect shadowhunters. I know more of our angelic ancestors than anyone short of the Silent Brothers. That rune is one of the First Runes. The original script of the angels. It’s not just a pain rune, Alec. It’s the First Rune for strength and cleansing. Purity, in some tongues.”

Alec sets the water back down and stares at Valentine with eyebrows drawn together in confusion and shock. “Cleansing? Cleansing what?”

“When you described the pain to me you said it was like an attack on the thing that makes you Nephilim. That is what it’s cleansing. That essence.” Valentine trails off and he sighs before continuing, “I didn’t used to believe in such stories, but the Silent Brothers hold far more secrets than we know. They are sworn to silence for a reason, my son. I recognized the mark when I saw it that day, but didn’t put all the pieces together immediately. Now I’m sure. ”

Alec is speechless and he slumps even further against the wall as his mind races. He takes a shaky breath as he tries to think through the information, but he’s so tired that his thoughts keep slipping away from him. “I- uh- I just don’t understand. I don’t understand.”

Valentine replies, “I don’t either. All I know is that the rune could have killed you. Should have killed you. It kills all who wear it, because they’re not pure enough. Our entire race hasn’t been for centuries, our angel blood weakening over time. Perhaps it’s because you first wore it when you were younger. Or perhaps it’s just because you have strong family blood. I don’t know, but one thing is for certain; you should already be dead, Alec. Yet here you are.”

Alec’s head is whirling and it hurts to have his eyes open, but he forces them up to Valentine as he asks, “So what’s happened to me? What does the rune do?”

“I don’t know, Alec.”

Alec shakes his head even though it makes his eyes throb painfully and he mutters, “No, no, this is ridiculous. This is just more lies so you can get into my head. Like you did Jace.”

“I may be many things, Lightwood, but I am not a liar.”

Alec sighs and he glares at the man with what feels like the same amount of heat as the warlock blood creates inside his own body. Alec desperately wants to make the man feel that intensity. Valentine matches that stare with a calm, almost serene, posture. The fight slowly bleeds out of Alec and his eyelids fall to half mast. There are tears in his eyes that he won’t let fall, and he doesn’t know where they come from. Isn’t sure what they mean. He doesn’t know what anything means anymore.

Alec vaguely gestures at the food and asks, “That drugged?” Valentine pauses for a second before nodding his head. “Good,” Alec says. “Give it to me.” Alec no longer wants to be conscious.

Valentine helps Alec tear apart the roll and eat it. He breaks off chunks of the protein bar and waits patiently as Alec’s jaw slowly chews it. Alec can feel the drugs kicking in and he looks up at Valentine. “You’re crueler than I ever thought, you know. Messing with my head like this. I hate you.”

Valentine’s expression remains calm but he says, “The runes for love and hate are only different by one line.”

“Stop moving, Samuel! You’re making me anxious!” Magnus snaps at Simon, who is pacing around the warlock in a circle.

“Oh, I’m sorry I’m not cool and collected like you. That I’m making you anxious . When the man that I--” Simon shuts his mouth forcefully. He stops pacing, but his eyes refuse to come up and meet Magnus’.

Magnus bites back his temper and asks, “The man that you what , Simon?”

Simon chuckles, and when Magnus looks at him like he’s mad, the vampire says, “You called me Simon. Like my actual real name. Not--”

“Okay, enough. I’ve changed my mind. You can pace and we’ll wait in silence.”

Simon grins at Magnus, but stays still. Magnus looks at the fledgling next to him and sighs. Raphael is so going to owe him for this. “Raphael has shown himself to be devoted to you, fledgling,” Magnus says. “It’s good to see that you are just as worried about him as he was about you.”

Simon looks up, “Was he really that worried?”

Magnus raises one incredulous eyebrow and says, “Yes. He was a menace.”

Simon smiles and murmurs, “That sounds like him, yeah.”

Magnus clears his throat in an uncharacteristic show of discomfort. “Simon, you should know...that Raphael has never looked out for someone like he does you. He’s never allowed anyone close. The clan is his family, but you….you are different. So if you’re thinking of leaving, or if you’re unsure, you need to do it now before you end up just killing him.”

Simon looks up at Magnus in horror and also shock. “I would never hurt him!” he insists. “He’s-he’s-he’s and I’m--you know!”

Magnus rolls his eyes and he looks so much like the Alec Lightwood they’re here to bust out that it hurts Simon to watch it. “No, I don’t know. And I don’t think I want to. I’m just saying, Raphael is an all or nothing kind of guy. He’s never let himself fall in love, because he knows when it happens, and his heart breaks...that’ll be the end of him.”

Simon swallows and nods his head. “I won’t hurt him.” Magnus watches the fledgling and Simon’s words seem more like an oath to himself than anything else. Magnus feels a small smile creeping onto his face. He can see, in small bits and pieces, the man that Raphael sees underneath the rambling and Star Wars shirts. Though nothing like his Alexander, of course.

Magnus’ phone starts ringing and he answers it before the first ring finishes. Raphael’s smooth voice says, “I’m in.”

“How much do you know about the wards?”

Raj shrugs, “Not much. Warlock made. Strong.”

Magnus exhales roughly to stop himself from decking the shadowhunter. “Power source?”

Raj smirks and shrugs again. Magnus’ magic lashes out without his command and slams Raj back into the armchair and he cries out in surprise. Magnus’ cat eyes stare Raj down and he says with a bone chilling quiet tone, “This is the last time that you forget who it is you are talking to. I was alive when the Dead Sea was just a lake that was feeling a bit poorly. I’ve killed men like you before without moving an inch. I know the most painful ways to burn energy through your body and leave your insides boiled. And trust me, you aren’t worth my pity or my time. So drop the damn smirk and give me some answers that I can use or I’m going to start making you scream.”

Raj looks up at the imposing figure Magnus casts above him. He says, “Power core for the entire ship is in the converter room.”

Magnus turns back to the others, leaving his back to Raj to show the shadowhunter that Magnus sees him as a low threat. “We’re going to need Clary…” Everyone shifts at the mention of her name, but knows Magnus is right. They need the daenea. Magnus looks at Raphael next and asks, “You helping?”

Raphael looks at Simon who is biting his lip, his desire to help obvious, and the older vampire sighs and asks, “You want me to be the demon’s escort for Camille?”

Magnus winks and says, “You read my mind. Once you get inside, you get to the converter room.”

Izzy wrinkles her nose and says, “But once he gets the wards down, Valentine’s men will be on him.”

Magnus glances at Jace who has stepped unsteadily forward, “We need a distraction. Me. I’ll keep Valentine busy. The rest of you will have to draw the numbers away from Raphael.” Jace’s bicoloured eyes pin Magnus down, and not for the first time the warlock feels the power that this shadowhunter holds. Jace is the fastest and the fiercest. It is an easy thing to forget. “That means you have to find Alec. You have to get him out.”

The words are simple but Magnus understands the levity of the situation. Jace is entrusting his parabatai to Magnus, there is no greater show of faith. Magnus nods his head, maintaining Jace’s hard gaze, “It’s done.”

“How far in are you?” Magnus asks. Simon is looking at him anxiously, but Magnus knows he can hear every word easily.

“Dios, I’m not sure. This place is a maze.”

Magnus closes his eyes and takes a couple of deep calming breaths to keep himself from crushing his phone in frustration.

“Wait, yeah. I know where I am. It’s gonna take some time. Jace and Gretel ready?”

Magnus hums his acknowledgement.

“I’ll go with Jace,” a smoky feminine voice declares.

Jace’s eyes immediately move to capture Gretel’s and he says, “No.”

She cocks her hip and stares him down. “You can barely walk across the infirmary floor without crumpling, shadowhunter. How do you expect to get to your father? Or then get off the ship? Or, I don’t know, swim?”

Jace curses under his breath and scowls, “I can push through it.”

“Yeah, and end up dead? That’s not a great distraction.”

“Why are you even coming?” Jace demands.

Gretel blinks and for the first time looks uncertain. The thought of not going hadn’t occurred to her. She’d been ensconced in the group atmosphere so quickly and comfortably, it just felt assumed. She scowls back at Jace just as angrily and snaps, “It’s my pack members that he’s stealing off the streets, not yours!” Besides Alec, of course, but downworlders have been disappearing for weeks before the showdown with Valentine.

Jace’s shoulders sag, as if the fight has drained all his energy, and Gretel stops herself from moving forward to make sure he doesn’t fall over. “Fine!” he bites out.

“Fine!” Gretel snarls.

“Is Simon there?” Raphael asks.

Magnus raises an eyebrow at the fledgling as Simon’s eyes go round. “Yes. He’ll be leaving for the others soon. He wanted to make sure you got in okay.” Magnus’ voice holds clear amusement and Raphael curses him in Spanish.

“Simon, mi corazon, don’t do anything stupid.”

Simon chuckles and mumbles, “Yeah, whatever.” He pauses with one last look towards Magnus, or rather the phone he’s holding, as if he could see the man on the other end. Then he jogs off to meet the others. Tonight is the night they finally reclaim their own.

Magnus waits and watches the ship. 216, east dock. It’s out on the water, but Magnus can feel the wards surrounding it. He watches and waits for them to fail. To fall down and grant him access. Magnus grins in triumph when he sees it happen. The energy needed to create a portal leaping anxiously from his hands and in another few steps he’s on the ship. He can almost sense Alec, his magic so fully attuned to the shadowhunter...

Alec is learning to deal with the burn. Possibly. Or he’d just rather deal with the blood pumping into him than feeling the crack of bones in between his hands. Alec’s left wrist has been cut open to allow blood to trickle down his palm and then run down his fingers to hit the floor. Every drop being replenished by the iv in his right arm.

Alec doesn’t know how long it’s been, hasn’t had any idea of the passage of time for most of his stay here with Valentine. He’s worried about the others. How they’re dealing with his absence, worried about what they’ll potentially do and risk to get him out of here.

As if answering his thoughts, a still silence falls around them. Valentine sits bolt upright. His eyes looking above, to the ceiling. Alec slowly comprehends what sound has stopped: the humming of the wards. Then his rune flashes with a nice and cool presence, that leaves his body’s pain dulled for a flash of a moment. “Jace…” Alec mumbles, reaching for him through the bond.

Valentine’s eyes snap to his and his expression is set in stone. Completely blank. “Jace is here?” Valentine asks. Alec feels Jace’s presence push against the bond. A message.

“He’s come to speak with you,” Alec translates with a frown. “Stupid parabatai. So reckless,” he scolds his other half gently. Too tired for any real anger. There’s a blazing hope rising in his chest, that maybe he’ll get away from here. But he pushes it down, knowing he’d stay here for the rest of his life if it meant the safety of his family. He doesn’t want them to risk themselves.

Valentine’s eyes fall to the parabatai rune on Alec’s lower abdomen and he asks, “Where is he? Where is my son?”

Alec blinks dazedly, “I don’t know. Above?”

The door to the room Valentine’s enclosed them in swings open and a panting woman stands there. “Your son is here, Commander. He’s demanded an audience,” she reports.

Valentine snaps, “Has anyone touched him?”

She shakes her head, chest still heaving with breath, “No, we know your orders.”

Valentine nods his head and looks at Alec. “It would seem he’s come for you.” Valentine only hesitates for another moment before he strides out of the room, closing and locking the door firmly behind him.

Alec remains in the room, straining to hear anything, and getting periodic emotional waves from the bond rune. He’s not aware enough to fully comprehend the feelings running through him second hand, but there’s anger and guilt and then something much darker. Alec doesn’t hear the shouting at first, so attuned to the bond, but as the shouts and cries of pain and surprise get louder, and closer, his eyes tiredly flicker open. He watches the door in a numb state, merely waiting to see what Valentine has planned next, but when he sees the red pulse of light ensconce the door, his breath catches in recognition. When the door is blown off its hinges and into the room, the shadowhunter can do nothing but stare. Alec doesn’t think Magnus has ever looked so beautiful. His eyes are shining their natural gold and his hair is swept in every direction from his exertion. The expression of elation and relief that sweeps over the warlock’s face upon seeing Alec leaves the shadowhunter buzzing with affection and hope.

Magnus’ breath disappears entirely upon seeing his long lost Alexander. The wave of conflicting emotions upon the sight is stronger than anything he’s felt in centuries. It leaves him floored and staring at Alec in wonder. The urge to love this man stronger than it’s ever been. That light feeling soon turns into rage and concern when he sees how haggard his shadowhunter looks. Magnus runs to his side and begins crooning, “Alexander, are you with me? Can you speak? What’s wrong? What is this?”

Alec doesn’t hear most of the words being said but he looks into Magnus’ cat eyes and smiles. Alec doesn’t remember ever smiling as big as he does in that moment, and Magnus is struck silent and still by it, staring at the overwhelming beauty of the man in front of him. “Mags,” Alec whispers. “Didn’t think I’d see you again.”

Magnus’ eyes and hands search him for injuries and he replies with a strained grin, “Silly, Nephilim.” Magnus snaps his fingers and the restraints holding Alec fall open. Magnus’ brows come together in rage and concern when he sees the slit wrist, but a pass over it with his magic, knits the wound together with ease. Alec gasps in wonderment when he feels Magnus’ magic touch his skin. It feels like an ice cold compress on his burnt veins and Alec feels a tear of relief escape his eye. The feeling only lingers for a moment before the pain is back.

Magnus looks up at the sound and is confused by the play of emotions across Alec’s face. The warlock turns his gaze downwards again and gently pulls the iv free from the other arm. “What is this?” he asks, looking at the blood hanging by the table.

Alec blinks a few times in his pained haze to process the question before he answers, “Warlock blood.”

Magnus stiffens and looks at Alec in terror. “Oh my god, he--wait, how are you--I thought that--” Magnus shakes off his questions, and focuses on the immediate need to get above deck, to get Alec out of here. He pulls one of Alec’s arms over his shoulder and helps him off the table. Magnus bites his lip when Alec has to place all his weight on him, and for the first time the warlock curses how large Alec is.

He’s debating his options when several of Valentine’s shadowhunters storm the room and move to attack. Magnus has to drop his grip on Alec, and he winces at the sound of his lover hitting the floor, to push defensive energy out and around him. However he’s too slow and he only manages to blow half of them back before they’re on him. They pin his hands to his back and shove his chest and body into the wall.

Alec watches in horror as Magnus is overpowered, his body aching to come to Magnus’ defense. His arms and legs twitch and he, through an astounding show of willpower, manages to get on his hands and knees. His body isn’t going to stand up to gravity nonetheless three shadowhunters though. Alec looks around in a panic, desperate for something to help him. His eyes catch on a syringe on Valentine’s table and his stomach swoops in both disgust and relief.

He pushes his arm into the side of the small rolling table and easily knocks it over. The sound draws the attention of the three enemies in the room and they look over in confusion when Alec grabs a syringe and a packaged needle. Getting the needle out and screwed to the syringe is nearly impossible with his shaking extremities, but one look at Magnus has him renewing his efforts. Two of the men holding Magnus down have broken away to approach him. Once Alec successfully stabilizes the needle, he twirls the syringe around in his fingers, and he looks up at Magnus. The warlock’s head is craned around to look at him and his eyes are full of fear. Alec’s mind is made up before he sees Magnus’ expression, but the fear in the other’s eyes, not for himself but for Alec, steadies the shadowhunter’s hand.

He settles the body of the syringe in his palm and with a shout plunges the needle through his chest. The approaching men pause in complete confusion and it gives Alec the opportunity to raise his other hand and push the plunger down. Alec’s eyes flick down to watch the clear liquid disappear into his body. He collapses onto his back at the familiar feeling of adrenaline kick starting his muscles. It’s as awful and wrong as he remembers.

He feels four hands on him, hauling him to his feet, and he can see the familiar operating table out of the corner of his eye. They’re going to strap him back down. He can’t let them, Magnus is in danger.

His chemically induced strength kicks in and he sends one hand flying to the side, crunching one man’s nose up and into his skull hard enough to kill him instantaneously. The other man drops Alec’s arm to kick out at the prisoner’s knees, but Alec shifts just a couple inches to the side to avoid it. As the man’s leg passes by him, missing by mere millimeters, Alec’s hands come down to the thigh in front of him and twists the leg until he hears the femur pop from its joint with pelvis. The man falls towards Alec with a cry of pain and Alec places his elbow firmly into the man’s neck, striking a nerve cluster with familiar accuracy, sending the man down to the floor unconscious.

Alec’s eyes move to the third, and last, assailant in the room. The man looks torn, unwilling to let go of Magnus’ hands, knowing that will get him killed, but itching to turn and defend himself against Alec. Alec looks down at his chest and raises a shaking hand to the needle that’s still sticking out, and pulls. He feels every inch of the metal leaving his body as it drags on skin and slides past bone. Once out, he twirls it once again in his hand before, with a flick of his wrist, it speeds across the room and strikes home at the center of the man’s pupil. Magnus cringes at the audible crunch of the metal pressing and breaking through the delicate bone of skull as the needle sinks all the way through to the back. Magnus doesn’t waste a second and pushes back on the restraining hands. They fall away easily and Magnus knocks him to the ground.

Alec stumbles to his knees and Magnus is beside him in the next second. “Alec!” he hisses out in panic, dreading the worst. Alec’s breathy dark chuckle leaves his heart racing in relief. “We need to get above deck, Alec. The others are holding Valentine back.”

Alec doesn’t hear the words, just feels the vibration of them in Magnus’ chest, and he falls forward into Magnus’ arms, clutching to him. He presses his face into the side of Magnus’ neck and just breathes in the scent of the other. He can smell cat and spices and the sparkle of energy in the tan skin underneath him.

Magnus in turn wraps his arms around the firm but shaking body of his shadowhunter. The warlock is surprised by the hot tears that press against his closed eyelids when he finally feels the weight of Alec on him. He presses soft kisses to the side of Alec’s head and grips the back of Alec’s neck firmly, holding Alec up and against him.

After a few seconds of embracing, Magnus pulls back, hands on Alec’s shoulders to steady the other. “We have to get above deck, Alec. The others can’t hold everyone off indefinitely.”

Alec squints at Magnus, struggling to keep up. “Jace? Izzy?” he mumbles.

“They’re here. Let’s go get them.”

Magnus hauls Alec to his feet, and the adrenaline allows Alec to bear more of his own weight, though Magnus still struggles with how much the taller man is leaning on him. They stumble their way to a nearby staircase and hurry, as well as they can, up the the steps and out into the night above. The moment the door opens at the top of the stairs, the sound hits them like a wave. There’s shouting and scraping and the softer thumps of skin on skin impact. The dark of the night makes it hard for Alec’s already blurry vision, but Magnus pulls them forward towards the battle.

Valentine and Jace are at the bow of the ship, several meters apart, staring each other down. Clary is standing next to Jace, but neither men are paying her much attention. There’s a battle raging around them, but no one approaches their standoff. Everyone freezes for a second, as the wards come crashing back up around them. The sudden buzz of the energy making all present twitch in discomfort.

“I’ll give you the same offer as before, son. Come with me, stay with me, and I’ll let them go. Every one of them,” Valentine says. The battle around them stills at the words and all eyes turn towards the two of them. Jace’s eyes drop from his father’s and move over the man’s shoulder to stop on the stumbling sight of Magnus and Alec.

“Even my parabatai?” Jace asks.

Valentine pauses, “You are parabatai. Bonded. You shouldn’t be separated. Stay and you can be reunited.”

Alec’s stomach sinks, he will not be used against Jace. He pushes against Magnus’ body until he’s fully upright, forcing his legs to take his own weight. He steps forward shakily and slowly, yet his inherent grace is still present in each movement. “No,” is all Alec says as he passes by Valentine to stand between him and Jace. Magnus hurries after him, eyes concerned and arms out to catch Alec, should the other’s strength fail him.

Valentine’s eyes widen and he makes an aborted movement towards Alec. The young Lightwood is standing as if bearing a terrible weight, but the defiant shine in his eyes leaves no doubt of his strength. He’s covered in sweat and grime, and he sports only his black training pants. Alexander Lightwood has never looked so regal before.

“Alec,” Valentine intones. “Don’t do this. You won’t make it a day out there, you need me, you need your treatments.”

Alec replies calmly, “I don’t need you. All you’ve done is take from me. Again and again, yet you will never have my allegiance.” Something tugs at Alec’s heart despite his words as he can’t help thinking of how carefully Valentine would sometimes treat him. Feeding him and holding water bottles up for him. Talking to him and worrying about him.

Valentine’s expression is open and there’s fear and anger and the telltale gleam of insanity that Alec has seen flicker behind those eyes. “I’m trying to help you! With Jace here by your side, I can create the world in your images. For you two, I can form the perfect future. A future free of filth. My son and his parabatai. I will give you everything there is within my power to grant you!”

“I want my freedom. I want you to stop!” Alec cries.

Valentine’s face turns in fury, “You fool! ”

And this Valentine, angry and furious Valentine, is easier for Alec to deal with. To loath.

Jace steps forward to be beside Alec, his own skin glistening with sweat and his shoulders hunched in a shared pain. Gretel shadows his steps, but stays behind with Clary.

“You’ll never break us!” Jace says.

“Everyone can be broken, Jace,” Valentine assures him. “Just as all downworlders will be corrupted.”

“You’re wrong, and we can never let you hurt them. We are shadowhunters, and we’re meant to protect them!” Jace says, inadvertently echoing the very words his parabatai had said just days before.

Valentine sneers, “Is that why you’ve let yourself be dragged around by a filthy wolf?” His eyes turn to Magnus then and he bites out the other’s name, “And you , Magnus Bane. Here for the Lightwood boy, then? Going to bed him until he believes your lies? Use him to weaken our resolve, to weaken the shadowhunters?”

Magnus’ eyes slowly move from Alec to Valentine, and there’s a rage simmering underneath his skin, that’s been building for years. Decades. “You’re as sick and twisted as the first time we crossed paths, Valentine. If I remember correctly, you didn’t come out of that interaction on top. Or even in one piece. You say everyone can be broken and I know I felt half of your bones snap before your peers grabbed you and ran.” Magnus turns to fully face Valentine as he adds, “Do you truly fear our demon blood or just your inferiority?”

Valentine snarls and draws a small gleaming blade from his belt as he replies, “You’re the worst of them all, Bane! The rest, the other downworlders, they come to you . You teach them they’re not monsters, when all that is in their nature is darkness .”

“The others under my care are my children. My family! They have every right to live their lives unhunted.”

Valentine throws the dagger, once again, at Magnus. Alec reacts and moves to knock it out of the air, but he’s not fast enough. Magnus merely twitches a finger and the knife disappears entirely. He pushes his own pent up power towards Valentine, honing it to a point and aiming for his heart. A blast of countermagic strikes his attack, shattering it into pieces. Magnus gasps when he sees Dorothea well behind Valentine, hand in the air and breathing hard.

Valentine glances back at her and says, “Thank you, Dorothea.”

“Dorothea?” Magnus breathes out. “I thought you were dead.”

Dot shakes her head, “Did you? Or did you just tire of searching for me?” she asks, voice numb sounding.

“Dot?” Clary asks, moving forward to see her lost family member. “Magnus said he couldn’t feel your magic anymore. How could you do this? You’ve spent all these years fighting against Valentine and now you’re working with him?”

“Everyone can be broken,” Valentine repeats.

“Dot! We’re family! You were an older sister to me! You have to stop this!”

“Magnus can stop me,” she says, eyes brimming with tears and hope in her eyes.

Magnus presses his eyes closed and whispers, “Please, Dorothea. Don’t ask me.”

Valentine interrupts them, “Jace, Alec, both of you, come with me, or all of your friends here will be slaughtered.”

Magnus pushes magic forward again, but Dorothea blocks. “Please, Magnus!” she cries. “My magic won’t let me do it myself!”

Valentine cries back, “Stop babbling and kill him!”

Dorothea looks in shock at Valentine and Magnus laughs though it sounds more like a sob. “She’s not strong enough to kill me, Valentine.”

Magnus can feel his magic boiling underneath his skin and it makes his teeth grind together as he tries to keep it under control. The last thing he wants to do is lose it and blow them all away.

Alec is no longer hearing most of what is being yelled around him. The adrenaline is wearing off, and he’s fighting to stay conscious, nonetheless upright. He tries to blink the world back into focus, to push himself to concentrate harder. Magnus is talking now and Alec needs to understand what’s happening, needs to be able to protect him. His will fails him suddenly, and he falls to his knees with a soft cry. Jace moves to steady Alec, but is barely stable himself. He manages to stop Alec from falling all the way down, but ends up on his knees as well.

The moment Alec’s knees hit the ground, Valentine shouts for an attack. Gretel moves and blows through her transformation and stands in front of Jace and Alec in her wolf form. The sudden sound of clashing metal and dripping blood shocks Magnus. His eyes move from Alec, back up to Valentine, who is smirking his victory at the warlock.

Magnus’ magic itches to reach forward and attack. To eliminate the threat on his family. He hears a shout tear out of his throat, “No!!” and his power blasts out and around himself. Everybody, except those of whom Magnus subconsciously protects, is blasted back by a wall of energy. It lacks his usual finesse and it drains him badly. His eyes lock on Dorothea’s and he uses magic to grab her and drag her over to him in seconds. “Get them out of here!” Magnus orders her.

She scrambles towards the edge of the boat, working to create a hole in the wards. “Fall back to Dot!” Magnus orders his friends, the only beings in sight that are left standing, scattered amongst the small collapsed army. Even as he shouts the order, the fallen begin to regain their footing. Jace drags Alec to his feet, the man’s eyes barely open, and starts carrying Alec’s body to Dot. Magnus takes in a deep breath and closes his eyes to center himself and his magic.

The first attack is over by Isabelle, a seraph blade arcing down towards her exposed shoulder. Magnus throws a red ball through her attacker’s chest, leaving a smoking hole through the body. Gretel snarls and rips the throat out of the woman who dares approach Jace and Alec as they all fall back. Magnus watches Raphael dodge and weave between shadowhunters, pushing Simon in front of him. Magnus crafts a sharp straight edged wave that careens past Raphael and slices through the three bodies of their pursuers. Dot cries out as she punches through the warding and Clary is the first to jump through and into the water below.

Magnus can feel his body weakening as his blood races to anchor more magic in him, but unable to keep up. He pulls at the scraps available and pushes his friends in towards Dot, blowing them through the wards and into the water. Magnus hurries towards Dot, his eyes still on Valentine. The man is shouting at him and gesturing wildly at his army. Magnus’ powers lash out in a final desperate act and slowing down time all around him. Just enough for him to tackle Dot over the side of the ship. Magnus loses consciousness before he hits the dark waters.

Chapter Text

“You will either tell me where my children are or I will make sure that you never set foot outside of Idris again!” Maryse threatens. Her voice is shaking with anger and what sounds a lot like regret and desperation.

“I’d like to see you manage that, Maryse,” Lydia bites back. She’s standing tall with both her hands planted on the solid wood desk in front of her. “I am the acting head of this Institute, not you. Not anymore. Of the two of us, I am in the better standing with the Clave. So go, and file your complaint. I’ll see you next time I visit the dimension.”

“Your hold here is not as strong as you want it to be. You allowed those downworlders to escape from the infirmary. You allowed that young vampire to stay in our infirmary and then he disappeared too. Then, you bring an injured Raj to the Clave. You don’t get to decide what to do with traitors, Branwell. What you did was way out of bounds! So reconsider your position before you go toe to toe with me.”

Lydia sucks in her breath in an attempt to stop the curses sitting on her tongue from escaping. She pushes her hands harder into the top of her desk to help lessen the tremor her rage has given her. “I can’t tell you where Isabelle and Jace went. They didn’t tell me.”

Maryse takes another step forward, nearly pressing her body into the front of the desk as she attempts to get as close as she can to the younger woman, “This is my family! You cannot expect me to let you use them and manipulate them for your own end! They will not help you with your downworlder affairs, I will not allow them to!”

“ Alec is your family! And you know just as well as I do, that they went after Alec,” Lydia spits out from behind clenched teeth. Lydia lets her head fall forward and hang as she desperately tries to reign her temper in. She doesn’t see Maryse’s expression twist or the glint of a glowing blade in her hand. Lydia cries out in pain and surprise as a slender seraph dagger plunges through her left hand and sticks into the wood underneath.

“Do not threaten my family, Lydia Branwell. Tell me where they went!” Maryse screams, her hand twisting the dagger in place. Lydia cries out again as she feels several of the fragile bones in her hand crack as the metal pushes them apart.

Maryse wrenches her weapon out of the wood and sets her shoulder to plunge it back down towards the other hand. There’s a familiar snap from behind Maryse and she’s shocked, but not surprised, to find Izzy’s whip curled around the descending wrist. Izzy pulls back harshly and Maryse falls to the floor as her body is swung around and away from Lydia.

Isabelle Lightwood glares down at her mother with a fire that the mother has not seen before. “Don’t you dare talk about family, mother,” Izzy hisses. “Not after everything you’ve done. Especially to Alec.” She flicks her wrist and her whip slithers back towards her. She spins it in her hands as it thickens and forms into a staff. She slams one end into the ground and she says with clear malice, “Touch Lydia again and you’ll have to learn to walk with shattered knee caps.”

Maryse hurriedly clambers to her feet, a bloody seraph dagger still clutched in one hand. She says, “I was following orders, Isabelle. I will not explain myself again! Alec is a safety risk!”

“No! You’re living an excuse,” retorts Izzy.

The woman’s eyes flick over the small yet imposing figure of her daughter and then slide past her to catch on Simon, who is standing firmly but nervously to the side of Izzy. Maryse scowls at the young vampire and she says to Izzy, “You never acted against your own blood before these downworlders came. Before she was put in charge.” Maryse gestures at Simon and then back towards Lydia. “This vampire, Jocelyn’s wolf, that warlock, they’re tearing this family apart. Us Lightwoods have made our own name. Our own way. We’ve gained respect and stature because of our unity and our strength. These monsters, they would undo all of that work. They’ve infiltrated this Institute, taken your brother, and now they’re pulling you away from where you belong. Why would they run if they were not guilty?”

“They ran to escape false imprisonment!” Isabelle shouts, her angered disbelief trying to find an outlet in her voice. Isabelle points at Simon next to her and says with more control, “ This vampire is named Simon. And he’s more family than you’ve ever been. That warlock is the man that just saved your son’s life! That saved my own. Saved Jace. He saved your oldest son, the one that you’ve fed to the Clave’s machinations all these years. Alec raised me better than you ever could’ve, and he’s only ever received spite and pain for his actions. So don’t say you’re doing this for us. You’re doing this for you . For your stupid name ! The one you forfeited and blackened the moment you first supported the mad man that has been torturing my brother!”

“Alec is back?” Maryse says with hope, her eyes brightening in a gentle emotion that looks foreign on her features. Lydia’s eyes snap up to Izzy’s with a similar hope in her blue eyes.

“Any casualties?” Lydia asks, a catch in the words showing her worry.

Izzy smiles softly and shakes her head. “No.” She turns back to her mother and adds, “Thanks to Magnus. And Simon. And Raphael and Gretel. Downworlders saved your son. Not shadowhunters!”

“The downworlders and you worked against my express orders. You were grounded to the Institute. No active missions. Now, where is your brother?”

Izzy narrows her eyes and asks, “Why?”

Maryse sighs out in irritation, “Stop questioning me. Tell me where Alec and the others are so we can bring them to the Institute. Your brother needs to report to the Clave.”

“Alec didn’t tell Valentine anything!” Izzy argues.

“There is a way of doing these things, Izzy. Alec will answer to the Clave. He is a safety risk.”

“The Clave would rather kill or torture Alec than give him a chance to explain.”

“This is not a question that is up for debate, Isabelle!” Maryse snaps. “This isn’t about you and me or Alec. This is about our whole operation here. This is about the Institute and all the shadowhunters. Alec threatens us all. The Clave was made to protect us in times like these.” Maryse puts the hand not holding her blade to her forehead as if in pain. “The vampire will be questioned as well. Get the warlock here and the Clave may let us out of this with our dignity intact.”

“By the Angel, mother! Who cares about dignity? Your pride is more important than the safety of your son? No. You won’t get anywhere near him.” Izzy shoves Simon to the door and tells him to run. To get back to the others. Maryse has her hand up to throw the knife at him, but Lydia knocks the weapon aside and out of Maryse’s reach. Lydia hurriedly gestures Simon away and Izzy pushes the fledgling the rest of the way out of the office. Raphael has told Simon about the way the shadowhunters interrogate downworlders. Vampires especially. He stumbles through the doorway and then sprints for the exit.

Raphael paces between the bedroom and the living room. Jace is passed out on the large couch with Gretel sleeping on the floor next to him and Clary perched on the arm rest by his feet. Dorothea is in the kitchen preparing a poultice. Magnus and Alec are both laid out in the bed in Magnus’ bedroom.

Raphael rolls his shoulders and tries to release the tension in his muscles. It’s no use though. He stops and leans on the island between the living room and the kitchen. Dot looks up from her bowl and he smiles wanly at her. “It’s been a while, Dorothea,” Raphael says softly. She was rescued by Magnus as well. A couple hundred years before Raphael was born, but Raphael knows the look Magnus sends her way when they’re together. It’s the same one Raphael receives.

Dot tries to smile back but it fades rapidly and her eyes fall back down to the bowl she’s mixing a myriad of ingredients into. Raphael looks at the black spiderwebby veins that spread out from the sides of her face. “He didn’t know you were alive, Dorothea. He grieved for you,” Raphael says softly.

She looks up at him and the smile she sends his way lasts a little longer this time. “I was mad. For a while. Furious.”

“What happened?”

She shrugs and adds another pinch of herbs, “You know Magnus. It’s impossible to stay mad at him. The longer I thought about...about my situation, the more sure I became. Magnus wouldn’t abandon me just as he wouldn’t abandon you. Or, I suspect,” she says with a raised brow as her eyes move to the living room, “A few choice shadowhunters.”

Raphael raises an eyebrow to match hers and he deadpans, “Some shadowhunters more than others.” Dot giggles and something shifts loose in Raphael’s chest at the noise. It fills him with a fragile hope. “He said he couldn’t feel your magic anymore,” he says, his expression returning to his normal affableness. He glances down at his hands before he says, “He lost quite a few that day. He won’t draw attention to himself but I know he blames himself for Valentine finding the warlocks’ hideout.”

Dot meets Raphael’s eyes and she says with a small smirk, “Well, that’s what we’re here for, right? To help him when he falls down, like he did for us.”

“I think we’ve all fallen to some degree in these past weeks.”

She shrugs and looks back down at the bowl. “Perhaps.” Raphael looks at her hands and sees their shaking slightly. He doesn’t know how to approach the topic, not familiar enough with the warlock in front of him.

“You should rest, Dorothea,” he says after some time.

A shiver goes through her body and she shakes her head. “No, no. I wouldn’t gain peace from that.” She finally places her tools down on the counter and takes the bowl in her hands. Raphael watches her move to Gretel’s side and spread the ointment across a heavy gash over the girl’s ribs. Gretel’s healing abilities not being as fast as the shadowhunters or his own.

Raphael watches for a second longer before moving to the bedroom to check on the two there. He sees golden cat eyes the moment he steps through into the bedroom. He freezes for a moment on instinct and stares into those familiar orbs. He continues on to the side of the bed nearest to the warlock and sits down in the chair he’d brought in earlier. He doesn’t speak, just lets his gaze wander over Magnus’ slight frame.

Magnus’ eyes are on Alec next to him and he lifts himself up onto one arm to lean over and get a better look. “What happened?” Magnus finally asks, his voice hoarse but no less melodious than normal.

“You fell through and the wards snapped back up. I dragged you to shore while Simon helped your shadowhunter boy. Honestly, I’m not sure how Gretel and Jace didn’t just end up drowning each other, but they got to the shore as well. The others beat us there and helped to get you all back here. Other than that...not much.”

“Dorothea?” Magnus asks, his eyes finally coming back to Raphael’s.

The vampire smiles and replies, “In the other room. Helping. I think she won’t rest until she sees that you’re okay.”

Magnus rolls his eyes but his mouth curls slightly in affection, “The woman is so dramatic. People say I’m the queen.”

Raphael watches as Magnus tries to push himself up into a sitting position and moves forward to help the warlock. By the time they’ve managed to get Magnus sitting and leaning back against the headboard, Magnus is breathing heavily. “And what about you?” Raphael asks.

Magnus shrugs his shoulders, “I’ll live. Just need time to… recharge.” His hand comes down to brush some greasy hair out of Alec’s face, and he murmurs, “Alexander.” Raphael looks away from Magnus’ expression of pained relief as the warlock continues to brush his fingertips down the shadowhunter’s cheek.

Raphael catches the movement out of the corner of his eye and quickly turns back to chastise the warlock, even as Magnus’ fingers form the snap. The sound cracks through the air before Raphael can reach Magnus and the vampire watches in exasperation as Alec’s hair begins to shine with new health, his curls slowly coming back. His skin clears of sweat and blood and grime and it shines a healthy tan once again. Magnus’ arm falls heavily to the blankets and he gasps out several hungry breathes.

“Really?” Raphael deadpans with an unamused look aimed at Magnus. The warlock shrugs again and closes his eyes, leaning heavily back against the headboard behind him.

“Where’s Shakira?” Magnus mumbles, one eye blearily opening halfway to peer at Raphael.

“You’re wearing that joke thin, you know,” Raphael says with an eye roll.

“I’ve saved his life a couple times by now, I believe. I’m entitled. So where is he? Why aren’t you two out professing your undying,” Magnus pauses to chuckle at his own pun, “love for each other?”

“Dios, Magnus!” Raphael scolds. “No me merezco esto…He’s with Isabelle.”

“That doesn’t answer my second question.”

