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Chapter Text

Even when she didn’t know what it was she was missing, Clary missed this. Her year spent as a mundane feels like a distant memory now, even if she’s only been a Shadowhunter again for a few months. So much has changed around in the New York institute since she lost her memories; Izzy and Simon’s engagement, Magnus and Alec, their new jobs and moving to Alicante, but so much has stayed familiar as well. She heard that Jace spent the year brooding, and it brings her great comfort, even if it is a little selfish, to know that he didn’t move on as much as everyone else, and she had grasped onto that tenuous sense of continuity with both hands.

Now, those hands wrap around the hilt of her Seraph blade.

Izzy is ten paces ahead, her bracelet slowly slithering off her wrist and forming a spear in her hands.  Jace brings up the rear, which might be the only thing that has changed about him. Jace was never cautious, never one to risk assess a situation, but now Clary finds that he’s always looking over everyone’s shoulder. It reminds her of how Alec used to be, before Magnus, and maybe that’s the role Jace needed to fill after his brother became inquisitor. After all, Lydia is far less forgiving of his antics than Alec was as Head of the Institute.

Izzy holds up a hand, and they all freeze in place.

Clary concentrates, trying to catch any movement in her periphery, or buzz in the distance, but the only thing she can make out is the creek of the building settling. She shivers. The warehouse where the Wraith was detected is dilapidated to say the least, and it somehow feels colder inside, than it did for the 2 miles they had to run here across the streets of New York in frigid January weather. The Angels had returned her runes, but not her ability to create new ones, so portals were out of the question.

She wishes she’d brought her thicker jacket, but it’s harder to move in and the demons that have been popping up recently have been particularly tenacious. She didn’t want to take any risks.

Izzy begins to creep forward slowly. My parabatai, Clary thinks fondly, as she draws her sword from its sheath, and not soon enough, as a cry erupts from above them.

The Wraith is much bigger than ones Clary has fought previously. It unfurls its monstrous wings, casting them into darkness as it blocks the burgeoning sunrise from the windows above. Times like this, she wishes she had followed in Alec’s footsteps and taken up archery.

With a banshee cry, the creature descends from the rafters. Clary ducks and rolls as it swoops over her head, trying and failing to grasp onto her. She hears a thrash, and sees that Izzy’s spear has wilted, and she has the creature caught round the leg with her whip. It lets out an unholy screech as the adamas burns into it’s rotten flesh, and yanks powerfully, sending Izzy sprawling to the ground.

Jace slides beneath the Wraith whilst it’s attention is focused on Izzy, slicing down its undercarriage with his blade. The creature recoils, and beats its wings harder, heading upward. A cut like that should have been fatal, or maybe it would have been if the demon weren’t twice the size of its kin. Ichor drips from it’s mouth as it snarls, showing off hundreds of black daggers as it does.

“This thing doesn’t go down easy.” Izzy remarks as she gets to her feet, brushing the dust from her legs.

“Neither do we.” Jace says.

The creature dives again, this time heading for Jace. He dodges left, but the demon is quicker, smarter, and brings it’s wings down to force him back into the field of play. Clary races to his aid, but is pulled to the ground by Izzy, just in time to dodge it’s tail, a mace the size of a boulder, barely skimming their heads.

Clary looks through the creatures legs, and sees it has Jace pinned to the ground, chest bracketed between its talons. Clary’s heart drops as it leans in close to his face, just seconds away from biting his head off.

But it doesn’t.

It hesitates.

And that is all it takes, for Izzy to scramble to her feet, whip now a firm spear once again, and take three bounding leaps up the demons tail, and plunge her weapon straight into it’s back, through the creatures heart.

Light erupts from the penetrating wound, and with a final cry, the demon disintegrates in front of her eyes. Izzy falls through the dust, managing to land on her feet. Clary runs to Jace, and helps him up.

If he’s shaken he doesn’t show it, just flicks his hair back, and wipes the Ichor from his face.

“This was new!” He complains, wiping the black goo from the front of his leather jacket, “It’s going to smell weird for ages.”

Izzy laughs, and coils her whip back round her wrist. Clary doesn’t share in their laughter a bad feeling has settled in her chest.

“Why didn’t that thing kill you?”

“Because I didn’t let it?”

“Jace, I love you, but it had you dead to rights. It should have gone for the kill but it didn’t. Why?”

“That wasn’t it’s mission.”

The three of them whip around to identify the source of the new voice that has joined their conversation. One hand clutches the ruby head of his cane, whilst the other smooths down the wrinkles in his suit jacket, though Clary isn’t sure there were any there. He’s well put together, dressed immaculately. Must run in the family.

“Asmodeous.”

The Greater Demon’s lip curls. Clary wracks her brain for the last time they dealt with Asmodeous, and how they got rid of him. She remembers very little, mostly because she wasn’t very involved and heard it all second hand, too distracted by Lilith and Jonathan to be much support for Magnus at that time. Magnus.

“How are you here? Magnus sent you into Limbo.”

Asmodeous takes a step forward, and she gets into a defensive position, as do Izzy and Jace, the latter taking a small step in front of them both. It’s endearing as much as it is unnecessary. If Asmodeous wants to kill them, there is very little any of them can do to stop it.

“My son,” He spits, as if the word were painful to say, “sent my corporeal form into Limbo, this is true, but I am a Prince of Hell. It took me some time to piece myself back together in there, and find my way out, and even longer to restore Edom to it’s former glory.”

“What do you want?” Clary asks.

Asmodeous grins. He doesn’t have nearly as many teeth as the Wraith, but it’s twice as terrifying. He takes another step forward, leaning heavily on his cane. He flicks his wrist, and Clary feels her airway tighten.

Her blade clatters to the floor as she claws desperately at the phantom hands crushing her throat and tries to suck in a breath. Barely half a lungful makes it through, just enough to keep her conscious. Beside her, Jace and Izzy are in the same condition. She falls to her knees, blood trickling from her nose. Her chest burns, she’s not getting enough air, but it’s just sufficient. It feels like -- 

Oh.

Torture.

Asmodeous leans in closely, his face blurring as her eyes fill with tears.

“I want you to pass along a message.”

*****

Magnus wakes up slow.

He pulls the sheets up over his chest to preserve some warmth, his decadent silk having been swapped for a vast duck feather comforter as soon as winter rolled around. He presses into Alexander at his side. The man is a human hot-water-bottle, and Magnus often tries to siphon his heat on gelid mornings such as this.

On the window, he can see frost beginning to creep up. With all the magic and power that resides in Alicante, Magnus thinks it would be nice if some of that could be invested in city-wide heating or something to keep the cold at bay. Then again, it would make mornings like this a lot less special.

He fumbles for his phone on the nightstand to check the time. He sighs when he remembers that he has a meeting in under an hour.  His grumbling must wake Alec, as his Shadowhunter begins to stir, rolling over to throw an arm over Magnus chest. It’s been a long time since Magnus has denied him the pleasure of waking up together.

“Morning.” Magnus mumbles into Alec’s hair, planting a small kiss there. Alec lets out a contented sigh in response, clearly not fully awake yet. “I have to get ready for a meeting, my love.”

Alec huffs into his chest, and places more of his weight on top of him. Magnus chuckles, and tries to slip out gently from underneath him. A hand clutches his arm tightly, pinning him to the bed. If Alec wasn’t awake before, he certainly is now.

“Stay.” He mumbles.

Magnus heart lurches. There was a long time in his life where he thought that he couldn’t have this. And certainly not with a Shadowhunter, of all people. He’s been thrown out of bed mere moments after his lovers have got what they needed from him, chastised for being too clingy, too sensitive, too much.

But not Alexander. Not his archer boy.

Once Alec had gotten over that first hurdle, there was nothing that he denied himself. From Shadowhunter, to Head of the Institute, and now to Inquisitor,  Alec has never let anyone or anything prevent him from doing what needs to be done, and getting what he wants.

And Magnus is just so happy to oblige in all of his wants.

“You also have to go to work.” Magnus reasons.

Alec crawls over Magnus wholly, and Magnus is powerless to move, in the same way as when The Chairman curls up in his lap. Magnus walks his fingers down Alec’s spine as far as he can reach, causing his husband to shiver. Alec pushes himself up onto his elbows, and Magnus reaches up to run his fingers through his bed-head.

Alec kisses the corner of his mouth. Magnus takes the hint, lazily flicking a finger to rid them both of their morning breath. His husband kisses him properly this time.

“Call in sick.” Alec says.

“The Clave don’ t believe in sick days, remember?”

“That’s stupid, someone should change that.”

“Indeed, Mr. Inquisitor.”

They continue exchanging long, languid kisses, whilst the minutes tick away. For all the power that Magnus possesses in his fingertips, there is nothing that makes him feel quite so alive as this. Alec is tangible and real, beneath his fingers, despite being plucked for Magnus’ wildest dreams. All he wants and needs is in this bed, and he’s never felt so fulfilled in his entire half-millennium. Magnus is definitely going to be late to his meeting, but his husband’s anchoring weight on top of him is preventing him from caring very much.

“Stay with me.” Alec says.

And really, who could say no to that?

“Okay.”

Alec smiles down at him gloriously, and returns to his sacred mission of debauching Magnus. They’ll get up in 5 minutes, as they always do. They do this dance every morning.  

This time however, the shrill of Alec’s phone takes them out of the moment. Magnus’ only comfort to having lost Alec’s warmth, is that his husband looks just as sad about it as Magnus feels.

“What?” He snaps down the phone, a little harsher than necessary, especially as it could be any number of Clave officials on the other end.

Magnus watches as Alec’s face changes, from sleepy, to annoyed, to confused, to horrified.

The hairs on the back of his neck stand straight, and Magnus sits up with them. The warmth in the room seems to have vanished altogether now, the frost and ice seemingly having seeped in.

“We need to go to New York.” Alec says as he hangs up, already launching himself out of bed and picking up discarded garments from the night before.

“What’s going on?” Magnus asks, waving a hand to shower and dress both him and Alec in combat friendly attire.

“Nothing good.”

As Magnus opens a portal to the steps of the New York Institute, something in his gut tells him that they should stay in bed.

*****

“Are you sure it was Asmodeous?”

It’s been some months since he last stepped foot inside this building, and as soon as he does, Magnus gets vivid rush of déjà vu, catapulted back to a time when they were immersed in a series of non-stop crises. It was a time when Magnus was greatly unmoored, the only constant in his life then being the anxiety over the fate of the people he loved.

At that time, turbulence was not something he wasn’t used to but those few months gave him whiplash, having everything he wanted in one moment, and losing it all in the next. They came out the other side though, as they always seem to, even if they had to lose Clary for a little while to do it.