Raphael sighs and places his head in his hands in exasperation. “We still have a lot to talk about, me and him.”

“Exactly.”

“No, it’s...I...I can’t give him all of what others could, Magnus. I can’t ask him to give that up…”

Magnus scoffs and both his eyes pin Raphael to his chair, “Yes, you can. And you will . Do you really think he’ll care? He loves you, for whatever reason. You’re more than worth whatever imagined sacrifice you’re worried about. Your sexuality is not a burden, Raphael. If he truly loves you he won’t see it as one either.”

Raphael smiles slightly at the words but the weight in his stomach drops even further. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, two things happen at the same time that stop Raphael from replying. The front door swings open and Simon rushes through as Alec’s eyes flutter open.

“Alexander!” Magnus whisper shouts.

“Simon!” Raphael actually shouts.

Simon’s eyes instantly zero in on Raphael and he quickly walks over to his side. Magnus hovers over Alec’s upper body and watches the shadowhunter blink dazedly up at the ceiling. Magnus notices a small furry ball nestled into Alec’s other side that he couldn’t see before and he scowls. “Traitor!” he hisses at the puffball. Chairman Meow raises his head and peers over at his owner with an unimpressed air. “I’m the one who feeds you, you monster!” Magnus continues whisper shouting at his cat.

“I’m the one who gives him attention though,” Alec’s rough voice says with amusement. Magnus’ eyes flash over to meet hazel and he grins at Alec. Relief sweeps through Magnus’ body once again and the crippling force of it leaves him lightheaded.

“I can’t really blame him for picking you. I mean, I would too,” Magnus teases. Alec’s face has shifted into one of pain, but he grins nonetheless at the warlock above him.

“Is this real?” Alec asks. Not trusting himself to be able to tell the difference between reality and Valentine’s cruelty. The shadowhunter knows that if it is a lie, asking wouldn’t help him see the truth, but he finds comfort in the words. Alec looks into Magnus’ cat eyes and thinks that he should perhaps be bothered or off put by them, but all he feels is calm. And safe. The gold matches Magnus too well to find them anything but beautiful. Just like the rest of the warlock.

“This is real, Alexander.”

Alec closes his eyes and focuses on the feeling of soft sheets underneath him, trying to push everything else out of his thoughts. “It hurts,” Alec whispers. He wants to beg Magnus to make it stop, just wants an escape from this incessant burning that feels like it’s eating him alive. He just wants it to finally stop. To feel the way he did before Valentine took him and shattered his body into what feels like a million flaming shards.

Magnus looks down at Alec and the tears in his eyes finally spill over. “I’m so sorry, darling,” he whispers back. Alec slowly opens his eyes again and Magnus is there instantly, trying to give his shadowhunter whatever support he can.

“Jace?” Alec croaks. “Izzy?”

Magnus smiles and says, “Are fine. Jace is in the other room. Izzy is with Simon…” Magnus trails off as he looks uncertainly at the fledgling next to the bed, as if just realizing he’s there.

Simon looks grim as he looks back at the warlock, “She’s still at the Institute. They told me to run.”

“Who is they?” Magnus asks, his eyes searching the room for others, but finding none.

“Izzy and Lydia. Maryse wasn’t too happy to find a downworlder back in the Institute.”

“But we found her son, surely that’s reason enough for you to be there?”

Simon shakes his head and his eyes move over to Alec. “She says he has to go to the Clave.”

Raphael swears softly in Spanish and Magnus’ hands come up to hover over Alec’s body. “What?” Magnus hisses. “She knows what they do to both shadowhunters and downworlders alike.”

Alec struggles to move to a sitting position, but quickly slumps back, giving up on the prospect. He turns his head to look towards the three as he says, “I’m innocent.” His eyes are only half open and his face is tight with pain, but he still manages to look so uncertain of himself that Magnus stumbles over his next words in his haste to soothe.

“Of course you are, darling. We know that.”

Alec places a shaking hand on his forehead and he says thickly, “I don’t understand. Why would she...?” A few tears escape from Alec’s eyes and wander down across his temple and into his hair. Alec knows if he was in a better mindset that he’d be embarrassed, but right now everything seems far away and yet so intense that he’s completely overwhelmed. He’s too tired to be strong anymore.

Magnus can feel his heart breaking as Alec slowly breaks down in front of him. He can practically feel the pain pouring off of the boy. He wipes away the tears and murmurs soothing words in different languages, and it reminds him of the time he had done this before. When Alec was in a panic about his sister. Magnus doesn’t know if he should view the fact that family is the only thing that can destroy Alec like this, as a gift or a curse.

A phone rings shrilly through the thick air and a sob is startled out of Alec’s throat. It’s raw and painful to hear. Simon hurriedly grabs Magnus’ phone from the bedside and answers the incoming call. He isn’t able to speak before Isabelle’s voice is yelling through the speakers. “They’re coming for Alec. For you. For everyone! They tracked th--” She’s cut off and there’s an audible scuffle for the phone and then the call ends.

Raphael is out of the chair and striding towards the door before the call is finished. He calls for Dot who appears in the doorway, wringing her hands in anxiety. “Can you make a portal to the DuMort?” he asks her. She nods and they continue out of the bedroom and towards the larger living area where the others are.

Magnus shakes his head in anger but helps Alec into a sitting position. “Can you make it?” Magnus asks.

Alec looks over at the warlock and there’s a plain exhaustion written into every line and shadow of the young man’s face. “Do I have a choice?” he retorts. He pushes his overtaxed and aching muscles, forcing himself to the edge of the bed and swings his legs around so his feet land on the wooden floorboards. He sighs and tries to breath through the pain, but it merely ebbs and flows with his inhalations.

Magnus’ own body is throbbing but he hurries over to Alec, followed closely by Simon. The two of them help Alec to his feet and they all hobble after Raphael and Dot. It takes a few minutes for everyone to organize themselves and for Dot to create the portal. Magnus can feel his wards blaring a silent alarm that seems deafening to his ears, but goes unnoticed by the others. Maryse is here. Magnus ushers his friends through before following and shutting the portal behind them.

Once they’ve all set foot inside the hotel Jace says, “This is no use. They’ll just track us here. We can’t hide from them.” His question is directed at the group at large, but his glance shifts between Alec and Gretel.

Alec places a hand on Jace’s shoulder, partly to convince himself that his parabatai is well and alive, and partly to help keep himself standing. “We could go to water. Can’t track if we’re not on land.”

Magnus shakes his head, “We don’t know where Valentine moved his boat. We can’t risk being that close to him.”

“What about our wards?” Raphael asks, gesturing around at the building and walking back to the group from where he had been meeting with his seconds in command. “They’re yours, right? Won’t they hold?”

Magnus shakes his head again as he replies, “They’ll confuse them if they’re tracking us, just like Camille, but you can’t fully hide a location. They’ll find us eventually, and with all the power they have behind them, including my own magic, that’ll be sooner rather than later.”

Clary pipes up, “What about a rune?”

Jace looks at her in confusion, “What?” As he says it he’s reaching out a hand to steady a swaying Gretel. He continues, “There isn’t a rune for that, Clary. Remember the grey book?”

Clary shakes her head, “No. I can see it. The rune. She walks towards the large double doors that serve as the entrance to the hotel and she pulls out her stele. She begins to draw an elegant and complicated rune into the air. The figure shimmering as it forms. They all watch it sink into the door and disappear into smoke. Clary turns around, “See?”

Magnus closes his eyes and feels around for their trace on the hotel, anything that could be used to track them, but finds nothing. “How did you do that?” he asks.

Clary shrugs, “It’s just a rune. I must have seen it somewhere before.”

Jace is looking at her with awe and discomfort, “No. If I’ve never seen it before, then you haven’t either. I taught you your runes. How did you do that? This rune...doesn’t exist!” Jace pulls Gretel into his side to stop her from falling over and looks at Magnus, “Is it working?”

Magnus nods his head in bewilderment, his eyes large and on Clary. “It is. I’ll be damned, but it is. You’re full of surprises, biscuit. At least this one was moderately helpful instead of endangering us all.”

Clary’s grin drops and she scowls back at Magnus, “I helped with the daenea too!”

Gretel snarls and Jace easily lets her go as she takes a quick offensive step towards the redhead. He holds out his hand, gently touching Gretel’s back, to catch her if she loses her strength again, but doesn’t move to hold her back. He doubts he could if he tried.

Alec once again falls to his knees in his exhaustion and both Jace and Magnus follow him down. They slow the fall and prevent Alec from hitting the floor too hard and potentially hurting himself further. Jace struggles to keep himself up and Simon quickly takes his place. Jace falls back and collapses fully on the floor, his body hot and his muscles weaker than they’ve ever been before. Raphael eyes them all with an expression of mild distaste and he says, “Come. We can move to the parlour, there are plenty enough couches in there for us all.”

Simon gently but firmly pushes Magnus away from Alec and picks the tall shadowhunter up with ease. Magnus and Gretel then help Jace up to his feet and they all trail after Raphael. Magnus watches Simon place Alec on his side on the nearest couch. The warlock feels a gasp rock through him when his gaze locks onto the deep red swollen rune that’s adorning Alec’s lower back. He doesn’t recognize the shape, but he knows it to be Alec’s pain rune. It could be no other. Jace sees it as well and he murmurs, “By the Angel. Is that…?”

Magnus nods, “His pain rune. From Maryse.” The name is harsh and it feels wrong on his tongue and in the air. It echoes in the small room and a thrill of anger rushes through them each in turn.

“It looks...infected. It’s red like mine,” Jace says. His hand comes to hover over his abdomen where his parabatai rune rests under his shirt.

Alec blinks bleary eyes, trying to stay awake. The journey to the hotel has worn his body out again, and he can barely hear what people are saying. He can’t process their words, only their voices. He can identify Jace and Magnus. If they’re okay, then he’s okay. Right? Alec’s muscles finally go slack as he’s pulled under once again.

Magnus can see Alec’s body give in to sleep and he lets out a short sigh of relief. Watching Alec be in pain hurts his heart. And perhaps that’s a selfish thought, but Magnus thinks they both deserve a bit of selfishness. “Valentine must have triggered it. No wonder we didn’t find any bruises or breaks. The man just used what was already there,” Magnus says.

Jace sits on the edge of the couch next to Alec’s head and runs his fingers through his brother’s errant curls. “How long has he had that?” he asks, his throat closing in disgust as he gestures at the rune.

Magnus shakes his head, “I don’t know. He just said that it’s old. He also said that it was faded from disuse. But now…”

“It looks like it was just burnt into him for the first time,” Jace whispers. “Raziel, Alec .” Jace’s voice is pleading, but he doesn’t know what he’s asking for. He just wants his parabatai, his brother, to be safe. To be happy, dare he dream it.

Gretel kneels next to Jace and places a comforting hand on his knee, but says nothing. Magnus sits next to her on the floor, his back to the couch, his head tilted back to touch Alec’s shoulder. Magnus doesn’t know what to do, he can barely even feel the magic inside of him. He just wants to help Alec.

“Did Valentine do more to him?” Gretel asks. Jace’s face turns to Magnus and he watches the warlock intently for a response.

Magnus swallows roughly and answers, “Blood. He was hooked up to a blood bag.”

Jace stiffens, “Experiments?”

Magnus nods but it turns into a shake of his head, “Alec said it was warlock blood.”

Dorothea gasps and the sound travels across the room with ease. Jace looks over at her before returning his gaze to Magnus, “And you don’t?”

Magnus shakes his head, “It can’t be. Warlock blood…” Magnus glances at Dot in helplessness.

Dot speaks, though her voice is small and weak, “Warlocks are incredibly strong because we can use magic. But we don’t just use magic. Magic is what keeps us alive. Beyond just immortality.”

Magnus picks it back up, “Warlock blood is potent as it’s crafted to hold magic, but it’s the presence of that energy, that magic, that stops our blood from killing us. Otherwise it’s lethal. Every few centuries an amateur warlock will manage to cut himself off from his own magic. The results...aren’t pretty. They’re boiled away from the inside out.” Magnus looks up to meet Jace’s eyes. “Long story short, you can’t have one without the other. To have our blood you must have magic. To use magic you must have the right blood. Demons are demons because they can’t withstand their own blood, just as a shadowhunter can’t have full angel blood. A warlock can’t withstand their own blood without magic. Alec doesn’t have magic. So if he was pumped full of warlock blood…”

“His veins would be burnt away,” Jace finishes in horror. Gretel squeezes the blonde’s knee and his hand comes up, unconsciously, to rest at the back of her neck, his fingers twisting into her hair. His mind is reeling and grasping for solutions. For anything that can help his parabatai. A sickening thought occurs to him. “The blood would burn...” Jace doesn’t look up for an answer he just states, “It would burn a lot like a fever. Or like my bond rune.” He finally raises his eyes back to Magnus’ and there’s a matching darkness in both of their eyes. “The heat would bleed through the bond, through the rune, and into me….. Is it possible Alec survived the blood?”

“I don’t see how. He’s just a shadowhunter. The demon blood present in warlock blood alone should have killed him. The only difference between downworlders and shadowhunters is the kind of blood in our veins. Demon blood burns the Nephilim. And angel blood burns downworlders. That’s the one rule it always comes down to. Blood .”

Gretel snarls quietly and she hisses, “That’s why the Clave believes themselves better than us. Their blood. As if we have the right to choose.”

Jace shakes his head in his confusion and he asks, “But regular humans after drinking from the Mortal Cup, they receive angel blood. How do they survive?”

Magnus shrugs and says, “That’s a mystery that the Silent Brothers have not shared. Their sewn shut mouths are for more than symbolism. Shadowhunters are a paranoid group.”

Jace shudders and looks at Alec’s still body. “So what? You think Valentine lied? ”

Magnus sighs and he’s never looked so helpless than he does in that moment. He’s always been the strongest amongst them. The oldest and the wisest, but now he’s sat on a floor with no idea how to help the shadowhunter that stole his heart. He looks like a mundane, young with messy hair and smeared eyeliner. “Is there another option, Wayland?” Magnus finally asks, his voice devoid of emotion of any kind.

Simon doesn’t know if he should be flattered or annoyed. Since setting foot in the DuMort he’s not been alone in a room or hallway. At least a few clan members always a few steps behind him, always keeping him in sight. On the one hand he loves that he’s back with them and that they clearly care, but on the other he just wants to lay down and cry. Without an audience. The last week has been rough and he can feel it all starting to fully hit him. To fully saturate.

He startles when Raphael appears behind him and softly clears his throat. When Simon turns he can see the hint of a smirk on the other’s lips, but Raphael is holding out a large cup of blood, and any irritation Simon feels disappears. He takes the cup from Raphael’s hands and holds it tightly between his own two. He looks down at it and feels ridiculous that there are tears pushing at the back of his eyes. Looking at the cup, the small sign of Raphael’s care, makes him want to sob and throw the cup into the wall. To just finally implode.

Raphael leans forward and Simon blinks as a bright pink bendy straw is placed gently in the blood. Simon’s grin is shaky but the delighted giggle that escapes his chest makes his eyes sting a little less. He looks up at Raphael and his still heart lurches at the gentleness in the other’s expression.

“Dios, Simon. Would you ever remember to feed if I wasn’t here to make sure you did?” Raphael mutters.

Simon closes his lips around the bright straw and begins sucking at the sweet blood as he thinks of a response. It’s O negative, his favourite. That detail pushes him over the edge and he feels a small sob push past his teeth and the tears finally spill over. He places a hand on Raphael’s unmoving chest, the other still grasping the cup, and he just closes his eyes. Allowing himself to feel . Raphael pulls him closer and brings the cup back up and pushes the straw gently between Simon’s lips.

The fledgling snorts inelegantly but continues drinking. He leans into Raphael’s strength and focuses on swallowing. Focuses on the taste and the strength he can feel slowly returning to his body. He inhales shakily when he finishes the drink and lets Raphael take the glass from his numb fingers. The tears still spilling from his eyes.

“It’s okay to finally let yourself break down, conejito. No one will think less of you. We have had decades, some of us centuries, to find the value in letting go,” Raphael whispers into Simon’s ear. Simon nods slowly, his face pushed into the side of Raphael’s neck. The extra inch he has on the older vampire disappearing in his slouch.

“Can you believe it’s only been a week?” Simon asks under his breath, knowing the other will hear him.

“It’s been the longest week of my life.”

Simon huffs out in what would normally be amusement, but is something much heavier now, “Ever? What about when you were turned? Or surely you’ve been in worse situations, a big bad vampy like yourself. Although, you’re still pretty young aren’t you? I mean, really, you’re not even as old as my rabbi.”

“Have I had more painful weeks? Sure. Sadder weeks? Definitely. But not knowing where you were or if you would make it? I’ve never felt the passage of time suffocate me the way the hours you were missing did. As much as I’m loath to say it, I’ve gotten used to your constant nattering. The whole DuMort has. I don’t what I would do without that now.” Raphael speaks with a detachment that speaks of practice but with barely concealed emotion that shows his affectedness. Simon can easily hear both in the words. The fledgling doesn’t know when exactly he became so familiar with the cadences of Raphael’s voice.

Simon wraps his arms around Raphael tighter and inhales the cold scent of his skin. Raphael smells like ice and mint and leather. Then of course there is the undercurrent of blood. Simon suddenly wonders what Raphael’s blood tastes like.

Simon pulls back and looks at Raphael, his gaze taking in the beauty that is the vampire before him. His thumb comes up to brush against the scar on the leader’s cheek and he hums as he thinks. “Can vampires scar?” Simon asks out of the blue. He doesn’t remember giving his mouth permission to form those words, but he hums and waits for the response nonetheless.

“Sure. But not like humans.” Raphael thumbs at his own scar and says, “This one is from the night I was turned. Got it right before I was killed and buried.”

Simon stops humming and he lays his head back down on Raphael’s shoulder and lets hot bloody tears run down his cheeks. A few moments later Simon belatedly pulls back and says, “Oh G--, shit, I’m ruining another one of your jackets.”

Raphael chuckles but gently pushes Simon’s head back down, and leaves a heavy hand on the fledgling’s back. “I’m willing to sacrifice one more for you, mi corazon.”

Simon laughs and it may turn into a sob at the end, but his chest feels lighter for it. Simon places a soft kiss on the skin of Raphael’s neck and sighs as he allows all his weight to be supported by Raphael’s strong body. He stays like that for a long time. Mind not in the past or the present, and not fully in the future, but stuck in a blurry reflection of the last few days and the resulting wonderment of what is to come. Mostly, Simon is removed from thoughts and worries, he’s not feeling the time tick by. He’s just feeling. And allowing Raphael to hold him.

Simon finally stirs and draws back again. He brushes the blood from his face and looks at Raphael, “What are we gonna do? I mean, the Clave will come after us. It’s just a matter of time.”

Raphael growls and they can both feel it rumble through their chests. “The Clave has always been after us. The clan and vampires. Downworlders.”

Simon shrugs a bit helplessly and replies, “Yeah, but this is different. We’re harbouring shadowhunters. There’s even a werewolf inside the hotel.”

Raphael scowls and bites out, “Don’t remind me. Never thought I’d live to see the day.” His voice is hard but Simon can’t hear any real anger. Gretel is more than a werewolf now. Just as she saw Simon as more than a vampire.

“Don’t worry, Rafa. You’re dead.”

Raphael groans at the terrible joke and his head falls back slightly as if in pain, but he responds, “How do I put up with you?” The small smile he gives Simon after the words take away any bite behind them.

A more somber silence falls between them as they both think of the group of friends sat in the parlour a floor beneath them. Simon asks again, voice soft, “What are we gonna do?”

Raphael stays silent for a long moment before he finally replies, “We’ll fight. This isn’t about Alec or Magnus or Jace. It never really was. This is about the Clave and the Downworld. As it always has been. Valentine has only shown just how little has changed.”

“But the clan can’t stand up to the entire Clave.”

“It’s not just the clan involved now, Si.”

“What do you mean?”

Raphael smiles at Simon, and it’s not the soft grin that Simon is used to, instead it’s sharp and full of promise. “I mean, conejito, that Luke’s been talking to Lily and I. His pack is on the perimeter between here and the Institute. They’ve got eyes on Magnus’ home, the Jade Wolf, the Institute, and the DuMort. My own vampires are working liaison with them as well as our other older contacts and alliances in the Downworld. Magnus is high warlock and commands a lot of loyalty among the warlock community and his vast list of clients.” He pauses and places a hand on Simon’s cheek before he continues, “What I mean , is that the Clave has worked to keep us apart for centuries, but the Downworld is ready to finally hold its own. It all started with you , Simon. Winning the hearts of the fleabags and the shadowhunters alongside your own kind. With Alec choosing Magnus over precedent in front of the respected families of Idris. Unfortunately, with that god awful redhead and her inability to follow the rules or think of anyone besides herself.”

Simon feels a few more bloody tears fall from his eyes at the small speech and he asks, “Are you sure? I mean, this goes against everything...it’s not just against precedent...I mean, what I’m trying to say is that...really?” Simon mentally curses his inability to put the spinning thoughts and words in his head into a sensical sentence.

Raphael just rolls his eyes with a soft ‘Dios’, and says, “It’s not about certainty, conejito. It’s about consequences , and I know things are changing, just as I know my heart will never beat again.”

Simon tilts his head to the side and says with a cheeky grin, “That was oddly romantic, Santiago.”

Raphael scowls at Simon and bites back, “And you’re oddly insufferable, fledgling.”

Simon winks and retorts, “You must be a glutton for suffering then, because you wouldn’t change a thing.”

Raphael lets his face fall towards the floor for a second in exasperation but when he looks back at Simon he says, “Ayudame, Dios. Es verdad. Don’t let it go to your head.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 9

Raphael rubs at tired eyes and he feels Simon’s head lower to rest on his shoulder. He subconsciously shifts so that Simon’s precarious position becomes more stable, and sighs as he lets his hands fall down onto the table in front of them. They’ve been up all day, busy with meetings and planning. Raphael had sent the others away to get some sleep in the parlour, but Simon refused to go with them. The stubborn fledgling stayed by Raphael’s side the entire day.

The sun is just starting to set outside and this is the first moment they’ve had in private since Simon’s small break down in the morning. There are several members of Luke’s pack moving in and out of the hotel, reporting to and sharing resources with the clan in an effort to stay on top of the situation. Melliorn’s been and gone a couple of times as well. Raphael can’t remember any of the seelies’ names that have escorted the other to and from, but Simon always knows exactly who everyone is. Simon is also familiar with most of the pack members, and his close relationship with Luke has been on display for all to see. It warms Raphael’s unbeating heart to see the fatherly role that Luke so effortlessly maintains for Simon.

“Have we won yet?” Simon asks groggily.

Raphael huffs in disbelief and doesn’t reply, he instead pulls out his phone to check through the most recent messages. It’s hard to read the blurry words however and he drops the expensive piece of tech haphazardly on the tabletop after a few moments of incomprehension.

Simon’s head lifts and Raphael turns to look at the younger man. They maintain a lazy eye contact for a couple of minutes, both too tired to start a real conversation. Simon eventually sighs and slurs out, “I feel like we’re running through quicksand, right now. We’re always moving, always talking, but nothing is actually happening.”

Raphael holds up a finger and replies, “We have accomplished many things. Just none of them are concrete. Melliorn says they’ll fight with us if it comes down to it. The clan and pack interactions are healthier and stronger than ever. Dorothea’s even contacted several high ranking warlocks and gotten votes of support from them. The fact that we’re all even talking is amazing in of itself.”

“Talking isn’t good for anything.”

Raphael snorts and says, “How someone as smart as you could miss the blatant irony in that statement is beyond even me.”

“Why, Rafa, are you admitting you don’t know something?”

“Never. You must have misheard me.”

Simon hums in amusement and adds, “Well, even you have to admit that my sunny disposition and general sociableness has paid off today. If I weren’t here you would have advertently and inadvertently insulted every individual who walked through those study doors.”

“I will never admit such a thing, fledgling,” Raphael jibes back.

“And you’re amazed that you haven’t all worked together before…” Simon teases.

Raphael rolls his eyes and mumbles in Spanish quietly. He gazes back into Simon’s chocolate eyes and his thoughts trail off into oblivion. The easy rapport between them still takes Raphael by surprise. Before Simon no one had even attempted to break through Raphael’s stoic mannerisms. No one had ever understood his sense of humour or honour as well as the boy in front of him.

Simon closes his eyes in tired contentment. He feels at peace when Raphael is around him. The older vampire makes everything feel safe and warm, despite his cold affableness. “I don’t know if I’ve properly thanked you for finding me yet,” Simon says out of nowhere. They both blink and process his words in surprise.

Raphael’s expression softens and he places a hand on Simon’s bouncing jean clad knee before him and says, “You never have to thank me for that. For looking out for you.”

Simon’s head tilts slightly and Raphael tries to ignore how cute the other is when his hair falls into his eyes. Simon bats the hair away in annoyance before he replies, “I suppose I don’t have to thank you for anything, but that doesn’t mean I won’t.” Simon pauses before he looks Raphael in the eye with a somber weight and says, “The funny thing is...the whole time Camille had me I never doubted that you were looking for me. I may not have realized how hard you had been working at it, but I always knew that you would try to help me.”

“Of course I would, idiota,” Raphael says, his voice rough. He looks at a loss for words then and he just moves the hand set on Simon’s knee up to Simon’s cheek. He gently cups the cold skin there and eventually says, “I will always search for you, nene. You must know that.”

Simon leans into the touch and smiles softly, “I do now.” Raphael makes no move to take his hand away and Simon merely presses into the other’s hand further. “Raphael, I--” Simon begins to say, but he’s interrupted as the double doors of the large office burst open suddenly and Luke barges into the room.

“We’ve got a problem,” the older werewolf says. If he’s noticed the intimate atmosphere of the room he doesn’t say anything, he just speedwalks to the table and sits across from them. Both vampires turn their bodies and attention to their ally and friend.

“What’s happened?” Simon asks, his brows furrowing in concern.

Alec wakes up to silence and he has a moment of panic in which he tries to remember where he is. He listens raptly, trying to catch a hint of Valentine’s humming, or the tell tale wash of waves against metal. Instead he hears the familiar snoring of his parabatai. Alec blinks his eyes open slowly, the ever present pain beginning to work its way to the front of his consciousness. He groans in resignation, just wanting to be pain free for long enough to fully finish a thought.

When Magnus hears the groan his body bolts upright from where he’s laid out next to Alec, his head on Alec’s chest. Alec looks at him in pained surprise, having not realized he was there. “Alec,” Magnus says softly.

Alec’s face pinches at the burning of his body but he manages to reply with no shake in his voice, “Mags.” Alec looks around himself. They’re in what looks to be the DuMort, and he vaguely remembers moving from Magnus’ place earlier. Alec narrows his eyes when he sees Gretel asleep in a similar position as Magnus was, her silvery hair spread out on Jace’s chest, the both of them laid out on a couch. He lets himself relax when he sees the peaceful expressions on both of their faces though. He won’t withhold any form of happiness from his brother. Never.

Magnus chuckles as he sees Alec’s eyes fix on the two and he says, “Gretel’s made quite the impression on your blondie, I have to say. She came to help us get Simon back, and hasn’t really left since.”

Alec struggles to put the words in an order and he replies belatedly but with genuine curiousity, “Wolf helped vamp?”

Magnus grins and nods, “Oh, yeah. Stood toe to toe with Camille alongside us. Simon seems to have that effect on people though, he’s like a giant puppy. Don’t think I’ve ever met someone who is absolutely no fun to kick when they’re down, but Simon manages it.”

Alec snorts and then immediately winces as it very painfully jars his entire chest. Magnus watches in concern and asks, “Does it still hurt?”

Jace wakes as the pain echoes through his own body blurrily. He forces his eyes open and inhales the scent of Gretel’s hair as he works to get his thoughts in order. He rubs a hand down Gretel’s back and tries to ignore the obvious shake in his hand as he does so. He can feel the sweat coating every inch of his skin and his parabatai rune is stinging badly.

“Alec?” Jace mumbles, still only half awake.

Magnus chuckles and Jace follows the sound with his eyes until he spots the pair laid out on the couch parallel to the one he and Gretel are on. They’re only a few feet apart, but Jace knows he won’t be able to touch the other if he tries. So instead he clears his throat and asks, “S’okay? Alec?”

Alec’s head falls to the side, his face turned to Jace. They smile rather blearily at each other and Alec mumbles something incomprehensible that no one asks him to repeat. Magnus is looking down at his boyfriend in concern and he reaches his hands out to hover over Alec’s chest. He cautiously dips his magic into the body underneath his digits and tries to cool the pain there. The reaction is immediate and both Jace and Alec cry out. Gretel and Magnus pull back from their respective pillows rapidly. Gretel rubs at her eyes and looks around herself in confusion, while Magnus studies Alec’s face intently, scared he’s caused more pain.

Alec is trying to find that cold again, not sure where it came from, his eyes fallen closed. Jace calls out to Magnus, “Please, again.” His voice is breathless and Alec wants to cry out to it, to shout his agreement, but can barely whimper in pain. Now that he’s had a moment of bliss he can’t stand the heat licking at his body. He doesn’t know how much more his burnt veins can take before they just melt.

Magnus sinks the energy back in, his eyes flicking between Jace and Alec. Alec cries out in relief when the chill surrounds his veins and numbs them deliciously. His eyes spring open and catch on Magnus’ wide ones. “Magnus,” Alec chokes out. He can feel tears running down the sides of his face and disappearing into his hair and a hysterical chuckle breaks out of his chest. “Mags, I--” he breaks off to inhale deeply and bathe in the tingling cold feeling. He can sense the energy inside him as well, his whole body curling into that spark. His heart beats fast in his chest and his breaths are coming fast but even.

Jace laughs at Magnus’ expression and he waves off both Gretel’s and Magnus’ concern. “It feels amazing, Magnus. The pain’s completely gone.” Jace, having only the echoes of what Alec is enduring, sits up with relative ease and rubs his hands over his face. He laughs again at the relief and Alec answers the sound with his own soft chuckle.

“I’m not even...doing anything?” Magnus half says half asks. His eyes are on Alec’s face, beautiful in its rapture.

“Well, you’re doing something right,” Alec manages to say. Magnus smiles down at him, relieved to hear him string together a sentence. His grin slips off his face immediately when he hears Alec’s next words.

“It’s the blood that’s burning me,” Alec says matter of factly. He looks over at Jace and his eyes squint to see him better, “You hurt?”

Jace looks at him as if he’s mad and scoffs, “No! You are!”

“But you’re all...sweaty.”

Jace rolls his eyes and lays a hand on Gretel’s knee beside him. “The bond rune.”

“The bond rune?” Alec’s eyes widen at the implication. “Oh no, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you dare,” Jace growls. “You have nothing to apologize for, Alec. Absolutely nothing. I was grateful for the pain since that meant you weren’t gone.”

Alec inhales deeply and smiles at Jace, but then he remembers something. “Rune. The rune on my back--”

Magnus shushes him and says, “We saw it. It’s activated. Do you know when it will stop causing you pain?”

Alec stills in confusion for a moment before he understands. “It’s activated? It’s not faded anymore?”

“Of course not. That’s what’s hurting you. It’s deep red and swollen.”

Alec nods along, but then shakes his head in disagreement. “No, it’s not the rune. It’s not even...It’s not the rune, Mags, it’s the blood. ”

Magnus and Jace exchange a look and Magnus just shakes his head back at Alec, “No, it can’t be. Warlock blood is potent it would have--”

“Killed me?” Alec finishes for him. He, with uncharacteristic clumsiness, pushes himself into a quasi sitting position and leans his head back on the couch. “Valentine said the same thing. Should have killed me, but the rune...The rune is what saved me.”

“You said it was a pain rune,” Magnus replies in confusion. His hands come to hold Alec’s between his own and Magnus watches as Alec’s cheeks blush pink. He smiles at the sight, amused that now that Alec is more aware, his adorable shyness is returning. Magnus makes sure to keep his magic running through Alec’s body, even if he’s not sure what he’s supposed to be doing with it.

Alec stumbles over his words, his mind still shaken, “Yeah, it is. Or, it was. I mean, I thought it was. But it’s mistranslated. It--” Alec pauses and breathes for a minute to gather his thoughts. “Valentine said that the blood should have killed me. He fully expected me to die, though he was ecstatic when I didn’t. He said the rune is what kept me alive, because it’s not a pain rune, it’s a strength rune.” Alec stops talking, rapidly winded by his efforts. He can feel all his muscles shaking in exhaustion now that they aren’t tensed for every second in pain.

Jace says, “That doesn’t make sense. Maryse wouldn’t have drawn a strength rune on you. She knew it would cause you pain.”

Alec nods and looks across the few feet to look at Jace and Gretel. “She thought it was a pain rune. But it’s an older rune. Like, really old.”

“You said mistranslated?” Gretel pipes up uncertainly. “So it’s old enough to have lost its original definition. You said it’s supposed to mean strength? So why did it hurt you?”

Alec rolls his neck and sighs, sagging further back into the couch, “He said it means strength and cleansing. That’s all he knew though. Couldn’t tell me why it worked.”

Magnus pipes up, and his voice is guarded and wary, “Couldn’t it be you just hallucinated or something? He probably just activated the pain rune to torture you and your mind did what it had to.”

Alec glares at Magnus, but the anger quickly recedes when he sees the panic in Magnus’ dark eyes. “No, Magnus.” He swallows and pulls his hands far enough away to in turn take Magnus’. “I know what the pain of the rune feels like, remember? This isn’t it. This is...I can feel the blood burning my veins. And guys…” Alec’s voice cracks and all three of his audience cringes at the sound. “I don’t think I can take much more. My body is...The blood will kill me.”

Magnus chokes down a distressed whimper but Jace lets out a mad growl at the words. “What?” he yells. “You just said the rune stopped the blood!”

“It did. It is.” Alec looks at Jace closely and asks quietly, “You can feel it, right? Through your bond? Can you honestly tell me you think this won’t kill me? The rune is burning out. Just like how iratzes can’t always heal things before they’re used up. There’s too much of this blood in me now. Valentine was trying to work through it with me.”

“Well, what was he doing? We can do it!” Jace insists.

Alec pales, “No. Raziel, no!” He pushes himself further into the cushions of the couch, trying and failing to not think about the warlocks he’d killed under Valentine’s orders. His fingers twitch around Magnus’ when the memories force their way to the front of his mind and suddenly he can feel the ghosts of bones giving underneath his hands. He pushes aside the guilt bubbling up in him and looks up as they all begin to call his name. He blinks away the tears and tunes back in, wanting to dispel the panic that’s taken over the room.
“Alexander, come back to me,” Magnus murmurs. Alec turns when he hears those words and looks at the warlock. Magnus gasps when he sees the cracks behind hazel eyes and he pulls Alec into his chest without another word. He places kisses into the unruly curls and murmurs comfort. “You’re back with us now, Alexander. He won’t hurt you anymore.”

There’s a weight on his knee and Alec looks down to see Jace resting his hands there, his eyes locked on Alec’s. “We’re here. You’re here. And that’s not going to change ever again. Wherever you go we’ll follow, just as you would do for us.”

Alec smiles at Jace and runs a shaking hand through the blonde hair that he’s so familiar with. Even as a kid his hair was blindingly light. He grasps Jace’s hands with his own and allows the relief of being back to rock through him. It doesn’t last long though as reality catches up to him.

“I can’t stay here,” Alec says. “The Clave came for us, right?” He tries to sort through the blurry memories but their faces tell him enough. “They’ll come again.”

Jace’s jaw sets and Alec can feel Magnus stiffening beside him. “We’ve got the entire Downworld on hold,” a smooth voice interjects. They look up in surprise to see Raphael, Simon, and Luke standing in the doorway.

“What do you mean?” Alec asks in confusion after a moment of silence.

Simon answers him, “It means we’ve been busting our asses being all diplomatic. The Downworld is getting tired of being the Clave’s punching bag, and we’re ready to make a stand.”

Raphael rolls his eyes and says, “Unfortunately, he’s right. The Clave has found us. They’ll be here soon.”

Gretel starts and looks at Luke before looking back at Raphael and asking, “I thought Clary did the whole rune blocking thing.”

Luke answers and his voice carries a guilt that confuses Gretel even further. “She did. They didn’t track us here. They…” He swallows and looks like he’s readying himself for a bullet. “Jocelyn called me in a panic about Clary. I met with her to assure her that Clary is fine and safe. I let slip that she was with Simon, and that I wouldn’t let harm come to either of them. I was trying to--” He shakes his head in frustration and just finishes with, “She’s bringing the Clave here. To get Clary. I’m sorry.”

There’s a tense silence as the information is absorbed. “So how long do we have?” Jace asks looking back at Luke.

“I ran here as soon as I figured it out, but they’ll be quick behind me. I give us less than an hour.” He pauses and continues, “I didn’t think Jocelyn would…”

Simon places a hand on Luke’s shoulder and squeezes gently, careful to not accidentally use his vampiric strength. “You’re not the only one to be burned by a Fairchild, Luke. No one blames you for being betrayed.” Luke looks at Simon with a painful understanding and Simon pulls the larger man into a hug. Raphael steps aside to give them space, but his eyes stay on the embrace.

Luke pulls back first and thanks Simon gruffly. Luke scans the room and asks, “Where is Clary?”

Magnus answers, “She left with Dot awhile ago. Said something about food.”

Raphael orders, “Call them. We need all hands on deck. They’re coming for Alec.”

Jace is already pulling out his phone and typing rapidly. His fingers stutter in their movement when Alec says, “No.” He looks up at his brother in a silent question. Alec sighs, “Look, this isn’t how this should go down. There doesn’t need to be a fight.”

“We stick up for our own,” Magnus retorts.

Alec shakes his head and repeats, “No.”

Raphael scoffs and says with clear sarcasm, “Your precious Clave isn’t--”

Alec interrupts him, “No, that’s not...The Downworld should stand up to the Clave. They’re in the right. You’re all in the right, and the Clave has abused their power. But not over this. Not over me.”

Luke says, “No offense, but this isn’t about you.”

“It shouldn’t be, but it kind of is. This isn’t the smart way to play this. Fighting the Clave for a shadowhunter…” He takes another breath to steady himself, knowing he’s right, but not wanting to be. He desperately wants to just curl up and let them defend him for once. “I can’t stay here anyways, even if the Clave weren’t about to knock down our doors. I need the Silent Brothers.”

“What for?” Simon asks.

“They’re my only hope for survival.”

Magnus understands first and he protests, “No, Alec, we can figure this out.”

“Can we?” Alec turns to look at Magnus, not angrily, but intently. “We don’t have the resources or time. We’re in a war, Magnus. More than one actually. Valentine said himself that the only people who know more than him are the Brothers. I have to find them if I have any hope of surviving this blood.”

“You’re talking about surrender,” Gretel breathes out. “To the people who see you as a traitor.”

Alec shakes his head and he looks at the floor instead of meeting any of their eyes. “No. Surrender, yes; but not to them. To the Brothers themselves. I’ll turn myself in at the City of Bones.” A beat of silence follows that statement and it’s Jace that breaks it with a frustrated shout.

“Alec, this isn’t the way this has to be done!”

“Perhaps not, but it’s the way it will be done.”

“That’s cute and all, but a small army of angry shadowhunters is about to show up at my door demanding to find you. What do I tell them? How do you expect this to help us?” Raphael demands.

Magnus bites out his name with a warning glare, but Alec looks at Raphael calmly and answers, “I can talk to Maryse. I think I can--”

“You think ?”

Clary and Dot both push into the room behind Raphael. “The Clave is nearly here,” Clary says with wide eyes. In her hand she’s holding a large bag of groceries, but she lets them fall to the ground forgotten.

Luke curses loudly and moves out of the room, “I thought we had more time .”

Raphael quickly moves to follow him out but he turns to catch Alec’s eyes and he says, “I’m not leaving our fate in your hands, shadowhunter. If they move to hurt my clan, my family, I will react in kind.” The clan leader doesn’t wait for Alec’s approval but turns on the spot and disappears from view in an instant.

Clary, Dot, Gretel, Luke, and Simon all follow him out, leaving Magnus, Jace, and Alec behind. Alec swallows and drops his gaze back to the floor. “I know neither of you like this...but it has to happen. You both know it’s the right call.”

Magnus disconnects himself from Alec and kneels on the floor before him, beside Jace. “There are other options, Alexander. You don’t have to keep throwing yourself away to protect us. We can fight. We want to fight.”

Alec looks up and replies, “I know, and I think we should fight. But not right now and not over this. Even if we won...it would still end in my death. I’d rather die in a cell underground then die watching you both endanger yourselves in a fight that didn’t have to happen. I need the Brothers. I need the City of Bones. Please, let me do this!” Alec is practically begging at the end and his eyes move to Jace’s. “Jace, brother. I respected your decision to go with Valentine. To stop the fight between us and the Circle members. Granted, I’m the one who ended up going with him, but I backed your play. Because I respect your choices.”

Jace looks at him for a long minute and there’s a visible tick in his left cheek where he’s grinding his teeth together. Jace’s head falls down to look at the floor and his hands tighten painfully into fists. When he looks up it’s with a grim expression. “We will honour your decision, parabatai.” Jace looks at Magnus, both shadowhunters feeling the refusal coming, and says, “Love is respect , Magnus. You will not find another person who loves Alec more than me. You and me are the only ones who can make him stay. Will you really betray him like that?”

Magnus looks shocked and affronted. “Betray?” he parrots in anger. “I’m trying to stop you stupid shadowhunters from playing martyr at every opportunity that you can!”

Jace looks indignant and he shouts back, “We’re not fools sacrificing our lives for things that don’t matter!”

“You could have tricked me!”

“Then you are the fool! We’re raised--”

“Both of you! Stop!” Alec says with a raised voice. Alec sighs and takes Magnus’ hands. “Magnus, the difference here is that stopping me will only hurt me in the end.” He raises his other hand to cup Magnus’ cheek and he says, “If you care for me, you will do everything to help me. This is the only thing that I can hope will give me the answers I need. That my body needs. I’m innocent and I didn’t betray the Clave. The trial will show that. Please, Magnus. Let me go. Please .”

Jace turns Magnus to look at him and swallows when he sees the heartbreak on the warlock’s face. Magnus sobers when he sees the same pain mirrored in Jace’s eyes. “I know, Magnus,” Jace whispers. “It hurts me more than anything, but it’s not our decision. Not really .”

Magnus wipes roughly at tears that fall down his cheeks and sighs shakily. “I guess you wouldn’t be the same man if you didn’t keep surprising me, Alexander.” Magnus finally looks back at Alec and says, “Please, come back to me. Fight for it, darling.”

Alec chokes slightly on the sudden thickness in his throat but he leans forward and presses a quick kiss to Magnus’ lips and promises, “Of course, Magnus. I will always fight for you.”

Alec pulls Jace to him then and places another kiss to his parabatai’s forehead with the words, “And you, my parabatai, I will always be with.”

“Entreat me not to leave thee, but to return from following after thee,” Jace whispers, his hand capturing Alec’s. “The Angel do so to me. I will go with you to the City of Bones, my brother. We will find the answers you need.”

“Mother, don’t do this!” Izzy cries, her hair a mess in the wind, as they run to the DuMort. Lydia is behind them, followed closely by the entire Institute, though no members of the Clave. They don’t sully their hands with such tasks, instead send Maryse and the others to do their dirty work. Isabelle swallows heavily, her breath coming in pants as she keeps up with the woman beside her. The woman who brought her life. She doesn’t recognize Maryse anymore, not as her mother at least. “Maryse!” Izzy pleads. “Stop!” But she doesn’t, and Izzy is forced to keep running.

Murmurs break out amongst the shadowhunters once they’re in sight of the hotel. A large group of people await them outside the front door. Izzy recognizes wolves and vampires and can see Melliorn to the side, dressed in intricate armour. She cringes at the thought of a fight.

Maryse looks startled by the group at least and she sneers at Raphael and Luke who stand at the front. “Where is my son?”

“It’s funny that you still call him that, even as you come to drag him to trial,” Luke says.

Jocelyn quickly navigates the crowd and stands next to Maryse, “Luke! Where is Clary?”

“How could you do this, Jocelyn?” Luke asks instead of answering. Jocelyn looks confused and he clarifies, “You brought them here!”

“Them? We’re shadowhunters, Luke.”

“No, you are. I’m a wolf and a downworlder, and I’m damn proud of it. Especially if this is the way that shadowhunters treat their own. It’s one thing to disrespect those you look down upon, but what do you stand for when you will even turn against shadowhunter victims?”

Jocelyn gestures impatiently, “This is about Clary, Luke. Where--”

“No! This isn’t about Clary! Not everything is about you and Clary!”

“He’s right, mom,” Clary says as she moves forward towards Luke. She stops beside the dark skinned man and looks at her mother. Raphael looks at Clary with disgust but doesn’t say anything. Simon follows Clary but steps to stand between Raphael and Luke.

“Enough, Jocelyn,” Maryse orders. “Alexander Lightwood is under arrest by order of the Clave.” Maryse’s gaze sweeps across the large gathered group with suspicion. “This isn’t downworlder business, we don’t want a fight.”

Raphael chuckles, “Not right now at least. Perhaps for the first time, you don’t want a fight.”

“Are you trying to push me, vampire?” Maryse asks coldly. She smirks at him and raises her voice, “The Clave does not take kindly to those who interfere with their business.”

“Do you really think threatening us is the best way to go?” Raphael taunts.

“Clary, come on,” Jocelyn says, stepping past Maryse and towards the others. “Come with us.” Jocelyn’s eyes move quickly to and away from Simon. “You can’t do this, even if Simon is...Don’t let them get you tied up in their trouble, ClareBear. We have enough to get through as it is.”

Simon sways where he stands, feeling as if the ground has been ripped out from underneath him. The woman he’d seen as a second mother, often times his real mother, dismissing him without a second thought. Anger quickly takes root and he bites out, “A what, Jocelyn? Even if I’m a what ?” Jocelyn doesn’t answer but everyone can see the way her fingers tighten around the crossbow in her hands. Simon’s eyes follow the movement and he looks resigned. “A monster?” his voice cracks as he asks miserably.

Jocelyn sighs and it sounds exasperated, “Simon…”

“No, you know what? Just no. Luke told me about how you reacted when he was turned, and it gave me hope. And of all people, you…? I didn’t expect my own mother to understand, didn’t expect her to even notice I’m gone, but you...I died trying to help your daughter! I’m here now, heart not beating, because of her!”

Clary whines, “Simon--”

Jocelyn’s voice rings tight with anger and she gestures as Simon with her crossbow, “Don’t you dare blame her for this. She was doing her best with what she had! It’s not her fault you’re a monster !”

“What’re you doing?” Luke demands, his eyes on the woman he loves. Or loved. Simon looks like he’s about to start crying and Raphael wraps an arm around his waist, pulling the thinner man into his side.

Maryse interrupts with an impatient wave of her hands and shouts, “Where is Alec?”

Luke ignores her though, eyes gleaming darkly as he glares at Jocelyn, “How dare you say that to Simon! It’s no wonder that Clary can’t take responsibility for her actions if you never will!”

“Clary was confused and--”

“And what’s your excuse then, Jocelyn? She wouldn’t have been scared if you’d just listened to me all those years and told her! You didn’t stop anything , you only made things worse. She nearly died just trying to figure out if you were dead or not!”

“I didn’t have a choice!”

“Yes, you did! You always have and you always will! No matter how much you claim you’re forced into your actions, you’re the only one who can make those choices, Jocelyn!”

“Is this about Simon or is this about us?”

Luke looks at her for a second before he calmly says, “What us? I helped raise Simon and Clary. They are my family because of you. That is the only thing tying the two of us together anymore, Jocelyn.”

“Get your mutt under control, Jocelyn,” Maryse sniffs in disdain.

Jocelyn looks enraged, her eyes are wide and fixed on Luke. A dark flush begins to spread up her neck and into her cheeks, and it makes her features harsh and ugly. “You don’t mean that, Garroway,” she says with rage trembling through every word.

Simon says, “Unlike you, he only says what he means and then he stands by it. He doesn’t run when things get hard!” Simon is nearly vibrating with anger, and it makes his stomach nauseous from its intensity. He’s never been this angry before, not even when Clary had first betrayed him. He’d been more hurt then. More confused. This time...he’s heartbroken and dejected, but he doesn’t blame himself.  

Jocelyn scoffs but Maryse cuts her off, “We’re not here for your family drama, Fairchild.”

“That’s right. Only yours,” Raphael says.

Jocelyn is still staring Luke down, even when Simon had been talking to her. Luke looks at her and there’s sadness in his eyes warring with frustration. “You’re a hypocrite, Jocelyn, and I’ve been burnt by it enough times,” he says, and it feels like a final confession.

Jocelyn shrieks, “I should have put you down all those night ago!”

There’s a beat of silence and then Clary is rushing towards her mother with her own shriek of anger.  Simon darts out to stop her, his hand coming around her waist and sharply pulling. Jocelyn whips up the crossbow in her hand as she sees Simon’s body hit Clary’s. Her finger tightens around the trigger, sending a wooden bolt into Simon’s back.

Izzy watches in horror as Simon’s body falls to the ground, Clary trying to catch him but failing. Izzy flips her staff into existence and slams the crossbow down and out of Jocelyn’s hands. She then swipes the older woman’s legs out from underneath her and Lydia’s fist slams into Jocelyn’s temple. Jocelyn hits the ground unconscious.

“Simon!” Raphael chokes out in fear. A wooden bolt could kill him, too similar to a stake. Luke and Raphael fall to their knees beside their fallen friend, and the pack and the clan both erupt into snarls and howls. The shadowhunters shuffle where they are uneasily as they watch. Simon coughs up blood and looks up at the three crowded around him. He tries to give a thumbs up but his hand struggles to hold the position.

“Missed my heart,” Simon quips, wanting the concern off of their faces. “Guess all those years living mundane left her out of practice, huh?” He doesn’t say anything about how the bolt in his chest hurts less than seeing Jocelyn call him a monster. Just closes his eyes and tries to block out the pain.

The wolves and vampires gathered around them are roaring in anger and fear, demanding retribution. Maryse is trying to shout over the noise and order their cooperation. Things are seconds from exploding into chaos.

The doors to the DuMort open and Magnus’ voice explodes across the air, amplified with his magic, “QUIET!” Silence falls as all eyes turn to the three figures walking through the crowd. Alec is supported between Jace and Magnus, but he’s moving on his own. His eyes are clear, not shadowed by pain, and he looks straight at Maryse. The only sound as they continue to walk is Raphael and Luke talking lowly to Simon.

Alec stops beside the group on the ground and he checks with them to see if Simon is okay. When Simon gives him a second, more successful thumbs up, Alec turns back to his mother. “Hello, Maryse,” he says simply.

“Alec!” Izzy shouts in happiness. She sprints to his side, adeptly dodging the hand that Maryse whips out to catch her by the wrist. She hugs Alec gently and places a sloppy kiss to his cheek. “It’s good to see you awake, brother!” she cheers.

Lydia walks more calmly, but still with evident excitement, to Alec and places her own kiss to his other cheek. She pulls Izzy to the side and they stand next to Jace, facing down the shadowhunters with their friends. Alec smiles at their love and support, feeling a warmth in his chest that helps his mind settle itself further. He’s making the right choice. “I’ve come to negotiate the terms of my surrender,” he says loudly.

“You don’t get terms , Alec,” Maryse reprimands. Her eyes are greedily taking in the sight of her eldest son. Magnus snapped a plain black sweater into existence for Alec to wear, though his feet remain bare. He looks haggard and exhausted, but so very alive.

Alec ignores her and retorts, “I will surrender myself to the City of Bones and to the Silent Brothers. Not to you or the Institute. I will undergo a trial as the Clave demands and you and all shadowhunters will leave those involved with my rescue alone.”

Maryse purses her lips for a moment, her dark eyes studying Alec and the others. Raphael helps Simon stand and then pulls the fledgling into his chest. Simon’s arms wrap around his leader and he allows himself to settle his weight into Raphael. Gretel finally breaks from the ranks to set her hand on Simon’s back, half to comfort him and half to assure herself that he’s alive. Luke helps Clary up and they all turn to stare at Maryse as well. She looks at them each in turn but her face remains impassive and unreadable.

She doesn’t show it but their united front unnerves her. A pang of something suspiciously close to fear surges through her and she swallows down the disgust at herself. “Surely you can understand why--” Maryse finally begins to speak.

“Surely you can see that this isn’t a fight that you’ll win easily,” Alec interrupts swiftly. “Don’t make this more complicated than it has to be. You can tell the Clave that you’ve succeeded. Let the rest be left alone.”

“You’re the one who’s making things more complicated, Alec. You always have.”

“I’m a Lightwood. I break noses and take the consequences for it. You taught me that.”

Maryse’s face gentles as she smiles, the emotion behind it soft and genuine. Memories of a younger Alec flooding her mind. She wants to return to those times, when things were simpler. When Alec respected her and downworlders were but a side thought. She stamps down on those thoughts and she clears her throat, “I accept your terms. All shadowhunters must return to the Institute however. Jace, Izzy, Lydia, and the Fairchild girl.”

“I’ll be escorting Alec to the City,” Jace states. Maryse looks at him for a moment before nodding. Understanding the tenacity of her adopted son, knowing she won’t win this fight, and not sure she wants to. Her face is not as drawn as it was before. Her eyes move between Jace and Alec and she nods once again saying, “Very well. The rest will come with me.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 10

Alec is the last to step through the portal that Magnus has set up in the parlour of the DuMort. He can feel the energy buzz around him as he does so, and a second later he’s standing in front of a familiar sight: the entrance to the City of Bones. Magnus chose to use the downworlder entrance. Alec finds that fitting, even if the downworlders aren’t invited along.

Simon is looking around himself nervously and Alec remembers the last time they were here. Raphael seems to as well as a guilty expression begins to settle onto his face. “Simon, I--” he starts.

Simon whirls around and points a finger at Raphael’s chest as he cuts him off, “Don’t you dare!” Raphael has only a moment to look crestfallen before Simon continues, “Camille did this, not you. Besides, I wouldn’t be here if not for that night. I wouldn’t have found a home with the clan or you. So, thank you, Raphael.”

The older vampire looks stunned and Alec watches an almost painfully fragile smile bloom on the other’s face. Alec finds himself earnestly hoping that Simon is happy and the thought doesn’t surprise him as much as he thinks it should. Alec shrugs his shoulders at his own thoughts and looks away from the two vampires as Raphael pulls Simon into a strong hug.

Alec almost misses Maryse’s entrance through the second portal that Magnus has just finished. She looks around at the small crowd of downworlders that have escorted him this far with a curl to her lip. Her eyes finally lock on Alec and she says, “Are you ready, Alec?” Alec can almost detect a tone of regret in her words. Almost.

Alec turns to Magnus and pulls the warlock closer to him. He rests his forehead on Magnus’ and breathes out, “I’ll come back, I promise.”

Magnus closes his eyes and replies, “You’d better. You still owe me a date, Alexander. It’s high time I get to start wooing you and have you fall in love with me.”

Alec smiles softly as he pulls away far enough to see Magnus’ eyes and face. “I look forward to it,” he says softly. Alec blushes heavily when Magnus’ eyes drop to the other’s mouth, but the shadowhunter makes no move to escape when Magnus leans in to kiss him. Instead he sinks into Magnus, winding his arms around Magnus’ neck, his head tilted down just slightly to fully kiss the warlock in his arms. Magnus’ arms wrap around Alec’s waist, holding him up and close to his own body. Magnus can feel the sting of tears in his eyes as he tastes this man. Alec feels like finding home after centuries of wandering, and Magnus just wants to hold on and not let the shadowhunter out of his sight. He wants to claim Alec’s heart and fall in love properly, because he can feel just how easy it would be to love the boy in his arms.

Alec pulls away first, his breath coming in short pants and his cheeks red. Magnus likes the swollen redness of Alec’s full lips and he swoops up to place another chaste peck against them. Alec smiles and it’s wide and unhindered and it takes Magnus’ breath away. He can’t help but think that Alec should always look like this.

They both startle and look to their side when Gretel starts shouting at Jace. “You ignorant cocky bastard. You can’t just say things like that before gallivanting off into the City of Bones, one of the most feared resources of--”

“Gallivanting? Do you really think I gallivant?” Jace asks with a small smirk, but there’s a somber darkness to his eyes. “It’s just in case anything--”

Her eyes narrow and she snarls, “Why do you always expect that…” She trails off as if searching for the right argument to be had here. “You may be reckless but holding someone else’s…fears...to that isn’t fair, Jace. It’s cruel.”

Jace, for the first time in a long time, looks unsure of himself. Simon takes a step towards him and Jace’s eyes snap up at the movement. Raphael catches Simon’s arm before he can move closer though, and pulls him back. Jace swallows but seems to find some strength in Simon’s wide eyed gaze. He finally looks back at Gretel, who is watching him with a suspicious shine to her eyes, and a grimace on her mouth.

He swallows and says, “You’re right, Gretel. I shouldn’t have held your concerns so lightly like that. Shouldn’t have joked about it, but we also can’t be naive. There’s always a chance I won’t come back. I mean I’m a shadowhunter, by blood and deed.” He pauses and his eyes flick over to Magnus and Alec, knowing that his words parallel their budding relationship as well. “Gretel, you’re an amazing woman and you’ve quickly become one of the few people that I wholly trust. I’m so grateful that you came that night to help us. Or help Simon, at least. You will always have a place here, beside me, if you want it. But you can’t stay--rather, we can’t stay like this if you can’t understand that I’m mortal. I doubt I’m going out of this world in peace. I’m almost certainly going to be killed in action, and it will be bloody and violent. All I can promise you is that I will always try to come back. I will use every ounce of my energy to return to you, and I won’t be reckless, though I can’t promise to not be endangered.” Jace is a little out of breath by the time he’s done talking, and Alec watches him in shock. Jace talks a lot, but most of the time he’s not saying too much. This is different, and it makes a smirk grow on Alec’s face, the pride in his chest needing some small outlet.

There’s dead silence and even Maryse’s eye are large as she looks at the two. Gretel’s hand snaps out towards Jace and he flinches away from what he expects to be a slap, but her fingers just curl around the nape of his neck. She looks at him with anger and something else that shines just as bright and says, “By the Angel, Jace, I hate you for making me want this.” She then yanks Jace into her body and surprisingly gently kisses him with all the emotions she’s currently trying to stop from combusting out of her. Jace freezes in shock for a moment before he melts into the kiss with enthusiasm, a small smirk forming on his lips despite their current use. He pulls her even tighter against his chest with the palm of his hand laying heavy on the small of her back. His other hand comes up to cradle the side of her neck and cheek.

When she pulls back they both spend a moment staring at each other. Then her expression darkens and she slaps him. He doesn’t flinch this time, just continues smirking as she storms away from the group. Despite the blossoming angry red mark spreading across his cheek Jace looks like the cat that just ate the canary, smug as only Jace can be.

Alec snorts and says, “You’re an idiot, Jace.”

Jace just sends him a cocky wink and rubs his hands together as he turns away to look at the entrance. Alec’s stomach drops and he turns back to Magnus, whose eyes are already on him. Alec begins to talk, “You know, Jace wa--”

“Shut up, you silly Nephilim,” Magnus interrupts firmly but with a smile on his lips. There’s a sadness deep in the warlock that can be clearly seen in his eyes and the way he holds Alec close to himself, but there’s a strength and a happiness there too.

Alec pulls Magnus further into his own space and wraps his arms around his quasi boyfriend and holds on hard. Magnus doesn’t complain at the strength of the embrace, just squeezes back with just as much power. Magnus whispers into Alec’s ear, “It’s going to hurt, you know. The farther you move into the City the harder it will be for my magic to reach you.”

Alec swallows and nods his head, finally pulling back and facing his mother. “The deal was I go willingly and you won’t touch the others. None of them.”

Maryse’s eyes narrow but she nods stiffly. Alec shakes his head and steps closer to her, pulling out his stele. “Make an oath,” he demands, holding out his hand for her wrist. She looks up at him in dismay, but warily places her wrist in his outstretched palm. He looks at her expectantly and when she begins to speak it’s with forced calmness.

“I, Maryse Lightwood, vow on the Angels, that I will not accuse or put on trial any of the others involved in your rescue and/or those who aided you when you fled from the Clave’s authority. I vow this, as long as you Alexander Lightwood, undergo your trial in the City of Bones, and do not resist in any manner.” Alec watches her closely but nods and draws a sharp edged rune into her wrist. Just above her marriage rune.

It glows for a moment and Maryse’s body jerks as the vow cements into her. When she looks at Alec again she says, “Are you ready then?”

Alec steps over to stand next to Jace, and he says, “Yes.”

“Good.” Maryse leads them into the City. Alec has to force himself not to look back. He can feel Magnus’ magic slipping from him the further away he gets. When he starts to slow down, Jace takes one of his arms over his shoulders and Alec forces himself to keep walking. His body is starting to heat up and there are already tears in his eyes as the pain comes back. “What are you doing? What’s happening?” Maryse asks them sharply. The younger Lightwood can feel the instant the magic snaps away from him completely. He collapses to the tunnel ground with a broken scream of agony as his body is set alight. It echoes loudly around them in a haunting cacophony that makes his own head hurt.

He doesn’t know how long he screams, but his throat is raw and sore when he’s done. Jace is holding his hand tightly and Alec realizes that his head is set in the other boy’s lap. His mother’s face swims in and out of focus above him and there’s raw fear and pain there. Proof of her love that he’s been looking for since the beginning. The affection he’s been chasing since he was a child. The discovery makes him feel only more hollow and he closes his eyes as unconsciousness soothes the burn into blackness.

When Alec wakes he weeps. Only for a short while as the energy needed to sob is too much for his exhausted body. When he quiets down he realizes that his head is still in Jace’s lap, but he can see bars surrounding them through the gloomy light. They’ve been moved to a cell. His fragmented thoughts whirl in panic when he fully understands that Jace is in the cell with him. Jace pushes Alec’s body back into the ground when Alec tries to move away. He whispers things into the pressing silence but Alec can’t understand them. He just knows he needs to get Jace out. Now.

Peace, young Lightwood, a voice weaves through his mind. Jace is not under any trial himself, he is merely where he asked to be. With you.

Alec tries for a moment to speak, but quickly gives up on that pursuit and instead he just pushes his thoughts out towards the voice. It’s barely comprehensible, even to himself. The voice returns and its calm soothes Alec. Peace. We have seen some of your mind, even without the Truth Sword. You have left yourself open to us. We know what you suffer, for it also causes us much pain to see. We will speak, but not yet. You must rest a little longer, the blood is killing you, Alexander. Your panic only makes it burn hotter. Sleep. With the last word comes a wave of coldness that pulls Alec back under and he sighs in relief as he falls into oblivion once again.

The next time he wakes the pain is more manageable. He looks around himself in surprise and finds that he’s in a small circular room. He is laid out on a cot in the middle of it, and it all feels a little too familiar. He panickedly checks his wrists and ankles for restraints, flashing back to the memories of Valentine’s table. He finds nothing there and he is not bound in any way. The room is bare of anything else, the walls hewn from the stone under New York. The door is merely more stone with a lock rune drawn into the center. He’s not getting out of here without a stele.

A stinging burn slowly enters into his consciousness, not the painful erosion of his veins, but a surface pain. Pale in comparison. He has to take a moment to sort through the different sensations running through him, but he finally traces it back down to his chest. He looks down with slightly blurry vision to see an unfamiliar rune burnt into his chest several times. They’re active and they flood coolness into his body, negating the unbearable edge of the burning. He tries to study them, but the focus just makes his vision swim more violently. He’s drawn from his contemplations as the stone door grates slowly open. Jace steps through, his body wet with sweat, but his eyes are focused when they meet Alec’s.

The door closes behind Jace, but the parabatai don’t pay it any heed. Jace hurries to kneel beside the cot, and he places their foreheads together as they both just feel the other’s heartbeat pulse through their bond rune. Eventually Alec pries his eyes back open and he asks, “What happened?” His voice is rough and he coughs as he feels just how dry his throat is. Jace holds up the cup of water that he’d carried into the room with him. He carefully levers Alec into a sitting position so he can start tilting small sips of the liquid into Alec’s mouth. Alec drinks the entire cup without stopping, one tiny sip at a time. He feels marginally better when he’s done and when he tries speaking again, it doesn’t leave him hacking up a lung.

“Where are we?” he asks Jace.

Jace shrugs and runs his hand over his face as he sets the cup down on the ground beside him. There’s a few days worth of stubble on the other’s face and Alec knows he doesn’t look any better, even if Magnus had cleansed his body magically before they left for the DuMort. “Haven’t the slightest clue. We’re in the City of Bones obviously but I don’t know where. The Silent Brothers moved us when we were asleep. They let me out to eat and use the bathroom, but they just activated your nutrition rune. They said you’d be awake soon.”

“And these?” Alec gestures vaguely at his chest.

“Don’t know. A Brother came and drew them. I was cautious at first, but he said it wouldn’t hurt you any further. Then, after the first one, I could feel the effects myself. He added a couple more as the hours went by.”

“Mother?”

“She’s being kept somewhere else. The Silent Brothers, apparently, have a lot of questions for her. They’ve gone over the Clave’s authority to detain her.”

“They’ve gone against the Clave?” Alec asks in shock. That hasn’t happened in…centuries.

Jace looks at Alec and says, “We’re in some really deep shit, bro. The brothers are freaked. Or excited... I can’t tell which. I mean the halls haven’t been abuzz with conversation exactly, but I can almost feel them telepathically shouting at each other.” He glances at the door before continuing, “And on top of all that there’s rumours that Valentine’s been sighted around the city. They think he’s going to make a move soon. Izzy and the others back at the Institute, are racing to catch up with him. To find any clue of what he’s got planned next.”

“How do you know all this?” Alec asks.

Jace raises a brow and holds up his cellphone, “Even the City of Bones has bars at this point, bro.”

Alec chuckles a little breathlessly, but any response dies in his throat as the door begins to slowly open again. Alec winces at the dragging sound of stone on stone and is immensely grateful when it finally recedes. Both Jace and Alec watch with wary trepidation as several Silent Brothers flood into the small room. They’re pressed elbow to elbow and all their hooded faces are turned towards them.

Alec Lightwood. Jace’s head whips over towards Alec and that answers the older boy’s question as to whether or not Jace could hear the words. You’ve been done a grave injustice, though Fate would perhaps not agree. Many things have brought you to this room, this point in time, but we won’t waste time to presume the conditions. We are here to help you. In any way we can. But we fear that we are too late.

Alec’s stomach drops at those words and he asks with unsurprised exhaustion, “The blood will kill me?”

The blood is killing you. We don’t know how to stop it. Your veins will no longer hold angel blood either, they are too damaged already.

“And the rune? On my back?” Alec suddenly understands Jace’s words from earlier as an inaudible buzz fills the room. As if many thoughts are crowding the air, eager to reach their destinations.

Yes, the rune. Given to you as a child by Maryse Lightwood as a punishment. Alec didn’t know it was possible for the Silent Brothers to sound sarcastic or bitter. Now he did. It is one of the First Runes, not of Nephilim, but of Angels. Valentine has told you as much I suspect. He is a shrewd man, dangerously clever, but it was Maryse’s ignorance that started this. You were young. How young?

“Eight,” he replies. He can see Jace flinch at the answer and he wonders how much Jace realistically knows. The abuse Alec suffered in the past is a topic he avoids with his siblings. The air pressure in the room increases and the buzz takes on a sharp edge. It feels angry. Enraged even. When the voice returns to his head, it is stiff and curt.

Too young. Far too young. Alec and Jace wait in silence as the buzz slowly loses the dangerous undertone. Only then does the Brother talking to him resume. Alec spends half a moment to wonder which Brother it is that’s in his head. The First Runes are little understood. Translations are often guesswork and they can run away within our histories. This rune, the one you bear, means Purity. It has been lost to many cultures, and returned at times to signify Death and Destruction. Torture and Pain. This is because, as most of us had thought, no being or creature remained that could bear it. No creature pure enough. All who had the misfortune to be marked with the rune were killed in agonizing deaths.

We suspect Maryse had seen it in a book. A very flawed anthology by an already debunked and disproven shadowhunter philosopher. It has been written to be a torture rune. A simple pain rune that leaves no visible mark upon flesh but the rune itself. He was a fool. Maryse was a fool.

But you... To bear that rune means to be of pure soul and intention. We thought such purity lost with the Angels.

“I don’t understand. How can something like purity keep the warlock blood from ripping me apart?”

It is an unexpected side effect, yes, but the answer is simple.

The rune is Purity, but another true translation is Cleansing. Angel or demon blood, it doesn't matter, the rune cleanses it. The rune both depends upon and creates purity. Never before has something like this happened, and the rune, we believe, is struggling to deal with your blood. Warlock blood is made to be soaked in magic. The Rune can’t undo that but it continues to try and purify it. Sooner or later, either you or the rune will burn out. We know runes that can help with the pain, but nothing more.

Alec can feel disappointment settling into his stomach and his mind turns to Magnus. A thought then itches at him and he asks, “But I was okay before. With Magnus. He channeled his energy through me and it stopped the pain.”

There is a pause before the buzz comes back stronger than before. It makes the bones in his jaw and ears ache in its intensity. Jace curls towards Alec and the darker haired boy places a hand on his parabatai’s shoulder to reassure him. The buzz cuts off as suddenly as it started and Alec blinks away the pain as he looks back up.

You speak of the warlock Magnus Bane? High Warlock of Brooklyn?

Alec nods silently and several of the Brothers move to the door and out. The remaining Brothers spread out to take up the space left behind.

He will come to us. Soon.

Alec asks before he thinks, “Why are you helping me? The Clave wants me tried for treason. I mean, you guys haven’t acted against the Clave in hundreds of years. Why now?” Alec waits a long moment for an answer and both him and Jace startle as all the Brothers file out of the room, but one.

We have not acted for many years, it’s true. Many, including me, would claim we’ve become complacent. But you must understand, you are young. The oldest of us, the strongest of us, have weathered many changes and many wars. We’ve seen more death and prejudice than you can imagine. So change can be rapid to our eyes. Immortality takes a price.

We thought it best to weather the storm as we have before. Not all wars are inevitable. Many, if left untouched, will fizzle out before they begin. But then...Valentine and the Circle. Things changed so rapidly, people died, loyalties burned. Many of the Brothers fell in that fight as well. Now the Clave begins to be tarnished. Faster than it ever has before. Darkness has settled in and it worries us. We do not pledge our loyalty to the Clave, young Lightwood, we pledge it to the Angels and to the Nephilim.

I believe the real answer to your question lies in a story. A legend. One that we have kept guarded for a long time. Too long, if we look at the problems we face today.

The First Runes are the words of the Angels, but despite their name, they were not all created at once. The Angels added to them as they lived. As they found new sensations and ideas. Much like humans. The Purity Rune was created by an Angel to make a point. It was near the time of Separation. As we all know, Angels used to visit the Shadowhunters. They gifted upon them the Mortal Instruments. Instructions. Runes. But then their creations began to darken. The shadowhunters were beginning to turn against their mission. More concerned with the power the runes provided. Shadowhunters, just like all humans, can be selfish and greedy if not stopped. The Angels were forced to retreat or risk being corrupted themselves.

Before they left one more rune was created. It was a test and an Angel challenged the Nephilim to bear it, he said it was a sign of strength. Many took it upon themselves to earn the rune but they couldn’t withstand it. They were too vain or prideful or self serving; they didn’t understand the true mission any more. To protect. To stand up for those who can’t do it for themselves. Mundanes, downworlders, children, family. It doesn’t matter. Nephilim or mundane, retrieving or giving protection.

The shadowhunters had begun to think themselves above others, instead of as their servants. They began to resent their life in the shadows. Mundanes were scorned but begrudgingly protected. Downworlders were ridiculed and left to fend for themselves. Families became about blood and honour rather than strength of character. Training and runes became about pride not cause. After the Rune had claimed hundreds of lives the Angel came to them and told them the truth. Explained that the Rune meant Purity. That it is to show that Purity does not depend upon blood but rather heart and soul. Just as the Sword can sense truth and regret, and the Mortal Cup can sense strength, the Purity Rune grasps hold of intent and resolve. Those who are not clean cannot endure it.

But the Angel’s warning was not heeded. The Angels were forced to return to their homes and watch with sadness as the Nephilim were broken. The Rune is a symbol, young Lightwood, that shows that angel blood is no better than others and that we all can be corrupted. It is a warning that we should all remember. A reminder of our pasts and the mission that we have oft forgotten. You are an example of that.

No angel blood runs through your veins any longer but you are still Nephilim. The demon blood in yours veins may be killing you, but it’s not because you have been corrupted. You are the sudden meeting point of sin and hope and pain and strength. All these things that have happened to you, apart they are nothing beyond cruelty, but stacked upon each other, you have become an impossibility. A paradoxical certainty.

That is not an easy weight to bear and I’m afraid it will cost you your life.

Alec’s muscles have all gone slack from shock and disbelief. He hears every word echo through not only his mind but his bones and body. He understands but he does not comprehend. He’s been told his entire life that he’s a disappointment. He’s tried his best to give his family what they need. Putting them before everything, but he still remains a spot upon their name. Isabelle is the smart one and Jace is the strong one. He was merely there to hold them together. He had accepted that. He will play whatever role they need, he will do whatever they need to keep fighting. That’s what he can offer to not only his family but the world. That’s his contribution, no more.

Jace can feel every emotion running through Alec, as for the first time in years Alec isn’t guarding the connection between them. Each pulse of shame and confusion and self hatred is passed through the parabatai bond to Jace, as well as the pain in his body. Jace stiffens and realizes that Alec is by far a stronger man than him.

Jace struggles to get to his knees in front of Alec and he catches his parabatai’s jaw to force eye contact. Alec finally looks into Jace’s familiar irises, and Jace begins talking, pushing every ounce of truth back into Alec through the bond. “I know what you’re thinking, Alec, and you’re wrong. The only thing you’ve ever failed at is looking out for yourself or for not seeing your own worth.” Jace can feel his throat closing up and his eyes stinging with tears but he presses on. “Alec, you are the purest soul I have ever met. You want nothing but to protect. In the end it never matters if it’s mundane, downworlders, or shadowhunters. Man or woman. Child or elder. You will give until you have nothing left. I’ve seen it before. Over and over again.”

Alec looks at Jace and he’s shaking his head slightly as the blonde talks, “I don’t--” Alec swallows heavily before trying again. “I’m not the strongest, or the best fighter, or the smartest, or even the most experienced. I’ve mocked mundanes most of my life and thought vampires and many downworlders decadent and self centered. I’m not pure.”

Jace shakes his head, “We all have our problems, Alec. We all have prejudices. We all should be better. Being pure doesn’t mean you’re not flawed. No, it’s the fact that when it comes down to it, you will always fight for them. You got the rune when you were eight and you had no experience then, but it still felt your soul and knew it to be clean. You knew very little besides pain and love when you were that young. Neither of them distorted your mind.”