Biscuit. He hasn’t seen her nearly as often as he would like recently, too busy being pulled every which way by the Clave and every demand they have of him in Alicante. What a time to be alive, where he complains that the Clave are too reliant on their resident High Warlock. Regardless of the unprecedented nature of his work, the time he does get off is gratefully spent with his husband. Clary still looks every part the baby-faced teenager that exploded into their lives years ago, but she has a hardness too her now. It seemed to stay with her throughout her year as a mundane, her body ostensibly unable to shake the training and trauma she endured here, even if her mind didn’t remember it.

Her voice is hoarse, as she explains what happened in the warehouse. Magnus has to stop himself from apologising on behalf of his father for what he put them through; if they were all responsible for their parents crimes, he doesn’t think anyone in this room would speak to one another.

“It certainly sounds like him.” Magnus responds to Alec’s question. It doesn’t sound like his appearance differed very much from before Magnus sent him into Limbo. What Magnus can’t fathom, however, is how he got out.

Limbo is not a place. It is barely understood as a concept. As the inventor of the portal, he really should know more about the physics of it all, but what he does know is that magic is all about intention, and entering a portal without one, means that you don’t come out the other side. Apparently, Asmodeous hadn’t offered much insight into that whilst he was suffocating Jace, Izzy and Clary, though under different circumstances, he would really like to pick his father’s brain about what it was like on the other side. Knowledge is power, and all that.

Shadowhunters are running past him left and right, gathering weapons and intel. Different team leaders barking orders to their recruits, assigning positions, giving advice on how to survive the coming battle. Apparently, Asmodeous hadn’t triggered any of their alarms either, leaving the Shadowhunters scurrying around frantically to prepare. Whatever happened to his father in Limbo, and whatever he did when he came out, he’s more formidable now that he’s ever been, of that Magnus is sure.

His stomach twists, and Magnus fights down the urge to vomit. He’s gone toe to toe with Asmodeous before, but at that time, Asmodeous wanted Magnus alive, wanted him by his side, and subsequently, never unleashed an attack that could have been fatal. Magnus doesn’t believe he will afforded the same mercy anymore.

“Do we know what he wants?” Alec asks, stood in parade rest. Alec was in Shadowhunter mode before Magnus had even opened the portal here, and has wasted to time since they arrived, trying to glean as much information from his siblings as he can. It might not be his call though; despite being inquisitor, he is no longer the Head of this Institute – he bestowed that honour onto Lydia when he left. She, however, has been mostly silent thus far, and Magnus wonders if Alec’s reputation for blowing up the ground he stands on for the people he loves is beginning to precede him.  His husbands eyes flick toward him uneasily, like he already knows the answer to the question he has asked. They all do.

“He wanted us to pass along a message,” Jace says, “For Magnus.”

Magnus crosses his arms over his chest. He nods for Jace to continue.

“He said, and I’m paraphrasing here, that he intends to ‘unleash Edom’ on the New York Institute, and that Magnus is going to help him do it.”

Nolens volens, Magnus thinks wryly.  

“It what universe does he think that Magnus would ever help him do that?” Lydia asks.

“It may not be that simple,” Magnus explains, “Back when Jonathon unleashed the demons on Alicante, my power was amplified in Edom, enough so that I could close the rift. If I had chosen to, I could have done the opposite; used my power to lock the rift open.”

“That doesn’t explain why Asmodeous thinks you’ll help him willingly?”

Magnus lets out a dry laugh. “No one said anything about willingly, my dear. I believe my father intends to use me a magical battery, of sorts.”

Alec nods slowly, his features grim. “He wants to drag you to Edom and use your power to create a permanent rift to Hell in New York.”

Alec breaks his position, and leans on the ops table. It all feels too familiar. Not that long ago he had to explain to his then Fiancé that their only salvation was in another dimension. Now, it’s where their damnation lies.

“I imagine he’s somewhat resentful of being sent floating listlessly for a year, and would like to see me lose my autonomy in kind. If he is as you described, he’s more powerful that he’s ever been. I don’t know that I can stop him.”

“We can.” Clary chimes in. He gives her a reassuring smile, but deep down Magnus fears that the entire might of the New York Institute may not be enough. Magnus watches as Alec clenches his fists. They tremor slightly, with rage or fear he doesn’t know. He hates having to do this to him, even if it’s not him that’s doing it. Magnus knows all too well what it feels like to fear for your husband’s life, he does it often enough.

Alec ignores Magnus’ warning in favour of forming a plan. “If it truly is his plan to get Magnus to Edom, then he knows we’ll be trying to stop him. He’ll open the rift first, even if it’s just a small one, and make sure the asmodei keep us busy. Magnus, can he track you, you know, magically?”

“I don’t believe Greater Demons have anything more than typical Warlock tracking. He would need an item of mine.”

“Does he have one?”

“As much as you complain about the size of my closet Alexander, the walk-in does not extend to realms of Hell.”

The corner of Alec’s mouth twitches fondly, the faintest hint of the man he loves shining through underneath the soldier he was raised to be. “Okay then. We’ll deal with this on three fronts: The majority of the institute will be focusing on the demons coming through the rift, and trying to keep them contained. We,” He says, turning away from Magnus to the Shadowhunters, “will be focusing on Asmodeous. If I can get a shot, I can banish him the same way I did Azazel. We’ll call in Lorenzo, and every other available Shadowhunter will be covering him as he closes the rift.”

“Lorenzo!?” Magnus squawks. He may still be the High Warlock of Brooklyn, and sure, they’re on better terms now than they were before, especially now he has Andrew to temper some of his crazy, but Magnus is the High Warlock of Alicante. Put simply, he outranks.

“Magnus, you’ll portal somewhere far away, and I’ll come get you when we’re done.”

Magnus laughs. The sound dies in his throat as Alec doesn’t partake in his amusement whatsoever.

“This is my fight, I’m not going anywhere.” He says resolutely.

“I wasn’t asking.” Alec counters.

“Well seeing as you don’t give me orders, I fail to see what else you could have been doing.”

“I’m trying to keep you safe, is what I’m doing.” Alec stands to attention, his frustration with Magnus evident in the rigidity of his shoulders. He’s always carried his stress there. Magnus wants desperately to reach out and run his hands across the taught skin until the knots under his fingers dissipate. In any other circumstance, he would have.

The Nephilim around them share looks and avert their eyes, as the conversation between him and Alec gets increasingly heated.

“So what? You just want to find a nice beach somewhere, drink some Pina Colada’s whilst my father wages war against you all?”

“What exactly is the alternative Magnus? As soon as he see’s you, you’re as good as dead.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, babe.”

“Could you put your ego aside for one fucking minute?”

“My ego!? I –“ Magnus feels the anger bubbling beneath his skin, and in an effort to not prove Alec’s point, bites his tongue. He takes a deep breath to ease his temper, and tries to remember that Alec does what he does out of love, even if it is misguided. He swallows around the lump in his throat and continues calmly, “All I’m saying, is that it doesn’t matter where in the world I am, he won’t stop until he gets what he wants.”

Alec tugs on his hair, his shoulder’s slumping. His forehead creases in a way Magnus has come to recognise as Alec getting the beginnings of a headache.

“What exactly do you propose as an alternative then?” Alec says, his voice like gravel.

“Your plan is good, but Lorenzo can’t close a rift from Edom,” Magnus says. He takes a cautious step towards Alec, and when he doesn’t move away, runs a hand up his arm. “It’s difficult to explain, but it’s like his magic isn’t on the same frequency as Asmodeous’. Mine is. My only concern is that depending on the size of the rift – and let’s face it, he’s going to be overcompensating – I may be rather depleted afterward. That it in turn may make me – “ Magnus doesn’t like to use the word vulnerable. “ – A target.”

“I won’t let him lay a finger on you.” Alec says, grasping Magnus hand in his.

Magnus brushes a stray lock off of his forehead as Alec stands to his full height. “Of course, my love, but we don’t always get a choice in these things.” Magnus takes a shuddering breath. If Alec isn’t content with him just being in the field, he certainly isn’t going to like what Magnus has to say next. “If Asmodeous gets me to the other side of that rift, the city will fall. With his and my power combined, there will be nothing that can stop him unleashing Hell on Earth – literally. So, if it comes down to it, and it looks like we may lose, it may become necessary to take me out of the equation.”

“Like, portal you away?” Jace queries.

Magnus squeezes Alec’s hand. “Yes. If by ‘away’ you mean off this mortal plane, then absolutely, yes.”

The Shadowhunters share confused looks, and Magnus waits patiently for realisation to dawn on them. Alec’s hand drops from his as he becomes the first to understand what Magnus is saying.

“Absolutely not, Magnus that’s not something any of us are going to consider.”

“Alexander – “

“Wait what? What aren’t we considering?” Lydia says.

Alec shakes his head, unwilling to explain Magnus proposed solution to their dilemma.

“I’m saying that it may become necessary to kill me in order to prevent Asmodeous from harnessing my power.” Magnus waves a hand to silence the protests coming the group of unruly Shadowhunters.  “I am only telling you this because it might be that I am not conscious, or otherwise impaired so that I cannot do it myself. Every single one of you would do the same if you were in my position.”

There are no protests after that, and for a few moments, Magnus just listens to the world around him. The ops room has cleared out significantly since they arrived, no doubt due to his and Alec’s shouting, but there are still stray Nephilim around, grasping all the swords they can carry, and rifling through papers on Asmodeous. On him.

He looks to Alec, who is steadfastly refusing to look back. He’s more tense than Magnus has seen him in quite some time, in fact, not since those first few weeks they knew one another. Back then, Alec had carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. Baring the responsibility of his siblings and maybe even his parents as well, took it’s toll on Alexander, and there are still very many nights when Magnus needs to remind him that the whole world isn’t relying on him. That he can stop, take a break, go to bed with his husband and not feel a trace of guilt.

“How many Downworlders do you think there are in New York?” Alec had said, back when Valentine was still a concern of theirs. They had shared countless moments on the balcony of the loft, and even in a city as populous as theirs, when it was just the two of them out there, he felt like they were the only people in the world.

“I know they’re not all your responsibility.”

“You are.”

Even if Alec didn’t know it at the time, those two words, that private confession on his balcony, had set Magnus’ whole world on fire. And though he had insisted to his then-boyfriend that he could take care of himself, Magnus was thrilled at the revelation. It didn’t matter than Alec was a Shadowhunter, or even a Lightwood, Magnus was giddy with the idea that someone loved him like this. Completely. Unflinchingly. Their moments on the balcony rapidly became some of Magnus’ favourite memories, hence why he petitioned the Clave so hard to allow him to move the loft to Alicante.

The loft was theirs. It was a perfectly good bachelor pad when Magnus lived there alone, but it didn’t become his home until Alexander moved in. After that, his record player was always spinning, his kitchen cupboards were always stocked, and his heart was always full. What he wouldn’t give to be back there now, tucked under the duvet with Alec is his arms.

“It’s not going to come to that.” Alec says, eyes finally meeting Magnus’.