Alec is breathing heavily now, the words Jace are saying are barely reaching his ears, but the emotions that are flooding him, feelings he know aren’t his own, are clawing at his chest and he can’t tell if it’s healing or hurting more. He gasps under their intensity and tries to ground himself in his own thoughts, to not be pulled too far into Jace. That can get dangerous. Jace pulls back his assault after a minute and Alec can finally breathe a bit better. And think.

He’s never wanted to be the center of attention. He likes when his family sees him, he loves when Magnus sees him, but others’ eyes always make him anxious. He’d rather act and defend with no one the wiser. He doesn’t want recognition, and he certainly doesn’t want to disappoint. Crushing anxiety and self deprecation threaten to crush him suddenly and it almost blocks out the pain of the constant burning. He can’t do this. He can’t be a symbol, he can’t even keep power in the Institute. Then one thought rises above them all, and it terrifies and calms him in equal measures. “It doesn’t matter now, does it? It’s going to kill me,” Alec says with only a slight tremor in his voice.

“Now, now, Alexander. That’s no way to think.”

Alec’s heart skips at the familiar smooth tone and both Jace and him snap their heads around to stare at the door. Magnus stands there, in all his fashionable glory, looking at Alec with something like awe. Alec wonders just how long the warlock has been standing there.

“I’ve always been a realist,” Alec states flatly.

“And I’ve always punched, bribed, and hexed the universe into giving me what I want,” Magnus replies. “I’ve got a pretty good history of success at it too. One of the strongest warlocks in existence, after all.” The words are light but his steps are heavy as he crosses the small room to Alec’s side. He belatedly sinks his magic into Alec’s skin and around his veins and both Jace and Alec slump in relief as the pain bleeds away. Alec collapses back onto the mat in exhaustion and shock. He can hear Magnus and Jace talking next to him, but his mind is too busy. Too hectic for other thoughts or to pay attention to anything else. If he concentrates hard enough he can feel the rune on his back pulse along with his heart beat. Now, more than ever, it feels like a part of him, and that thought terrifies him.

Chapter Text

Chapter 11

The Brothers eventually leave Alec to sleep, as his body is still running on depleted energy reserves. Magnus and Jace walk out with the Brother that had helped them earlier. He had said his name was Zachariah. Brother Zachariah.

They left the door to the room open and he can still hear Magnus and Jace, though their voices are far away. The familiar cadence and syntax helps calm him as he drifts into unconsciousness, though he can’t understand independent words. He finds that he doesn’t want to. He just wants to close his eyes and allow someone else to worry about the rune for a while.

Alec wakes up with a jolt, his body tense for a reason he doesn’t understand, but he trusts his instincts. He quickly rolls off the cot and towards the nearest wall, his eyes on the door. His fingers itch to pull his bow and arrows, but of course he doesn’t have them. He wastes a moment to mourn the loss of his bow to Valentine. He stands slowly, keeping his back to the wall and he strains to hear anything. Magnus’ and Jace’s voices are gone. The Brothers don’t speak, but there’s no sounds of soft footsteps or the gentle swish of cloth either. The silence is setting off alarms throughout Alec’s body.

He takes a breath to steady himself and slowly leaves the room and begins to stalk through the gloomy halls of the City of Bones. Several minutes later he still hasn’t found anyone and he’s not quite lost but close to it. He can feel the faint buzz of the Brothers around himself and he’s done his best to follow their presence. Alec pauses at the end of another long hallway and closes his eyes, trying to keep control of his temper. He slowly reaches for the magic wrapped around him, uncertain but curious. It takes him a few moments of intense concentration but he begins to feel the ebb and flow of the energy keeping the blood from paining him. He traces the magic as it wraps around and around him, eventually finding a strand that leads away from him. He slowly begins to follow it, knowing it will lead him to Magnus.

He’s so tuned into tracing the magic back to Magnus, that at first he doesn’t hear the shouts. Soon though, his attention is drawn to the muffled words of anger. He can’t understand what’s being said yet but the tone of them is angry.  

Alec starts when he hears the unforgettable lilt of Jace’s voice, recognizing both the sound of his parabatai and the abrupt emotions that pulse through Alec in rhythm with his brother’s anger. Alec uses the bond rune to quickly zero in on Jace’s approximate location. The parabatai rune, the voices, and Magnus’ magical presence soon lead him into a large antechamber. Alec freezes in shock when he sees his mother, Jace, Magnus, a large crowd of Silent Brothers and most of the Clave shouting at each other. Alec is pretty confident no one can hear each other anyway. He sighs and rolls his eyes, finding that truth to be so completely expected and yet so cripplingly disappointing.

Alec stands stock still in the small archway, staring at everything happening in front of him. A voice speaks in his head before anyone else notices his presence, and Alec recognizes it as Brother Zachariah. Alexander Lightwood. The Clave has come to demand your trial. They do not think of you kindly, and we fear they will abuse their right to punish you. We do not wish for that to happen, but it is not our choice, that lies with you. Speak, if you will, and do not let them use you as has been done in the past.

Alec’s body trembles slightly in fear of the Clave, in fear of the very people stood before him, shouting at the Brothers. It’s not even the length of a full breath later that someone finally spies his presence lurking at the side of the chamber. “Alexander Gideon Lightwood, you are called forth for your trial,” a man with dark hair and brown skin exclaims. His voice holds a strange combination of relief, anger, and fear. Alec doesn’t have time to try to pick apart the overlaying tones of the statement though as Maryse steps away from the group, her eyes hard on Alec’s.

“ You burned the oath bond into my skin, Alec. Not me. You will be held responsible,” she says. For the first time in far too long he can hear a slight hesitance to her voice. When he looks at her more closely he can see the exhaustion that encompasses his mother. He realizes that she’s dirty and her clothes are dusty. She has deep almost bruise like shadows under her eyes and her hands are shaking badly. Alec remembers that Maryse was not welcomed into the City of Bones like he and Jace were. Even Magnus. She was most likely locked in a cell on her own, made victim to the cries of pain around her, and the hopeless feeling of suppressed thoughts. Plagued with nightmares.

The man from before speaks again, “The Sword of Truth will be used to ascertain what and how much information you have given to the enemy. Your punishment will be decided by the Clave after the fact.”

Maryse looks over at the man and suddenly she’s standing taller, her eyes darker and more alive as she snaps, “Aldertree!” He looks over at her with a bored expression but doesn’t respond.

Alec’s eyes have already moved away from the two of them to focus on Jace and Magnus. They both look a bit flushed, presumably from the anger and shouting match that was taking place just seconds earlier. Jace looks tired but not as sick as last time Alec saw him.

Magnus’ brows are furrowed tightly and Alec longs to comfort the warlock, to chase that expression away permanently. Alec doesn’t understand how he, a plain shadowhunter, can command such influence over the High Warlock of Brooklyn. In that moment he feels almost light with power and the strength of loyalty. The bickering of the Clave members slowly pushes away that elation and he walks over to stand between Magnus and Jace before he turns to face the Clave.  

The Inquisitor steps forward and her eyes drag across Alec’s frame, the wrinkles around her mouth becoming deeper as she purses her lips. She looks old and worn around the edges. Her voice doesn’t show any weakness, however, when she says imperiously, “The Brothers have not been particularly forthcoming about you, Mr. Lightwood.” She shifts her feet and her body falls into a different stance that screams defensiveness. “Your trial will, of course, show us the truth. If you’re innocent as all claim, what do you have to fear?”

Alec smiles and he’s surprised by the reaction himself, but at the same time it feels real. He knows it’s not a gentle expression, it’s all harsh lines and suppressed rage, but he finds it freeing. He’s tired of being pushed around and manipulated. His words carry the same chaste rhythm as normal but each syllable holds an entirely new weight as he responds, “You are right, of course , in a way, but not when you speak of truth.” He grins even larger when the Inquisitor picks up on his mocking imitation of her speech.

“Now is not the time for a philosophy chat, Mr. Lightwood. Do you understand the full ramifications that you’re facing? You seem to be the only one here that’s not concerned about this trial.”

Alec shrugs and the motion is familiar. He shrugs again and says, “Perhaps because I already know the result?”

Her eyes squint at him in an attempt at intimidation as well as in genuine confusion. “Enlighten me then. How is it that you know the future, shadowhunter?”

Alec smirks but there’s no confidence behind it, merely a resigned acceptance, “Because I’m a paradoxical certainty.” Alec can feel the hum of the Brothers in the back of his mind and he knows that they understand what he is saying.

He isn’t surprised when Brother Zachariah’s voice speaks in his mind. I’m surprised, young Lightwood. We have seen many tales in our lifetimes, but yours continues to intrigue. You are right: they intend to try you and get rid of your worrisome influence over the younger shadowhunters. They do not yet know of your blood though. A trial will surely expose that secret and their panic will only grow. There’s a long pause and Alec can feel more than hear a vibration of amusement. Brother Zachariah explains when he senses Alec’s confusion. Listen to your warlock friend.

Magnus clears his throat with gentle disdain and gestures gracefully for the attention of the Clave members. They fall quiet and Magnus knows it’s not because of respect, but rather from shock. Downworlders are not often allowed in the City of Bones, even fewer given the right to interfere in Clave business. “I am Magnus Bane. High Warlock of Brooklyn and the legal representative of the Lightwood siblings. You may recall me from Isabelle Lightwood’s trial.” Magnus casts a furtive glance over the group, knowing that they most certainly do remember him, and not fondly. He rushes on before he can be stopped, “Alexander Lightwood has not broken his word. He has turned himself into the Clave. He came of his own free will to the City of Bones. He may bow to the law, but the law still protects him. I, on behalf of Alexander Lightwood, request the right of a public trial.”

Alec instantly understands the position Magnus has just put the Clave in. He grins at Magnus, who only throws a glittery wink in his direction. Alec stands taller as the mass of angry Idris government officials begin shouting over one another again. He may be doomed, but he won’t go down without dragging his enemies down with him.

ENOUGH. Alec jerks in shock at the loud exclamation of the Brothers’ voices. They speak together as they continue, the many different voices lending the words a volume and intensity that makes Alec’s head twinge. The Lightwood boy will be given a public trial.

The Inquisitor stares at the nearest brother, his hood up and obscuring his face. Alec doesn’t know which one is Brother Zachariah, nor does he fully understand how many of the Brothers genuinely want to help him. The figure doesn’t move, none of them so much as twitch at the Inquisitor’s glare. When she speaks there is the slightest tremor in her voice, “The Brotherhood holds no sway in the court. You merely facilitate the trials and punishments as we deem fit.”

We hold ourselves separate from you and your government. We have vowed our lives to knowledge and the will and power of runes. We guard secrets that could destroy Idris and we work to find the final answer to the demon outbreaks. So it would be wise of you to remember, and to see things how they really are. We do hold sway over the courts, just as we do the entire Shadow World.

“You would take the side of a possible traitor, turning your back on us for the first time since the Dark Ages? We’re trying to protect the Shadow World! Alec is a threat! A public trial will only complicate what has to be done. Your illegal holding of Maryse Lightwood was bad enough!”

And what is it, precisely, that must be done?

She blinks slowly and her fingers fuss with the short hair at the back of her neck, her eyes flicking between all the robed figures. “We must protect ourselves from Valentine. This is war,” she says.

Alec states, “The law is hard, but it’s the law.” He stares at the Inquisitor, standing his metaphorical ground against her glare and suspicion. “The law is hard, but it’s the law . That’s what I’ve been taught for the last 20 years. I’ve built my world upon that. You don’t get to ignore the law any more than us grunts at the Institute do.”

“Are you accusing us of--” Aldertree begins.

Alec cuts him off forcefully, “Yes. Whatever you’re about to say, yes. Because it is my right, as long as I fight for the world and mark myself with a stele, to be protected by the very government that endangers me.”

Magnus chimes in, “I stand witness for Alexander. If he is forced, unlawfully, to undergo a closed trial, I will not stay silent.”

Aldertree scoffs, he’s made his way to stand next to the Inquisitor, and the two stand as a united force. “You’re a downworlder, warlock . You don’t have a voice in our legislation,” he says.

“Then me.” All eyes turn to Jace. His blonde hair is a mess but the earlier angered red flush has receded, leaving him with big eyes and a set jaw. “I’ll stand witness for Alec. If he’s forced to...whatever Magnus said. Me. I’ll do it.”

Surprising everyone, Maryse agrees, “As will I.” Alec’s heart soars for a brief second before she adds, “My oath would burn me if I allowed you to hurt or punish any of them.” Her eyes stay on Alec though and her eyes hold more than a fear of the oath rune. Alec begins to wonder if Maryse isn’t so cold hearted after all. Her eyes narrow when Magnus speaks again and Alec is forced to once again come back to reality.

“There is an Institute full of people who will vow witness to Alexander. He’s trained, taught, and helped hundreds of shadowhunters in his short life. He’s given so much to the Shadow World and to Idris and the Clave, does he not deserve fair representation?” Magnus questions. “Someone like Alec Lightwood doesn’t just disappear . You go against the law now, then it’s only a matter of time before you are discovered for what you truly are. Cowards.”

We swear witness to Alexander Lightwood, to his right for a public trial and fair representation. There is a moment of silence as the shadowhunters absorb that information. The Silent Brothers do not make or break vows often. The Inquisitor stands straight, her lips pursed and her eyes flashing. Her gaze turns upon Alec, who maintains the eye contact with ease. He feels very brave in this moment; proud of himself for finally standing up for his own well being and not just his siblings’.

What is your decision Imogen Herondale?

She exhales roughly but her voice is strong when she answers, “Mr. Lightwood will be put on trial…” She pauses and closes her eyes before spitting out the rest of her words. “In Idris, tomorrow evening. He will be given the Sword of Truth to uncover his guilt, or lack thereof, with the eyes of the shadowhunters upon him. Any and all signs of treason will be punishable as we see fit.”

Jace and Alec look at each other briefly, not needing more than that glance and their parabatai connection to know the other’s thoughts. Jace states, “Any and all signs of innocence will be noted and remembered during the deliberation of his verdict.” Alec has only heard Jace speak so stiltedly, or with so many large words, a few times in his life. The words almost sound clunky in the blonde’s mouth, but Jace stares the Clave down, not giving an inch.

The Inquisitor finally gives a jerk of her head, acknowledging his words. “Alec is not to leave the City of Bones, and he is not to have visitors from the Institute. Jace Wayland and Magnus Bane will be detained likewise.”

Jace scowls in indignation and shouts, “What’s the point of a public trial if the public isn’t told?”

She smiles smugly and replies quickly, “The law is hard but it’s the law.”

“More games, Inquisitor?” Magnus drawls. His body is loose as always but it’s obvious to everyone around that he’s angry. Though no sparks are flying from his fingers yet. “Do you ever get tired of twisting your words?”

“Downworlders will not be allowed into Idris for the trial. It’s not their place, nor their right.” She turns on her heels and strides away, the members of the Clave slowly following after her. Maryse looks torn for a moment, her eyes moving between the departing group and her son. She bites her lip and follows the others out of the City of Bones. Magnus breathes in deeply to keep control of his magic and Jace begins shouting out his own complaints.

Alec just looks carefully at the Brothers. They never agreed to her terms. There’s the rapidly becoming familiar sensation of amusement itching at his thoughts. Follow us. We must have words. We will send for your friends. Magnus and Jace freeze where they are,and send incredulous expressions towards the Brothers. No further thoughts are spoken into their minds and the Brothers move together, their robes gently swishing against each other as they file through the hallway Alec had stumbled through to find them.

Izzy clutches at Lydia’s hand as they hesitantly enter the City of Bones, Clary and Gretel right behind them. Even Clary and Gretel are silent as they walk, instead of at each other’s throats.

Izzy glances down at the fire message in her free hand even though she can barely see the words in the gloom. The further into the passageways they move the more lights are lit on the walls. Clary gasps in surprise when they turn a corner to find a looming Brother waiting for them. He doesn’t speak in their minds but motions for them to follow him. They do so even more quietly than before, their footfalls no heavier than the ones of the figure leading them.

Izzy is the next to gasp when she hears Alec’s voice down the hall. The Brother steps aside and allows the four women to stream past him and into the circular room where the sounds are coming from. Alec stands immediately when he sees his sister and the others. He pulls her into a tight hug, slouching slightly to hold her against him more firmly. She breathes in the familiar scent of her brother and she finally feels her world stabilize somewhat, knowing that Alec is still alive and that they’re finally back together. They both know, all three of them know, that she, Alec, and Jace are all better together.

She pulls away first, too eager to look at him and visibly check him over. He sighs dramatically and holds up his hands in surrender as she begins to pulls at his clothes and prod his sides.

“Oy! Did you really expect me to allow Alec to hide any injuries from me?” Jace asks, the offense clear in his voice just as noticeably as his smile.

Izzy glares at her blonde brother but does take a step back. Alec rolls his eyes at his sister and pulls Lydia into a brief and strong embrace as well. Clary looks at him with hopeful eyes but he turns away to sit back down without acknowledging her. “Magnus!” Izzy says in shock, belatedly noticing the glittery warlock. “You’re here? In the City of Bones?”

He looks at her with a small smirk that doesn’t hide his own anxiety as he replies, “I know. What has the world come to, darling? Though I will say that the Silent Brothers are much better hosts than I had imagined.”

Alec starts when Gretel finally manages to push through the family reunion and nearly tackles Jace back onto Alec’s cot. Jace chuckles even as Clary’s face turns stormy and she aims a hot glare at the back of the werewolf. Alec scowls as he rubs at the bruise Gretel left when she kicked his leg aside, but it soon melts into a smile as he watches Gretel check over his parabatai, much like Isabelle had just done to him.

“I promise, woman, I am fine!” Jace insists, catching her two hands between his. He leans in and places a chaste kiss on her plump lips and the rigidity of her body finally falls away as she scowls at him.

“That’s what you always say! Even when you were collapsing at Magnus’ feet. Or when all you could manage to eat were ice chips. Excuse me if I don’t take you at your word, shadowhunter!” she bites back. A second later though she grins and leans into his side as she turns back to the others. Gretel places a possessive hand over Jace’s heart when she sees Clary staring, and returns the look with a cocky smirk. It looks scarily like Jace’s own signature scowl.

Lydia bends down and picks up the wrinkled piece of parchment that’s fallen from Izzy’s hands and down to the floor. She waves it in front of Alec and Magnus with two raised and expectant brows. “Want to explain to us what’s going on? What’s all the cloak and dagger stuff about?”

Alec deflates visibly and motions for everyone else to follow his example and sit down. He waits until they all settle into place, subconsciously leaning into Magnus’ shoulder. He looks around and finally says, “I’m going on trial. Tomorrow. In Idris.” He delivers the news as if he’s explaining runes to a child. Brisk. Flat.

“In Idris?” Izzy asks, confusion in her tone.

Alec lightly elbows Magnus who rolls his eyes fondly and explains for him, “The Clave was here demanding Alec be immediately tried and punished. We all know how that would have ended.” A shudder runs through his body and his hand tightens on Alec’s leg where it’s resting. “But the Silent Brothers sent them out with their tails between their legs. Alexander here will have a public trial. Tomorrow.”

Lydia is the first to catch on, “But that doesn’t stop him from being punished.”

Alec’s hazel eyes quickly latch onto Lydia’s, knowing that of all the people present, she can best understand his motives. “No, it doesn’t, but it’ll make it much harder for them to hide.” She looks into his eyes and gives a nearly invisible nod of her head. She twists her mouth into a sad and angry smile and looks down at her lap instead of the honourable man in front of her.

“But, Alec! They have full authority! You could be stripped of your runes and exiled!” His sister exclaims. “We can run, we can break you out of here and disappear. We don’t need the Clave or the Institute.”

Alec smiles and looks at his sister with such pure and deep affection as he replies, “You’re right. We don’t. We’d all be better off without them, but I can’t leave. If you recall, Maryse and the other shadowhunters were ready to lay siege to the DuMort and the every downworlder who so much as knows my name. I can’t just run and let them take the consequences.”

Isabelle has never loved and been so frustrated with her brother more than in this moment. She blinks back tears and stares at him, not trusting her voice to carry her concerns without cracking or crying. “Why?” she eventually manages to ask.

He grabs her hand and runs his thumbs slowly over her knuckles, trying to offer her silent support. “Why do you have to ask?” he replies. Izzy presses her lips together to keep her next words from escaping. She knows that Alec would never allow others to be punished for his own actions, but she can’t help but be angry with him nonetheless.

“You could at least fight!” Izzy looks at Alec with wide desperate eyes, “Why are you so calm? Do you want to just throw your life to the Clave? To forget your blood or us? Stripping your runes won’t just be...they make you forget, Alec...don’t make me watch you forget me.”

Alec’s heart pangs painfully looking at his sister, knowing very well how helpless she feels. He very nearly lost her once to the Clave during her trial. He squeezes her hand hard between his own and says, “Who said I won’t fight?”

A small trembling smile begins to curve Isabelle’s mouth and she lets out a couple of shaky gasps of air. She forcefully calms herself, swallowing down the fear in the back of her throat and says, “What do you need?”

Magnus is the one to answer her with his normal airy tone, “First, we need you to send some messages. To the Downworld and the Institute alike. We got the public trial, let’s use it for everything it’s worth.”

Jace grins and runs his hands through his hair as he presses his leg into Alec’s beside him. “ Then we can start really working.” He looks at them all in turn and he watches the fire begin to ignite in each of their eyes. He won’t allow Alec to be endangered. The entire Clave will have to get through him first. He recognizes that will in each of their friends here. “Clary?” he inquires with a smirk.

Her eyes flash to his and unwittingly mirror his expression. “Yes?”

Jace feels a painful tug in his gut as he remembers all that she’s done to him and Alec. To Simon and Gretel.  Perhaps this time she will choose to do the right thing. “You got your stele?”

Chapter Text

Alec lets the breath rush out of him and slumps into Magnus’ side as his exhaustion hits him once again. The adrenaline from the night spent planning finally wearing off. It’s just the two of them left in the City of Bones now, Jace and the others having left a couple hours ago, desperately throwing together the semblance of a plan. Of sorts. The conversation mostly consisted of potential loopholes and angry hate filled words for the Clave.

“You awake?” Magnus asks softly, his hand coming up to run through Alec’s hair softly.

Alec replies, “No.”

Magnus chuckles, though it sounds tight and worried, “So glad I asked then.” The warlock glances down at his phone and watches as the time finally reaches the hour. He nudges Alec’s head gently and stands up, dragging the larger shadowhunter with him. “It’s time.”

Alec nods his head a bit too enthusiastically, trying to properly wake up. His vision is blurred around the edges but he can mostly see and that’s all he can really expect right now. He figures he should feel nervous, terrified even, going to this trial, and most likely his death or exile. All he can feel though is numbness and exhaustion. The whole situation seems so incredibly surreal and abstract.

Alec blinks at the portal that is suddenly shining in front of him and he wonders if he spaced out again. Regardless, he straightens his shoulders and marches through the dimensional door. He scowls and whines deep in his throat as the sudden sunlight sends pain jarring through his head, and he quickly clamps his eyes shut. He grumbles at Magnus who just whispers an apology and plants a kiss behind Alec’s ear. They stand there for a few moments as Alec regains his vision.

They’re standing to the side of a large outdoor amphitheatre. The rows of stone benches move up and around a large sparsely grass covered circle of dirt. He can see the capitol building in the distance and is a little surprised that his trial will not be taking place in it, but perhaps they want this trial as far away from the populace as possible. Even here on the outskirts if Idris there are hundreds of shadowhunters, all outfitted in varying shades of grey and black, seated and staring down at him and Magnus. Alec is surprised by the number of people present and understands that the Clave has brought reinforcements. Still he can see a friendly face here and there and they give him courage.

Magnus can feel the nerves in his stomach expand out and travel through every muscle of his body. It takes everything in him to stop himself from shaking like a leaf. As is, he’s already losing sensation in his fingertips. He lets the glamour on his eyes slip and he stares at the faces of the members of the Clave sat before them. They are raised up on a small dais in the center of the theatre, postures straight and expressions imposing, though it’s obvious they’re not as confident as they want to appear. Many of them are shifting uncomfortably and looking around anxiously.

“Alexander Gideon Lightwood, the Clave calls you forward to trial.” Alec doesn’t see who says it and he doesn’t particularly care. He stumbles through his first couple of steps forward, but Magnus easily catches him before he hits the ground. It takes a painful 30 seconds for them to slowly cover the ground from where the portal opened at the side of the area to the center. Alec stands tall, only a few feet away from the council that wants him silenced. He stares at them each in turn, though remembers nothing about any of them the moment his eyes leave them. There’s not room in his head for much right now. He’s not in pain from the blood, thanks to Magnus, but his body has been pushed to every brink and he desperately needs relief.

Alec clears his throat and tries not to cough as he does so. “Alec Lightwood present and reporting to the Clave,” he says. Alec’s eyes catch a flash of blonde out of the corner of his eye and he turns to find his parabatai and sister standing just one row above the ground, eyes on him. They are as physically close to him as they can get and the thought warms him pleasantly. He wonders where Lydia and Clary are before he remembers the plan, or rather he remembers there is a plan though he cannot currently recall any details of it. He glances over at Magnus but the warlock is staring ahead of them, his eyes on Imogen.

The woman in question steps forward and declares, “Mr. Lightwood, you stand here today under suspicion of treason. You spent time one on one with Valentine amongst his army.”

“You make it sound like it was a vacation!” Magnus snaps. “Alec was captured and tortured by the enemy.”

Imogen smiles and says patronizingly, “Of course, Mr. Bane. We are all aware of that.” She looks up again to address the entire audience and continues speaking, “Whether by intent or not, Mr. Lightwood could easily have divulged important secrets to Valentine. He does have a very high position of security and is privy to a multitude of sensitive information. We cannot stand by and allow that possibility go unquestioned. Does the defendant understand the charge leveled against him?”

Alec merely stares at Imogen and Magnus replies for him, “Yes.”

“How do you plead?”

“Not guilty.”

A murmur goes through the crowd and Alec has to stifle the urge to giggle, how was this a new revelation for anyone? It feels like the entire Shadow World knows about him and his ‘one on one time with Valentine’, but Alec is brought back to reality by those thoughts. The younger shadowhunters may stand with him, but it’s not just the Clave that has developed a backwards way of thinking. Most of the eyes on them are angry and judgemental.

Magnus’ lips thin as he presses them together at the sound of hushed voices, but he keeps his eyes ahead of him, on Imogen. She nods her head and says, “Very well.” Both Alec and Magnus turn at the sound of soft footfalls to see the Silent Brothers emerge from the portal Magnus had made earlier. Brother Zachariah is leading them and in his hands rests the Sword of Truth.

Alec has never been to a shadowhunter trial like this before, but he’s pretty sure the entire Silent Brotherhood isn’t usually in attendance. He turns to catch Imogen’s expression as she watches more and more robed figures step through the portal, and he sees the shock and nervousness crossing her features clear as day. He can feel the comforting hum of the Brothers’ thoughts as nearly a hundred of them gather around the edges of the arena. Brother Zachariah moves to stand next to Magnus, hood up and unseen face angled towards the sword in his hands.

May the Angels guide and protect you, Alexander Lightwood. We wish you whatever grace is left of that which our ancestors long ago gifted upon us. You must be strong for a little longer. Alec feels his stomach lighten at the words and he’s flooded with a bone deep appreciation for the support being given to him. An acknowledging hum tickles at the back of his mind as Brother Zachariah feels his thoughts.

Alec’s lips tug up into a smile and this time it’s soft, it’s a genuine smile of joy and surprise. The expression looks so strangely and heartbreakingly beautiful in such a harsh and unforgiving moment. All those in attendance watch as Alec smiles up at the Clave members, his eyes bright and his body strong.

Imogen struggles to find the words she needs as she stares back at Alec. She finally says, “As a shadowhunter you are already under oath to not lie or neglect punishment that is your due. The Sword of Truth will merely hold you to that promise. It is one of the Angel’s gifts to our people and it will not allow us, of the Angels, to lie. The harder you try to deceive us, the more it will hurt.”

Alec wonders if perhaps the sword won’t work on him. The Brothers told him he didn’t have any angel blood left after all, it’s all been replaced with warlock blood. Brother Zachariah places the sword in Alec’s waiting hands and he instantly knows the answer to his question. It was naive of him to think the sword wouldn’t immediately strap to his soul, after all, blood doesn’t denote value or strength, he is the living symbol of that.

“Is the defendant ready for questioning?” Imogen asks.

Magnus runs a hand over Alec’s side as he wordlessly makes sure his shadowhunter is ready. He nods up at Imogen and says, “Yes.” Magnus nods and places his fingers to his throat for a second. The next time he speaks his voice is amplified to easily reach all those who are watching. “Alexander Lightwood is a great shadowhunter, and an even greater man. He has been the functioning head of the Institute since he was sixteen. He understands the full weight of the responsibility that comes with that title, and under his control the New York section has thrived and grown larger than any other, save Mumbai.”

Aldertree interrupts, his eyes on the watching shadowhunters, “No one here is questioning his leadership abilities, Bane.”

“Aren’t they?” Magnus instantly retorts. Aldertree’s eyes snap down to meet Magnus’ feline ones and the man blanches for a moment. It’s enough for Magnus to forge on ahead, “Alec has repeatedly shown his devotion to his trainees and peers. He has stepped into harm’s way for both his family, his friends, and for mere strangers. Alec understands the subtleties of war. ” Magnus pauses and lets his eyes scan over the entire amphitheatre, taking in every figure in black. The word means such different things to him and them. “Alec was taken against his will to Valentine’s headquarters upon a large cargo ship a mile out from port.”

Alec can’t stop his eyes from looking for the iconic red hair of Clary, but again doesn’t find her. His gaze does snag on Jocelyn’s pinched face. She looks angry and Alec recognizes the glint of self hatred in her eyes. He looks away quickly, his eyes landing on Jace and Izzy. He smiles at them and they both smile back, and though they are strained the sight brings him some comfort.

“He was restrained and kept on that ship while Valentine tortured him. Anyone who knows Alec knows that he wouldn’t betray the Institute and the people he has spent his entire life building up,” Magnus says and he looks pointedly at Maryse and Robert Lightwood who stand off to the side of the Clave. “The Clave is trying Alexander for treason without any evidence for their accusations. War is a time where we must stay together as one and not create enemies where there are none.”

“We’ll be the judge of that, warlock,” Imogen snarls. Magnus’ fingers twitch and Alec can see a single red spark fall to the ground. He leans his shoulder into Magnus’ just slightly and he can feel some of the tension in Magnus’ frame diminish.

Magnus finally looks directly back at Imogen and states, “He cannot lie and the truth will prove him an idol and a warrior, not a traitor. He is a leader of shadowhunters and a friend to downworlders alike.”

“Downworlders hold no place in this trial!” she snarls at him. Magnus smiles at her as if she’d just given him everything he’d ever asked for.

“Because he is a shadowhunter?” Magnus asks, tone light and eyes sharp.

“Yes!”

“And what exactly defines what a shadowhunter is? What makes them different from us?”

“Blood,” Imogen says with a nasty smirk. “ Angel blood.” She doesn’t say it, but the message is clear: angel blood not demon blood like Magnus himself and all other inferior downworlders. Magnus merely smirks and nods his head in acknowledgement.

“First question,” Imogen nearly shouts. “How did you end up on Valentine’s ship?”

Alec can feel something tugging at his heart, or his soul, he’s not sure. He can feel the promise of pain if he doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t try to fight the truth. It will set him free, though perhaps not in the literal sense. “Valentine tracked Jace who was with me, Izzy, Clary, Magnus, Simon, and Raphael. Valentine and his men surrounded us and overpowered us, demanding Jace come with him. Jace agreed to go in order to save the rest of us. As Valentine was taking Jace with him through the portal, Clary rushed forward to try and grab Jace. I immediately moved to stop her because I saw Valentine draw a blade in reaction. She pushed me aside and wrestled Jace out of Valentine’s grip. As she freed herself from the portal she pushed me into it, stranding me on the other side with Valentine.” Alec’s eyes return to Jocelyn and he can see the rage inside her making her visibly shake. He can’t help the small smirk that curls his lips at the sight, a bit of vindictive glee curling in his stomach.

“So you did not willingly go with Valentine?” she asks.

“I did not go willingly, I was pushed. Or pulled, whatever.”

“But Jace was going to go willingly?”

“No.”

“But you just said--”

“I said that his family and friends were held hostage against his freedom. He didn’t go willingly, he went to spare his family from painful deaths.”

“That is by definition--”

Magnus cuts in, “I fail to see the relevance of this line of questioning, Madame Inquisitor.”

Imogen’s face morphs into an ugly scowl before she manages to smooth it out. She gives a small nod and asks the next question, “Did you talk with Valentine?”

“Yes,” Alec replies. He forces the sound of Valentine’s humming out of his mind, trying to focus on the present.

“Extensively?”

“Yes.” Alec bites his lip as he begins to feel belated nerves tangle up in his chest.

“About what?”

Alec shrugs, trying to force a nonchalant air even as he’s desperately trying to stay above his memories. “A lot of things.”

“The Institute?”

“Yes. He demanded I give him access to it.”

“And you gave it to him?” she asks. She looks almost gleeful herself and Alec’s lip curls in disgust.

“No.”

“No? What did you tell him?”

Alec feels himself swallow down his answer, not wanting her to know. “It isn’t relevant,” he bites out.

“What did you tell him?” she demands.

Alec can feel a sharp pain starting to radiate out from his chest, rapidly approaching the same level of agony as the burning he’s been subject to for so long. He feels a gentle pressure on his hand, which had come up to grasp at his sweater, and looks  to see Magnus’ own fingers curling around his. The pain lessens as Alec sighs and looks at Magnus. He knew it would come to this anyway. “I told him nothing about the Institute other than my name.”

“But you told him other things?”

“He asked a lot of questions, most of them having nothing to do with the Institute or blackmail or even shadowhunters.” She looks genuinely confused for a moment and he laughs brokenly. He adds, “He took a personal interest in me, you could say.” The very words he had fought to not say earlier. They hit too close to his heart. Makes his body twinge in remembered torture and the confused knot of his emotions as Valentine forced him to kill.

“How personal?”

He scowls at her but answers before the pain can grab him, “He wanted to make me the perfect weapon.”

“He wanted to recruit you?” she asks in shock. Alec bristles slightly at the tone, insulted by her surprise.

“Yes.”

“What did he offer you?”

Alec pauses, not because of hesitation, but rather in thought. “The world,” he says before his mind catches up. “He wanted me to train his recruits and lead by his side.” Alec very carefully says nothing about Jace and Valentine’s desires for him and Jace to be at his side together. “He said he wanted to help me, to give me everything.” The crowd is gaining volume as many of the shadowhunters watching begin to speak angrily amongst each other.

“Did you believe him?”

“Yes.” It’s such a simple word yet he can feel the heat of hundreds of enraged eyes on him.

“You considered his offer then? Did you train his warriors?”

“No. And no. I didn’t consider it. I didn’t accept it. I just believe that he was telling the truth. He would’ve given me anything I asked for.” The air is suddenly very quiet as his words sink in.

“What did you ask for?”

“Nothing.” Alec is only slightly surprised by the overwhelming truth of that word. All that time and he’d never asked for anything besides information, and incoherent begging for the pain to stop. It’s a sobering thought.

“You’re telling me he just talked the whole time and you never replied, you never asked a single question?”

“That’s not what I said,” Alec grits out between his clenched teeth. “I said I never asked for something. I asked him plenty of questions, none of them pertaining to the Institute or the Clave in any manner.”

“What did you talk about?”

Alec’s eyes flick to Magnus’. The warlock gives him a barely perceptible nod. Alec looks at Brother Zachariah next, though he can’t see his face. A moment later there’s a pressure on his thoughts that tells him all he needs to know. He turns to Imogen and says loudly and clearly, “Blood.”

He can see Jace and Izzy turn and walk further into the crowd around them. He can feel the power starting to radiate from Magnus beside him. “Blood,” Imogen parrots back at him. “Would you care to expand on that, Mr. Lightwood, or would you like to continue wasting our time?”

Magnus smoothly inserts, “We would never want to keep you from your duties, Madame Inquisitor. If you would allow me to cross examine the defendant?” He doesn’t wait for her inevitable refusal but instead launches into his first question, “The most important question you haven’t asked, Inquisitor, is how did Valentine react when you turned down his offer, Alexander?”

Alec replies without looking away from Imogen, “He injected me with warlock blood.” There’s a stagnant beat of silence after his words. The second after the shock wears off the arena explodes with voices as people talk over each other in disbelief and anger and confusion.

“Silence!” Magnus bellows, the same way he did at the DuMort just a day ago. The crowd goes quiet but Alec can’t shake the feeling of eyes burning holes in his back. “He injected you with warlock blood as punishment. He expected you to die painfully, yes?” Alec nods his head unable to find his voice. “And what happened instead?”

Alec’s thoughts are suddenly back on the ship with Valentine sitting beside him. He panics and pulls at his thoughts trying to escape the memory before it can sink in. He blinks and finds himself fully back on the operating table with Valentine’s eyes traveling up and down his figure.

“Am I a good test subject?” Alec bites out.

Valentine looks at him with big eyes and he answers earnestly, “The best.” Valentine stands and approaches his victim, but thankfully doesn’t try to touch Alec again. “You’re still alive!” The statement is said with such stark surprise and elation that Alec feels almost proud of his hardy constitution. Then he remembers who he’s talking to and it all boils away to leave only rage.

He snaps back to the present just as forcefully as he fell into the flashback. Magnus is supporting his slumping figure and saying his name in concern over and over again in his ear. Alec straightens with difficulty and lets his head fall down to rest on Magnus’ shoulder for a moment as he catches his breath.