Magnus runs a hand down him arm, and takes one hand in both of his. He hopes that he doesn’t look as terrified as he feels. “I won’t let myself be used by him, to slaughter innocent people.”

“I won’t let it come to that.” He insists emphatically.

Magnus smiles, and tries to placate him. “But if it does – “

Alec kisses him then, and the room around them falls away. No longer are they standing in the New York institute, surrounded by their closest friends and family, preparing for a fight Magnus knows they can’t win. Now, they’re just Magnus, a man so terrified of losing people that he’ll lose every part of himself to hold on to what he has, and his Alexander, who loves him so much that he changed the world for him. They’ve had more passionate kisses in far more romantic settings, but Magnus understands everything Alec feels with the simple act of pressing his lips against Magnus’.

Lydia clears her throat. “We don’t know when he’s going to strike, but I don’t imagine he’ll wait long. I’ll brief everyone on the plan.”

Magnus hears her footsteps retreat, as Alec lays his forehead against Magnus’. The other Shadowhunters make a variety of excuses before they disappear as well.

“I love you.” Alec says simply, “Stay with me.”

“Okay.” Magnus whispers back.

Alec is his weak spot, and it may yet be the death of him.

******

Magnus tucks himself away in a quiet corner while the Nephilim flurry around him. He doesn’t recognise any of them, doesn’t know their names or if they have families. To him, they’re just a blur of ink black runes, and to the clave, they are fodder for their Holy War. And Magnus is asking them to die for him.

It’s not that simple, he knows, but he can’t help the nausea that swirls in his stomach as he wonders how many of these Shadowhunters will make it back to their beds tonight. Some of them are still only teenagers, they shouldn’t have any part in this fight. Magnus can’t ask these people to put their lives on the line for him. Asmodeous’ choices are his own, but that doesn’t mean that Magnus doesn’t feel crippled with guilt. If it weren’t for his relationship with Alexander, Asmodeous would have no concern for the New York Institute, and the Shadowhunter’s within.  He’s never much cared for the Angel-blooded, or the mortal realm either; Asmodeous craves power, and destruction, and he’ll take the path of least resistance to get it.

Magnus clicks his fingers. Blue flames roll over his palms, weave in and out of his fingers. Having Lorenzo’s magic felt alien to him, like he was trying to control the course of a rushing river which would stop at nothing until it reached the sea. Magnus had little choice but to go where the magic took him, like it was preprogrammed with intention. Magnus thought after he got his magic back, that that feeling would go away, but it had taken root in his bones, and he’s sure he’ll ever trust his magic like he did before.

Heavy footfalls to his right steal his attention away from people watching.

“Hey,” Alec sighs as he approaches. “How are you feeling?”

He’s terrified, horribly anxious and beside himself with guilt.

“I’m good. You?”

Alec nods, and swallows hard. He’s changed out of the optimistic attire Magnus had chosen for him this morning. Now, he’s donned head to toe in leather, his bow and quiver slung across his back.

“I’ve missed seeing you with this,” Magnus reaches out, just barely brushing Alec’s thigh. There’s no need for a thigh holster when you spend your days fighting bureaucracy rather than demons. Magnus knows that Alec exceeds as a political figure, but he has missed seeing him in action. “It gives me impure thoughts.”

Alec dips his head to hide his blush. Some things never change.

“I wasn’t aware you had any other kind.” He teases. He appears to hesitate for a moment, before adding, “There’s still time for you to get far away from here.”

Alec’s hazel eyes plead with his. Magnus may never know what he’s done to be deserving of love like this.

He shakes his head. “Wherever you are, that’s where I’ll be.”

“Magnus I – “

Alec’s final plea is cut short by the sudden cry of alarms overhead. The entire room has been thrust into a deep read hue, every single monitor flashing warnings and alerts.

Asmodeous is here, and Magnus is out of time.

*****

The doors fly open and a raging torrent of leather floods the battle field. As they each pass the threshold of the Institute’s steps, their necks crane upwards. The sky above them reflects the sands of Edom. The six of them – Jace, Izzy, Clary, Lydia, Alec and Magnus – wade through the masses to the front.

Asmodeous stands fifty paces await, finger tapping on the crux of his cane.

His eyes lock onto Magnus’, and grins menacingly. He raises his cane to the Heavens, and then brings it down upon the Earth with an accompanying crack of thunder. The ground between them begins to rumble, and then shift apart. Bright red light spews from the newly formed cracks, as the ground continues to splinter, the chasm below stretching down impossibly far. Heat radiates from the rift, and Magnus peers down, despite his sudden vertigo.

He's been down there before. He’s not eager to go back.

“Get to your stations, now!” Lydia barks over her shoulder. The soldiers disperse to their positions, blocking in the rift and Asmodeous from all sides.

Magnus stares at his father across the gaping hole, and lets his glamour fall. He once believed that because of their shared physiology, that he and Asmodeous were the same. Or, at the very least, that there would always be some kind of common ground between them. It kept him at his side in Edom for many years, and then brought him back when he found that the world was not ready for people with eyes like them. Asmodeous lets his cat eyes show, but Magnus sees no familiarity in them, only malice.

A soft breeze begins to emanate from the rift, and the smell of burnt flesh and brimstone permeates the atmosphere. Small black spots have appeared, and are slowly getting bigger until Magnus feel the blast of wind as the asmodei propel themselves through the air at break neck speeds.

“On me.” Alec snaps, and the Shadowhunters race off to face Asmodeous on the other side of the rift. His father smiles razor-sharp, and for the first time in a long time, Magnus prays to the Angel. He does his best to put his concern for his loved ones to the side, so he can focus on the problem that lies at his feet.

The demons billow out of the rift and rocket skyward in their dozens, and Magnus has to stay some distance back to avoid being sliced open as they hurtle past. This rift is more vast than anything he’s ever closed before. Magnus closes his eyes, and reaches deep within himself to call upon his most raw magical force.

Blue tendrils swirl around his fingers. Magnus’ magic latches on to the edges of the rift, trying exigently to pull the earth back together again. Sweat runs down his spine, and his heels enroot themselves in the soil. Magnus squeezes his eyes shut trying to maintain focus on the task at hand, letting his magic guide him, and try desperately not to think about what pain his father may be inflicting at this very moment.

It's gruelling. Every time Magnus gets into some sort of rhythm, beginning to make progress, another handful of demons emerge from the rift and knock him off his balance, and his magic flickers and loses its grip forcing Magnus to try and pick it up again. His legs begin to shake as he feels his magic take more than he has to offer, but there is no choice but to continue.

His eyes flick open as he hears a cry that sounds all too familiar. His eyes search the battlefield around him, looking for any trace of Alec or the others. The crash of swords and the screech of the asmodei all fade away, replaced with static and the thundering beat of Magnus heart in his ears. Seraph blades and other Angelic weapons soaked black with Ichor are littered across the battlefield, just beyond the reach of the Nephilim that lay dead beside them.

Magnus is shaken as another Wraith bursts from the ground. They outnumber the Shadowhunters now, another two making it out the rift for each Shadowhunter that falls. Magnus’ magic flickers. He can’t think about Alexander right now. He doubles down and renews his effort seal the breach. Magnus grits his teeth and forces the molten passageway to narrow, bottlenecking the demons and slowing their ascent greatly. Just a little more, then he can find Alec and the others, make sure they’re okay. They have to be okay.

The passage closes further, a demon clawing it’s way up the walls struggles to squirm through.

 Just a little more.

Magnus is thrown back from rift, tumbling backwards along the slick ground. Magnus feels the wetness soak into his jacket, and tells himself that it’s demon blood, not Angel. His chest burns where the magic hits him, and he spares a thought for his shirt, which now has a ugly black burn marking it. It was Armani.  

He stares up at the sky, his vision swimming. He struggles to prop himself up on his elbows, and see black leather boots striding towards him. Alexander, he thinks fondly, but then he sees the cane walking in tandem.

Magnus takes a deep breath, and braces himself for what’s to come. As he makes it to his feet, he quickly does a clandestine sweep of the battlefield. He spies a flash of auburn swinging wildly at a demon, and somewhere, he hears the thrash of a whip.

But he doesn’t see Alec.

“Son.”

Magnus looks past Asmodeous. The rift is still open, but significantly smaller, and it doesn’t appear as if any new demons are making it out. Hopefully now the Shadowhunters will be able to banish the ones that are left.

“Father.”

Asmodeous does not looks human. In the centuries Magnus has known him, Asmodeous has used his corporeal form as a tool to deceive and manipulate mundanes and those in the Shadow world alike. He chose a mundane face he thought to be trustworthy and sympathetic, and even if it wasn’t real, he pretended to be one of them so much so that his human persona bled into his demon-self. After all, a Greater Demon should not care for their offspring in the way that Asmodeous has cared for him. It may not be fatherly love in the most traditional sense, but Magnus would be remiss if he didn’t acknowledge that in his own fucked up way, his father cared about him.

Or at least he used to.

Now, Asmodeous looks every part the Prince of Hell that he is.

Magnus reaches into his reserves, the action sending a wave of dizziness through him. He doesn’t have much left to fight Asmodeous with, but it’s enough. It has to be. Magnus musters his strength, cupping his hands and creating a fiery ball of pulsing magic. He sends it hurtling toward Asmodeous, and he hits the bullseye.

Magnus revels in the satisfaction of how much that should hurt, for just a moment, before his gratification is replaced by confusion.

The magic that should, at the very least, have sent Asmodeous flying back with a bruised rib or two, dissipates as soon as it comes into contact with its target, rolling like mist over Asmodeous, and sinking into his skin.

Asmodeous tosses his cane to the side. He stretches out his arms and rolls his neck.

The blasts come in quick succession, and Magnus barely has time to throw up a shield to parry them, each blow pushing him further back, feet slipping through the mud. At least I hope it’s mud. Magnus’ shield begins to flicker under the assault and his waning reserves. As Asmodeous draws his hands back to gear up for another attack, Magnus throws almost everything he has at him.

The magic disappears into his father as soon as it touches him.

Asmodeous grins menacingly, and lowers his hands. “Do you know how I managed to pull myself out of that wretched prison you put me in?”

“Well you clearly didn’t learn your lesson while you were in there.” Magnus says, gesturing to the carnage around them.

“I had no body. No form, no shape. I spent a long time in the darkness. But I knew, whenever you found out about the deal I made with the Lightwood boy, that you would be angry. That you may try to hurt me. So, I gave myself a failsafe, and when you sent me into that portal, I used it as a anchor to drag myself back out.”

Magnus bristles at the mention of Alec. His eyes dart back and forth, hoping to catch a glimpse, but he can’t discern Alexander from the sea of Shadowhunters. Magnus tries to steady his heartbeat and takes some deep breaths. He needs to keep Asmodeous talking for long enough to replenish just scrap of magic. “An anchor?”

“You are not your own.” Asmodeous says, “Why would I give you a tool to use against me?”

Magnus puzzles for a moment, trying to decipher his father’s riddles. Why must Greater Demons be so cryptic? Magnus surreptitiously reaches within to check the status of his –

Oh.

His face must convey the realisation, as Asmodeous starts to laugh. “And here I thought the great Magnus Bane would know when his magic wasn’t his.”

The wrongness he’s felt suddenly starts to make sense. Lorenzo’s and his magical signatures were incommensurable, and it caused Magnus to itch all over and fight the urge to dig the alien magic out of his skin. His and his father’s however, were cognate, and they shared a common, poisonous root. Magnus knew that his magic felt different, after his father gave it back, but he just though that he was taking time to adjust after everything that had happened. And when things had died down, it was too easy to push that unseemly feeling down, and focus on all the good things in his life.

Apparently, it hadn’t just been a feeling.

The magic begins to burn under his skin, and Magnus is no longer sure if that’s his doing or his fathers. Regardless, he pushes everything he can toward Asmodeous, even though he knows it’s fruitless.

Asmodeous catches the magic, swirls it around his hand and hurls it back at Magnus. He throws up an arm, no magic left to even hold up a shield. He smells the burnt flesh before he feels it, the nerve endings incinerated before he could process the pain, but Asmodeous doesn’t stop. He relaunches his assault with renewed rage, snarling at Magnus with each blast, and it’s all Magnus can do to hold up his arms and try an push himself away.

“You’re going to know what it feels like. Edom will amplify my magic through you, and I’ll make you watch as I raze this world you love so much to the ground.”

Magnus is reeling from the pain by the time the blows stop coming. He see’s wisps of smoke coming off of his clothes. His hands are mottled black and red with burns, and he supresses a gag at the smell. He tries to sit up, but falls back to his knees, as the last of his strength leaves him.

“Pity,” Asmodeous spits. “I would have hoped my favoured son would have been more of a challenge.”

He clicks his fingers, and then Magnus is starting to be dragged forward, toward the rift.

He tries in vain to slow his progress, and the blistering skin of his palms is left behind as he grasps ineffectually at blades of grass each time he’s tugged forward.

Magnus catches a glint from the corner of his eye.

A seraph blade lies discarded, just beyond arms reach.

Magnus fights the magic with all he can, diving to the right and seizing the sword at the hilt. His face is cast in a crimson glow as the sword illuminates, and he grits his teeth through the pain of closing his fist around the handle.

He casts a final look around him for his Shadowhunter, and can’t tell if it’s for the better or worse that Magnus can’t find him. There is no reason why Alec should have to see this, but Magnus selfishly wants one last goodbye, and a chance to tell his husband how sorry he is.

He’s young, Magnus reasons, he’ll find someone else. Magnus never bought that whole Shadowhunters only love once thing, despite the numerous occasions in which Alec has proved it to him.

Asmodeous stops at the sensation of Magnus jerking on the magical tether. He smirks at the blade in Magnus’ hand.

“What do you suppose you’ll do with that then? Your little boy toy already tried.”

Maybe Magnus will meet Alexander in the next life.

“Absolutely nothing.”

He resigns himself to his fate, flips the sword, and plunges it into his chest.

*****

Alec can’t deny the rush of adrenaline he felt putting on his fatigues after so long spent behind a desk, but he forgot how uncomfortable it was to sweat in leather. The air, which felt crystallised and tangible with ice this morning has now taken on a burning, humid quality, thanks to the crater in the ground and the demon that stands beyond it.

It takes Alec a tremendous effort to walk away from Magnus, but he has to trust that his hsband will handle the rift, whilst he handles Asmodeous. Alec grips his bow, and nocks a single arrow but doesn’t raise his weapon just yet. The longer he can keep Asmodeous occupied, and his attention off of Magnus, the better. He and Jace walk in lockstep, with the girls trailing behind. As they round the perimeter of the rift, the Greater Demon’s attention shifts from his son, to Alec.

Alec wants to tell the other to run. To deal with the lesser demons and let him have it out with Asmodeous; there is no reason they should all die today, but he clutches on to the shred of hope he has that they will be able to pull this off, and for that eventually to actually occur, he knows he can’t face Asmodeous alone.

“Alexander Lightwood.” The demon purrs. Last time Alec saw him, he was bargaining for Magnus’ happiness, but he doesn’t think that concerns Asmodeous very much anymore.

“Leave this realm,” Alec demands, willing his voice not to waver as the ground begins to rumble and he hears the first asmodei emerge from the rift, “I will not ask again.”

“I came here for something, and I’m not leaving without it.” Asmodeous’ eyes shift to look at something behind him. Alec fires an arrow into the ground just short of Asmodeous’ feet to draw his attention back.

“I’ll die before I let you touch him.”

The demons’ eyes darken, and he bares his teeth. “You’ll get your wish Shadowhunter.”

Alec nocks another arrow, and levels his bow at Asmodeous’ chest. A Greater Demon’s core lies in the dead centre of their chest, behind their heart, between their T5 and T6 vertebrae. At least, that is how it is described in order to be related to the common understanding of human anatomy, but the musculature and skeleton of a demon, especially one as powerful as Asmodeous is ineffable.

Clary, Izzy, Lydia and Jace spread out to surround Asmodeous, weapons at the ready, feet planted in a fighting stance. Asmodeous’ eyes do not leave Alec, and for a moment, nobody moves. Then, Asmodeous roars and throws a wave of magic out in a circle around him.

Alec doesn’t fight as the magic pushes him back, and instead focuses on keeping his balance as he slides back along the grass. He lets loose an arrow, and then another, both of which Asmodeous easily deflects with a twitch of his finger. He keeps firing arrows at the demon and watches over his shoulder as Clary gets to her feet and edges toward Asmodeous, poised and ready to strike with her daggers. As she launches herself at his back, the demon raises a fist, grabbing onto an invisible force and then jerking it forward, pulling Clary through the air as he does and sending her flying into Alec, all without so much as a glance behind him.

Alec scrambles up, uncaring of the force that he shoves Clary off of him. He’ll apologise later if they survive this. He stands in time to see Jace duck beneath a blast of magic and swipe at Asmodeous’ ankles with his blade, just missing as Asmodeous pivots with inhuman speed and precision to parry Izzy’s whip coming down upon him. Izzy doesn’t falter, and solidifies her whip into a spear and pounces toward Asmodeous. He casts her aside with a flick of her wrist, sending her sliding backward.

As Lydia and Jace fight in tandem, Alec strings another arrow, and takes a steadying breath. He strains his eyes, trying to lock onto his target, a centimetre wide bullseye concealed within the ever shifting form of a Greater Demon. Alec lets the arrow fly, but Asmodeous lurches to the left at the last second, the arrow piercing his shoulder instead.

Asmodeous twists around, cat eyes burning, and wrenches foreign object from his body. Alec shoots another arrow, and this time, Asmodeous redirects the arrow directly into Lydia’s thigh. She cries out, and falls to the ground. Alec tosses his bow and arrow to the side, in favour of unholstering his seraph blade.

Alec and Jace circle Asmodeous. He swallows, the burnt taste of Asmodeous’ magic on his tongue. There is a singular thought on Alec’s mind: Don’t let him get to Magnus.

With all the grit he can muster, he throws himself at Asmodeous with his sword raised, and tries to feed Jace his intentions through the bond so he can strike where Alec can’t. For a minute, the two of them manage to go blow for blow with Asmodeous, magic reverberating off of his seraph blade in an unholy collision of red and white. Eventually, Asmodeous puts an end to the fight.

Asmodeous unleashes a burning flash of magic, throwing he and Jace backward. Alec cries out as he feels the exposed flesh of his neck and cheek burn. He pushes himself up on shaky legs, and watches as Asmodeous raises his cane to the sky, the blood jewel glinting in the burning sun. Several wraiths screech overhead, and veer toward them.

“Jace!” He calls out. His brother pulls Clary to her feet, and helps her wipe the blood out of her eyes that’s trickles down from the gash in her forehead. Izzy has Lydia’s arm thrown over her shoulder and supports her to stand, keeping weight off the leg where Alec’s arrow still protrudes.

When Alec look back to Asmodeous, he finds the spot where he was standing empty. He looks out to the rift, and the loses all the air in his lungs as Asmodeous sends Magnus flying backward, just seconds from having closed the rift.

“Alec!” His brother screeches, but a second too late as Alec is being shoved forwards as a wraith shreds the back of his jacket with it’s talons, and pushes him back into the mud. Alec crawls forward on his stomach, to where he can see a discarded dagger, Clary’s no doubt. His fingers just ghost the edge before he hears the demon shriek and the air above him shift, and he instinctively makes himself as small as possible to lesson the effects of the impending strike.

Instead, he in showered ichor, and opens his eyes to see Jace standing above him, blade thrust into the empty air. His parabatai helps him to his feet, looking just as bad as Alec supposes he himself does.

“Go,” Jace says, “We got this, go help Magnus.”

Alec wasn’t waiting on Jace’s permission, and takes of running towards the rift, sweeping up his bow and arrows where he discarded them.

Alec watches, horrified, as Magnus’ magic seems to have no affect on Asmodeous, and the Greater Demon forces Magnus back with blindingly bright balls of fire. He nocks 3 arrows and aims them at Asmodeous’ back, but they find their way into an asmodei cutting into view and blocking his path. He wastes precious seconds banishing it back to hell.  

His lungs burn with each gasping breath he takes, pushing forward and stabbing through demons as he does. Every turn of his head pulls at the burn skin of his neck, but he has no time to stop for an Iratze.

Alec picks up the pace, and doesn’t look at the face of the bodies he steps over. He’s no stranger to death, and it seems like every week they have a funeral for another fallen soldier, but Alec has never gotten used to the site of dead Shadowhunter.

As Alec gets closer, Asmodeous turns, towing Magnus behind him on his knees. His arms are nearly black, his face is smeared with dirt and blood. When they’ve dealt with Asmodeous, he’ll call get for a portal to Magnus back to his loft for treatment, rather than the Institutes infirmary; he’ll hate for so many Shadowhunters to see him this dishevelled.

The thought leaves Alec as quickly as it came, replaced by a sudden feeling of horror, as like magic, Magnus has acquired a seraph blade, and has it pointed directly at his chest. An arrow leaves Alec’s bow almost unconsciously.

Magnus’ eyes find him then, as the sword is knocked from his grip by an arrow. Magnus looks at him with wide eyes that convey an emotion that Alec can’t decipher. Alec tears his eyes away, and comes in between Magnus and Asmodeous.

Alec can barely think straight. Magnus was about to – And all because of –

A feral noise is ripped from Alec’s throat as he charges at the Greater Demon, magic be damned. Alec will send Asmodeous back to Edom even if it means the death of him.