“Answer the question, Lightwood!” Imogen shouts. Alec winces and Magnus audibly growls.

Alec looks up at her and bites out one word, “Agony.”

She stares at him in shock. Her fingers curl into fists where her hands hang by her sides and he can see her breathing start to shorten. He doesn’t know if she’s scared or furious. Perhaps disgusted? He doesn’t really care anymore. He wants to go to sleep. He wants his family. He looks desperately through the crowd trying to find Jace and Izzy but only finding heated stares of close minded shadowhunters. Here and there he can see the concerned faces of the younger generation of shadowhunters, faces he recognizes from training, but they are few and far between.

Magnus watches as Alec begins to visibly fall apart. He wants to whisk him away and to take back his question. To ignore what happened so Alec doesn’t have to remember it, but in this case, it’s the only way they can protect him. Like cutting open an infected wound. The only real option despite the pain. He puts his hands on each side of Alec’s face and turns the shadowhunter to look at him. Alec’s breath is coming fast and harsh and Magnus takes one hand to set on Alec’s chest, just above his heart.

“Alexander. Look at me.” Alec’s eyes struggle to focus on his and Magnus brushes a thumb over his cheek. “It’s okay, Alec. You aren’t alone. Not anymore. Never again.” He watches Alec’s eyes flutter as the shadowhunter listens raptly. Then a pink tongue comes out and runs over his lips as he nods.

“Right,” Alec mumbles. “Never again.” Alec’s hand is shaking violently as he slips it up over Magnus’ shoulder to cradle the back of Magnus’ neck. He pulls the warlock into his body, needing the physical support. A reminder of the love his family holds for him.

“You’re lying!” Imogen accuses.

No, Inquisitor . All sounds abruptly stop as everyone stands in shock of the voice in their head. Brother Zachariah raises his head and his hooded figure stares at Imogen. He holds the Sword of Truth. You know as well as I, that he cannot lie. Nor does he have reason to.

“It’s impossible! He’d be dead. Demon blood burns us.” She looks back at Alec and Magnus in disgust. “Either you’re mistaken, or it was a small enough amount as to spare you.”

Alec straightens up, but doesn’t pull away fully from Magnus. “Every drop of my blood has been replaced with warlock blood. There is no longer any angel blood in my veins.” There are shouts of disgust all around him as people leap from their seats as if they’re going to charge down the steps to get to Alec. Other just sit in abject silence, stupefied by the confession. Through it all Alec maintains Imogen’s horrified stare.

It’s too loud for her next words to be heard, but he can see them for what they are as her lips move, “What are you?”

He smiles at her and she takes a step back, nearly colliding with an irate Aldertree. She quickly recovers and she holds up an imperious hand. The noise level dies down a bit, enough for her to be heard, “You’re deranged. It would be a miracle if you didn’t spill all our secrets to Valentine! You’ve turned our angelic providence against us and found a way around the Sword of Truth. You are a traitor and a monster, Alec Lightwood!” She trembles where she stands, unable to look at the man before her. An image of everything she’s fought against. This boy could be her undoing.

He can’t undermine the Sword’s power. All those who hold it must speak their truth or it will be pulled from them by the divine power of the Mortal Instruments.

“Don’t tell me what I know! Do something useful for once and figure out how he’s doing it!” She wants to just stop time for a moment, so she can catch her breath. She needs to figure out when this all went bad. It was supposed to be simple. An opportunity to get rid of the shameful Lightwood boy. To restore order and remind everyone of their places.

“I made a vow,” Alec bellows. “A vow you’ve all made as well, and the Sword of Truth holds me to it, as it holds all shadowhunters!”

Imogen is nearly spitting in rage, “You are NO Shadowhunter!” She isn’t sparing a thought for Valentine or the supposed war. She’s not worried about state secrets, she never was, and when she looks down at Alec, she sees that he knows that just as well as she does. It’s written all over his features. Young and inspired and so very angry.

Magnus retorts, “All Lightwoods are shadowhunters!”

“Not this one!”

“Then what is he?” the warlock demands.

“A monster!” she cries. Her anger is making her thoughts hard to keep track of. “He has demon blood! Like a downworlder!” She says the word like an insult and she means it.

She watches a slow self satisfied smile spread across Magnus’ face and she feels her heart stutter as those golden eyes bore into hers. “Well, that changes things!” He claps his hands together and the sun glints off his many rings. “As we’ve already covered, Alec has a right to a public trial,” he waves his hands around to vaguely encapsulate the view around them. “But downworlders do as well, and that calls for downworlders to be allowed into this trial.”

“He’s not a downworlder!” Imogen protests, knowing as the words pass her lips that she’s backed herself into a corner.

“You just said he wasn’t a shadowhunter and he’s certainly not mundane.”

She laughs uneasily and says, “This is ridiculous.”

“Only the Clave would say that justice is ridiculous yet hold such harsh expectations of the law,” Magnus hisses. His anger is getting the best of him and he forces himself to take a step back, metaphorically, and take a deep breath. He needs to keep his head.

She scoffs and replies, “I would expect nothing more from you , Bane.”

“But this isn’t about me, Madame Inquisitor. This is about my client.” He pauses before he adds, “We’d be happy to reconvene at another time. To give the Downworld community the time to react to a public trial.”

“Why not now, Bane?” she smirks. “I’m not going to postpone this trial.”

He shrugs and says, “Fine with me. We’ll bring the Downworld to Idris.” He waves his hand lazily and a portal appears at the top of the stands.

“Downworlders can’t step into Idris while the wards are up. If you expect me to take down our main defenses for this, you’re--”

“That won’t be necessary. We’ve found a...middle ground, you could say.”

Imogen watches as Clary and Lydia step through the portal first. The two of them are greeted by Jace and Izzy who have been waiting for them in the back. Luke’s large figure follows and shortly behind him is Melliorn. Then Gretel and several members of her and Luke’s pack. More and more downworlders step through the portal and into the stands, the only ones missing being the vampires, as the sun is still high in the sky. Izzy and Jace are ushering them through the stands so more people can enter.

“How are they…?” Imogen cries out in confusion, unable to finish her question, resorting to gesturing at the portal in silence.

Magnus smiles and says, “Oh, it’s surprising what shadowhunters can do with their steles, granted a little ingenuity and the proper motivation.” Clary and Luke are standing where Jace and Izzy were at the beginning of the trial. Imogen stares over at them in incomprehension. Clary twirls her stele around her fingers as Luke pulls the collar of his shirt down to expose the angry red burned rune of a recent stele drawing.

“That...that rune doesn’t exist. Downworlders can’t bear runes, that’s impossible!” she shrieks.

Magnus taps his chin in mocking thought, “You seem to be saying that a lot lately, Imogen. Perhaps you should reevaluate. Wouldn’t want you to be seen as unfit for the job.”

Alec’s shoulders sag at the sight of his brother and sister and the others. He catches sight of Magnus’ big cocky grin and he feels an answering smirk take over his own expression. The Brothers are quiet, of course, but they’re also making no moves to stop the ‘invasion’. A few of the younger shadowhunters in the audience have stood and moved to join the downworlders towards the back, in a show of support for Alec and the Downworld. Alec never thought he’d be at the center of something like this. Izzy? Absolutely. Jace? Of course. Even Clary. But him? He smiles, because for the first time, it feels right. It feels like this is the way it’s supposed to be.

Chapter Text

“Enough!” Imogen yells over the noise. “The Downworld has no say in this trial! They cannot impose themselves upon our divine judgement. The Clave does not answer to them, they answer to us !” She glares down at Alec with a heat that Alec is numbly impressed by. “Whatever punishment we see fit for the Lightwood is the punishment he will receive.”

“Your punishment must be fitting to the ‘crime’, however,” Magnus responds. “My client has never given up shadowhunter secrets. He has never been in alliance with Valentine. Alec Lightwood is an honourable man and your anger is not reason enough for his punishment!”

“The word of the Clave is final, warlock!”

“And we are here to see that your power is not abused! You can’t ignore us all!”

“It’s not your place to be here!”

Magnus points up at her and she minutely flinches away from the movement. “You’re the one who allowed this to happen. You opened yourself up to this the moment you discredited Alec’s history. The moment you turned away from the truth in front of you to punish a man for going against your prejudiced ideals!”

“Alec Lightwood is here because he put us at risk. Shadowhunters and downworlders!”

“He has done nothing of the kind!”

“The boy is clearly unhinged already!” Imogen claims, swinging her arms around to gesture at the slumped figure of Alec. “No shadowhunter can withstand warlock blood, you imbecile! As a warlock, you know that better than any other! If he can stand here and say such falsities, with the sword still in hand, then he can say anything! Valentine could very well have all the information he needs to--”

“You really think we would be standing here now if Valentine knew everything?” Magnus interrupts. “Look around, Imogen! This is exactly what Valentine is fighting against, downworlders and shadowhunters united! You claim that the Clave is the opposite of the tyranny and genocide that Valentine threatens, but you’re not. Alec is.”

“We’re not here to argue semantics!”

“No, you’re right. We’re here to argue for the life of a man that has done nothing but serve. Done nothing but put his life second to the well being of everyone else. He’s given nothing to Valentine!”

Imogen doesn’t even glance at Alec, already knowing the truth. Of course he hasn’t, but this is just the beginning. The boy must be silenced before the Clave is undermined any further.

A shadowhunter lowered to demon blood. A cold pity floods her and it cools some of the desperate rage in her blood. As her anger is temporarily curbed a new thought occurs to her. Her muscles relax minutely as she realizes how to turn this back around in her favor.

She clears her throat and lets her gaze fall imperiously over the crowd. She doesn’t fear the Downworld. She doesn’t even fear Alec Lightwood. She fears the shadowhunters. If they turn against themselves then they’ve already lost everything. Lost everything she’s worked her entire life to build. She may have blood caked underneath her fingernails from her dark history, but everything she’s ever done, she did for them all. Every tortured downworlder. Every sacrificed shadowhunter. Every ignored mundane. She must do what she must to ensure the survival of her people. Shadowhunters were brought to this world to maintain the ways of the world. The balance . This boy in front of her endangers that balance.

Or so she tells herself. Alec can see the thoughts in her mind almost as clearly as he can feel the tremble in his own muscles. He’s heard them recited to him over and over again by his parents. Downworlders are self involved. They’re volatile. They’re dangerous. They’re what shadowhunters were created to control. Beneath his thoughts, almost too quiet to hear, he can make out the words of Valentine. Their blood will corrupt them, it is a fact of life. They are merely victims of who they are; but it isn’t mercy we’re giving them by allowing them to live, it is only punishment. They must be extinguished.

Alec can feel each independent pump of his heart as it sends his blood rushing through his body, lending power to his every breath. Not Nephilim blood, not angel blood, but rather demon. Warlock. Magic and strength and fear and sin and hope and everything that makes up a man. A shadowhunter. A downworlder. A mundane. He wonders how things got so twisted. How society fell into such a mockery of what the Angels had created.

“We’re all just people!” Alec says, suddenly and almost explosively, cutting off Imogen’s comeback before she even starts. The words sound feeble compared to his thoughts, and he feels close to bursting at the seams. “Blood is blood!”

He sighs heavily and absent mindedly twirls the sword in his hands, unaware of how the action brings every eye upon him. He rests the blade gently against his shoulder, feeling the slight bite of steel into his skin and is thankful for it, using that small tug as a grounding sensation. “You may doubt me. You may hate me, but this isn’t about me, no matter how much you claim it is. This is about the Downworld and the prejudices the Clave holds against it. A downworlder is no different than a shadowhunter. A mundane no different than either. We are all people, and we are all the same. Our blood is of no import, don’t you see?!”

He is no longer looking at Imogen, but rather at everyone around him. His large frame looks small at the center of everything, but his soul and his words do not. His hands finally lose the constant tremble as he lifts the sword to point at them all, and he turns in place to encompass everyone present. “We’ve all lost track of what’s important here. Souls. People. Respect. The Angels gave us these powers as a way to fight the darkness of this world. To protect the light. That includes vampires and werewolves. Warlocks and seelies. It includes shadowhunters and mundanes. A shadowhunter is just as powerful as a downworlder, and yet mundanes are often the cruelest of us all. Downworlders are blamed for self indulgence, yet it’s shadowhunters that spend so much time on blood lines.” Alec scoffs and the sword is shifted around in his hands in seconds, expertly. He slices the blade across his own chest, tearing through sweater and skin. The thick red of blood quickly pours out of the superficial wound and down to cover his skin and clothes. He holds up a hand covered in the substance and says, “Blood is just blood! It does not make us shadowhunters any more moral and just than anyone else.”

There’s a gasp heard around the entire amphitheatre and Alec belatedly notes the cold gathering of magic in his chest. He looks down to see the slash he’d made just moments ago, sparking blue and closing before his eyes. He looks up at Magnus to find the warlock watching the process avidly, with an almost concealed expression of wonder. Alec looks back to Imogen and says, “I have warlock blood, Inquisitor. I have not lied and I have not been misled. I have not worked with Valentine or against the Clave.”

“That’s impossible,” Aldertree mumbles. Imogen merely nods in stunned agreement.

“No, it’s not. You’re just close minded.”

Imogen shakes herself free from her amazement and says through clenched teeth. “This proves nothing. You’re standing next to a warlock, after all. You continue to lie!” She shakes her head once again and adds, “It won’t change your fate. You’re trying to hide in plain sight, Lightwood, but you must answer for what has happened.”

“No, you’ve got to answer for what you’ve allowed to happen. Time and time again!” Alec shouts, finally losing his fragile control over his temper. The next time he speaks however, it’s once again with his trademark calmness. “Shadowhunters are not divine like the Angels. We’re just as flawed as downworlders. We’re no better than any other being, yet we’ve been raised to think we are. That we deserve more.”

“We are leaders!” Imogen responds. “We are flawed but we are acting within a holy intent. We have the blood of our ancestors: Angels.”

“The Angels were of pure intent, but you are not. We’ve lost track of so much in such a short amount of time. Things were never meant to be this way . Valentine is insane, his mind is broken, but it’s still all set from within a prejudice that he grew up around. Our culture is not innocent! We allowed for such views, as the Circle has cultivated, to exist!”

“You are a child and nothing else! You cannot speak for our culture! Your ignorance blinds you!”

“Yet you’re the one trying to punish me for speaking in defense of the Downworld. If I can’t speak for a culture, why am I being punished for it?”

“You are being punished for your actions! Your time on that ship, the torture from Valentine, it has changed you! I will not allow you to endanger the structure of our society, especially when we are so vulnerable to attack.” Alec opens his mouth to argue some more but Imogen holds up a hand and plows on, “You took a vow, Alec. To honour the Clave and to be loyal to our cause. The instant you were born you were put under the same expectations as any allowed to drink from the Mortal Cup. Complete obedience. Now answer me one question, Lightwood.” Her lips curl into an ugly smile and she flicks her hand to the side dismissively, “Answer correctly, and you will walk away without consequence.”

A deafening silence has fallen upon every person in the gathering. Breathes held and hopes up, but Alec can feel his stomach sinking with dread already. He knows the question to come. Has always known it would come down to this. That he was fighting a losing battle.

“Can you vow your loyalty to the Clave?” She already knows the answer and she’s so incredibly relieved and angry and bitter, but happy to bring a close to this nonsense. To have this boy silenced so they can all move on. “Completely. Unerringly. Can you uphold the word of your government and culture?”

Alec swallows once, heavy and with no small amount of guilt. He can feel the Sword of Truth clawing the inevitable confession from inside him. He fights the pain and pull for a long moment, not ready to kneel before his fate. He looks at Magnus and sees the blank fear in those cat eyes. Alec blinks heavily and looks away. He grits his teeth and pulls the Sword of Truth from the ground. He raises it reverently in two hands before him and says with resignation, “No.” He sighs as the pain rushes out of him and he makes himself meet Imogen’s gaze as he repeats, “No, I can’t.”

Imogen smiles. “Then, as has always been done and has always been known, you, Alexander Lightwood, will be stripped of your runes.”

Simon breathes in deeply, trying to find a peace within himself that’s been missing ever since Clary started chasing after Jace and yelling at things Simon couldn’t see. It feels like the world has finally stopped spinning, even if for just a moment. He forces himself to not think of the trial and to relax. He lets his body fall even deeper into the plump cushions of the sofa.

He can smell the blood before he can hear Raphael’s light footsteps. Simon watches the doorway as Raphael steps into view, two tall glasses of blood in his hands. His eyes catch Simon’s and he gives a very small tired smile. He bumps the door to his rooms closed with his hip before he walks over to sit on the other side of the golden couch and hands Simon one of the cups. Simon wastes no time in shuffling over to Raphael’s side and curling into the clan leader’s body. Raphael chuckles lightly under his breath but doesn’t say anything, just pulls Simon tighter into him. They drink their blood in quiet contemplation and Simon closes his eyes and just breathes in the cold scent of Raphael.

He feels safe. He revels in that feeling and the relief it brings and a smile tugs at his lips. Raphael puts his empty glass on the floor beside them and strokes a finger across Simon’s cheek, just barely poking at the edges of the grin there. “What are you so happy about then?” he asks.

Simon shrugs and hands his empty glass to Raphael, who scoffs but takes it regardless, setting it beside his own abandoned cup. “I feel safe with you, and I think it’s because I think of you as my new home,” Simon says. The tone is matter of fact, almost light, but they both know just how much he’s saying. Raphael can feel his chest tighten at the words and he places a small kiss on the top of Simon’s head.

“And you are mine, conejito. You and the DuMort.”

Simon lifts his head to look at Raphael and he nods, “I know.” His eyes drift to the left slightly in thought as he searches for the words he wants. It’s an uncommon process for him, used to any words he wants, or doesn’t want, just spilling from him, but Raphael helps calm his mind down slightly. Or maybe he’s just too exhausted to ramble. “No one’s ever looked out for me the way you do. No one’s ever listened the way you do.” Simon pauses and raises a finger before Raphael can say anything, “I know you listen, no matter how much you deny it. You may roll your eyes and scoff and generally pretend to ignore me… but you always remember what I say.”

Raphael shrugs his shoulders self consciously and mumbles, “It’s worth remembering.” After a moment the clan leader forces himself to meet Simon’s eyes, and he swallows when he sees the deep brown staring back at him. Raphael is once again faced with the reality of Simon. Of how completely gone he is for this ridiculous dorky fledgling. He loves the way Simon lights up when he tries to hum the new chorus for his latest song. He loves the way Simon is so unapologetic in his optimism and joy, no matter what happens. He loves Simon’s inability to stop moving, despite his own hatred of fidgeting; and he loves the stutter that sometimes plagues the boy’s words when he gets too worked up. Loves the way Simon understands what Raphael is trying to say, most of the time without even needing to verbalize it.

Raphael doesn’t notice his hand rising to cup Simon’s neck, his thumb resting on Simon’s left cheekbone. Doesn’t notice the way his breathing syncs to match the habitual movement of Simon’s lungs. But Simon does, and he remembers the conversation he and Magnus had. Just a couple short days ago, though it feels like so much longer. Simon had meant every word he’d said, or rather every word he couldn’t figure out how to say, but felt down to his bones. And it scares him, terrifies him, but sitting here with Raphael he feels so very very light. And in love. And it is scary but incredibly freeing.

Neither of them should be surprised by the way the words slip from Simon’s lips, but they are regardless. “I’m in love with you.”

Raphael’s fingers dig into the skin of Simon’s neck for a moment before he forces his muscles to relax again, unwilling to hurt his fledgling. His breathes have stopped though and he sits unmoving, staring at Simon. Raphael has never been so aware of the lack of a heartbeat in his chest, but he’s also never felt more alive. Simon has that effect on him. “Simon,” he mumbles, barely audible. “I…”

Simon shakes his head slightly and just pushes into Raphael’s embrace further, setting his lips on Raphael’s cheek, just for a quick peck. “It’s okay,” Simon replies, though neither really know what he’s referring to. “I won’t even pretend to know what’s going on in that pretty head of yours, but I do know one thing. You deserve to be happy, Rafa. More than anyone else I’ve ever known.” Simon tries to pull away and give Raphael space, but Raphael holds him in place. Not strong enough that Simon couldn’t get out of the hold if he wanted, not forcing Simon to stay, but just enough to communicate that Simon is wanted there.

Raphael swallows and tries to speak, “I, Si, I--I can’t…”

“It’s okay, I--”

“I can’t give you what she can!” Raphael says in a hurry.

Simon’s brow crumples in confusion and he pulls back further, Raphael’s hand falling away. “What? Who?” Simon purses his lips for a second before he asks, “Clary?”

Raphael nods once and then shakes his head once, then just stops in his own confusion. “Maybe? Her or Isabelle. Or anyone, really. I can’t….” Raphael can’t find the words he needs and his fingers are itching to touch cold skin again, arms aching to hold Simon.

Simon can see the way Raphael’s body curls ever so slightly towards him and he suppresses a smile. He pushes back into Raphael’s body and chuckles slightly when the man instantly clings to him, dragging Simon into his lap. Raphael holds him close to his body and nuzzles his face in between Simon’s shoulder and his neck, just savouring the contact and the sweet homey smell of caramel and cotton. It’s a long moment before he or Simon notice the blood running down Raphael’s cheeks. Simon makes a small sound of distress when the scent hits him, and pulls back so he can look at Raphael.

“Raph, what’s wrong?”

Raphael just shakes his head and sighs. He looks up at Simon’s concerned face and feels a strong pang of longing radiate through his being. “I love you, Si. Dios, Simon. I love you so much, it hurts. I want to give you everything, want to give you the world. I want to hold you through your nightmares for eternity and listen to you sing in the evenings. I want to protect you and cherish you and...just love you. But I don’t...I don’t want ...you.”

Simon’s skin tingles in anxiety and he looks at Raphael in dread and fear and disappointment. “I don’t understand…” he whispers. He watches as Raphael’s face crumples and he finally reaches forward to wipe some of the tears away. “You love me?”

Raphael opens his eyes to look at Simon and he nods his head, “Yes. Te amo, Si. With all my heart.”

Simon bites his lip and tries to blink back his own bloody tears as he asks, “Isn’t that enough?”

Raphael tries to smile but it’s weak. “I don’t know. Is it?” He shakes his head and looks down at Simon’s chest. “I can’t...I’m asexual, Simon. No grey area. And I don’t want, I can’t...give you the intimacy someone else could.” He clears his throat and when he speaks again, it’s stronger, “I’m not ashamed of who I am and I promise you it’s not a matter of meeting the right person, or experience or any bullshit like that. I’ve just never wanted anything like...that. I never will. I love you with everything I am, Simon, but I can’t give you that. Ever.”

There’s a beat of silence as Simon processes the words and then a breath of relief pushes itself out of his chest and he slumps into Raphael’s body. “Raph, Go---” Simon chokes on the lord’s name as it burns in his throat, but quickly moves on. “That’s okay, that’s...it doesn’t matter. As long as you love me.”

Raphael looks at Simon after a moment and says, “You don’t care?” He raises one brow and says archly, “I won’t share you.” It’s a very Raphael thing to say and it’s delivered in his clan leading voice, but Simon can hear the nerves behind it.

“You won’t have to.” Simon takes a breath and wills himself to put words together that make sense. “I mean, do I find you attractive as hell? Yes, I do. Ridiculously so.” He shrugs and admits, “I would love to have sex with you, but I will never ever expect anything from you. Would never want you to do anything you don’t want. I enjoy sex, I do; but I love you, Rafa, and if that means not having sex, then so be it. It’s not a deal changer, man. I wouldn’t give up a moment with you.” Simon sighs and allows the latent fear of rejection flow from his mind and body. He turns a small grin towards Raphael and asks, “You just gotta be honest with me and let me know when I cross a boundary or whatever. For example, what about kisses? Can I give you smooches?”

Raphael rolls his eyes at the question but his mouth is bent into a large smile. “Yes, Simon, I believe kisses are fine. I think I may really enjoy kissing you. Let’s just...start slow.”

Simon smiles and there’s a spark in his eyes as he leans closer, “Yeah?” He places a quick kiss to the full lips under his and winks at Raphael when he pulls back. “We’ll have to experiment with that then, because your lips are incredibly pretty and soft.” Simon’s eyes widen before he adds quickly, “No pressure though!”

Raphael huffs out a breath of relief and appreciation and adoration. When he speaks though, he just says, “I’m not pretty, I’m the clan leader. One of the most powerful--”

“You’re pretty and there’s no arguing that.”

Raphael’s hand slides back up Simon’s arm to settle on the back of his neck, his thumb once again stroking across the fledgling’s cheekbone. Raphael doesn’t try to stop it and just pulls Simon into another kiss, this time sinking a bit further into the feeling of Simon’s lips on his. When they pull apart a long moment later, Raphael smiles and says, “I love you, mi corazon.”

Simon smiles widely and his eyes crinkle in awe. He opens his mouth with the intent to return the sentiment but they both jump in alarm when they hear the doors of the hotel burst open a couple floors beneath them. There’s a flurry of noise as vampires all through the building react, but the sounds are drowned out by one familiar voice.

Simon and Raphael are by the door to the room in seconds but they both freeze once they hear him . Simon turns to Raphael in horror and whispers, “Valentine…”

“You can’t do this!” Magnus responds, stepping forward to stand between the Clave and Alec. “He’s done nothing!” Some in the stands of people are beginning to react as well, shouting and tussling with each other. Others are still frozen in shock.

“Any shadowhunter who is not loyal to the Clave cannot be trusted,” Imogen says.

Many of the downworlders are trying to push their way down the stone bleachers and to the field, enraged by the injustice. Some shadowhunters are trying to hold them back, for good or ill. Many are trying to start fights and arguments. Alec watches them all with a blank look. He doesn’t want them to fight, he doesn’t want to forget or be exiled, he doesn’t want to be here at all. He just wants to sleep.

You can’t derune him. It will kill him. The mental words make many of the audience members freeze as well, eyes flicking between the Brothers and the Inquisitor.

Magnus’ head whips around towards Brother Zachariah, and Alec can see the warlock’s panic ratchet up another notch. All he feels himself is a cold detachment. His death has been held over him for too long now.

“It won’t kill him, it’ll just make him forget,” Imogen argues in confusion.

Alec isn’t a normal shadowhunter. He stopped being that when he was child. His soul was forever changed the moment the Purity rune was burned into his skin.

Magnus snaps his fingers and the thin sweater on Alec’s body disappears, leaving his runed skin on display for all to see. Alec turns slowly, showing his back to the Clave. The First Rune is a dark red against Alec’s pale skin, and it’s visible to all around.

A few members of the Clave gasp upon seeing it, but Imogen looks more puzzled at the sight. “And what is that?” she asks. “And how is it in any way relevant to this trial?”

“It’s one of the First Runes,” an older woman, several rows behind Imogen, stands and says with clear admiration. Alec recognizes her from a few meetings with his parents. He recalls her being a professor in Idris, and it makes sense she would recognize it to some degree. “You can tell by the stylized edges, this is a rune created by the Angels. Most of them have been lost from our records when the Angels left, but a few remain.”

Imogen looks at the woman and orders for her to be seated. The professor narrows her eyes in obvious irritation but does as she’s told. Imogen glances at Aldertree before she faces the Silent Brothers and the defendants. “What is the meaning of this, Brothers?”

It is the First Rune for Purity. Cleansing. Strength. It shows that Alec has a pure soul, for he does not deliberate on the costs of protecting someone. Does not seek out glory for the wrong reasons. Because Alec has lived a short and painful life yet he still values life in himself and others. He has no ulterior motive beyond doing what he believes to be right. Protecting those that cannot protect themselves.

“You say he has no ulterior motive but he can’t swear his loyalty to us! Shadowhunters are a people born of discipline. We bleed through and for the law! Disloyalty can’t be allowed to fester!”

Alec sighs and when he speaks the only emotion audible is disappointment, “Loyalty is given to those who are trusted to keep the health of many in mind.”

“I am making a choice now, for the collective future well being of us all.” Imogen presses the back of her hand to her cheek for a moment to try and cool down the skin that holds a near constant angry flush. She clears her throat primly and continues, “I have served the Shadow World for many years and I understand the true price of safety and unity. We can’t allow any doubt in the door. If you can’t uphold the pillars of the shadowhunter community, you are not allowed to be a part of it. If you are no longer a friend, you are a threat. You would ask me to just let you walk away with no adverse effects? How do I know you won’t go to the next group and use the information you have against us? No, Mr. Lightwood, I don’t care about the purity of your soul, that’s not under question. Your actions are, and what they could lead you to do in the future. I cannot abide a snake in the garden!”

Alec attempts to breath through the coldness in his chest and in his head. It’s traveling through each neuron slowly and sluggishly, until his whole being aches with such a bittersweet disbelief . After all he’s done and this is how it ends. He’s faced down Valentine and his own parents. The Inquisitor and demon upon demon. He’s protected his family with every breath he’s taken and he’s done it well. But now…

“It’s the bigger picture that matters here, Madame Inquisitor!” Magnus cries out in his own matching disbelief, though his is tinged around the edges with fury and desperation.

Alec links Magnus’ fingertips with his own, allowing the sword to once again fall tip down into the dirt with the hilt held loosely in his free hand. Alec says, “I’m a survivor, Inquisitor. Just one among hundreds of dead shadowhunters. I’m a statistic, and that’s all I should be. It’s the message in the story you have to see: that purity doesn’t depend upon blood but rather soul ! Our angel blood has nothing to do with our intentions or our hearts. Just as demon blood has nothing to do with downworlder hearts. They are both merely a means to an end, to our abilities. Our divine ancestors had us swear an oath, our duty is looking after the others. We are protectors who have lost their way. Lost their sight, even though everything is right in front of us.”

This rune that the Lightwood boy bears was the last warning of the Angels. The very last message to our world and people. What makes the Nephilim powerful is by very essence what makes us a servant. We are here to maintain the safety and rights of all in the Shadow World and beyond. Brother Zachariah takes one step forward and motions towards the Sword of Truth.

The Sword of Truth was a gift to us, but also a responsibility. This rune, this message, is a warning, but also a choice. What do you choose, Madame Inquisitor Imogen?

Imogen is starting to grow paler as she debates her choices, the flush leaving her cheeks and face. Alec doesn’t know if she’s less angry or more panicked, or both. Or perhaps she’s starting to see the truth. He thinks of Valentine and his inability to even consider anything outside of his twisted worldview. He wonders just how similar the Inquisitor and the lunatic are.

“How are we to believe this is real?” Imogen finally asks. Her eyes are shifting around constantly and it looks so painfully desperate that Alec stirs where he stands uncomfortably. “The warlock could easily have burned a rune into the skin or faked one.” Alec huffs out a laugh at the thought of a faked rune. He would prefer that, to save himself past and future pain.

There is one witness.

Alec’s stomach cramps painfully and he has to force his head to turn. He catches Magnus’ eyes first and he feels some of his fear dissipate at the golden irises that shine with support. He places a quick peck to the corner of Magnus’ mouth before he takes a shallow breath and looks his mother in the eye.

Maryse is already staring at him, her expression torn between anger and frenzy, though Alec can’t pin where that franticness is coming from. His thoughts are whirling around themselves and tying everything into nonsensical knots. There’s a sharp hope prying at his skin, trying to take root, but he consciously pushes against it. He knows better now, and yet… he can’t stop it all. It makes the hair on his arms and the back of his neck stand on end, staring at the woman who gave him life, who raised him. Who once upon a time had rocked him to sleep as she read history books to him, or bought him his first bow and seraph blade.

Maryse closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, the action is very reminiscent of Alec, and in that moment they both look so beautifully fragile yet undoubtedly capable. She opens her eyes and takes a single step forward as she says, nearly at a shout, “It was me. I gave it to him, I burned that rune into his back... when he was eight.”

Imogen glares at the woman and Alec nervously grins, not sure what this means.

Chapter Text

Simon manages to stay half a step in front of Raphael as they both sprint through the halls at supernatural speed, following the echoes of Valentine’s voice through the DuMort. The sound sends shivers down Simon’s spine, not because of its timber or words, but rather because of the pain and fear he remembers seeing in Alec’s face. The elder Lightwood is the strongest and bravest man Simon has ever met, and anything that can break that man down strikes fear into Simon’s unbeating heart.

They’re forced to stop, just shy of entering the foyer, two steps above the floor, by the sun rushing in through the open front doors. The rest of the clan are standing at the edges of the light as well, each and every vampire braced for attack with muscles coiled tight.

“Peace, bloodsuckers!” Valentine calls out loudly, though the sensitive hearing of the vampires make such efforts unnecessary and slightly painful. “Today is not the day I take this forsaken place and drive you all back to death. Today is more important, I’m afraid.” The man is standing in the light, leaving his facial expression dark and his stance foreboding. Two other shadowhunters stand at his side. One is a large man with runes littering his arms and even the sides of his face, he holds a loaded crossbow in one hand. The other is a slim woman whose runes are hidden under layers, except one: a raised swirling circle on her throat. She’s gripping a glowing blade between both hands.

“Close the doors and perhaps we can talk, shadowhunter,” Raphael says with calm authority. His voice doesn’t betray how hard his fingers are clenched into fists, or the way his blood sings at the thought of drinking Valentine dry.

“Now, now Santiago. Don’t be foolish.” Valentine’s eyes rake over Raphael’s body and he quirks an unimpressed brow. “You’re Camille’s pet, the one that sabotaged my ship. I thought perhaps there was more to you than what I saw that night, but it appears I was wrong. A man like you can’t run a damn tea party, nonetheless an entire clan.”

“And a man like you can only lead the deranged and mislead,” Raphael snaps back. “Do these hunters know what happened last time you tried to rebel? Do they know how much blood was spilt, how many lives you sacrificed? Ever wonder why you make them wear the circle rune, even now?” Valentine chuckles and Raphael’s pride snarls at the disrespect. He subconsciously steps forward, his toes teasing the barrier of light. “Whatever you came for, you won’t get it.”

Valentine sweeps his cold gaze over the tense congregation of vampires, all eyes on him. He preens under the attention and turns back to Raphael with a sneer of disdain and pride. “I know she’s here. I can smell her tainted blood.”

Raphael doesn’t allow his confusion and bewilderment to show, but after a moment of reflection he understands. “She’s not here. She went with the others to the trial.”

“No, she wouldn’t. She’s a coward, that one. Weak and pathetic, yet still I used my expertise to make her better, stronger . And I get betrayal in return! She hides from the light like you. She cowers, as she always has. Why my wife ever decided she was worth confiding in, I will never know.”

“She’s not h--”

“DOROTHEA!” Valentine bellows. The name causes the rafters to creak and groan as they vibrate under the power of the call. Lightbulbs rattle gently against their metal casings and the vampires wince at the volume.

Raphael growls to get the attention of the intruder before he repeats, “She’s not here! Are you deaf as well as mad?”

Valentine’s smile fades at the last word and his eyes narrow as he glares at the clan leader. “Watch your mouth, vamp, before I have a mind to separate your head from your body.” Raphael moves to reply, but the shadowhunter cuts him off before he can start, “I want the warlock. She’s worth nothing to you, give her to me and I’ll leave all of your pathetic underlings alone.”

“You want us to give you another tool to aid in your efforts to wipe the Downworld from existence? So what…? So you won’t kill us today ? No, I’m sure whatever else you have planned is far more painful. That’s the only thing holding you back. That and your fear . A hatred as pure as yours can only be born from terror.” The words cause Valentine to take a hurried step towards the staircase before he remembers himself. He stops and glares but stays quiet. Raphael can see the man sorting through his options, weighing pros and cons. “And you bring these shadowhunters here to scare us, no doubt, but anyone can see these aren’t warriors, they aren’t soldiers for an army. They’re shields between you and the enemy. They’re serving as a protective bubble around your flawed and dated ideals. So what is it that you’re so scared of, Valentine Morgenstern?”

“Do not disrespect me, Santiago, or --”

“Then you must respect me in turn, downworlder and all, but we all know that won’t happen, right?” Raphael crosses his arms across his chest and he glowers down at the shadowhunters. The lethal light from the sun outside glitters in his dark eyes giving him an ethereal image, one of divinity. He looks like his name sake, ArchAngel Raphael, angry and powerful and holy; stuck in the shadows of a decrepit building, but ready to break out and rain terror on his enemies.

Valentine’s entire body is taut with fury and it’s that transparency of both his thoughts and intents, that allows Raphael the time to sidestep in front of Simon. The arrow slides through the muscle of the clan leader’s chest, hitting just above his heart, and catching on his collarbone with a sickening scrape that he can both hear and feel. Raphael’s expression doesn’t crumple with pain, but rather furrows with a potent combination of terror and fury. The arrow was meant for Simon, it would have skewered the fledgling’s heart. Raphael’s shorter stature being the only thing standing between him and his second death.  

Valentine’s hand is shaking as he holds up the heavy crossbow, snatched from the shadowhunter at his side mere milliseconds earlier. Raphael hears Simon’s gasp of breath and can feel the resulting puff of warm air on his neck. The leader barely manages to restrain himself from snatching Simon up and running further into the shadows, to hide him away. He can’t stop the way his vision hazes red and his instincts call for him to attack and protect. He vaguely realizes he’s felt this way once before. He struggles to remember, but can only see his hands tearing through pale skin, he can smell the blood, and it’s familiar... Camille.

That name helps break him out of his rage, but Valentine only needs a moment of distraction. Morgenstern, using the speed of several runes, darts forward and grabs Simon’s arm, dragging the fledgling back with him into the light. Simon is roughly tugged down and into Valentine’s chest, his small frame covered by Valentine’s heavy shadow. Simon can feel the warm tingle of sun all around him, and he closes his eyes, trying to remain calm. He’s not ready to die, and certainly not in agony. Not in front of Raphael. Raphael .