Alec drops at the last second, feeling the top of his hair singe, as the ball of magic Asmodeous fires at him skims over his head. He slams his bow into the back of Asmodeous’ knees, pushing the demon off his balance, and as he stumbles, he fires as many arrow as he can into his back, but he’s shaking too much to be able to aim properly.

Asmodeous roars, and turns the penetrating objects to dust. Alec stay low, close and quick, never giving Asmodeous enough room to draw his hands back for another attack. He takes an arrow in each hand, stabbing them into his right leg then left, before surging up and uppercutting Asmodeous with the prow of his bow. The demon staggers backwards, black blood oozing from the split lip Alec has just given him.

“Enough!” Asmodeous bellows, and Alec flies onto his back, skidding to a stop just short of the edge of the rift. Asmodeous grasps one of Alec’s arrows in his claws, whether he summoned it from Alec’s quiver, or pulled it from his leg he doesn’t know, but the capability for thought leaves him as Asmodeous sends the arrow through Alec’s forearm, effectively pinning him to the ground.

The arrow pushes through skin, muscle, and then forces itself through bone. Blood bubbles up around the wound, rapidly soaking through Alec’s layers. He tries to kick out at Asmodeous as he approaches, but the demon closes his fist, and suddenly, Alec can’t move, the magic paralysing him, and his muscles scream as Asmodeous forces them to become rigid and cramp.

He’s cast in shadow as Asmodeous stands over him, blocking out the sky.

“You’re a thorn in my side, Nephilim.” Asmodeous spits.

“And you’re the worst Father-in-Law ever.”

Asmodeous’ lip curls, and he draws his hands together, pulling them apart slowly until a writhing, angry mass of magic sits in his palm. He concentrates on his bond with Jace; they can’t speak through it, per se, but they can communicate. Take care of Magnus, he thinks, and keeps thinking it until he’s sure Jace understands, then Alec closes his eyes, and waits for the pain to consume him. Take care of Magnus, Take care of Magnus, Magnus, Magnus, Magnus.

His body is abruptly released from it’s magical hold.

Alec squints one eye open, to find that the fatal blast of magic Asmodeous had formed, has wilted into nothing. He looks stricken, cat eyes dimming, his teeth clenched. Asmodeous turns away from him slowly, staring at something Alec can’t see.

Alec squeezes his eyes shut and fights through the pain, ripping the arrow that’s keeping him pinned from his arm, and struggled onto his knees.

From there, he sees exactly what has drawn Asmodeous’ concern.

Magnus kneels, shaking, hands clutching one of Alec’s arrows, which he has just stabbed through his heart.

The pain Alec feels becomes a distant memory.

“NO!” He shouts, racing to Magnus side, but he’s not quick enough to stop his husband ripping the arrow out, removing the only thing slowing down the bleeding. He collapses by his side, cradling him as Magnus falls backwards.

“Wh-Why,” Alec gasps, tears already escaping down his cheeks, “Why would you…”

Magnus gurgles and wheezes, blood already filling his lungs. Alec presses down on the wound, whispering soft apologies as Magnus hisses in pain.

“Had to keep you safe,” Magnus slurs, “going…t’kill you.”

Alec rests his forehead again his husband’s, tears dripping from his eyes onto Magnus’ face. “Stay with me, please. Heal yourself.” He fumbles for Magnus’ hands, pushing down on Magnus’ chest with them. Magnus’ eyes become glassy and unfocused. “Heal yourself.” Alec begs with a sob, “Please, please just – “

“Don’t cry…it’s….”

Magnus presses something into Alec’s hands. His chest hitches, and his lungs rattle.

His chest doesn’t rise again.

Alec pulls him into his arms. He sobs into Magnus’ chest as he begs, “Stay with me, please stay with me.”

This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. Magnus is supposed to live forever. Alec damns the version of himself that was ever scorned at the idea of Magnus living beyond him. Jace appears suddenly by his side, no doubt summoned by the depths of Alec’s pain. He reaches out, a feather light touch on his back. “Alec,” he says, voice wet with emotion, “he’s gone.” Jace gently curls a hand around Alec’s wrist, helping him lower Magnus back to the ground.

He senses a presence to his right, but he doesn’t take his eyes off of Magnus’ ashen face. People always say the dead look peaceful, like they’re sleeping, but Alec doesn’t see restfulness reflected in his husband’s features. There is blood drying on his lips, from where it has dripped from his nose, staining his teeth. He died with his glamour down, his cat eyes permanently stuck, blown pupils staring blankly into nothing, the corners forever creased in pain.

“Sentiment,” the demon drawls, “I always warned Magnus – “

“Don’t say his name!” Alec snaps. He bunches up his sleeve in his hand, and tries to gently remove some of the grime from around Magnus’ face. Alec will be damned if he lets Magnus Bane die not looking his best.

“I don’t know what you’re so upset about. This is a better outcome than I could have hoped for.”

Alec takes notice of Asmodeous then, his grief swiftly undercut by a torrent of rage. How dare Asmodeous stand there so casually, leaning on his cane, nonchalantly flicking specks of dirt off of his fingernails, whilst Alec’s whole world lay dead by his hand. Alec tries to stand, but Jace pushes down on his shoulder, and stands in front of him.

The others, sans Lydia, have appeared now, ready to go another round with Asmodeous, but the demon pays them no mind, ignoring them in favour of continuing his conversation with Alec.

“It’s not often a father gets the chance at a do-over.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Jace interjects.

The demon laughs. “You mortals may be afraid of Dark Magic, but I am not.”

Asmodeous flicks his wrists outwards, forcing the Shadowhunters back. Alec holds onto Magnus tightly, but he too is tossed like a ragdoll, sent tumbling across the grass.

When he rights himself, he sees Asmodeous standing over Magnus, leaning down to stroke his face. For a moment, Alec believes he’s witnessing a trace of the compassionate father Asmodeous claims to be, but then he remembers who he’s dealing with, and he sees the act as the possessive gesture that it is.

“Don’t touch him!” He shouts as he sprints back to Magnus’ side. Asmodeous’ mouth twitches, before he open a portal, and sweeps it across him and Magnus. Alec drops to the ground where his husband’s body lay just seconds ago, but he finds only blood-soaked soil.

He uncurls his fist.

“The rift,” Izzy says quietly from somewhere beside him, “It’s gone.”

“The demon’s too.” Clary says.

Alec stares down silently at the Omamori in his palm.

Chapter Text

Alec paces up the institutes steps, two at a time.

He left Lydia to deal with the aftermath of the fight, her injury reduced to nothing more than a hitch in her gait after burning through 2 iratzes. He leads the others to the closest empty room, so as not to get in the way of those rushing past with stretchers carrying dead or wounded Shadowhunters. He feels sticky with sweat and viscera, and when he looks down at the omamori, he finds that it has leached the blood from his hands, dying the edges crimson.

He wipes his hands off on his trousers to try and limit further damage to what has just become the most precious item in his possession.

“Alec – “ Izzy starts. Her eyes shine with tears unshed, likely for his benefit. He ignores her, and turns to Jace.

“Help me track him.”

Jace’s eyes flick to the others in the room, before he steps towards Alec with something like sympathy in his eyes, “You know it won’t work – “   

“Please.”

Jace hesitates for just a moment, before he nods, and steps into Alec’s space. Alec activates the tracking rune on his palm, before running the stele over Jace’s hand as well. They clasp their hands together around the omamori.

Alec closes his eyes, and waits for the images of his husband, battered and bruised in the company of the person Magnus fears more than anyone, to flood his mind.

He sees only darkness. It would be a mercy if it didn’t mean what it does.

When the connection breaks, Jace tries to move away, but Alec tightens his grip.

“Again.”

“Alec – “

“He’s depleted. It will make him more difficult to track, so we need to try harder. Again.”

Jace sighs, but closes his eyes.

Alec thinks of Magnus. Of the way he looks when he’s sprawled out against the sheets or curled up beneath them. In the mornings, before he’s put on his armour for the day, and Alec gets to see him soft and uncoiffed. Or how Alec can intenerate Magnus just by coming home, instantly relaxing as they greet one another with a kiss. Alec’s cheek begins to sting as salty tears make their way into the burns, but he ignores it and bares down harder on the memories, trying to hone in on a signal he knows deep down isn’t there.

He feels Jace’s hands fall away. He’s surprised to find his parabatai is crying when he finally gets the courage to open his eyes.

“We need a Warlock,” Alec says quickly, “I’ll call Catarina or Lorenzo and they’ll – “

“The result will be the same,” Izzy interrupts, placing a hand on Alec’s arm that he immediately brushes off. “Alec you know he’s – “

“I don’t know anything!” Alec shouts. Why are they all giving up? Why won’t they try? After everything Magnus has done for them? “We need to find him I can’t – Asmodeous said  – he’s not dead.” Izzy’s face crumples, and he can hear Clary quietly sniffing in a corner somewhere. His siblings watch him, the unmistakable look of grief and pity contorting their features.  “He can’t be dead.”

Without warning, the ground shifts beneath him, and the floor is rushing up meet his knees in a sharp ascent. Jace and Izzy grab for him as he collapses, body shaking as the sharp knife of grief twists in his heart, and from there, he is powerless to stop the agony from pouring out of him. He wails into Jace’s shoulder, clinging to his shirt like a child.

“He-he took his body, I can’t even – “ The words get lodged in his throat, as if saying them will make this real. This isn’t right, Alec was always supposed to die first. But it doesn’t have to be right to be real. The evidence is staining his skin, and replaying in his mind every time he closes his eyes.

*****

Just a few years ago, Maryse Lightwood would have rejoiced at the news the Magnus Bane had met his demise. Maryse Trueblood wishes to could travel back to that time, and drag that woman by her too-tight pony tail and bring her here to the foot of her sons bed, and show her the future she was wishing for.

Alec hasn’t left the institute since it happened. News travelled fast to Alicante, and they granted him immediate and unconditional leave. Lenience like this is basically unheard of in Shadowhunter society, as death is so common, but Jia took one look at Alec – eyes sunken, cheeks hollow – and told him he could come back when he was ready.

He stays in Jace’s room. Each Shadowhunter assigned to an institute gets their own private room, no exceptions. Even though Jace spends every night with Clary, his room has not been reassigned to anyone else. Staring into the blackhole that is Alec’s grief, it’s easy to get sucked in. Maryse can’t imagine what it would feel like to be his parabatai right now, let alone to be Alec.

She knocks gently on the bedroom door, though she knows he won’t get up to answer, or even acknowledge her presence very much at all. She pokes her head in as the door creeks open, and to her dismay, Alec is in exactly the same position he was when she last saw him 2 days ago.

He’s on his side, facing away from the door, blankets tucked up to his chin. The air in the room is stale, and Maryse resists crinkling her nose. She rounds the foot of the bed, half expecting to find Alec asleep as he is more often than not these days, but his eyes are open, staring absently at the wall. He’s unwashed and unshaven, that much she can tell at a glance, but he doesn’t look any more worse for wear than he has these last few weeks.

She places 2 bottles of water and a thermos on the nightstand and then grabs the small bin, and sweeps off the empty bottles and other tubs, containing barely picked at comfort food, directly into it. She walks over to the window, and throws the curtains open, allowing light to flood the room. Alec grunts and turns over, pulling the covers over his head. Maryse decides she can’t quite stand the smell in here anymore, and throws the window open for good measure. It’s been brighter and warmer recently. Her and Lucian have been going out on long hikes together to usher in the spring, and if she holds his hand a little tighter these days, well, he doesn’t complain.

Jace says he hasn’t physically seen Alec eat anything in a few days now, so she came here with her game face on. It’s been hit or miss getting him to eat, and Maryse truly doesn’t know how he is living off of the few bites he does allow himself. Although, surviving may be a better word, but even that would be a stretch. She sits down on the side of the bed Alec has just vacated, peels back the blankets, and regards her eldest son in the spring sunshine.

The weight and muscle Alec gained over the course of his relationship with Magnus has been eroded by his grief, leaving behind the gaunt and lanky boy that he was when they met. His eyes meet hers, the spark that resided in them having long since flamed out. Maryse bites her lip to keep it from trembling. The last thing Alec needs right now is for her to have a big emotional episode. She unscrews the lid of a bottle of water, and holds it out. Begrudgingly, Alec sits up and takes the bottle from her.  As soon as he takes the first sip, he’s gulping down the rest in large mouthfuls, so much so that Maryse has to tell him to slow down in fear he’ll make himself sick.

She uncaps the thermos next, and hands it to him. He eyes it warily for a moment, but thankfully, takes it from her. It must have been some time since he last ate for him to take it so easily. Maryse wishes desperately that she could be here every day to support him, but she was forced to reopen the shop after taking just a few weeks to mourn with Alec. Shadowhunters don’t know how good they have it, with the free room and board, nor do they know how crippling the rent is in New York. Their payment, however, is playing the lottery with their lifespan.

Maryse holds her breath as Alec swallows the first spoonful. His forehead wrinkles and then his face softens. “Is this…?”

“Yes. Magnus gave me the new and improved recipe not long after we had that dinner.”

Magnus’ looping script on the recipe card had caught her eye as she thumbed through cook books for something that might appeal to Alec, and though she’d vacillated on whether it would do more harm than good, she had hoped that it would bring Alec some peace.

Alec’s face twitches, and Maryse thinks that is the closest he’s come to smiling in the month since Magnus died. They sit in silence, as Alec finishes the rest of his stew. Once he’s done, Maryse hands him the other bottle but this time he only takes a few sips before screwing the cap back on.

How are you feeling? is on the tip of her tongue, but it’d be stupid to ask a question she already knows the answer to. “How do you feel about a shower?” She asks instead.

Alec shrugs.

“How about you do that, and I’ll change the sheets?” She says. And maybe light a scented candle or two.

Alec heaves himself from the bed, and pads to the ensuite. Maryse wonders if she should tell him to shave whilst he’s at it, but that might be too much for one day. She sends a quick text Isabelle, asking if she can get someone to bring them fresh bed sheets. It’s silly, really, Maryse knows exactly where they’re kept and she’s more than capable of getting them herself, but she doesn’t want to leave in case Alec needs her.

In just a few minutes, a short man with a stern look on his face arrives with neatly folded linens, which she takes gratefully. Once she finishes making up the bed and tidying around the room a bit, she checks her watch. She took an extended lunch to come here, but she’ll need to head back soon.

Alec emerges from the bathroom 20 minutes later, looking no happier but certainly cleaner and in better smelling clothes. Tentatively, she reaches out, and when he doesn’t flinch, she wraps her arms around him.

“I’m always here for you” She says, feeling beads from his sodden hair drip down her back.

“I know.” He mumbles into her shoulder.

“You can come by the shop any time, if you want to get away from here.”

“I know.”

“And whenever you’re ready to have a funeral, I’ll help you with everything.”

Alec goes rigid, and then reels back.

“Funerals are for dead people,” he snaps “Magnus isn’t dead he’s just not here.”

Maryse sighs. She’d read the incident report. Though notably missing Alec’s account of events, there was no question as to what happened. There were multiple witness that state Magnus Bane sacrificed himself to stop Asmodeous from unleashing hell, and he died in Alec’s arms. Still, she doesn’t argue with him, but when she tries to reach out again, he retreats. Alec throws the covers back and crawls into bed.

“Close the window on your way out.” He grouses.

She wishes she could do more for him, but unless she learns necromancy or time travel, Alec is just going to have to suffer through this. Maryse does as she’s told and shuts the window, but leaves the candles lit.

*****

There is a constant pain in Jace’s side now. It was worse before, and by before he means immediately after, but over these last few weeks its turned into a steady ache, rather than the sharp stabbing pain it used to be.

The pain is different tonight. The burn of his mourning is still there, but there is a new hurt on top of it. A physical one. It’s not the first time he’s felt his parabatai in pain, and it won’t be the last, but Jace would feel a whole lot better if he could actually find Alec.

If nothing else, the pain tells him that Alec is alive. Dead people don’t hurt.

He’s elected to go out on his own tonight. It’s a nice change of pace for him to cover Izzy whilst she has a date night with Simon, and he left Clary humming along to something in her headphones whilst she sketched the New York skyline in charcoal. He doesn’t expect anything tonight that he can’t handle on his own. Besides, Alec’s always more amenable when he doesn’t feel like he’s being ganged up on.

Jace tracks him to a seedy bar in the heart of the Bronx.

Even in his most promiscuous years, Jace never ventured this far out, especially not to somewhere this sleazy. It’s a Tuesday, a particularly sad night in any bar. Even so, there are a few men staggering out front, looking in no better condition than the peeling paint and crumbling brick work of the boozer they’ve just stumbled out of.

He spots Alec as soon as he walks inside.  It would be difficult to miss one of 6 people in the dimly lit bar, especially as Alec is standing in the middle of the room, shouting loudly at the half conscious patrons, blood dripping from his palm.

“You-You mundanes don’t know how good you have it,” His brother slurs, “You just go about your day, like-like ants, you don’t know, you don’t know what it’s like.” He takes a swig from his glass, then swears loudly when he realises it’s empty. He staggers back to the bar, waving his glass in the face of the profoundly unamused bartender. “I need more whiskey.”

“You need to go home pal.” The barman replies in a watered down southern accent. He ignores Alec and continues to clean the crockery, but Alec doesn’t take no. He clambers onto a stool, and half leans across the bar top.

“Can’t go back there ‘n ‘m not allowed whiskey in the Institute.”

“Why am I not surprised you’ve come from an Institution?”

“Institute.” Alec corrects. Jace feels now would be a good time to intervene, before Alec drunkenly tells this man about the Shadow world. He braces Alec by the shoulder, and pulls him gently back from the bar.

“Jace!” Alec cheers, and pulls him into a hug.

“Definitely crazy.” The bartender says under his breath, and it occurs to Jace that he’s glamoured. To everyone else in the room, Alec is embracing the air. He leads Alec by the arm outside, and then drags him into the alley down the side of the building.

Jace takes out his stele and traces a couple of runes on Alec’s forearm. Whatever power surges through Alec as the invisibility and iratze runes becomes active, it’s too much for his stomach to bare, and he keels over, relieving himself of his evenings many, many poisons. Jace watches over him as he wretches. Even when Alec was fading away on Magnus’ chaise lounge after tracking Jace with his parabatai rune, Jace doesn’t think he’s ever seen Alec look this dead.

The injuries to Alec’s neck and face required a Silent Brother to fully heal; Clary had informed him that in the mundane world, burns so severe would have required a horrific sounding procedure called a ‘skin graft’, and even then, the area would be painfully scarred. It’s a wonderous thing, magic. Jace thinks that’s why he’s let the beard grow out, as it almost entirely covers the area where Asmodeous’ magic blackened his skin. 

“You feel better?” Jace asks when the vomiting stops.

“Fuck you.”

“How’d you hurt your hand?”

“Don’t remember.”

“Come on buddy, let’s get you to bed.”

It’s just after 3 am. Jace doesn’t have the number or good favour of any Warlock, but Alec is in no condition to portal anyway. There are no taxis on the street, so it looks like they’re going back the way he came. Mercifully, Alec manages to stay on his feet for the short walk to the subway station, and for the long wait for a downtown train to appear. Alec slumps against him as soon as they find a seat, and snores softly for the duration of the journey. He’s only awoken when the train lurches, signalling their arrival in Brooklyn. Throwing up and the short nap have sobered Alec up a little, at least enough that he can walk unassisted, even if he weaves across the pavement.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jace asks.

Alec doesn’t respond, which is to be expected. He’s tried and failed to engage Alec in conversations about his grief countless times in the last six months, as has everyone else who cares about him. Alec appeared to experience all the stages of grief at once, swinging violently back and forth between anger, depression and denial, with acceptance nowhere to be found. The sneaking out get drunk is relatively new, and a pain in Jace’s ass if he’s honest. He’s offered to drink with him, so has Clary, Izzy, Luke, even Simon, but Alec isn’t interested in warm words of affirmation right now.

“Please talk to me Alec.”

The time Clary spent as a Mundane, with no recollection of their time together was one of the hardest things he’s ever had to get through. He didn’t want to talk about it with anyone then either, because what would that achieve? There was nothing anyone could do to bring her back, and the hurt felt like this amorphous haze that surrounded him, and made it difficult to see what he had in front of him.

Alec speeds up slightly, walking a few paces ahead of Jace, no indication that he’s even listening.

“I know what it’s like to lose the love of your life. When Clary lost her memories, in the beginning I couldn’t even get out of bed. But I knew that if she were here, she’d want me to keep fighting, so I did my best to be strong for her.”

Alec shakes his head, but otherwise doesn’t reply.

“Alec can you – ” Jace reaches out and grabs Alec by the arm, forcing his brother to turn and face him. “Can you just listen to me, please?”

 “Listen to you whine about how difficult it was when your girlfriend went to art school for a year?” Alec spits, suddenly coherent and alert,  “You could still see her Jace. You knew she was alive and breathing and unhurt. There was nothing stopping you going up to her and asking her out, but you chose to leave her alone. You chose to punish yourself. I didn’t choose this.”

“So what? You’re just going to spend the rest of your life hiding, getting drunk and being angry at the world? You think that’s what Magnus would want for you?”

“Don’t tell me what he would have wanted,” Alec says, becoming increasingly hysterical, “My husband is, is gone, forgive me if I’m a little depressed.”

“You’re beyond depressed Alec you’re imploding.”