Simon jerks his head to look back at his leader. Raphael’s eyes are on Simon and his entire body is shaking with a deep warning growl constantly grating over everyone’s ear drums. He doesn’t think Raphael even knows he’s doing it, the sound feels primal. Possessive. Simon would be thrilled with this realization if he wasn’t currently terrified that Raphael will pounce directly into the sun.

Raphael finally reaches up a hand and wrenches the arrow out of his chest, the wood and metal of the bolt cracking in his grip and falling to the floor in pieces. He pushes one hand forward, testing the light, and immediately snatches his hand back when his skin bubbles and burns. A louder grating growl falls from full lips and this one sounds desperate. It’s a sound that should never come from Raphael.

“Stop,” a voice calls out. It’s feminine and a slight tremor of nerves can be heard. At first Simon thinks it’s Lily, stepping forward to take charge. She’s a slim and scary woman, one that Raphael holds above the others. But no, this voice is both achingly familiar and painful to hear. One he hasn’t had the time to catch up with properly but reminds him of home. “Let Simon go, Valentine,” Dorothea says. She stands at the top of the stairs, staring down at everyone gathered below.

Simon wants to sob with relief and denial. He’s known Dot nearly his whole life, just like Clary. She’s always been like a big sister to him. She would buy him and Clary drinks at bars when Luke and Jocelyn were out on a date or business. She helped him pick out his outfit for junior prom. He remembers walking through Dot’s antique shop; the distinct aroma of old books and worn fabric. “Dot!” Simon cries out.

She looks into the fledgling’s eyes and says kindly, “Simon.” Simon’s eyes immediately well up, and the bloody tears make his vision go hazy. He rapidly blinks them away so he can see her properly again. He doesn’t want to be used as leverage, once again , to force his friends into peril.

“Dorothea, finally!” Valentine crows, the smug victory in his voice is thick and choking. “You’ve had your fun, pet. A frolic in the flowers, if you will, but it’s time to come home and finish what we started.”

“I’m not going to help you, Valentine. You may drag me back to that ship, you can experiment with my body and mind, and tear me apart piece by piece, but there’s no way I’m helping you again.”

“Ah, Dorothea, darling, you’re forgetting something!” Valentine smirks and prods Simon in the chest with the side of the crossbow still in his hand. “What’d you call him? Silas?”

“Simon,” Raphael murmurs, his eyes are still trained on Valentine, though they look a little clearer than they did just a bit ago.

“Raphael,” Simon says as he tries to catch his eyes. Dark brown meet chocolate brown and for a moment Simon allows relief to burn through him. “Come back, Rafa.” Simon doesn’t get to see if his words have an effect. Valentine grabs his chin and tilts it up, a gleaming blade held to his throat, crossbow nowhere in sight.

“Let him go,” Dot demands.

“Not until you help me,” Valentine replies.

“What do you want?”

“Idris. I want into the city.”

“Impossible, the wards will stop you.”

“Don’t play coy with me, Dorothea. My wife trusted you with my child’s life. Now I know, for damn sure, that she would’ve given you every possible advantage to help Clary. There are back ways into Idris, and Jocelyn’s always been good at getting that kind of information. It’s what made her valuable. So how do I get in?”

“You did all this just to get into Idris?” Raphael demands with a snarl. “You going to beg the Clave for forgiveness?”

Simon can both feel and hear Valentine’s heart rate pick up as the man pushes his head even farther back, painfully so. His entire throat bared to the room. “Say another word and I bleed him dry, Santiago.” Raphael bites his lip painfully hard and swallows down every burning retort that’s begging to be spoken.

A knife slices a millimeter into cold yet still soft skin. Simon whimpers slightly at the feeling of a heavy bead of blood dripping down his front. The sting of the cut is negligible, but Simon struggles not to choke on the overwhelming smell of his own blood. It’s just a drop, but it feels so incredibly heavy as he tries to block out the sound of Valentine’s heart and the pain in his spine at being held in such a position.

Raphael hisses in a breath and Dorothea’s hands clench onto the wooden banister of the hotel’s grand staircase. “Come now, Dorothea,” Valentine purrs. Raphael’s answering growl is ignored as the disgraced shadowhunter stares up at the warlock he’s tortured for days on end. He knows her every weakness. “You failed to protect Clary. You failed to protect Jocelyn. Are you really going to let me kill this boy? Is he just another name to add to your shame?”

“Whatever you want, you can have,” Raphael whispers hoarsely. “Just give him back.”

“I want the warlock!” Valentine snaps back, his patience obviously waning,

“Anything but her!” Raphael insists. The leader knows he can’t trade Dorothea for Simon, though he wishes he could in this moment, but Simon would never forgive him.

“Let him go and I’ll tell you,” Dorothea says firmly.

Valentine pretends to think the offer over before he scoffs overdramatically and retorts, “Tell me and I’ll let him go.”

Raphael forces his eyes away from Simon to look up at Dorothea. She looks better than she did just yesterday. The black feathery poison in her veins fading away, leaving her light brown complexion smooth and unblemished. Her hair is brushed and her body cleared of all dirt and grime. It’s hard to believe she was ever a prisoner. Raphael clenches his eyes shut at the thought of Simon being the next favourite chew toy of Valentine’s.

“That’s--” she starts.

“ Tell me, Dorothea!” Valentine seeths.

The female warlock glances around, looking for anything, a means to escape or fight back. Like always however, she finds herself defenseless before Valentine. “The only one I know of is…” she hesitates for only a second, “the one that Jocelyn created. No one knows about it, not even Luke. It’s underneath her studio downtown. It’s locked with runes and--”

“No need for that. You said downtown, so not the studio that was in their house?”

Dorothea is taken aback by Valentine’s apparent familiarity with the Fray/Fairchild household. “Yes.”

She and Valentine maintain eye contact and Simon’s shoulders are screaming in pain at his hunched position against Valentine. “I believe you, Dorothea. Thank you.” His grip on the knife at Simon’s throat loosens slightly and the fledgling nearly falls over at the loss of some of the pain. “If I find you’ve lied to me I will come back here and burn this hotel to the ground. This time I’ll make sure you’re dead.”

Dorothea nods with jerky motions and says, “Now, let Simon go.”

Valentine glances down at Lewis with a small amount of surprise, as if he’d forgotten the fledgling was even there. Simon’s stomach twists at the thought of being so unimportant to the madman behind him. His entire life has been upheaved and changed, he’s died , all because of Valentine; but the villain can’t be bothered to remember whose life he holds at his fingertips.

Simon can feel the moment it happens. He doesn’t have time to think or move or react. He feels the tensing of muscles around him and then his body is flying through the air. It’s all a flash of light and dizziness as he’s thrown through the doors of the DuMort. He slams into the metal body of a fire hydrant and rolls to a stop in an alleyway across the street from the hotel. He cries out in pain and shock at the impact and lays on the filthy ground in a pile.

A shriek of loss tears Simon away from his daze and he pushes his body up, eyes on the closing doors of the DuMort. Raphael. Raphael had made that noise, a noise that Simon knows will haunt him. It was unearthly. Supernatural. It was raw and painful to hear, and Simon braces his sore muscles to run and comfort.

“Get everyone ready for when the wards come down,” Valentine orders swiftly. Simon turns to the villain, belatedly noticing the doors to the hotel have already been closed, not an iota of care or attention wasted for Simon. He watches the female shadowhunter nod and run off in a flash of black leather. Valentine turns to his other lackey as they walk down the street. “Give our friend on the council a call, I need to know exactly where the sword is, we’re not going to have time to double back on ourselves once we get the wards down.”

“Already done, sir. She says the sword is still in use.”

“The trial?”

“Affirmative, sir. The sword is, as of this moment, in Alec Lightwood’s hands.”

Simon freezes and his eyes move from the hotel to Valentine and back.

“Hmm, the Lightwood boy,” Valentine muses out loud. “Get to the soldiers, tell them that Alec Lightwood is to be apprehended, but not hurt. Okay?”

“Yes, sir. And Jace?”

“Same. Anyone who touches or harms Jace will die painfully under my blade.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Meet me at the studio with the infiltration group. We need to be in Idris within the hour, or Dorothea will find some way to contact and warn them of our arrival. If you’re not there in five minutes I’ll cut out your tongue and feed it to you. ” The words are delivered with such nonchalance and certainty that Simon swallows down a whimper.

“Yes, sir.”

Simon watches in amazement as both shadowhunters run in different directions, their movements so rapid that he has to struggle to catch even their blur of black. He looks down at his watch to find there’s less than ten minutes left in the hour. Simon hesitates as he tries to decide if he should follow Valentine, or perhaps the other shadowhunter.

He runs to the now closed doors of the DuMort and shouts that’s he’s fine and that he’s safe. There may have been a reply but Simon has already begun sprinting, full speed, to the one place he can think of. He has to warn them. His heart burns painfully, shouting at him to return to Raphael, to sooth the man’s obvious pain, but Simon doesn’t have the time. Raphael wouldn’t let him leave again. He knows he’s made the right decision, but his chest is tight with anxiety, and all his thoughts are centered on his leader. His mind stuck imagining Raphael’s pain and despair.

It’s not until he’s been running for nearly a full minute that he realizes he’s in the sun. He stops in his tracks, face planting into a nearby dumpster in his haste, and just stares in pure bewilderment up at the burning sphere. He can feel the rays on his skin, but they don’t burn, merely tingle. The light isn’t warm like it used to be when he was alive, but rather feels like he’s walking through rain. It’s an odd sensation and Simon beams as he spins in place, feeling the drops of light dance around him. He missed the sun. The happy reflections of light off of window glass and the way shadows don’t hide in every corner. It feels far more natural and alive .

That thought sobers him quickly as he’s reminded once again that he’s not alive. He’s not human. Then again, neither are any of his friends. He allows himself one second longer of basking before he begins running again. He has to beat Valentine.

A minute and a half later Simon grinds to a stop in front of the entrance as an unwanted thought hits home. Magnus had needed special permission to enter the City of Bones. He remembers Jace saying something about any non-shadowhunter dying if they step foot inside… or was that simply mundanes? He can’t remember.

Simon shouts wordlessly in frustration and hangs his head as he tries to find a solution.

Come, Simon Lewis. You may enter, we feel your intent. Simon recognizes the feel of words in his head from Alec’s faux wedding. Must be one of the Brothers. Simon doesn’t waste another second on what ifs, just tears through the dark entrance and allows the voice to guide him through dark hallways. He eventually bursts into a room with three white hooded figures.

“Valentine is coming to Idris!” Simon blurts out. The words fall over each other in his haste, but by the hum of energy he can now feel between the three figures, he thinks they understood him.

Give us your memory, Mr. Lewis. We do not have time to work through this with words.

One of the Brothers advances, no noise being made as he all but floats towards Simon, and holds out a hand. Simon looks down at it skeptically but nods, trying to consent to whatever mind meld the thing is asking of him. He’s not prepared for the Brother to reach into his chest as if it’s jello and pull out a glowing ball of blue light. It looks a lot like the glow of the shadowhunters’ weapons. The ball flickers in and out of existence and Simon can feel a sharp pulling on his mind. It’s not painful, but it scares him and he wobbles on his feet. It feels similar to getting stitches, can’t feel the pain, but the pulling of the needle on skin is still there.

Follow us.

Simon does so and after a bit of walking they stop in a room with a ragged and dark portal swirling at the center of it. “You just have a portal laying around?”

It is not a portal exactly, it is more permanent than that. Think of it as a tear; the City of Bones is connected to Idris, no matter where they lay. This is where that connection tore at the world. It can still be used to gain access to each place, however.   You must go, gold-blooded, and you must stop Valentine from getting the Sword.

“What sword?” Simon asks. He remembers Valentine mentioning a sword.

The Sword of Truth cannot be yielded by Valentine, or more accurately: by his progeny. It will kill even you, Daylighter. Now go, we cannot leave the City, not when our members are already at the trial. We will stay, you will go. Now.

Simon can’t prove it, as he doesn’t see it happen, but he’s reasonably sure one of those hooded bastards shoved him through the damn portal. He steps out into an open street. It’s made up of grey bricks, and has fallen to disrepair. He looks around to find only matching grey and broken down houses and silence. Everything deserted and decrepit. In the distance he can see a tall building, modern and sleek. A lively city stretches out in a circle from its base and Simon figures he’s standing in the forgotten outskirts of Idris. He starts running.

He nearly passes right by them in his hurry, but he sees the spark of red magic out of the corner of his eye and he looks over. He can see a figure he’s sure is Magnus, the red glow radiating from the warlock, and a collapsed figure at his feet. Alec. Simon turns and pushes his legs together even faster. Valentine must almost be through, he and his people will be trying to take down the wards by now. He’s not sure why, but Simon understands, down in his bones, just how bad this could go. For everyone. He tries to not think of Raphael, of the way he ran away when his leader needed his help. He keeps his eyes on Alec and the glint of metal beside him. The Sword.

Simon runs.

Chapter Text

Imogen flinches as everyone bursts into protests and shouts once again. There’s movement through the crowd, pulsing through each individual like cells within an organism, except for the Silent Brothers. They stand near Alec, perfectly still. The perfect silent observers.

The Silent Brothers and the Clave are supposed to work as one. Imogen has never had them stand up for someone like this. She’s being undermined. Mocked. Used . Such flippancy in regard to her authority cannot be tolerated.

She looks down at the shadowhunter causing her such grief, but her gaze snags on Magnus’ golden cat eyes instead. The warlock is glaring at her and its intensity forces a shiver up her spine. It feels like a dare. She can see and feel the hatred aimed at her and it gives her the strength to smirk down at him.

Imogen holds up a hand and her eyes finally leave Magnus’. She looks at the crowd and waits for them to quiet down. It doesn’t take long, they’re all eager to see what happens next.

Alec finally looks away from his mother to return his attention to the Inquisitor. His heart is lighter than it has been in a while. The reality of his mother standing up for him is lifting a weight from his chest. Able to breath deeply he feels no fear or apprehension when Imogen turns her glare on him.

“A warning from the Angels they say,” Imogen snarls. “Perhaps the warning is of this Lightwood boy. He is what we are to fear. To eliminate.”  

“Perhaps you’re what we’re to fear!” Magnus shouts back. There’s a buzz of energy wrapped around his lithe figure, and an almost imperceptible red glow coming from him. Imogen gets a heady rush of power as she remembers just how capable Magnus Bane is. The High Warlock of Brooklyn. The strongest warlock alive.

“Such words are treason, warlock!” Imogen replies with a genuine smile full of spite. “You and this Lightwood boy act as if you’re nobler than us. That you’re seeing the big picture , but you’re merely naive fools. The bigger picture is this: Individuals don’t matter. It’s the system that must live on. The Clave has protected everyone for eons and you are the ones threatening that status quo.”

“Valentine is the threat,” Alec says softly. His shoulders are drooping even further than his normally slumped posture and he’s looking at the ground rather than the crowd. His earlier strength and relief at the words of his mother already fading away into a bittersweet pang of the heart. “I’m not a threat to shadowhunter or downworlder.” He sighs and when he looks up his eyes are cold but empty with realization. “Here’s the truth, Inquisitor. I’m a dying man.” Alec’s eyes involuntarily flick over to Magnus when the warlock gasps quietly. He gives the man a small smile and links their fingers together with a firm grip. “Warlock blood or demon blood, whichever you prefer, it’s killing me. It’s only a matter of time and you know what that makes me?”

Alec raises a brow after a beat of silence, waiting for Imogen to reply. She scowls but asks, “What does that make you, Lightwood, besides an abomination?”

“A martyr. Think about it this way: Maintaining control over everyone after today is going to be harder than it ever has before. It’s going to be a complete bitch to manage. The Downworld is ready for its time of liberty and you’re the one standing in their way.” Alec stops to huff out a partial laugh and he looks at no one yet everyone at once. “The funny thing is I think Valentine was actually the first step that led us to today . He broke the rules and everyone realized how easily it could be done. How fragile the Clave’s control really is.”

“So you’re saying that Valentine is--”

“No,” Alec interrupts with irritation. “And you know that I’m not. All I’m saying is that this entire situation is completely wrong . The way this is going no one is going to win, and that seems like a waste.”

“There is no ‘winning’, Lightwood,” the Inquisitor sneers in reply.

He sighs in resignation and he looks sadder than his years would give him credit to be. “I know, but that doesn’t mean it’s not worth fighting for.” He looks at his siblings in the crowd and his heart reaches out to them. He can feel his bond rune hum in harmony with Jace, and Izzy’s smile makes his heart skip a beat in joy. She’s beyond beautiful, she grew into an amazing woman and he’s blessed to have been a part of that. And Jace… Alec didn’t raise Jace, not like Izzy, but he was the calm in the storm that kept Jace sane. He knows this, and Alec is so proud to see him standing side by side with the younger Lightwood. The two of them make him better by their existence, and he can’t make himself regret any decision that brought them all here because it made them all the people they are today.

Imogen’s focus is inward. She won’t show it but she’s panicking and she berates herself for that weakness. She’s a shadowhunter, she was made to thrive in chaos. To bring order to those who can’t find it themselves. The boy is right, infuriatingly so: the only thing worse than a rebel is a martyr, but at the same time Alexander Lightwood is the catalyst for all of this. If he’s not stopped then it doesn’t matter what could have happened. She’s backed into a corner, and she hates it. She’s been here before of course, but never so publicly. Before she could retreat to her office and send out her orders. To kill that werewolf or silence that hunter. To hide that rune book or destroy that Clave member. Here she is in front of everyone being outsmarted by a shadowhunter barely into his second decade.

Magnus is talking again, but she tunes him out and regards the top of the podium in front of her. She has to make a decision. She’s used to this. She is.

She slips her stele out from a pocket on her jacket and she activates a rune on the inside of her wrist. One nearly faded from disuse. It’s a rare rune that took years of training to endure and even now it burns through her body before she feels it take effect. She swallows harshly and inconspicuously activates another rune, this one on the side of the crook of her elbow. This one used more recently. An invisibility rune. This one nearly killed her when she drew it onto her skin nearly a decade back.

She steps back from the podium, the first rune she’s activated leaving behind a perfect copy of her image, a bastardization of a glamour. Her true form is kept away from prying eyes by the second rune and she quietly walks down from the podium to stand in front of Lightwood and Bane. Her lip curls up anger and disgust. It doesn’t surprise her that it’s a Lightwood that fell so far as to... consort with a warlock. They were a ruined family the moment Valentine touched them.

She swirls her stele between her fingers idly and competently as she studies Alec’s bare chest in front of her. It’s a simple rune, really. Only a few lines, a loop, and it’s done.

Does it bother you, Imogen, the way you must conceal yourself now? Does it not give you a moment of doubt?

Imogen scowls towards the nearest Brother and reminds herself that her intent is true. She’s here in this amphitheatre turned court room to punish an unruly rebel. She must stop this malcontent from spreading and infecting the rest.

We can see through your thoughts just as easily as your runes, Imogen. Make sure you understand the gravity of what you are attempting.

A furious embarrassment rushes through her that leaves her gaping and sputtering silently at the figures of the Silent Brothers. She’s never been so patronized, not since she was a small girl. She’s not the one to pity here, the Lightwood boy is. A shadowhunter with warlock blood, it’s unheard of. It, no, he is a shameful tragedy. She wonders why the Brothers don’t stop her, and she can’t help but hope that they agree with her on some level. Perhaps allowing her to continue with her plan?

We are a body separate from the Clave and the Institute. We serve the Shadow World and nothing else, yet we are observers by nature. We have made a stand and we have made the choices clear, as is our job, and is far more than we’ve done for some time. These are the choices you must make, that you must all make.

Today, tomorrow, decades from now; when you are long dead, we will still be here, watching and waiting as we always have. Giving wisdom to those that will hear it. We do not want war, but it is not us that will be fighting it. You work against our will, Inquisitor, let that be known. We do not want more bloodshed and Alec Lightwood is a good man with a message that shouldn’t be squandered.

There’s an almost audible click in her mind as the connection between them is cut. The clear dismissal spurs her into further action. She’s done fine without the so called wisdom of the Brothers before. She has built everything around them by her own sweat and endurance. She has bled for each and every being in this arena and it’s about time they realized that. Alexander Gideon Lightwood is a symbol that she must erase from history. He may be a martyr, but the dead are eventually forgotten. The world is a place for the living and legends tarnish with age.

She nods her head, having convinced herself once again that she’s in the right. When she steps forward slightly further she sees Magnus turn blindly towards her in confusion. He will sense her any moment now and her hand jerks forward as if of its own will. Stele touches skin and she can smell the acrid scent of burning flesh as she wills and writes the rune into being on Alec’s chest, just over his heart. The unbinding rune. The rune that will cut him off from the Shadow World and strip him of his runes and memories.

She barely gets the last line drawn before Magnus blasts her back and away from them. Her doppelganger at the podium bursts into static and everyone turns in shock to find her on the ground, several feet from the defendants.

Magnus tries to contain his magic as he glares at Imogen laid out on the ground. He’d hesitated just a moment when his magic had tried to warn him, and now he can feel the rune tearing at Alec, so faintly it’s nothing but an aftershock to the warlock, but he knows how intense it must be for Alec. He turns away from her as Alec begins to fall to his knees. He tries to stop the man’s descent, but the shadowhunter is not a small man and Magnus is shaky from fear and adrenaline. Alec Lightwood crumbles to the ground and silence falls as everyone looks on in a suffocating combination of shock and confusion and satisfaction and dismay.

Isabelle Lightwood is the first to cry out in horror and disbelief. She’s stumbling over herself, her first moment of public clumsiness in her signature heels, attempting to get past the banister blocking the seating from the arena center. Jace is sagged against said bannister trying to monitor his breathing as sensations come rushing from the bond and into his body. It’s not pain exactly, it’s much much worse. It’s like a hammer is trying to destroy the foundations of his mind. Like the strings of his muscle memory, from years and years of training, are being snapped and cut and forgotten. He feels each and every rune burn as brightly as they did when he first received them and there’s a sickening pull at something in his chest. He’s being undone. Slowly and painfully.

After a moment of ethereal agony Jace realizes that he’s not feeling his own runes, he’s feeling Alec’s. The iratze on his brother’s left forearm and the speed rune on his side. All the others burn as well, many of which he himself drew onto Alec, and all the good and bad memories associated with each one flash through his mind at once. The one thing that stands out through it all is the pleasantly cool spot on the small of his back.

Alec realizes after a while that he’s staring up at the sky instead of at Imogen. The sounds around him are far away and distant and his head is spinning at a sickening speed. He remembers, as if it happened in another life, the feeling of Imogen writing on his skin. The shock that immediately immobilized his muscles and stalled his mind. He can feel the metallic glide of cold steel underneath him where he’s fallen onto the flat of the sword’s blade. He can still feel it humming in unison with him, ready to strip him of his truths and confessions. That hum only makes the sensation of floating within his own body worse, as it attempts to pull his consciousness back to where it should be, where the sword can reach him and his untold secrets.

He knows his runes are burning but he can’t seem to find them or sense them. He can both feel and not feel the burn of the warlock blood once again as Magnus loses concentration and his magic leaves Alec. He can’t feel the ground beneath him, only the steel of the sword. It’s a flurry of blocked feelings and pain and agony, and that numbness that permeates his being is far more chilling and permanent feeling than the Purity Rune ever was. He can sense someone through the bond rune but can’t remember who other than disorganized snatches of mismatched eyes and perhaps the glint of light hair. He remembers he has a sister by the name of Isabelle, but can’t find the sound of her voice or the memory of her face. Even as he grasps at them and tries to pull his sister closer, all of it closer and back inside of him, everything is slipping away, leaving only more numbness behind. He blinks unseeingly at the blue sky and squints automatically at the sun. He comprehends nothing for what feels like eternity, though he has no concept of time anymore.

Magnus jerks his attention away from Alec as Imogen stands up and the warlock moves to stand between his fallen shadowhunter and the Inquisitor, his body coiled tight and his magic begging for release. For blood . Izzy drops to her knees beside Alec and Magnus allows his focus to fall even farther away from the Lightwoods. There’s nothing he can do for Alec, but there is plenty he can do to her . He takes a step forward but is brought to a sudden stop, his skin glowing and his eyes a darker gold than ever before seen, as someone dashes by him. He gets a glimpse of too pale skin and familiar chocolate eyes, but that’s not possible. He can’t be here.

“Valentine is coming to Idris!” Simon cries out before he bends down and drags the sword out from underneath Alec. It burns in his hand as if angry to be wielded by a non shadowhunter, but it doesn’t hurt enough for him to drop it. He stumbles away from the small group of people and towards the Brothers, unsure of what to do next now that he’s here. The sword is extremely heavy even with his vampire strength and he wonders how the hell Alec or anyone could lift it normally. As he wonders this the sword only gets heavier and heavier as if in response to his thoughts, and soon Simon is slumped over trying to hold up the weapon. No one steps forward to help him, so he blows hair out of his face and tries to look at Magnus or someone, anyone. He finds only blank stares, and finally Simon’s eyes fall on Alec’s prone body.

“What happened?” Simon asks, though the words feel incredibly banal. He’s starting to feel the tension as his own panic settles into his bones. Simon is a naturally empathetic person and now that his attention isn’t pinpoint focused on the sword and getting his message across, he can feel the unrest in the amphitheatre. He sees Izzy’s panicked expression and can hear Magnus’ heavy breathing. He notices Jace struggling to crawl towards Alec and Izzy, but collapsing only a few feet away from the banister. Luke and Clary are running towards Simon, and Gretel is hopping through the bleachers towards Jace. Simon’s attention finally falls onto the Inquisitor.

She’s not what he expected. She looks so old and brittle and insignificant. With Magnus towering above her it’s hard to picture her in any position of power. Magnus is power, and this woman is merely a shadow of that. Simon struggles with the sword but watches with wary eyes as the Inquisitor quickly regains her bearings and stands up.

“You’ve let the traitor in? Are you in league with the Lightwoods?” Imogen demands. Her words aren’t as forceful as they could have been if she wasn’t currently trying to brush dirt off her clothes and fix her hair. She glances at her dropped stele which sits innocuously on the ground halfway between her and Magnus. She doesn’t try to retrieve it

“Working with… what?” Simon manages, trying to catch up with everything that’s happened while having no real information to work on besides what he can see right in front of him. “I mean, yeah? I mean, no. Valentine is on his way here, using a portal in Clary’s house. So no to the first part, but obviously Alec is most definitely on the anti-Valentine side. He’s very pro-rights all around really… so yes, to the second part.” He pauses as he manages to stand once again with the sword in both hands still trying to drag him down to the ground. He tries for a smile and is ready to begin talking again, just to fill the silence, when Jocelyn and Clary both stop next to Magnus.

“What?” Clary asks, mirroring Simon unintentionally. “We don’t have a portal. You can’t have a portal, right? I mean...right?” The similarities between Clary and Simon are achingly obvious as they both fumble through their words and look to Jocelyn for clarity. The mother swallows harshly and tries to meet Clary’s eyes while also looking nowhere near Magnus.

“It’s not a portal exactly, it’s more like a potion?” Jocelyn says quietly.

Magnus sucks in a breath, “Those are incredibly illegal and for good reason. They’re unstable. The energy needed to create a portal can’t be adequately contained within a potion.”

“It was only meant for emergencies!”

Jace cries out and everyone turns to look at him and Gretel who are now seated on the ground in front of the rows of seats. The audience of shadowhunters and downworlders is a mess of movement and conversation behind them. Jace’s eyes, however, are on his bond brother. Magnus’ head snaps around to Alec and he crouches near Izzy, trying to place an arm around her to comfort her, but unable to steady his own limbs. Alec is barely breathing, not a muscle on his body so much as twitching besides his eyes, which occasionally blink up at the sky.

Bane can barely hear Imogen over Izzy’s sobs as the woman says, “The rune is a shock to the system, he’ll be fine in a few minutes.” Her words are impatient and she turns away from them once again to begin grilling Jocelyn, trying to figure out how real the threat of Valentine is.

Magnus couldn’t care less about the sick son of a bitch at that moment. Valentine has always hated him and he’s always hated Valentine. It’s always been an easy hatred to hang onto and right now it’s just as easy to let go of because Alec is in front of him, still as death. He’s failed to protect Alec, though he swore he would. He told the shadowhunter exactly that and when he said he’d tear apart the world for Alec, he’d been telling the truth. The problem is that the world fights back and doesn’t pull its punches. It doesn’t play by the rules, just like the Clave.  They can all talk about how they live by the law but he knows that the rules are only there to keep the others in line. People like Imogen are the ones who get to make and break those laws on a whim.

“You have to listen to me,” Simon insists. “He’s most likely already here. He doesn’t seem like a guy that wastes time. He said something about the wards and we can’t let him get the Sword.”

Imogen scowls and it’s a little more stable now that Magnus’ attention is diverted away from her. “He can’t just take down the wards, they’re a powerful and intricate system of runes and technology.”

“In my experience,” Luke says, “the more complex the system is, the easier it is to break.”

“Spoken like a true downworlder! The subtle nuances of--”

“I’ll subtle your nuance!” Simon exclaims at the Sword in frustration as it falls another couple inches toward the ground despite his best efforts. The words weren’t meant for Imogen but the bizarreness of them has made her pause and he takes advantage of that. “Look, believe me or not, wouldn’t you rather be safe than sorry? Just call an evac or whatever you do.”

“We aren’t ready to fight,” Maryse says. Simon doesn’t know when she showed up, but no one else seems surprised so he lets it go.

“How do we become ready?” Clary asks and Simon is immensely thankful for her belief in him at that moment. They may never be what they were, Clary broke them, but there’s an innate sense of trust between them. It’ll be there until the day they die, most likely. Or in his case until he dies again. Simon sighs and pushes through his own distracted thoughts to focus on the matter at hand.

“Why would he even want to fight us? He’s not wanted to kill shadowhunters before.” Imogen looks genuinely troubled by this thought. “Unless necessary.”

“I told you!” Simon snaps. “He wants the Sword. He knows it’s out here for the trial, and he knows he won’t be able to break into the City of Bones to get it when it’s returned. He’d rather march on Idris than on the Silent Brothers. And really, who can blame him?”

He speaks the truth, or at least what he believes to be the truth. The Daylighter has come to warn us. Valentine is a well educated man, his experiments and his tenacity on the study of the Angels has brought knowledge to him that even we ourselves do not have. The Sword of Truth is a powerful artifact, and can be used against non shadowhunter beings.

“So downworlders,” Clary says.

And mundanes, though there aren’t any here. Valentine clearly thinks that he can wield the sword, to what end is unknown. He must not touch the blade. Clary Fairchild must not touch the blade.

“What? Why?” Clary asks in surprise and anger, as her response always is when she’s told she can’t do something.

She has already shown unusual powers that Valentine has manipulated. We don’t know how far your capabilities spread. The Cup responded to you, Clary Fairchild, you pulled it from the card it was trapped in. The Sword of Truth may also respond to you in an unknown manner. We cannot risk it.

“But what if I can use it against Valentine?”

“Like you did the Cup? How’d that turn out for you?” Izzy bites out from behind them. Her voice is tear strained and raspy and hard to listen to.

Clary bites her lip but nods her acquiescence. “Alright, no touching the sword.” Simon fervently hopes she really listens this time.

“Look, this is great and all, talking is good for the well being of the team and what not, but Valentine is about to break through the wards, and we haven’t done a thing to stop him,” Simon reminds them.

A hoarse scream startles them all and the entire amphitheatre goes quiet once again, the pockets of arguing downworlders and shadowhunters all turn to look at Alec Lightwood. Izzy and Magnus stumble backwards as Alec’s runes begin to burn a dark red and sizzle visibly on his skin. His back arches away from the ground and his teeth are clenched together with a worrying amount of strength. Izzy chokes on a sob and asks, “What’s happening?”

Imogen shakes her head in confusion and says, “I don’t know. The rune should have just--”

Alec screams again and his eyes finally stop staring into the distance and they start to flit around in a panic. “Mags--Magnus--please,” Alec manages to brokenly whisper.

The warlock is immediately hovering over Alec’s form unsure what to do, “What do you need, Alexander?”

“It hurts-hurts. Bl-blood.” Alec turns his face away as it scrunches up in pain. His veins are on fire but so are his mind and runes. The fire is consuming every part of him in a way that the blood hasn’t before. His mouth tastes like ash and his vision is swimming with black and orange spots.

Magnus has tears running down his cheeks and he looks at Izzy for a moment. She smiles grimly at him, it’s more of a twist of the lips than anything else, and says, “He needs your magic, Magnus.”

The warlock snaps his hands out and places them on Alec’s skin, ignoring the searing heat of the runes beneath his fingers and starts to cycle his magic through Alec and back to his own body. A never ending circle of energy. He feels Alec’s body begin to relax underneath him and he looks at Alec’s face in hope, but the shadowhunter’s eyes have gone distant again and his runes are still sizzling a deep red.

He’s fighting the unbinding rune.

“No one can fight that rune, it’s impossible,” a voice protests in anger. The others are surprised to find that it’s not Imogen saying them, but rather the approaching figure of Aldertree. It looks like he’s been talking to the rest of the Clave members on the dias, trying to smooth feathers and calm them down. “It must be the warlock, get him away from him.” Aldertree moves to grab Magnus but his hand is caught in the glinting silver of a whip.

Izzy’s voice is tight and flat and dangerous as she says nearly too softly to hear, “You touch them and I will cut your hands off, Aldertree. Anyone touches them again and I swear by the Angels I will kill you, laws be damned.”

Izzy’s gaze is not on Aldertree or the Inquisitor but on the figure of Lydia in the background. She’s moving from group to group trying to maintain control, but things are getting out of hand quickly. Izzy’s body jerks forward as she watches Lydia get shoved by an older shadowhunter, nearly sending the blonde tumbling down the steps. She can’t leave Alec unguarded however, and she’s forced to watch as small fights break out around Lydia.

The first punch is thrown and it’s like a switch is flipped throughout the arena. Lydia manages to get out range before the worst of the brawling starts and she jogs over to their group. “We need to get them separated!” she says.

“The downworlders shouldn’t be here in the first place!” Aldertree replies. Izzy tightens the whip around his wrist and he swallows down the rest of his words.

Izzy registers the flash of a seraph blade being drawn from the corner of her eye and her heart beat rockets up to unhealthy levels. When had everything gotten so out of control?

There’s a deafening crash like thunder and then lavender coloured lightning streaks across the sky. A humming that had before not been noticed, now drops away to nothing. Bones and ground are suddenly too still and too firm underneath them.

“The wards!” Imogen gasps out in horror.

“I told you!” Simon exclaims.

“Hold on!” Izzy commands, allowing her whip to slide away from Aldertree. She spins the weapon in her hand until it forms into her staff. “We were on that ship when we rescued Alec. We know how many shadowhunters he has, and it’s not an army’s worth.”

“We still don’t have the numbers,” Lydia says. “There just aren’t enough shadowhunters in Idris right now.” Izzy shakes her head and returns her attention back to her brother.

“Well, we’re not just shadowhunters are we?” Simon asks. “I mean, you’ve got an array of extremely powerful downworlders here already. Valentine doesn’t know they’re here.”

“Because they shouldn’t be here!” Aldertree says, taking a step further away from Izzy as he does so.

“You should be glad they are then!”

“All we need to do is take the Sword back to the City of Bones,” Clary interjects. “That way Valentine can’t get it. Then we can leave, like Simon said.”

“Valentine can’t afford to do this twice. Even if we did manage to get it back, though I think Magnus is busy with Alec, he’d push the offense all the way to wherever the sword is.” Jocelyn shrinks away from the gaze of everyone, but then shakes away her insecurities and insists, “I’m his wife, I know how he thinks. This is a power play, it either succeeds or it fails spectacularly, and he can’t afford to fail.”

“I’m not going to risk my shadowhunters on the word of a traitor!” Imogen says. “We can fall back to the capital, it has secondary wards and defenses, he won’t be able to get in.”

“And the downworlders?” Luke asks.

“They’ve overstayed their welcome.”

“Even if we started right now, we wouldn’t be able to get everyone back out of here!”

“You weren’t meant to be here anyways!”

“Simon said--” Clary says.

“You can’t just--” Simon says.

“You have the responsibility--” Luke says.

“The law states--” Imogen says.

“The law states--” Lydia says. .

“Leave now--” Aldertree says.

“I know him he--” Jocelyn says.

“We should go--” Maryse says.

They all try to be heard over the others, only managing to make that more and more impossible. It’s just sound and anger and fear being lobbed in every direction. They’re all too busy to notice the tall figure stand up behind them. They don’t notice Magnus and Izzy move from their respective crouches to support the figure.

“Enough,” Alec says. It’s not loud, but not quiet. It’s tired but not defeated. It cuts through everyone’s words and leaves behind nothing. “Valentine is gearing for a fight. So let’s give him one.” Alec Lightwood towers over everyone’s heads and the sun is behind his head, keeping his expression in the shadows. Jace and Gretel are standing behind him, like they’ve been there for a while.

Alec shifts his body and his muscles tremble causing his runes ache in his exhaustion. He can see the eyes of his friends widen when they take in the sight of him. Each and every rune on his body has turned a dark angry red that matches his raw Purity Rune. Even the unbinding rune over his heart. He can feel the cold presence of his Purity Rune actively growing stronger and encompassing his body in soothing coldness. The invisible grasping fingers that are trying to destroy his memories and his mind are pushed away by the waves.