“Well what do you want from me!” He shouts, arms raised.

“I want you to talk to me! Or anyone! To stop avoiding what happened –”

“Shut up.”

“ I know you don’t want to hear it –”

“No seriously Jace, shut up.”

Alec’s not looking at him. He’s looking down the ginnel to his left instead. Jace is about to physically shake him to get his attention back but then he hears what’s captured Alec’s attention.

A low moan comes from down the backstreet, and Jace is instantly on high alert. He and Alec share a look, and then creep down the alley, guided by the light of Jace’s seraph blade. Jace is all too aware that Alec is unarmed, and positions himself ahead of his parabatai, hoping in vain that all they’ll find is a pair of mundane exhibitionists when they reach the end.

Alec sees her first. He lets out a soft gasp before he’s pushing past Jace with abandon, and kneeling down beside the young Shadowhunter. Jace recognises her from around the Institute, but not enough to recall her name. Her midsection is damn near eviscerated, and her blood is spilling out of her in droves. It’s a miracle she’s even still alive. Jace realises with a start that it means that whatever happened to her, must’ve only happened minutes ago. He leaves Alec to comfort the woman in what is likely to be her final moments and surveys his surroundings.

The end of the alley joins up with another one running perpendicular to the ginnels, along the backs of all the buildings. He moves stealthily to try and find any traces of whoever or whatever did this. He can’t and won’t stray too far from Alec and the woman, as he’s their only source of protection. Alec calls for him, unpanicked, and when Jace returns to his side, he’s relieved to find that he has a witchlight in his hand, no doubt taken from the woman.

“Is she – ?”

“Dead.” Alec confirms. He passes a hand over her face to close her eyes, softly murmuring as he does, “Ave Atque Vale.”

“Hail and farewell.” Jace echoes.

“I’ve already called the Institute, there should be someone here soon.”

Despite the situation, Jace huffs a small laugh. The protocols are so ingrained into Alec that even drunk, he follows the guidelines to a tee.  Alec looks up at him, but then looks past him and pales. Jace spins, blade primed, and comes face to face with a snarling drevak demon. The creature is unsettlingly humanoid, but Jace doesn’t let that deter him. He wastes no time charging ahead, slicing through the air with swift and precise movements, developed from years of training, and informed by hundreds of hours of studying different demons and the way they move.

The demon dodges every single one.

Jace stumbles as he overbalances on a stab that should have landed and as a consequence, the demon swipes at him, forcing him to go on the defensive. The repetitive movement of blocking each attack gives him time to think on his feet. As the creature reaches forward to grab at him, Jace ducks and rushes at it’s legs, throwing it over his shoulder and onto it’s back. He pivots on the balls of his feet, blade raised to attack, but Alec has beaten him to it. Alec thrusts a seraph blade into the demon’s chest, and it lets out an unholy screech before disintegrating into a shower of sparks and ichor.

Before Jace can say anything. Alec pitches sideways, and throws up again.

“Alec,” He says, as Alec spits the bad taste from his mouth, “That thing was waiting for us.”

Alec braces himself against the wall and tosses his, or rather the dead Shadowhunter’s, blade to the side and nods.

“We need to get back to the Institute.”

*****

Alec makes a beeline for his room as soon as they make it back to the Institute.

His t-shirt became a straitjacket somewhere between the alleyway and here, and as soon as he’s behind closed doors he’s tearing at his clothes and throwing them as far away as he can. He’s grateful for their dark colour because at least it means he can pretend the blood isn’t there. He trips on his way into the shower, pulling the curtain in with him and narrowly missing cracking his skull on the tiles. He paws at the controls as he tries to fight the sudden vertigo, eventually gripping the handle and turning it all the way right until he’s standing under a cascade of scalding water.

He holds his face up to the spray. The water pressure in the Institute is a joke, but it’s doing a good enough job of grounding him. He does his best to clean himself, eyes still squeezed tightly shut. He gropes blindly for the body wash, and then recoils when his hand comes into contact with a cool glass jar. His eyes flash open but there is no specially brewed sandalwood hair wash here; this is Jace’s room after all, and besides the clothes that Izzy had retrieved from the loft in Alicante, Alec hadn’t brought anything of his with him here. It’s just a glass, Alec thinks, relieved, and then cringes at how much of an overreaction that was to shampoo. Unfortunately, now that his eyes are open, he’s greeted to the site of scarlet circling the drain, and the handprints he left on the curtain and wall. The vertigo returns in spades and soon enough he’s dry heaving again, spitting out bile when there is nothing left for him to be rid of.  

Between being sick and the sobering sight of a dead body, Alec can’t say that he feels all that inebriated anymore. He makes quick work of the rest of his shower, and wraps a large towel around himself. He hesitates for a moment before wiping the steam off the mirror. He’s avoided looking at himself as much as possible for months now, but he knows he’ll need to be debriefed on what happened tonight.

He looks more vampire than Shadowhunter these days. His collar bones are more pronounced than they’ve ever been, and he’s sure his face would be just as angular if it weren’t hidden beneath his thick and wiry facial hair. Magnus had always tried to goad him into growing out his beard. Whenever Alec had more than a bit of stubble from missions that took him away from conveniences for a number of days, Magnus would be on him as soon as he was through the door.

“I’ve just missed you so much.” Magnus would say, paying special attention to where the edge of his stubble met his deflect rune.

“Me or my dick?”

“A man can miss two things, Alexander.”

The memory has Alec feeling queasy again. He brushes his teeth to and be rid of the taste of his own stomach acid, and puts on an outfit that looks semi-professional, but he can’t bear the high collar of a shirt or the restricting movement of leather, so he opts for a cotton long sleeve top and jeans.

The Institute is unusually active for this early in the morning. Shadowhunters work around the clock, but they at least do so in shifts. Apparently, news of a dead Shadowhunter spurred action into all the residents, even at 4 am. Several young recruits gawk at him as he makes his way toward the ops centre. To them, he’s probably regarded a myth, or a scary story they tell in the dark to the trainees; “Did you hear about the Shadowhunter who lost his mind?” “I heard he went crazy and turned himself into a vampire.” Alec can hardly blame them, he’s been something of a spectre in these hallways as of late, and he made quite a name for himself as the first openly gay Inquisitor, and married to a downworlder at that, and now he’s barely functional enough to take care of himself.

Jace is talking to Lydia when he arrives.

“What do we know?” He asks, sidling up alongside his parabatai.

Lydia and Jace share an uneasy look.

“We’ve got this Alec,” Lydia says with a sympathetic smile, “Go get some rest.”

“I’m plenty rested. Someone needs to debrief me anyway.”

“Jace has already filled me in on what happened. You’ve had a long night, we can handle this.”

“Protocol states that you get full account of events from parties involved in incidents where there has been a fatality.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve omitted your account from the official report, Alec.”

Alec clasps his hands behind his back, and uses his height to his advantage. He couldn’t talk about what happened that day, and he still can’t. It’s not fair for her to bring it up now, when tonight has nothing to do with that.

“I am the Inquisitor, and the former Head of this Institute. Refusal to follow protocols is grounds to report you for insubordination. I don’t want to do that to you Lydia, so don’t force my hand.”

Lydia holds his gaze for a few seconds before breaking under the threat of disciplinary action. He used to respect that about her, her unwavering devotion to the Clave and the law, but as the law changed, so did she. She made no objections, no complaints, and never faltered when instigating the appropriate changes as new rules and regulations came into effect. Even if the changes were positive, drafted by Alec himself, Alec realised that she’d always do whatever the Clave told her too. Lydia didn’t truly have a sense of right and wrong beyond the directives of the Clave. Still, he’d made her Head when he’d left, but only after Izzy, Clary and Jace had declined (in that order) because he knew changes were coming, and she would stand by them regardless if she agreed or not.

“Oh I see we’re back to anger now.” Jace mutters, not quietly enough.

Alec bites back a snarky retort.  This will devolve into a shouting match if he isn’t careful. Lydia beckons over Izzy, who up until now, has been keeping her distance, hanging around the outskirts of the chaos with Simon. Everyone has been discreet about their relationships since Magnus died. Izzy had postponed her wedding indefinitely which was supposed to happen 3 months ago. Part of Alec feels immense guilt about that, but a bigger part of him is grateful that he isn’t forced to pretend to be okay, even if it would only be for one night.

“Isabelle, can you take Alec’s statement please?”

Izzy nods tersely. She’s become a much more disciplined soldier in recent years, mostly because the law is now something she can get behind. She’s still kept her wild spirit, but she’s more strategic about when she uses it, having set her sights on becoming the official forensic pathologist for Idris.  

He makes to follow Izzy but looks back over his shoulder when Lydia’s tablet chirps. Her posture straightens like someone has tied a long metal rod to her back and she works her jaw.

Alec moves back toward her, and Izzy does the same. “Everything alright?” He asks.

“A message from the security at the front door.” She explains, smoothing down her uniform and tightening her ponytail, “Consul Penhallow is here.”

Alec wishes he’d shaved. He slyly runs a hand through his still damp hair, hoping to make himself looks somewhat presentable. Jia is not known for tolerating Shadowhunters that are any less than meticulous in their appearance, especially not anyone who holds a position of power. She’d been kind though, in the aftermath, telling him to take as much time as he needed, but he’s heard from Lydia that Jia has asked after him a few times recently. She’s not one for sympathy, which can only mean that she wants him back behind his desk.

The Consul marches in, with several Clave officials behind her, each click of her heels on the floor making his heart rate spike in sync. As she approaches, she nods at Lydia and then looks to him. If she’s surprised to see him, she doesn’t show it.

“Miss Branwell,” She says, unsmiling, “Alicante has been made aware that a Shadowhunter was killed in action tonight.”

Alec thinks Jia must have a mole somewhere in here. The body isn’t even cold yet, how could she know? To her credit, Lydia doesn’t let Jia’s psychic abilities dissuade her from doing her job. The Consul barely reacts to the gory details of what happened to the young Shadowhunter – Lara was her name, he’s since learnt, Lara Perez -  who was disembowelled by a demon who didn’t behave like a demon. The only thing that makes her react is when Lydia tells her that Alec was involved, but even then, her eyes only flick to him for a moment before she schools her features.

If Alec didn’t know any better, he’d say Jia has heard this story before.

She confirms his theory a moment later, as she brings up a map on the centre console. It’s a map of the world, but it also has 10 red dots in what appear to be random location throughout. Jia adds an eleventh over New York.

“There have been reports of violent demon attacks in several cities throughout the word, Damascus, Nassau and Havana to name a few,  each one resulting the death of several Shadowhunters. At present, we know that the attack always starts with a lone Shadowhunter, but instead of…feeding on the body as they usually do, these demons instead wait for the first responders to arrive, and then attack those Shadowhunters as well. Before tonight, there have been no witness’ as to the demon’s nature. The only reason we knew it was a demon at all was because a Shadowhunter from the Nairobi Institute managed to survive long enough in the infirmary to give some vague details.”