His runes stop sizzling and begin to heal; the smooth black flow of lines and loops are gone to be replaced with painful looking raised scars. They don’t hurt anymore, and he can feel their connection to him as strong as ever. He knows each rune is still acting on him, giving him the unnatural speed and strength of a shadowhunter. He takes a second to let out a shaky breath of relief. They’d tried to take everything from him but he’s somehow still here. Fully here. He knows Izzy and Jace and everyone around him. He remembers every caustic word his mother threw his way. For the first time he’s grateful for the memories of Valentine, as they’re the proof that the unbinding rune failed. He can feel the snap of warlock necks under his hand and can feel thick needles being shoved into his arms.

The others watch as Alec takes the few steps necessary to stand in front of Simon and takes the Sword from the fledgling’s hands. He straightens and twirls the sword with ease and confidence as Simon scowls in irritation at it.  

“You’re not going to end this war any time soon, Imogen. You aren’t brave enough to, and I doubt any of the Clave is.” Alec’s voice doesn’t hold anger or disdain merely fact. “You fall back to the capital, hide behind your secondary wards, but know that if you turn your back on us now, you lose us all. Forever. Our oath to you will be broken, by you.”

Imogen looks startled and uncertain, “What do you mean? The shadowhunters can all fall back to the capitol.”

“But the downworlders can’t. Is that the lay of the land, do I have that right?” Alec asks, his tone carefully flat.

“They can leave, they aren’t allowed in Idris in the first place. It was bad enough that the warlock was here and now--”

Alec turns away from her and says loudly to the entire gathering, “Who else wants to leave? Who thinks the Clave is in the right here?” He’s once again leaning against the sword, the tip digging into the ground, to keep him from swaying and falling. “Any of you who follow Imogen, go now. Anyone who follows the ‘old ways’ which are really just twisted versions of the first laws, fall back. I stand here for the original intent, to protect. The Downworld and Idris.”

“This is foolish, the downworlders won’t fight for you, child,” Aldertree says. “They’re weak, they can’t stand against Valentine. We can, just not today. We aren’t prepared.”

“We’re shadowhunters, we’re always prepared. Every shadowhunter here has their weapons and stele. Every downworlder is their own weapon, and we’re all prepared to fight for our freedom. This way we can do it on our grounds. Our time. We have the upper hand against Valentine, and that doesn’t happen often. We have to take advantage of it.”

Valentine must not get the Sword of Truth. That’s what he has come for.

Alec glances down at the sword in his hand and nods slowly. He hands it to Brother Zachariah and says, “You take it to the city center, stay behind the wards. Protect it. I know you’re not fighters, not anymore, at least. In a past life perhaps, all shadowhunters are.”

Brother Zachariah nods his head heavily under the hooded cloak and the other Brothers begin to file towards the distant capitol. Speed runes are activated and they are soon out of sight. Brother Zachariah looks down at the sword in his hand and when he speaks next, it is only in Alec’s mind.

You are stronger than any of us could have guessed, and you are stronger than you yourself know. We would thank you for your bravery and your insight, but you are the only one who would not want one... Regardless, thank you, Alec Lightwood, for showing us the will of the Angels once again.

Brother Zachariah doesn’t wait for a reply. He hefts the sword into his pale runed hands and disappears like the rest. Alec turns back to the crowd and looks expectantly at them. “Who will fight alongside your Downworld brethren?”

Many of the older members scowl and allow slurs to fall from their lips, but shuffle their feet uncertainly. Aldertree says, “The Clave will not force these hunters to fight a war that is not theirs to die in.”

“Very well,” Alec replies. “Take your followers and go. Retreat to the city center with the Silent Brothers. Anyone who will fight next to the downworlders and me, stay and face Valentine. He’s not strong enough yet for a full on war, but how long will we wait before we decide to strike? When will we be ready ? How many more downworlder children will be killed or sacrificed in Valentine’s name? How many lost lives will be ignored in the Clave’s name?”

“We are not Valentine,” Imogen spits out. “We just aren’t reckless. The Clave orders you all to retreat to the capitol. Leave the downworlders to their own devices. They would do no more for us.”

Alec doesn’t say anything just allows Aldertree and Imogen and many members of the Clave to leave. They run with the grace and enhanced speed of any shadowhunter, as well as the fear of the hunted. Two Clave members remain, both women. One is the professor who had recognized the Purity Rune.

Several shadowhunters follow the Clave members and after a long moment, many more follow. Those left behind are the ones Alec has trained. The younger generation with a few parents and elders mixed in. Almost two thirds of the shadowhunters left with the Clave, following their orders, but a good number still remain.

“Valentine is coming,” Alec says. He looks at his family: Izzy, Jace, Lydia, Magnus, Simon, Gretel, Luke...Clary and Jocelyn.

“They’ll still outnumber us,” Lydia says.

“I trained most of these hunters myself. Valentine is depending on the backstreet training of mundanes turned shadowhunter.”

“Still, numbers can turn a battle,” Maryse says. Alec blinks in surprise, not having processed her presence. She smiles blandly and says, “I have followed the Clave long enough. It’s time I started to think for myself. To try and rectify my mistakes.”

“Some mistakes can’t be fixed,” Gretel warns, her arm around Jace’s waist. Maryse merely nods and ducks her head.

“Can we get the DuMort here? With their numbers we could even the odds,” Simon says, but even as he says it his eyes are on the sun, there’s a couple more hours until sunset.

“I think I may know how to give us an advantage. Something Valentine will never have thought of.” Alec turns to look at Clary. She shies away from his eyes and instead looks at Jace and continues, “A rune. To bond the downworlders with the shadowhunters here. It’ll allow us to share our strengths, to be more in sync. I can see it.” She gestures into the air at something only she can see. “If we’re going up against Valentine and he has an entire ship of shadowhunters, then we’ll need to be at our best.”

“And we’re best when we’re together,” Simon says with a grin.

Jace scoffs and says, “You sound like an idiot. Oh wait…you are .”

Simon just grins and says, “Are you saying you don’t want to bond with me, Jace?”

Gretel playfully growls and says, “Fight me, bloodsucker.”

“I think that’s beside the point,” he replies. He turns to look at Izzy next and he reaches out a hand, “And you, madam? How would you feel to be bonded to a lowly Daylighter like myself?”

Izzy looks skeptical, but not of Simon. Her eyes are on Clary and for a minute no one moves. Clary tries to maintain the younger Lightwood’s intense gaze. Eventually Izzy just sighs and places her hand in Simon’s, both turning to fully face the red head. “By the Angel, Clary, if you accidentally bond me to this nerd forever, then I’m going to burn your entire wardrobe and your hair.”

Clary winks and says, “Don’t worry. Apparently I’m really good at this.”

Jace scoffs but doesn’t say anything further. They all get to work. They don’t have much time before Valentine will reach them.

Chapter Text

“Come on, come on. Pick up!” Simon mutters into the phone. He hangs up and immediately redials the number. “You stubborn bastard, just pick up!” He can imagine Raphael’s phone ringing and ringing in his office where he always forgets it on his desk. Simon wants to just reach through the phone and throttle the vampire.

Simon hangs up and redials for the third time, biting at his nails as he waits. Izzy gestures for him and he reluctantly starts walking in her direction. He really wants to tell Raphael he’s okay, and this time not just through the heavy wooden doors of the hotel. He itches at the two runes that Clary had drawn on his side. Something about allowing him through the wards if they came back up, and the second one tying him to Izzy.

Simon rolls his neck and tries to concentrate on the differences the rune makes. He feels faster and stronger, like Izzy’s runes are affecting him as well. He wonders if Izzy has a sudden thirst for O negative, or perhaps she now has his radical hearing.

“Simon, estas bien?!” Raphael’s voice abruptly comes through the connection.

“Finally! I’m fine! I promise, Raphael, I’m with everyone else.”

“Why?! You should be at the hotel! How are you even alive?”

Simon can hear the gravely undertone to Raphael’s normally smooth voice and remembers that shout of despair he’d heard. His heart clenches at his inability to be there in person. “I don’t know, but I am. Let’s just be grateful for that, yes?”

A rough and watery chuckle crackles across the connection before Raphael says, “I’m beyond grateful, believe me, but where the hell are you? Why didn’t you come back?”

Raphael’s voice holds a plaintive note to it at the end and the guilt sitting in Simon’s chest grows heavier. He has to clear his throat before he can answer. “I ran to the City of Bones, ‘cause I didn’t know where else to go when I heard Valentine, and--and-- I had to beat Valentine to Idris and I knew you wouldn’t let me leave again. Had to warn ever--”
“You went to the City of Bones by yourself? Do you have a deathwish or do you just like to make us all panic every second of every day?” Raphael’s voice has taken on an angry edge to it and Simon winces at the sound. He’s familiar with an angry and/or irritated Raphael.

“Look, I’m with everyone else and we’re getting ready for Valentine. I just wanted to call and tell you… yeah, just tell you… that I’m fine and--”

“What do you mean get ready for Valentine? I thought it was just a trial? What is going on?!”

Izzy’s hand comes down harshly on Simon’s shoulder and she says, “Come on, Si, it’s time. Raphael can yell at you to his heart’s desire after the battle.” Her words are purposefully humorous but her eyes are dark and calculating as she studies their gathering.

Battle?! I swear to God, Simon, if you--”

Simon closes his eyes tight and shouts, “I love you!” Then he quickly ends the call, but not before he hears Raphael’s voice raise to a new decibel, smothered in rage.

Izzy sucks in a sympathetic breath. “That’s gonna be hard to deal with later.”

“I’m banking on the whole ‘happy I’m not dead’ vibe.”

Izzy’s chuckle is short lived and half hearted. She can’t help looking back at her brother Alec sitting off to the side with Magnus and Gretel crouched next to him. He looks like he’d struggle to even lift a seraph blade right now. There’s no way he can fight. Still, she can see the new rune Clary had created burnt into Magnus’ forearm and knows a matching one sits on Alec’s left bicep.

Izzy checks her weapons one last time before she strides towards the front of the gathering of downworlders and shadowhunters. They have the minimum amount of weapons possible, but a shadowhunter can make the best of any situation.

Almost every shadowhunter has been paired off with some downworlder, but a few people are left over. It would seem they have more shadowhunters than downworlders, leaving Clary and both women from the Clave that stayed, unbound. The fact that the angel blooded outnumber the downworders would surprise Izzy if she wasn’t busy counting their total numbers.

They’ll be outnumbered, that much is obvious and Izzy sucks on her bottom lip as she tries to alter her plans accordingly. Even with the runes giving them a shared strength and abilities, they’ll be hard pressed to win this fight. She clenches her teeth together and reprimands herself for such fatalistic thoughts.

“I’m proud of you.”

Izzy starts and turns to look at her mother. “What?”

“You and Alec. I’m proud of you,” Maryse repeats though she looks slightly pained to be saying it.

“I thought you hated--”

“Raziel knows I do, Isabelle, and we’ll have words about all of this later, but I can respect your bravery all the same.” Maryse itches at the new rune near her collarbone and grimaces.

“You actually took the rune…” Izzy states in shock. “You stayed and you took the rune.”

“I’m not going to leave my children to fight an army, Isabelle.” Maryse looks incredibly uncomfortable and Izzy wishes she could appreciate this moment more fully, but her mind is on the approaching army. “We don’t know how much time we have left, I’m going to get everyone together and--”

“No.” Izzy maintains eye contact with her mother who is regarding her with two raised eyebrows. A few months ago and Izzy would have fallen over backwards to avoid that look. “I will. This isn’t your fight. It’s ours.” Izzy doesn’t wait for a response from Maryse, she just strides away towards the distant figure of Lydia. Simon awkwardly tags along behind her and she belatedly realizes that he was there for that whole thing. No wonder Maryse was so discomfited.

She laughs at the thought and she grabs Simon’s hand with her own. “Thank you,” Izzy says emphatically.

Simon looks at her in confusion. “What for?”

She shrugs and says, “Everything. Thanks for it all.” Izzy bounces slightly on her toes as she walks and marvels at the extra force and strength she can feel being siphoned into her new rune. The way that time seems to slow down a bit, her mind running as quickly as a vampire’s, making everything else seem slow by comparison.

Simon ducks his head and grins at the ground in pride. “No problem, Izzy.”

“You deserve better than Clary,” Izzy adds as an afterthought.

Simon’s expression falls and his eyes find the redhead in the crowd. She’s just as easy for him to spot as it has his entire life, he’s still attuned to her location and voice at all times. “It wasn’t all bad, you know. We had great times and we had fun and she knows me better than anyone. That can’t be taken away from us even if she is manipulative and greedy.”

“Still. You deserve someone who’s as invested in your well being as you are in theirs.”

She’s not sure what Simon would have answered with, but he doesn’t get the chance as Lydia spies them. “There you are!” She’s a blur of blonde hair as she crosses the small distance between her and them. She comes to an abrupt stop, clearly not expecting her speed, and grins abashedly as she says, “I’m still trying to get used to this… extra help of Clary’s, you know?”

Melliorn appears beside Lydia and nods in acknowledgement to Izzy and Simon. Izzy smiles at him, glad to see the seelie knight well and free and bonded to Lydia. She pulls him into her chest for a quick embrace before she pulls away from the small group and strides towards the front of their army. Can she call it that?

A hush falls over the congregation of fighters without Izzy doing a thing and she watches it with wide eyes. Then she stands tall and yells, “I swear by the Angels to fight for the safety of others and the sanctity of the Institute! I swear to drain my blood for the Angels and to fight with all my given strength!”

A cheer erupts through the ranks and she can see Alec and Jace approaching her from the side. She looks to her older brother, the man who raised her and supported her through everything. “Hey, brother. You ready?”

Alec nods and he holds up a bow and a quiver of arrows he must have sequestered from someone else. He looks about as solid as melted jello, but she knows better than to try to get him to stand down for this fight. “Magnus’ strength is helping a lot. This rune is amazing,” Alec says in an excited rush. He then grimaces and adds, “Too bad it came from Clary. Would’ve been perfect otherwise.”

Magnus chuckles at his shadowhunter and places a hand at the small of Alec’s back. He feels as if a weight has been lifted off his shoulders because they found that Clary’s rune keeps Magnus’ magic automatically flowing into Alec. His shadowhunter will be pain free for the rest of this battle, no matter if Magnus loses concentration.

He leans forward into the taller man and moves to whisper into his ear. Before he can say anything, all the air from the amphitheatre is sucked away and the most massive portal Magnus has ever seen rips itself into existence. The edges of it are ragged and burning a sickly mauve rather than the normal purple. It’s easily the size of a semi truck and it pulls at Magnus’ magic, as if it’s angry at being created. It leaves Magnus feeling queasy and slightly faint, so much chaos forced into such a tempermental moment.

He can see the shaky control that comes from a portal shoved into potion form, but something like this portal, would have to be the bastardized work of more than one warlock. Valentine has always been good at pressing the boundaries of what warlocks are capable of. Magnus swallows and tries to not think too hard about his missing warlock friends.

At least a few hundred figures step as one through the portal. Valentine stands at the front and his face is instantly tight with suppressed surprise and anger. They clearly hadn’t been as stunned by his appearance as he’d planned. Magnus flinches as the portal destabilizes and slams shut on itself. The unlucky last few soldiers are cut in half within the second, no sound except for the squelch of their guts landing on the dirt below. Valentine doesn’t even cast a glance back.

Alec’s heart constricts painfully when he watches the burly figure of his torturer step forward.

“Valentine,” Jace greets.

Valentine holds up his hands in an exaggerated gesture and replies, “Why so formal, son?” He scans the army awaiting him and his jaw tightens even further. “What happened to the trial?”

“Jury’s still out, actually,” Alec says glibly. “It was delayed for more pressing matters, like your arrival in Idris.” Alec can feel Magnus’ magic flowing through the rune and into his body, lending him both a physical strength and a mental support that he’s beyond grateful for.

Valentine’s eyes snag on Alec’s burned runes and his eyes go dark. When he speaks it’s terrifying and low, “What did they do to you?”

Alec shrugs and tries not to think about how he almost forgot his family. “Clave didn’t like my new blood it would seem.”

“Those bastards!” Valentine seethes. He calms himself and looks between Alec and Jace for a long moment. The tension in the two sets of warriors is heavy and suffocating. “You deserve better than this, Alec. You and Jace deserve so much more.”

“You’re right, we do. We deserve more than war and hate and violence.”

“It’s naive to think you’ll ever be free of those. There will always be shame and violence, we as a people will always find battles to fight.”

“Maybe, but we can make sure this war ends today.”

There’s the soft sound of feet approaching him from behind and Alec can smell the flowery shampoo of Clary’s hair. He fights the urge to roll his eyes and focuses his attention back on Valentine. Clary steps up next to Alec and glances at the army waiting for them all. Valentine has twice, if not three times, as many people as they do.

“Ah, Clary.” Valentine’s eyes drag up and down her form. “You grew up to be beautiful, darling. Too bad you’re so soft for the monsters, just like your mom. She ruined you.”

Alec tries to look over his shoulder as he hears more shifting but he snaps his attention back to Clary as she takes an enraged step forward towards her father. He snags her elbow before she can get too far, but she seems content to be slightly in front of him. Alec’s paranoia doesn’t allow him to let go however.

“You’re pathetic, Valentine. My mother showed her strength the day she left you to rot,” Clary snarls out, her chest moving in exaggerated breath. Alec isn’t sure she has the right to be this angry, but he doesn’t particularly care to chide her.

There’s a brush of movement across his back and then he’s being shoved to the side. Clary’s arm is ripped from his hand and Alec rolls with the movement, hopping up to glare in the direction of the push.

Clary is held in the arms of one of the Clave members that stayed behind. The woman holds a glowing seraph knife in her hand and is pressing the edge to Clary’s throat. “Everyone stay back,” she demands.

Clary whimpers and Alec feels a moment of pity for the girl. “What’s going on?” Alec asks in bafflement.

“What’s going on? What’s going on, is that our exalted leader has been tricked by a lowly vampire!” the woman screams.

“Benny, explain yourself,” Valentine orders.

Benny straightens where she stands, drawing a small drop of blood from Clary’s throat. Jocelyn has shoved her way to the front and is now beside Izzy, glaring at Valentine and staring in horror at her daughter in turn.

“Sir, they know you’ve come for the Sword.” Benny points with her knife, very quickly, at Simon who is standing on Izzy’s other side.

Valentine turns to look at Simon and for a long moment there’s no recognition. Eventually Valentine’s expression both clears in comprehension and opens slightly in fascination. “A Daylighter? You?”

Simon grimaces and doesn’t respond, just shies away from those searching eyes. Izzy shifts so she’s between Valentine and the vampire. Valentine spares her a quick look but seems uninterested. He turns back to Benny and asks, “Where is it?”

“What?” Benny’s face is coated in sweat and her eyes are jumping from one person to the next. She must not have thought this through all the way.

The other woman from the Clave, the professor that had backed Alec’s story earlier, shouts from a couple rows back, “What are you doing, Benny?! He’s everything we stand against!” The yell holds more anger than sorrow, and Alec figures there’s not much love lost there. Still, it’s good to know the loyalty of the professor.

“What am I doing?!? I’m standing against the filth of the world. Like this girl, right here!” Benny slashes the knife across Clary’s cheek and laughs at Jocelyn’s outraged shriek.

“Where is the Sword? ” Valentine asks again with clear impatience.

Benny looks at him, manic expression still in place. “The capitol. The Brothers took it beyond the other wards. Those are right where I told you before though, it’ll be easy to storm the place and--”

Alec clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth in annoyance and pulls an arrow from his quiver, aiming it at Benny’s head. It’d be a hard shot, but he’s more than good enough to pull it off. Jocelyn snarls his name from behind him but he ignores her.

Benny laughs and moves to kill Clary, but a knife slams home in Benny’s throat before she can cut Clary’s. Benny falls to the ground as she desperately tries to stop the blood. In her panic she pulls the knife out and she’s dead within seconds after that. Alec looks up to Jocelyn in confusion, but her eyes are on Valentine.

“She’s still my daughter,” Valentine insists. “I protect what’s mine.”

“I’m not yours!” Clary gasps out, but it’s shaky and strained from both fear and panic.

“Last chance, boys. Sit this fight out and I could make you kings.”

Jace can feel Alec’s mind through the rune and it hums at the exact same frequency as his. Together they say, “Never.” Jace has never felt so strong. He has Gretel’s strength and instincts flowing through his mind, Alec’s innate calm vibrating through his bones, and his sister standing strong beside him. He grins at Valentine, and it’s sharp and feral and very much not human.

Valentine doesn’t seem surprised and he merely nods his head in resignation. “So be it.” He makes a half hearted motion and his army goes surging forward, slamming into the group in seconds.

Jace moves with practiced ease and confidence. Avoiding the first swipe of attacks and easily parrying a lethal strike to one of the men going for Gretel. She grunts in acknowledgement and slices through the throat of the next one. Jace laughs breathlessly as he feels each and every movement of Gretel both through his mind and the minute shifts from next to him. It’s a heady feeling, to be so attuned to someone else. It’s almost intimate and he snorts as he thinks of Maryse who’s bonded to Luke of all people.

An arrow flies by Jace’s cheek and pierces the eye of a hunter behind Izzy. Jace’s heart fills with pride for his siblings and their obvious might. Valentine couldn’t break his parabatai, and he and Izzy certainly aren’t going to let the man try again.

Jace’s grin slips when he sees the first few downworlders and shadowhunters from their side fall to the ground. Some of them merely wounded, but the majority dead before they touched the dirt. For barely trained individuals, Valentine’s men fight dirty and with a familiar desperation. One born of constant fear and solitude. Everyone here has lived through drinking from the Cup. Everyone here is familiar with pain and suffering.

He moves closer to Izzy, Gretel shifting with him, and renews his efforts. He won’t lose anyone today. Especially not Izzy or Alec. Or Gretel. He catches a glimpse of Maryse out of the corner of his eye and grins. She’s always been fierce in battle, but she rarely shows it anymore. Now, in a tidy dress and rune bound to a werewolf by her side, he’s never been so proud of her.

A hot hand on his elbow pulls him from his thoughts and the battle and he looks over into Alec’s eyes. Alec says something that Jace can’t make out over the sounds of battle, but he can feel the urgency pulsing through the parabatai rune. “What?” Jace asks in a shout.

Alec’s lips press together and thin in annoyance, but instead of trying to repeat himself he just points. Jace follows his finger and just manages to catch a glimpse of Valentine slinking around the edge of the fight. Comprehension hits him as hard and harsh as Izzy likes to when they duel: Valentine’s going for the Sword.

Izzy takes one look at the two of them and she understands. She wants to go with them, wants to make Valentine regret his treatment of Alec, but of the three of them she has the least claim to that. She has to stay here and help fight, watch Lydia’s back and shoulder the burden of being in charge. “Go!” Izzy shouts, twirling her staff so fast it’s a blur as she beats people back from her brothers.

Alec bolts over to Magnus’ side, with Jace and Gretel in tow. As a unit they run after Valentine, a faint figure in the distance. Make that two figures. Alec squints and tries to see who’s running with Valentine, but can’t make them out.

“It’s that girl’s mom!” Gretel answers his unasked question.

“Jocelyn?” Jace asks in bafflement.

Alec just hopes she’s on their side and not on her husband’s.

Simon falls in beside Izzy as he watches the other four run away. “Where are they going?” Simon asks. He’s not good at fighting, but he’s trying to help her. He swipes out at the people trying to get to Izzy and sometimes succeeds at getting them off balance, Izzy does the rest. The smell of blood all around him is dizzying and sickening and so tempting at the same time. He hates this. The blood, the noise, the feeling of inevitable damnation.

“They’re going for Valentine,” Izzy responds, barely winded as she continues her assault. The less trained of the group are falling to the ground or being beat back, but she and Lydia are holding strong, keeping the front of the battle in the same spot. Maryse and Luke are blurs behind the two young women and she can hear them throwing a few insults back and forth. It seems like such a light hearted behaviour for her mother.

Simon’s sight is taken up by red as Clary’s hair is flipped into his eyes and mouth. It’s something he’s used to, having been best friends with a girl with long hair for his entire life, it’s an accepted inevitability. Now, however, it leaves him gasping in breathes of panic as he claws at the hair, trying to see what’s happening. The strands of red and the smell of wildflowers is gone as quickly as they came. Simon spins around to catch sight of her, heart in his throat at the idea of her being hurt, and finally finds her. She’s chasing after Alec and Jace, because of course she is. The thought of her running after the blond shadowhunter would have left a sour taste in his mouth even just a couple months ago, but now his irritation just escapes him in an annoyed huff of breath.

“Make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid!” Izzy yells at him. Her face has an artful splatter of blood across one cheek and eyebrow, the sight of it makes Simon want to clean it away. She looks beautiful and terrifying, like a goddess of destruction and mercy.

He pecks a quick kiss on her unbloodied cheek and follows after the others. He feels bad for leaving his rune bound friend, but he’s not much use to her there. He can do something else for her though, he can look after her family.

It doesn't take much effort to catch up to Clary. She’s still not committing to her training like she should be, and her endurance strength isn’t the best. She’s gasping in shallow breaths as she continues to run and Simon has to admire her tenacity.

“What are you expecting to do once you get there?” Simon asks, easily keeping up with her.

She sends him an annoyed glance and doesn’t respond. He’s not sure if it’s because she doesn’t want to or because she doesn’t have the breath to. He can’t help but feel a bit smug.

They stop just outside the main entrance and regroup with the others. “Where’d he go?” Simon asks.

Alec looks pained and tired as he says, “No idea. He could be anywhere now.”

“Well, where’d they take the Sword?” Gretel asks. She’s out of breath but recovering whereas Clary looks like she’s about to collapse. “That’s where he’d go, right?” Clary points shakily at the werewolf in some sort of odd agreement. Gretel looks at her sideways but otherwise ignores her.

Magnus rolls his eyes and pushes the two impressive oak doors open. “No better time to start searching than now, wouldn’t you say?”

Alec spares a grateful smile to Magnus before he pushes in, once again taking the lead.

They don’t get very far before Jocelyn is running up to them. The other shadowhunters are watching all of them with wide eyes, especially Magnus who is very obviously not a shadowhunter. “He’s--Valen--Aldertree!” Jocelyn manages to gasp out, similarly out of breath as her daughter.

“Aldertree is working with Valentine?” Magnus asks in shock. “I mean, a complete dick, yeah, but in league with a man who hates the Clave… seems out of character.” He idly rubs under his eyes and spares a spark of magic to make sure his makeup is up to par.

“No--He’s--used rune to--look like Aldertree--”

Jace seems to be the only one who isn’t understanding the woman as the group around him all nod. “What?” he asks, annoyed that he’s not keeping up.

“Valentine’s here, but he’s using a rune to mimic Aldertree. So, we find Aldertree… we find Valentine. Well, I guess there’s a fifty-fifty chance of it being the real Aldertree…” Alec trails off.

“We’ve done stupider things with way less information,” Jace assures his brother. Alec doesn’t look comforted.

“Then we find Aldertree,” Magnus finishes with a decisive nod. He closes his eyes and hums softly as he reaches out with his magic to try and feel for anything he recognizes. He’s not familiar with too many shadowhunters, but the Silent Brothers…

“Follow me!” the warlock says as he bolts towards the small group of Brothers he can feel distantly. Most of them must have returned to the City of Bones by now.

No one bothers to follow them as they all race through the large building, but they’re glared at quite a lot. Magnus is used to it, but Jace and Alec are clearly incredibly uncomfortable. Any satisfaction Magnus thought he may find from that is stale and quickly forgotten. The boys aren’t just shadowhunters, they’re his accepting friends and family. He doesn’t want them to suffer.

They careen around a corner to find Imogen, three Silent Brothers, and Aldertree standing in front of a set of large double doors. Jace bares his teeth and tackles Aldertree to the ground without warning. He lands a heavy punch to the other man’s nose before he’s pulled off by Gretel.

Jace stumbles away but looks in glee down at Aldertree’s obviously broken nose. “That clearly isn’t him!” Gretel scolds. Jace shrugs, not in the least apologetic of his actions.

“What in Raziel are you doing?! ” Imogen demands. Aldertree pushes himself back up and tilts his head back so he stops bleeding on his expensive suit.

“But how do we know it isn’t him? Maybe we should hit him some more,” Jace suggests. He can see Alec’s lips tick upwards in amusement, but he doesn’t respond.

“Where’s the Sword?” Magnus asks.

Imogen looks ready to scold and rave and throw them out the nearest window.

In the room behind us. We have been here the whole time, no one has snuck in.

Magnus nods to the Brothers in thanks. “Valentine is here. Supposedly looking like Aldertree here. And he’s come for the Sword.”

We should bring it back to the City of Bones now. With his army distracted he couldn’t follow.

Alec moves to agree but a loud gasp of surprise stalls him. He can feel a headache coming on as he turns and once again sees a Fairchild woman being used as leverage against them. This time it’s Jocelyn who is being held against her will, her back flush with Valentine’s chest. Well, Aldertree’s chest, but Alec is like 98% sure that it’s Valentine.

“Seriously?” Jace deadpans. Alec agrees. He’s sick of the Fairchilds. Or the Frays. Whoever the hell they are, he wants them out of his life. “Why are you even here?” Jace asks Clary.

“Don’t patronize your sister, Jace.” Valentine may look like Aldertree, but his voice is his own. “After all, let’s not waste this opportunity! The whole family’s back together!”

Jocelyn’s eyes widen as she stares at Jace. “ That’s him? ” she gasps out.

Valentine smirks and Jace’s eyes narrow at his father. “Hello, mother,” Jace rasps out. He doesn’t look at Jocelyn so he doesn’t see the disgust and fear that envelops her expression. The others are distracted by Valentine’s ‘disguise’ melting away.

“Let me through or she dies.” Valentine looks almost bored with the commandment, as if he’s bored of their uptight morality.

Alec speaks before anyone else can, “No.”

Valentine looks genuinely surprised. “What?”

“I said no. One life for hundreds? Thousands? I mean, whatever you want the Sword for must have severe consequences.”

Clary intercedes, “It’s my mother , Alec. Surely--”

“ NO .”

Valentine smiles at Alec with pride shining through his entire being. “I taught Jace the same thing.”

“You taught me a lot of things, most of which were complete shit!” Jace snaps back, wanting to get his father’s eyes off of Alec. It works, and Jace shies away from the gaze that is now locked on him.

“Fine.” Valentine moves faster than Jace can catch up with and seems to take everyone by surprise. Valentine drives a knife through the nearest Brother’s ribs and pulls at the door handles to the room. They open and a flurry of activity breaks out. Everyone scrambles for the doors and to restrain Valentine, but they only manage to get in each other’s ways. The fact that there is only one Valentine is hampering their ability to actually reach him.

After quite a bit of movement and blind jabbing and desperate groping, the doors slam shut. Two different groups on each side. Magnus, Gretel, Imogen, Aldertree, two live Brothers, and one dead Brother outside. Alec, Jace, Simon, Clary, Jocelyn, and Valentine inside the room.

Jocelyn is the first to get her feet fully underneath her and she quickly flicks the manual lock of the door into place. She grabs Clary and drags her over to the doors, “Lock it up.”

“Wha--”

“Just do it, Clary!”

Alec hesitates between falling back to Clary and following Jace on his way to the Sword. The decision is made for him when Clary draws a crude looking rune into the wood of the door and suddenly Alec can feel the connection with Magnus dim greatly. The strength that has been running through him and keeping him conscious is barely trickling through now. He catches himself on a nearby table before he falls over completely and he eyes the door. He figures the rune must be cutting off the connection. He hates Clary Fairchild. Really and sincerely.

His heart pangs in fear when he hears Jace call out wordlessly. He swings his head around to look at Valentine and his parabatai. Jace is standing in front of Valentine with just a few feet of space between them. Valentine lazily swings the Sword again and Jace is just out of reach of it.  

They did all this just to stop Valentine from getting the Sword, and here they are. Alec sighs and has a strong desire to strangle himself in frustration. Valentine has always been a force of nature, somehow able to bend the luck of any situation in his favor. He really really hopes that the man has hit the end of his luck streak.

“Stay back, Jace,” Valentine warns. The warning in his tone is undermined by the smile in the man’s voice. He looks down at the Sword in his hand with a triumphant and awed expression. “This is the weapon that the Angels gave to us all those ages ago. Isn’t it humbling, son?”

Jace tries to keep his own face impassive and he doesn’t answer the question. His eyes flick over to the door and he does a double take in surprise when he sees the rune on the door. Valentine follows his gaze and narrows his eyes in confusion. “What is that, darling?” he asks.

Alec isn’t sure if the question is meant for Clary or Jocelyn and that fact leaves him uncomfortable. “It’s a lock, yes?” Alec says with a slight slur to his words. “Like a lock, but without a key thing.” Alec grimaces, he should really stop talking when he’s ahead.

“This ends here!” Jocelyn shouts, though everyone can hear her just fine.

Valentine pays her no mind and turns his attention to Jace and Alec. He looks between the two of them and says with purpose, “Our time to make history is here. We can fix it all and bring about a new time of the Angels! A better time.”

“You’re trying to kill thousands of people!” Simon snaps out. He’s standing halfway between Alec and Clary, unsure where he needs to be.

Valentine ignores him spectacularly and Alec is finding it hard to focus on plans of escape when Valentine keeps looking at him like that. “You’re a murderer,” Alec insists, trying to straighten out his own thoughts that are floating around in a fog of exhaustion and bafflement.

“I’m just doing what needs to be done.” Valentine points at Simon without looking at the vampire. “That’s a murderer. That demon of a man you’re convinced you’re in love with and that wolf that follows Jace around, those are monsters and murderers. Every one of them. That’s okay, son. I can help you, I can fix it all and give you everything.” Valentine looks to Jace then and adds, “We can all be together.”

“What I want is my family safe!” Jace retorts.

“They won’t be touched. Alec, of course, will come with us, but the others will be safe. There’s a sister, yes?”

“Stay away from her,” Alec growls.

Valentine looks back at the tall shadowhunter. “Your parents don’t deserve you, Alec.”

“And you don’t deserve Jace.”

Valentine shrugs and waves the sword in his son’s direction as if in thought. “Maybe not, but I will prove myself to you both. Take the Sword, Jace. Come with me.” Valentine holds the Sword out to his son and Jace nearly reaches for it, just to get it away from the insane man. Something in Valentine’s eyes stops him though and he shakes his head.

“You won’t have my loyalty, father. Your lies won’t reach me.”

“Don’t be dramatic, Jace!” Valentine snaps and his muscles are suddenly tense and he looks ready to spring.

Jace recognizes the signs of anger in his father, knows that if pushed a little further the punishments will begin. He shakes away the memories of his childhood and focuses on the present. Jace walks over to Alec and helps bare some of his parabatai’s weight. “I’m not.”

“You don’t know what you’re standing for! They’ve already poisoned your mind, just as they did Clary’s mother and the others that betrayed me.” Valentine glares in Jocelyn’s general direction but doesn’t seem to actually see her. “The Clave has allowed the Downworld to exist for too long, and I’m here to right their wrongs. I’m of pure intent, Jace! Alec, remember our talks?”

Alec desperately tries to think of anything but the warlocks he killed, but then his mind turns to Valentine helping him eat, drink, and move. Watching Alec cry with no judgement and telling him how strong he is in a quiet voice. “Stop it.” Alec’s voice cracks as he speaks and it’s painful to hear.

“I care about you, just as I do Jace. Do you really think I wouldn’t want the best for you?”

Alec swallows hard and blinks back tears of frustration. “Just because you believe in something doesn't make you right. Or good.”

“It makes me better than those who stand for nothing. The Clave says one thing and does the other.” Valentine’s words are soft but sure and it reminds Alec of those long days on the boat, when he had nothing but that voice and the burning pain to keep him company.  “They preach of sins and hide their own misdeeds. I’m better than that pathetic council and their excuse of an Inquisitor. I’ve looked out for you better than your own parents. I see your worth when all they see is a boy in over his head.”

Valentine tears his eyes away from Alec to look at Jace. “And you, Jace. My prized son. You’re strong and smart and determined. You’ve a strong parabatai and an even stronger will. You’ve never belonged at the Institute, have you? You’ve always been someone to watch not to talk to. The others fear you because they don’t understand you, but I do. Remember who taught you your first lessons, who warned you of betrayal and raised you. I was there for you and if you let me, I would be again. You’ll never feel out of place again, son.”

Jace can feel each word impact with his chest and his heart feels like it’s being crushed. He can feel similar emotions swirling through Alec and it’s making his head swim. Valentine is his father, a fact that he can’t forget. His father sees him the way he truly is, no mask can fool him. Valentine does, in a twisted way, feel more like family than Maryse or Robert.

Alec shifts his weight slightly causing Jace to step forward to keep them balanced and he can’t help the way he’s almost drawn towards Valentine. He wishes the man weren’t so insane. Can see just how loyal Valentine would be to him and he wants that, but he doesn’t want the man to succeed. There’s a difference.

“What are you doing?” Simon shouts.

Alec’s thoughts shatter in a moment and he reflexively takes a step away from Simon, pulling Jace with him. The movement brings Alec into the path of a crossbow bolt that skims past his side, leaving a bloody slash, and lands with a thud into the wall behind both him and Jace. Alec looks at the wall in incomprehension. He distantly recognizes the bolt as Jocelyn’s. He wonders if Jocelyn plans on ever shooting someone helpful with that crossbow. Damn the Fairchild name.

“Stop!” Clary demands, pulling on her mother’s arm as Jocelyn reloads the weapon in her hands. Clary pulls a little harder but is reluctant to hurt her only living relative. Jocelyn easily pushes her daughter out of the way and aims once again. At Jace.

Valentine and Alec both react at the same time, rushing to push Jace out of the way, but it’s Valentine’s body that darts between the projectile and the blond shadowhunter. Alec catches Valentine’s body as the force from the shot sends the man backwards several steps.

The reaction is automatic, but Alec wonders if he would have come to Valentine’s aid anyways. His head is a confusing mess of emotions and underneath it all he can hear Valentine’s idle humming. He looks down at the blood spreading across Valentine’s chest and his stomach twists painfully. His head snaps up when he hears Jocelyn loading another bolt.

This bolt slides into place faster than the last two and her arm is a blur as she swings it up and aims. Valentine’s face contorts in rage and he forces himself to his feet, fully intending to step in front of this one as well. She hesitates and Clary takes advantage of the moment, pushing the weapon to the side and demanding, “What the hell are you doing?! That’s Jace! Your son !” Her petite frame is vibrating in anger and exhaustion. Her eyes are wide and not quite focusing on anything. Perhaps drawing so many runes has worn her down more than any of them had realized.

“If that really is my son, then it my responsibility to destroy it. Valentine twisted him into something non-human! Jace will give in to Valentine, you saw him just now!” Jocelyn tries to reason with her daughter. “Once that man gets his hooks into you, it’s nearly impossible to get away, I would know!”

“You’d really shoot your own son? And people still think I’m the mad one?” Valentine’s face is both triumphant and furious. The bolt in his chest is all Alec can look at. The red stain spreads further and further out from the wound and it mesmerizes him. “This is what you’re fighting for, Jace?” Valentine rips the bolt out and activates his iratze rune with a stele he slips from his sleeve. It’s a practiced movement, one that all shadowhunters have learned since the start.

“I…” Jace is still staring at Jocelyn in apparent shock. His father is a tyrant and his mother wants him dead. His head and chest feel uncomfortably hollow and his thoughts keep echoing back at himself.

Jocelyn is fighting to get her arm out of Clary’s hold, still trying to raise the weapon and shoot Jace. “He’s not your brother! He’s a monster!” Jocelyn shouts at Clary.

“You sound like him,” Simon says softly with a shaky gesture towards Valentine. Simon is standing like he’s not sure where he should stand or what he needs to be doing. Which is accurate.

“We can end all of this, son. Just take the Sword and it’s over.” Valentine holds the blade out to Jace once again. Jace’s eyes snag on the blood that is still spreading across his father’s shirt, albeit at a slower pace than before. He doesn’t know what Valentine is offering but it sounds final. He backs away from his father and moves closer to Simon and Alec.

“No.” Jace feels like he can breathe again once he says that word. His decision has been made and he’ll stand by his friends. A bolt narrowly misses his head and everyone’s attention turns back to Clary and Jocelyn.

“Fine, I would have preferred you Jace, but there is another option,” Valentine murmurs. Jace doesn’t think he was meant to hear the words.

Valentine tightens his hold on the Sword as he approaches the two women. He grabs Clary by the hair and sends her skidding across the floor away from everyone. Simon instantly runs after her to check on her.

“You disgust me.” Valentine sneers as he smacks the bow from his wife’s hands. Jocelyn stumbles backwards but finds the door at her back. She lashes out but Valentine easily dodges her attacks, though he’s slower from the blood loss. He slices through her side with the Sword and Clary cries out at the same time as her mother.

Jocelyn continues to try and keep away from Valentine and the Sword, but she’s trapped pretty effectively. Alec blinks heavily as the blood spreads across both the figures and he feels a numb sense of anxiety. He falls backwards and lands on the floor, though he doesn’t feel the impact. No one notices and Alec really doesn’t blame them. He doesn’t want to draw attention to his inability to stand up anyway. He feels relief as everything begins to go grey, because at least now he doesn’t have to see the blood.

The youngest Fairchild launches herself at Valentine, pulling at his arm, trying to stop the assault on her mother. Valentine ignores his daughter and swings once again, this time connecting with Jocelyn’s shoulder. Jocelyn falls to her knees in pain and Clary follows her down, trying to stop the bleeding from the two deep wounds. “Dad! Please!” Clary begs Valentine.

The title makes Valentine pause and his hesitancy is advertised on his face. He glances at Jace quickly and his countenance hardens once again. He stabs the Sword down and through Jocelyn’s chest without a warning. He stumbles to one knee as Clary pushes him once again, but the damage is done. Jocelyn’s body falls back and she’s only held up by the doors and her daughter. Clary is openly sobbing and trying to stem the blood, only managing to smear it all over herself.

Jocelyn’s eyes fall on Jace and the blond shadowhunter doesn’t know what he sees in that expression. Loathing? Pity? Regret? Valentine bends forward to speak to Jocelyn, “He’s not even yours, you whore .” Jocelyn’s eyes widen as she stops breathing, leaving her death mask frozen in shock and horror.

“What?” Clary asks. Jace doesn’t think the question is actually aimed at Valentine, but at the situation. She tries to shake her mother awake, but the body just slumps to the side.

“You’re still my son, Jace.” Valentine is pushing himself to his feet with the aid of the Sword as a cane. “You may not be my blood, but you are mine. I love you and I can give you everything Jocelyn and the others have tried to take from you.”

“You’re not--I’m not--” Jace stutters out. He can’t look at Jocelyn, the woman he’d just learned was his mother...but it was a lie. Just like everything Valentine says.

“Jace,” Alec says. It’s quiet and slurred but it pulls their attention. Valentine and Jace both look at Alec who’s slumped on the ground. “You’re the man you’ve become because of you, no one else.” Jace can feel the honesty and love that Alec is radiating even without the parabatai bond.

“Jace, you’ve grown into more than I could have ever hoped for.” Valentine takes a step closer to Jace and Jace is too overwhelmed to react.

Clary slams into Valentine’s side and sends him stumbling several steps away. She screams in rage and grief as she moves to attack him. She kicks and punches for all she’s worth, though it doesn’t seem to do much.

“I understand that you’re angry, Clary, darling, but it was necessary. She was holding you back.” Valentine’s face isn’t happy but rather determined. “She was a whore and a bitch and she deserved to be put down.” Clary pauses in her shock and fury and then she’s renewing her attack.

Simon glances at the scene and scurries towards the doors. He tries to ignore Jocelyn’s body as he claws at the rune, desperately trying to break the seal keeping them closed in here. Splinters dig into his fingers and underneath his nails as he continues to scratch and scrape at the wood. He’s seeing red as tears bloody his face and fall onto Jocelyn below him. He can feel each of Clary’s screams rip through him as he tries to look anywhere but at Jocelyn.

The rune audibly cracks and the doors are blown open from the other side despite the physical lock still being in place. Simon stumbles back from the debris and stares at Jocelyn’s ragged bleeding corpse. “Simon!”

The fledgling looks up in time to see Raphael swoop into sight and then he’s surrounded by the familiar smell of his leader. Simon starts sobbing into Raphael’s chest and can’t find it in himself to look at Clary or the others. He has enough presence of mind to realize that Magnus must have portaled in back up when he couldn’t get the door open. Simon is just thankful that Raphael is here now. He feels like he’s about to break into pieces.

Magnus exclaims, “Clary, no!” Dot is already racing forward to stop her, but Clary’s hand closes around the hilt of the Sword, desperate for a weapon to make Valentine pay. The man lets her take it easily with a somber air of victory.

The result is instantaneous. The metal begins to glow and the downworlders collapse to the floor. Magnus falls a few feet away from Alec and Dot falls beside Clary. Raphael and Simon slump over on their sides as pain lances through them.

It reminds Simon of when Camille killed him. Each bone breaking in a continuous ocean of pain and helplessness. He can feel Raphael next to him and he tries to reach for the other vampire. Simon’s hand finds one of Raphael’s and he holds tight to that connection. He turns his head to see Magnus reaching out to Alec and Dot’s whole figure twitching violently on the floor.

Clary is still shouting and swinging the Sword at Valentine. The man is holding his own against her with no weapon, but that has more to do with Clary’s lack of skill than Valentine’s abilities.

Simon tries to call out to her, “Clary-y!” It comes out as barely more than a whisper. The Sword is glowing now and it hurts to look at it almost as much as his body does. Clary is oblivious to it all, her focus zeroed in on the man who murdered her mother. “Clary!” he says, this time slightly louder.

He feels Raphael squeeze his hand and he looks over at the other man. Raphael doesn’t look pained, just resigned. He squeezes Simon’s hand once again and whispers, “Te amo.”

Simon’s heart drops to his stomach and he can feel useless words coming to mind, his tongue desperate to find something else, anything else, to distract himself. Instead he pushes his anxiety out to his toes and his rage to his fingers. He thinks of Jocelyn and the way her blueberry pancakes smelled on Sundays. He thinks of Luke and the late nights he helped Simon with his homework. He remembers Magnus’ determination to find Alec and Raphael’s careful but constant support. He pictures Gretel’s silver hair and Izzy’s bright red lips.

He pushes up from the floor and feels his body fight for every centimeter of movement. It feels as if gravity has suddenly increased to crushing intensity; he grits his teeth and clenches his jaw as he keeps on pushing until he’s on his knees with his hands on the ground in front of him. With a whimper of pain he begins crawling towards Clary. He pauses near Magnus and the warlock looks at him in surprise. Then the sparkly man is reaching towards Simon and pushing a warm magic into his chest.

Simon blinks as he feels some strength flow into him and he nods in understanding to Magnus, who is already staring back at Alec. Simon continues on, trying to see through the growing light all around them. There are some distant noises of Imogen and Aldertree at the door, of other shadowhunters and a groan that may belong to Gretel.

He pictures Clary’s smile and Jace’s smirk and he crawls a couple more feet. He can hear Clary’s heavy breathing and he tries to focus on that rather than his vision. He puts his hand down on something long and slippery and quickly swipes the bloody arrow bolt away from himself. He shutters as Jocelyn’s death comes to mind. The weight all around him gets heavier than he thought possible and he makes himself think of the clan. He mentally starts running through all of their names and their favourite drinks.

He crawls the last couple of feet and latches his hand around Clary’s ankle. She doesn’t notice and he feels more tears fall down his face as helplessness washes over him. Valentine lands a kick to his side and Simon cries out at the impact. He can’t exactly feel any pain from the hit, but it leaves his skin crawling.

Clary glances down at him before she lashes back out at Valentine, keeping him away from Simon. “Clary, please…” Simon whispers, not snagging her attention at all. He grabs her thigh and struggles to lift himself up to a kneeling position. “Clary!” he says more insistently.

Clary glances down but her eyes are bloodshot and bleary. “She’s dead. Jocelyn’s dead, but I’m here.” Clary sniffs and new tears spill over and fall on Simon’s face.

“Clary, please, put it down.” Clary continues to cry and Simon can vaguely hear Jace keeping Valentine occupied. The light is blinding at this point and he doesn’t know how Clary isn’t noticing it. He can feel the weight crushing him from the inside out and he falls away from Clary and back to the floor on his back.

Clary drops to her knees beside him and holds his hand, “Simon?” Her voice sounds far away but he clings to it.

“ClaryBerry. Please. The Sword. Stop.”

“She’s dead. She’s really dead.”

“Yes.”

“I can’t get her back this time, no matter what.”

“....”

“Simon? Answer me!”

Simon barely notes the insolent pout in her voice but his hand automatically reaches out to pat her head. It barely reaches her knee, then his hand comes into contact with the Sword hilt and a shiver runs harshly through his body. He futilely tries to push the weapon away, but Clary’s grip tightens.

He instead begins to try and hold her hand, the way they have so many times before. Clary finally, finally , lets go of the Sword to grip Simon’s fingers, and it clatters to the ground with a resounding clang. She collapses into Simon’s chest and sobs hard with an already audibly raw throat.

Simon doesn’t dare open his eyes, but the weight pushing down on him does slowly recede. He wraps his arms around Clary out of habit and he cries with her; for a moment it feels like the universe holds still.

Simon’s eyes fly open when he feels someone trip over his legs. He sees runed skin and blond hair. “Jace?” The shadowhunter in question ignores Simon and is already scrambling back to his feet.

“Stop him!”

Simon sits up, his vampire strength allowing him to easily bring Clary with him. He feels the shadow of an action in the back of his mind and he knows the figure that steps into view before he even sees her, he feels her through their shared rune. A silver staff flashes in the dim light of the building as Izzy slams the end of it into Valentine’s stomach. She whirls it back around in her hand and in a flash it’s a whip. She has it wound around Valentine’s neck in a matter of seconds.

“Valentine Morgenstern, you are under arrest!” Imogen screams into the corridor. She hurries over in short steps of her heels, her face red and glowering. Izzy raises one brow but doesn’t say anything further.

Cloth brushes against Simon’s back and he leans into Raphael’s presence without hesitation. “You did it, conejito.” Raphael places a soft kiss to the nape of Simon’s neck. The fledgling just sighs and continues to hold Clary and watch the others around the room.

Jace has carried Gretel over to where Alec and Magnus are sitting up against the wall. Lydia has joined Izzy in the hallway and both of them are busy handing Valentine off to the officials. Luke steps into the room and his face falls as he sees Jocelyn, but he stops to thank Simon for staying alive before he picks Jocelyn’s body up and carries it away.

“Is that it?” Alec asks no one in particular. “I mean, he’s done?”

Magnus shrugs and replies, “He’s on his way to an Idris prison. I’m sure Imogen is nowhere near done with him though.”

Alec’s stomach swoops in an unnamed emotion that he ignores. It all feels so… anticlimactic. Unreal.

Imogen’s scream of, “Lightwood!” has Alec jumping to his feet. His vision blacks out momentarily at the change of position, but Magnus steadies him. He runs the small distance of the room and out into the corridor where Valentine is surrounded and falling onto his side on the floor.

Alec can smell the burn of a fresh rune and he hurries forward to see what’s happened, and he knows Jace is right behind him. Alec slides to a stop beside Valentine and carefully kneels next to the man. “What’s--” Alec breaks off when he sees it.

The Purity Rune burned hastily into Valentine’s forearm. The limb is barely big enough to hold it and it’s steaming and popping in angry red bubbles and burns. “Who did it?” Jace demands from right next to Alec.

Izzy replies, “He did. He grabbed someone’s stele and…” Alec doesn’t hear the rest.

Valentine’s eyes blink open and he stares up at Jace and Alec in awe. “Had to know. Couldn’t go to jail forever, not without knowing if…” Valentine’s loses track of his thought as his body contorts in agony. Alec knows this pain and it twists his insides up to see Valentine experiencing it.

“You said I was one of a kind,” Alec mumbles. Valentine places a shaking sweaty hand on Alec’s knee and then on Jace’s.

“You are. You both are.” Valentine’s teeth clench tightly against his will as his muscles spasm. “Knew it wouldn’t work, I’m not pure even if my mission is. The Angels will see me to my proper resting place.” Alec doesn’t know how the man is managing intact sentences.

Jace grips Valentine’s hand in his tightly and Alec can feel the burn of emotion behind his eyes and deep in his stomach.

“I hate you,” Alec curses. He looks down at Valentine and can’t deny that he also admires the man. He knows Jace does too, just as he knows that the two of them will be living with the guilt of that for a long time.

Valentine grins like he has lockjaw and manages to get out, “I know.”

He doesn’t say much after that. The rune slowly burns through his arm and he’s dead within the minute. His body continues to twitch and move and smoke for several minutes after that though, and Alec leads Jace away from it all. Gretel and Magnus both envelop them in hugs and soft words. Izzy deals with Imogen so her brothers don’t have to. Simon comforts Clary as Raphael comforts Simon.

It’s over...

Chapter Text

TWO WEEKS LATER

Alec is lost in thought when Magnus finds him. The warlock is nervous and excited in a way he hasn’t been for centuries. In his pocket he’s stashed Clary’s sketch of a rune, her apology present for the two of them. He’ll ask him tonight, not right now.

“Anything of interest going on in that head of yours?” Magnus asks.

Alec’s head snaps up to look over at Magnus and an automatic smile forms at the sight of his official boyfriend. Alec stands up from the desk in the New York Institute and sighs heavily as he does so. “No. It just feels weird to leave. I grew up here, I learned everything I know here. It’s my home and after today….”

Magnus steps closer and is startled to notice Alec’s eyes are teared up. “You want to change your mind, honey? You don’t have to leave it all behind.”

Alec shakes his head harshly. “No. I want to. Imogen and the Clave aren’t going to be changing their minds anytime soon. She can’t punish me anymore, since we stopped Valentine and everything, but I can’t continue to work with people who hate the Downworld. Hate me and all that I believe.” He takes a steadying breath and presses his hands down flat on the top of the desk in front of him. “No, this is the right decision. It’s just hard, you know?”

Magnus doesn’t. Not really. He’s never given up something this massive, and he doesn’t think he could. Alexander Lightwood continues to prove his strength over and over again in a way that stuns Magnus. “Well, you’re not alone.”

Alec lets out a rough chuckle and nods his head. “Yeah, I know. Izzy and Jace have been constantly checking in on me, this is the first time in like a week that I’ve managed to get away from them for more than an hour at a time.”

“And where’s your second in command?”

“In Idris. Giving Imogen our ultimatum. We’re cutting all ties to the Clave and creating our own Institute, this one to be open to any shadowhunter and downworlder that wants to train with us. We won’t be revealing our location to the Clave and we won’t allow any of the more conservative shadowhunters to bully us into submission.” The words slip off his tongue easily. He rehearsed with Lydia for the past couple of weeks as they ironed out the details. The Clave won’t be happy and Imogen most of all. He grins at the thought, happy to finally get to push back against her close mindedness.

“And how many here will be following you, do you know yet?” Magnus asks with genuine curiousity. “I’ve got scores of downworlders that are interested though still very wary.”

Alec grins with delight at the news. “Good, good!” His eyes flicker to the left as he thinks and Magnus can’t help but find it endearing. “Quite a few. All the survivors from the battle are coming with us. Izzy, Jace, and Lydia of course. Professor Midson is taking Clary to Idris to study runes, but they’re official in support of us. A lot of the men and women I’ve trained are following me.” Alec’s skin tints pink in embarrassment and Magnus leans forward to place a kiss to one warm cheek.

“You’re worth following, sweetness.” Magnus holds up the small set of keys in his hands and jangles them in front of his boyfriend. “And here you go, Director. The keys to your new palace.” Magnus savors every moment of the awed smile Alec gives him as he reverently takes the keys from the warlock.

“Again, I can’t thank you enough for backing me like this. We wouldn’t have the resources without you.”

Magnus smiles and waves him off, more than happy to have such a valiant cause to spend his many fortunes on. “It’s my pleasure, Alexander. Besides, it’s not like I’m any less invested in this than you. You’re looking at the official warlock in residence of the new Institute as well as the warlock representative of the Downworld Cabinet.”

Magnus isn’t prepared for the heavy kiss Alec places on his lips. Magnus’ knees buckle a little when Alec pushes further into the kiss instead of pulling back like he expected. The desk is still between them but Magnus can only focus on the warm tingle emanating from the kiss. When Alec pulls away he’s smirking with obvious pleasure at surprising his older warlock boyfriend.

“We could call you the Director of Magic or something,” Alec offers through that smirk.

Magnus groans and pretends his hands aren’t shaking. “Please don’t, this isn’t Harry Potter.” The warlock pushes a small curl out of Alec’s eyes and places his own, more chaste, kiss upon those full lips.

“Are you ready?”

Both Magnus and Alec turn to look at the door to the office to find Jace and Izzy waiting there with smirks on their faces. “How long have you been there?” Magnus asks in amusement even as he watches that cute pink spread across Alec’s face once again.

“Long enough, come on you two,” Izzy replies. “It’s time.”

Alec’s face grows serious and he nods decisively. He takes one last look around the office, his eyes snagging on the beautiful stain glass of the windows. He pats the desk in front of him and walks out of the room with his family.

Maryse is waiting for them in the main room. Alec stops in front of her and gives her the opportunity to speak first. She does so, “I still don’t approve of your decisions, Alec. You’re pulling your siblings into your messes.” Her face is pinched with suppressed anger and loss. “But, I understand that things are changing, and I understand that you won’t be listening to me anymore.” Maryse’s anger falls away for a moment and her face is full of regret and love. “I wish you the best, Alec. Look out for Izzy, make sure Jace doesn’t get himself killed.”

“Hey!” Jace and Izzy exclaim in unison.

Alec doesn’t smile but his own expression is soft and open as he replies, “Thank you, mother. You understand the terms of our agreement?”

Maryse’s terse countenance returns as she nods her head. “No official contact. I will send questioning shadowhunters in your direction. That would be easier if I knew where you were going, Alec.”

Alec shakes his head and firmly says, “Absolutely not. I need to protect my people.”

His mother’s shoulders fall in resignation but she accepts the words. “You three better be at the family dinners at Sunday still. Max will be inconsolable if you don’t.”

Izzy steps forward and gives her stiff mother a big hug. “We’ll be there.” Jace gives Maryse a handshake with a similar promise.

Then the three of them, with Magnus, walk out of the Institute for the last time. Izzy and Jace both stop and look back at the grandiose building, but Alec doesn’t pause as he continues walking to the sidewalk.

Simon and Gretel look up from their apparent argument and smile at the approaching group of shadowhunters. “Took you long enough!” Gretel gripes. Simon elbows her in the side but she doesn’t look regretful. Jace just smirks as he pulls the werewolf into his side.

Hurried footsteps approach them from the left and Alec is annoyed to find Clary Fairchild running over to them. She stops several feet away from them and looks so very unsure of herself. Simon steps forward first and envelops her in a hug. She sinks into it with a sigh and Alec can see the tears dampening the vampire’s shirt.

“I’ll see you again, right?” Clary asks her long time friend.

“You have a lot to answer for and we have a lot to heal, Clary.” Simon looks near tears himself now and Izzy grabs his hand to offer her support.

Clary looks crestfallen as she nods. Her eyes move to Jace and she asks, “You could come with me? Idris would love you to come back.”

Jace says frankly, “Just because we’re not related doesn’t mean I’m going to start following you around again, Fray.”

Clary drops her head and stares at the sidewalk for a long time. When she finally looks up her tears have stopped and there’s a small fire burning in her eyes. “I wish you all the best then.” She lays her hand on Simon’s shoulder one last time before she slowly strides away from them with her shoulders hunched together in sorrow.

“Good riddance,” Alec mumbles. His heart reaches out for Simon though. The vampire has gone through so much since he stumbled into this world behind Clary.

For Magnus the only thing he can think about is the rune Clary gave him, and how it’s burning a hole in his pocket. “Come along then, you youths!” Magnus says with only half faked cheer. “I’ve spent the last week getting this place set up for you! The least you could do is show up on time.”

Alec rolls his eyes but begins loping in the general direction the new building is located. Magnus clears his throat and Alec stops, looking back over his shoulder. “Why walk when you can portal in style?” Magnus asks. He makes a show of waving his hands in a silent dance and a portal shimmers into existence. The warlock finds it unfair how pretty Alec’s skin is in the dim purple light.

Izzy giggles and steps through first, dragging Simon behind her. Gretel and Jace follow shortly after, leaving only Alec and Magnus. The shadowhunter pulls Magnus into a tight hug and whispers his thanks into his hair.

With Alec’s tall strong body wrapped around him, Magnus feels incredibly...safe. And appreciated. “Anything for you, Alexander.” Alec’s arms tighten around him even further until he pulls back all of a sudden.

Magnus blinks at the change and doesn’t notice the hand Alec is holding out to him for a long moment. “Well?” Alec prompts with a smile.

“What?” Magnus looks at the hand offered to him.

“Did you want to show me around or not?”

Magnus rolls his eyes and gracefully grabs his shadowhunter’s hand and pulls him through the portal.

Simon stumbles through the large front doors of the DuMort at three in the afternoon, fresh back from the tour of the new campus with Magnus and the others. He lets the doors fall shut behind him and then slides down to sit on the floor with his back pressed against the wood. He’s beyond exhausted. He’s barely slept for the last couple of weeks what with helping Raphael at night and the shadowhunters during the day. The funerals, the wakes, the celebrations of victory. The meeting with Luke’s pack and the seelie court and the Clave.

Simon sighs and lets his eyes drop closed. Maybe he’ll sleep right here today, it seems like a Herculan amount of effort to drag himself through the hotel to his room. Or even Raphael’s. The fledgling’s lips curl up at the thought of Raphael, his leader and significant other. It feels weird to call Raphael his boyfriend. Raphael is too stoic for that, too upkept. Simon mentally shrugs and thinks he’ll probably figure it out later. Probably.

“What are you doing, conejito?”

Simon starts and looks up at Raphael’s sleepy irritated face.

“I can feel you thinking from three floors away, Si.” Which is patently ridiculous, but he did hear the doors open and close, and since it’s three in the afternoon with the sun high in the sky, he knew it had to be Simon. He can see the weariness that clings to Simon’s frame like a mist and his heart reaches out to his fledgling. Simon’s been working himself into the ground.

“I can’t move,” Simon pouts from the ground.

Raphael rolls his eyes but stoops to pick the young man up and carry him up the stairs. He makes a show of groaning at Simon’s childishness, but in all seriousness it feels amazing to hold Simon so close to him. For far too long it felt like the universe was conspiring to take Simon away from him. To finally be clear of the danger is like quenching the thirst after weeks without nourishment.

All that said, he’s worried about Simon. The fledgling has nightmares near every night and sometimes Simon will just space out in the middle of doing something. Raphael recognizes unwanted memories when he sees them and he wants nothing more than to spare Simon of that.

Simon giggles gleefully as Raphael carries him, more than a little punchdrunk on exhaustion. Raphael smiles at the sound of it and vows to make sure Simon always has reason to smile and laugh.

Raphael dumps Simon into his bed without any preamble and delights in the faux offended look Simon gives him. The fledgling is so light and wonderful and Raphael doesn’t know what he did to be worthy of keeping the fledgling close, but he’s eternally grateful. He crawls up into the bed and pulls Simon into his side and says, “Sleep, fledgling.”

Simon, surprisingly, doesn’t respond, but his body does relax into Raphael’s. After a long couple moments of comfort Simon finally says, “Hey, Rafa?”

“Hmm?” Raphael hums his acknowledgement.

“I was talking to Professor Midson the other day, you know, the lady Clary’s going to be working for now…”

Raphael’s lip pulls up into an involuntary sneer at the redhead’s name but he hums his understanding once again. He knows where this conversation is going, he’s been waiting for it.

“She’s been studying the Sword and trying to figure out why it would respond to Clary, and most likely Jace, considering how hard Valentine tried to get him to take it. She seems to think it’s something to do with their blood. I mean, Valentine loves experimenting with that kind of thing, right? Look at Alec.

“So, I was thinking, and I know I haven’t always been able to be in the sun. We both know that. But, remember the dina thing?”

“The daenea.”

“Yeah, that. When Magnus was doing his thing, you mentioned that Jace gave me a transfusion. What if that’s it, Rafa?”

“What of it?” Raphael says very carefully keeping his tone even.

“What do you mean ‘what of it’?! We could get Jace to give you a transfusion and you could walk in the daytime.”

Raphael turns Simon around to face him and makes sure the Fledgling is paying attention before he says, “No.”

“No, you don’t think it’ll work? I mean it’s just a transfusion, it wouldn’t hurt to try and--”

“Simon.” Raphael’s tone is laced with conviction and Simon shuts his mouth with a click of teeth. “No. The professor already talked to me about it, and I had my suspicions before that. We can’t do it.”

“Jace would--”

“I’m sure he would, but if we do that then when does it end? Would you be able to look Lily in the eyes and tell her no? Stan? Anyone?” Raphael clears his throat and tries to stay on track. “And then we have to think about Jace. If word got out about this then he could be hunted down or coerced into giving blood. Clary too, not that I care about her, but Jace has helped us again and again. He’s proven to be a great ally, and for you at least, a friend. Right?”

Simon nods his head slowly. “But, Rafa, don’t you want to?”

Raphael smiles at his fledgling, placing a kiss to Simon’s forehead. “Of course I do. I’d love to be able to take you to the zoo on a Sunday afternoon or the docks during the summer with the light shining off the lake. But I’ve come to terms with never seeing the sun again. I’ve mourned and grieved already.”

“We can just keep it a secret from the others!” Simon offers hopefully. “I won’t tell anyone, we won’t say anything about Jace or Clary…”

“That wouldn’t work and we both know it.” Raphael cups the side of Simon’s face with one hand, “Conejito, it’s okay. I’m glad that you’ve been blessed with this ability but I won’t risk so much just to get back something I thought lost forever. I won’t make a target of you, the clan, or the shadowhunters.”

“But, Rafa…”

“I know. It’s okay. We’ll figure it out.”

Simon stares at his leader for a long time trying to think of a way around the problems. Surely there’s a loophole somewhere. His head hurts though and his eyelids are incredibly heavy. He sighs and lays back down, humming in contentment when Raphael’s arms slide around him. “We’ll figure it out.” Simon falls asleep in a matter of moments.

Raphael stays awake a while longer thinking. He knows he’s made the right decision, and he’ll stand by it, but the taste of what ifs is strong on his tongue and he wishes to see the sunlight reflect off Simon’s eyes.

But no. He’s fully accepted his vampirism and he has a responsibility to his clan. He falls asleep with a small smile on his face, though no one is there to see it.

Alec wants nothing more than to fall into Magnus’ ridiculously sized bed and sleep. Despite the excitement of the new Institute, he can’t stay upright for much longer. There’s one thing stopping him though, or rather one being. Alec knows Magnus is just as tired as him. The warlock has been pouring his heart and energy into the new Institute they’re building as well as constantly siphoning magic into Alec.

Alec itches at the flaky skin on his bicep where the bone rune from the battle has been drawn again and again. The bond keeps magic running through Alec, which stops the pain, but it obviously weakens Magnus. Alec feels sick every time he has to burn that rune into Magnus’ skin anew. He’s also scared, because this is only a short term solution, and what if…

The shadowhunter freezes his thoughts there and steps out into the larger living area. “Mags?” Alec calls out.

Magnus steps into sight with a flourish and a smile. He’s wearing a silvery tunic that matches his eyeliner perfectly and Alec is once again stunned by how beautiful Magnus is. He clears his throat and pretends he didn’t just miss what Magnus said. “What are you doing?” Alec asks lamely.

“Are you daydreaming about me again?” Magnus asks with obvious glee. “Come on, come now, you silly Nephilim.” Magnus moves to sit on the largest sofa and pats the spot next to him. Alec acquieses and slumps into the comfortable piece of furniture.

“What’s on your mind?” Alec asks, belatedly understanding the latent energy humming around his warlock.

“We’ve been avoiding talking about you, dearest.”

“There’ve been more important things.”

“False. You are the most important.”

Alec sighs and drags a hand over the back of his neck. “I know I’m draining you and if you want to stop with the rune then I completely understand, we can find something else and--”

“Alexander Gideon Lightwood!” Magnus exclaims. “I did not go through all that trouble of finding you and wooing you just to let you die to blood poisoning.” Magnus sighs and his frame deflates further into the cushions around them. He pulls a small piece of paper from his pocket and hands it to Alec.

Alec takes the paper slowly without breaking eye contact with Magnus. “What is this?” he asks, still not looking at it.

“Clary gave it to me. As a farewell present.”

“What--”

“Just open it, dearest.”

Alec sighs but does as he’s told. The paper holds a sketch of a rune. It looks very similar to the one she created at the battle to link the downworlders and shadowhunters. But this one is slightly bolder and has a few extra details added to it. Alec’s breath gets stuck in his throat as realization washes over him.

“She says it’ll be permanent.”

“But, your magic--”

“Will be bound to you and will keep your blood sated. Permanently.”

Alec’s hand begins to shake and the rune blurs as he tries to look down at it again. “How is this possible?” Alec breathes out.

“How is anything about that girl possible?”

Alec closes his eyes and wills his mind to calm. “I can’t ask you to do this, Magnus. I know you’re weaker with me pulling on your magical reserves.” Alec looks down at the few runes he can see on his body. They’re still all scarred and when he tried to add a rune last week the stele nearly killed him. Some of the runes are still acting on him, the ones that are constant like endurance and agility. But others, like the iratze, that you have to activate, they don’t respond to a stele. No new runes and he’s handicapping Magnus. He’s worthless.

“I know what you’re thinking and it’s completely wrong. It would be a blessing to be linked to you, Alexander. Being a warlock means living a lonely life, you’re giving me the opportunity to have both.”

A thought hits Alec and it’s out of his mouth before he can stop it, “Will I die? I mean, like naturally, will I die?”

Magnus becomes hesitant and the nerves unfurl into anxiety in his stomach. “We don’t know. Clary’s new to this and while I trust her ability to make these runes, she has little to no idea about all the possible ramifications of doing something like this.”

“What do you mean?”

Magnus shrugs and the shimmering of the silver around his cat eyes distracts Alec for a moment. “Your life force will effectively be tied to mine. The possibility of you becoming immortal is highly likely. I’ll be able to feel your runes, the ones that you still have, and you’ll have limited access to my magic. There will be no more you and me, everything will become ‘us’.”

The idea of allowing someone such power over him is both exciting and terrifying to Magnus. On one hand it’s something he’s always wanted, a partner in all things. But on the other hand it could backfire on them horribly. They don’t even know if it’ll work.

“I don’t want to tie you down, Magnus.”

“You wouldn’t be, you’d be holding me together.” Magnus knows the doubts flowing through Alec’s mind right now and he wishes he could just… make the man understand. “Will I be weaker? Yes, technically I will, as some of my energy will be constantly funnelled into you. Your runes may be diluted as some of the effects bleed into me. But I’m happy to give up a little power to keep you here with me. It’s not a cost, Alexander, it’s a blessing.”

“What if we don’t work out, though?”

“Romantically?” Magnus asks, knowing the answer. “Then we don’t work out, but that doesn’t have anything to do with this . I trust you, Alexander, as an individual and a leader. Don’t feel obligated to stay with me out of duty or debt. Don’t go into this if you don’t want to be connected to me, I’ll draw this rune on my arm every day for as long as it’s needed, I promise.”

Alec doesn’t doubt the warlock, the conviction in his eyes is nearly burning through Alec. But Alec can’t imagine outliving his siblings, the thought brings a coldness to his body that scares him. He also can’t imagine either of them not supporting this bond, they’d undoubtedly be angry if he turned it down. They’d drag him back to Magnus and apologize for him, beg the warlock to take him back.

Immortality isn’t a known factor, but Magnus is rarely wrong… Choices and options are spinning through his head but his gut has calmed to a pleasant buzz. He knows his decision, and maybe this is going to bite them in the butt later, but they’ll figure it out. Together.

“Do you want to draw my rune?” Alec asks with a blinding smile.

Magnus gasps in pure glee and relief, he tackles Alec onto his back on the couch, and hovers over the larger body. “I’m so glad that Clary dragged you to that party, Alexander.” Then he swoops down and cuts off any reply Alec might have had with a deep kiss.

ONE YEAR LATER

Izzy watches Lydia scold an oblivious young shadowhunter and smiles to herself. She continues the mindless chore of cleaning the weapons and lets her mind drift over the last year. A lot has changed and the thought only makes her smile more.

She remembers when Alec had crawled into her bed at night and told her what he and Magnus had done. He showed her the new rune, sitting proudly above his heart and said, “I can feel him, Izzy. All the time.” His eyes were round in awe and a small amount of anxiety.

She listened to all his self doubts and comforted him when he ran out of words. Several hours later he finally returned to Magnus’ loft and Izzy got a thank you text from the warlock. She rolled her eyes but couldn’t, and can’t, deny how proud and happy she is for her brother.

Of all people, she thinks Alec deserves the most. He’s given so much, never expecting anything in return and Izzy is so immensely relieved that the world is finally returning the favor. Alec walks tall now and he’s left behind the constant fear of his veins burning up in his sleep. He’s confident and comfortable around Magnus and seemingly in his own skin. She has the warlock to thank for that.

They’re good for each other, Magnus and Alec, they stabilize each other and Izzy’s heart warms every time one of them helps the other.

“Simon, stop helping!” come the distant cries of both Gretel and Raphael. Izzy huffs in amusement and can picture them easily, training some of the Downworld recruits in the second atrium, Simon trying to give tips that don’t work. Just making the others’ lives more difficult.

She also knows Raphael won’t stop the fledgling from doing it, because he knows Simon feels out of place sometimes during the trainings. Simon is the best with mental control though, and he helps where he can, counseling other young people through the worst stages.

“You’ve got that smile on your face like you’re thinking about chocolate cake or something.” Izzy looks up at Lydia and smiles fully at the other woman. Lydia makes her stomach swoop when she walks into a room. Lydia makes Izzy happy.

“Just thinking about how everything’s changed,” Izzy replies.

“I know. I mean Jace learning how to interact with people like a normal person? Didn’t think the day would come.” Lydia teases and pulls gently on the end of the other woman’s ponytail.

In Izzy’s opinion, Jace and Gretel are still terrible at socializing, but at least they know when to keep their mouths shut now. Those two are a nightmare to keep away from trouble. She didn’t think that Jace would be able to find someone who’s as much of a trouble magnet as he is. It’s just a good thing that they’re almost as good at getting themselves back out of tough situations.

“Wanna go get lunch?” Lydia asks.

Izzy nods, puts the weapon in her hand down, and slips her own hand into Lydia’s without a second thought. “What’d the kid do?” Izzy asks.

“A stupid prank that almost ended very badly. Honestly, I don’t understand some of the people Maryse sends our way, she knows that we aren’t just here for her rejects, right?....”

They disappear down the hallway of the second New York Institute, talking happily and both endlessly grateful for things working out the way they have.

The Clave continues to lose power as more and more people transfer to Alec’s control, where the Accords are rewritten to be just to every species and individual, and the Downworld Cabinet meets every week. The Silent Brothers haven’t outright claimed a side, but they answer all questions that come their way, and they hold a soft a spot for Alexander Gideon Lightwood: the man the Angels deemed pure.