“How many dead?” Lydia asks.

“Twenty, in the last 2 months.”

“2 months!?” Alec exclaims, “Why haven’t the Institutes been warned? There could have been measures put in place to prevent this from happening.”

“Forgive me, Mr Lightwood, we’ve been understaffed.”

Alec folds under her scrutinous glare. Point taken.

Jia clears her throat, and then continues, “I’m here because we’re hoping yours and Mr Herondale’s testimony can shed some light on what we are dealing with.”

“I’ll give the report as soon as it’s ready, Consul, but I believe we have a unique opportunity here.” Lydia says, and then proceeds only when Jia nods for her do so, “We have ichor belonging to the demon on blades and clothing belonging to Alec and Jace. It’s been less than an hour since the attack, the if there is a trace of magic or some kind of demonic signature, I believe it may be best to call in the High Warlock to help us trace it.”

“Then you should hit the ground running.” The Consul dictates, and then turns away.

Alec leaves the others to call Lorenzo and strides to catch up with Jia.

“Consul Penhallow – ”         

“The formalities were for their benefit, Alec.” She says. She’s taken on a softer quality now. Not soft, but soft-er. It makes her look more like Aline, he realises. If he’s honest, he’s kind of tired of being looked at like a kicked puppy, but he’s grateful that she’s still too concerned with his mental state to ask him hard questions.

“Jia,” He reasserts, “I’d like to be a part of this investigation. As a representative of the Clave, of course.”

Jia eyes him warily, and searches his face, but whatever she sees in him appears to persuade her.

“One condition,” She says, “Once this investigation has concluded, you need to return to Alicante, or resign.”

Okay, maybe she isn’t so concerned with his mental health then. Regardless, she’s been far more accommodating than any other Clave official would have been, and the offer is more than generous. But he won’t go back to Alicante. He can’t. He can’t just go back to his desk and do paperwork, and then come back to that loft like nothing happened.

So, he’ll track this demon, avenge Lara, and then he’ll resign as Inquisitor.

“I accept.”

******

Lorenzo scans Jace’s blade with his magic. He’s meticulous in his movement and requested absolute silence to be able to trace the demon’s signature. Alec did his best not to roll his eyes, Magnus could have tracked the demon with one hand and summoned a cocktail with the other, all whilst telling an outrageous and undoubtedly untrue anecdote about how he was the court sorcerer at King Arthur’s round table.

Before long, Lorenzo is declaring proudly that he has found the source of the magic, but it is weak and it is unlikely that there is anything there at all. He gives them a location, and then struts away, portentous coat flowing behind him.

Jace had tried to bench him several times as they geared up, but Alec just continuously ignored him. He grabs a seraph blade and holsters it, thinks for a moment, and then grabs his bow and quiver as well. They’ve been hanging up in the armoury, unused for months. Someone has kept it clean and polished, however, and he makes a mental note to thank Izzy later.

They get Lorenzo to open a portal for them before they go, and he does so like he is doing them some great favour, like he hadn’t magicked his bill onto Lydia’s desk before he’d even arrived.

New York is just starting to wake up. The first of the mundanes are already out on the street, jogging and lording their superiority over everyone who doesn’t get up at 5 am to run before work. They’re able to dodge them easily enough, especially as they head toward the Industrial site Lorenzo had traced the demon to. This is a reconnaissance mission, Alec reminds himself, they don’t actually expect to meet any hostile forces here. Alec’s nervous system does not get the message, and he has reorient a large amount of his focus on controlling his breathing and not vomiting for the 4^th time 3 hours. He’d insisted to Jace that he was more than capable of leading this investigation, and though it was clear his parabatai didn’t believe that for a second, he’d rather not prove him right so quickly.

It’s not like Alec is a stranger to fighting, he killed a demon an hour ago for crying out loud, but he didn’t have much time to think about what he was doing then and he has all the time in the world to think now. He was actually hoping that having something to do would help to stop the thoughts that haunt him, but it seems like everything he does serves as a reminder of what he’s lost. Even the things that have no attachment to him or Magnus or their life together, Alec’s traitorous brain will find a way.

“Where exactly did Lorenzo say the signal was coming from?” Clary asks as they come to a stop in the middle an expanse of factories and shipping containers. Lydia had stayed back at the institute to finish compiling the incident report, so it’s just Clary, Izzy, Jace and him this morning. Lydia had sent out supplementary patrols around New York, but the four of them are pretty much on their own.

“He couldn’t pin point it, just said it was somewhere here.” Izzy answers.

“Spread out then, see what you can find,” Alec instructs, “Izzy and Jace you take the north side, Clary and I will take the south.”

Jace makes a noise of protest, but Izzy clam shoots him a harsh look. Clary fails to hide the surprise on her face that Alec has actually volunteered to partner up with her. He doesn’t see why, it’s not like they’re at odds anymore. They’ve done plenty of missions together, but he guesses that it’s no secret that she’s still not his favourite person. Alec would usually buddy up with Jace in these circumstances, but he can’t take one more minute of his attempts at talking about things, nor can he tolerate Izzy looking at him like he’ll fall to pieces any minute. He’ll take Clary being unable to make eye contact with him any day.

They walk in silence, ducking in and out of buildings, weaving in-between the odd mundane that unknowingly stumbles into their path. Clary keeps her guard up, daggers raised and eyes probing every dark corner.  Alec doesn’t even bother to unsheathe his blade. There are no demons here. The drevak probably came from here, leaving behind the traces that Lorenzo picked up on, but this place doesn’t strike Alec as a nest. In just a few hours, it will become a loud, bustling hub of machinery. Demons like it dark and quiet. They continue to push through, checking behind dumpsters and in basements, but whatever was here is long gone.

He takes out his phone to text Izzy that they’ve come up empty, and will meet them back where they split up. Her reply has his heart rate increasing.  

We found something. Brick building, north east corner.

She doesn’t sound urgent, nor is his or Clary’s parabatai bonds giving them any reason for alarm, but they break into a jog anyway. It doesn’t take them long to get there, and when they do, find Jace and Izzy standing the centre of the room, staring down at the floor.

Neither of them lookup when he and Clary join them, but Jace does acknowledge their presence.

“We think it’s a toe.” He says, poking at it with his blade.

Alec crouches down to get a closer look. All it is, really, is a little black nub. In a place like this Alec would’ve dismissed it as coal or another byproduct of whatever it is they make here, if it weren’t for the unmistakable stench of ichor, that fills his nostrils as he leans in. Demons don’t really have toes though, they have claws, and there is nothing sharp about this little chunk of demon flesh.

Alec follows Jace’s lead, and prods at the not-toe. Could this be what Lorenzo picked up on? Carefully, Alec turns it over. On the other side, it’s not matte like it is on the top. It’s just as black, but it glistens ever so slightly. Alec realises that it’s wet. It’s ichor. This is a chunk of flesh that has been sliced off a demon. Alec pauses. Nothing that mundanes possess as weapons or otherwise could slice through demon skin like this, and any angelic weapons wouldn’t leave anything like this behind. That means whatever did this was demon in origin. That means –

Alec bolts up right, bow materialising in his hand. “It’s a trap, look alive.”

Wordlessly, they orient themselves so their backs face one another, each of them covering each other’s six. Alec has an arrow loaded and the string pulled back. His hands shake. He strains his eyes, trying to catch sight of whoever has led them here.

“That was an impressive deduction.”  A voice says from the darkness, but he can’t figure out where, it’s like it came from every direction. They don’t break formation, but something nags at Alec. He knows that voice.

He hears footsteps shuffling somewhere in front of him, and the other must as well, as they unfold from behind him and take up their positions by his side. He spots a figure moving in the darkness, barely more than a silhouette, but at least it gives him something to aim at.

Static crackles in the air. Warlock.

“Show yourself.” Jace barks at the figure.

A tidal wave of ferocious magic washes over them, and Alec feels his arms go limp at his sides, his knees buckling beneath him. Whatever spell was just cast, it’s like his muscles have turned to lead. There is no pain, but there will be if he remains defenceless in the presence of an obviously powerful magic wielder. Alec fights to push himself upward, as the sound of footsteps draws closer. He can hear the others struggling against the magic too

The shadow moves into the light, and Alec feels his breath leave him.

He’s leaner than Alec remembers. His soft curves have become sharp lines, and he moves with militant efficiency, rather than the graceful floating Alec had come to associated with him. There is no flair to his magic either. It sparks from his hands – bare, Alec notes, not a trace of nail polish or a single ring  - without drama or finesse. The biggest difference is in his eyes, though. Before, they were warm sunlight. Now, they are pure night. There is no pupil, no iris, just undiluted obsidian.

And yet, he’s still Magnus.

“Don’t kill my demons again.” Magnus says.

“You sent that thing?” Clary asks, voice shaking with the effort it takes just to speak.

“Yes, and if I were allowed to kill you all, I would.” Magnus says with a smile.

“Magnus.” Alec rasps.

Magnus raises an eyebrow. “Nice to see my reputation precedes me.” He turns on the spot, and the hold the magic has on them breaks.

“Wait!” he calls out, surging to his feet, but Magnus only flashes a smile over his shoulder, before vanishing into thin air.

*****

For the second time in 6 months, Alec stares at the empty spot where his husband was just moments ago.

He could almost convince himself that his mind had finally fractured; the lack of food, hypersomnia, binge drinking and persistent grief must have caused him to start hallucinating, seeing the face of his husband in a powerful demon, but he wasn’t the only one that saw him.

“Are you alright?” Jace says slowly. It takes Alec a minute to realise that the question was directed at him. He nods minutely.

“I’ll call Lydia,” Clary says, “Tell her we’re after a greater demon wearing Magnus’ face.”

Alec draws his brows together.  

“A greater demon topside would have triggered the Institutes alarms.” Izzy says, “So it’s either not a greater demon, or something so powerful that we can’t track it.”

They’re not making any sense. Clary said it herself, it was Magnus’ face. Everyone saw it, so why are they so quick to deny that he’s alive? His turmoil must bleed through the bond, because Jace is trying to subtly shush his eyes at Clary and Izzy. Alec can’t tell if he’s grateful or irritated at being infantilised.

“We shouldn’t be talking about this here,” Jace sighs, “Let’s get back to the Institute, the three of us will report to Lydia, and Alec you’ve been up all night, you should get some sleep.”

Irritated. Definitely irritated.

“I’m not a child Jace, and more importantly, I’m not your subordinate,” Alec steams, “It wasn’t a greater demon.”

“Well it wasn’t him,” Jace huffs, “I know that must have been awful for you. No one is going to blame you if you sit this out.”

“He was right there! You all saw him!” Alec shouts. He turns to Clary and Izzy and pleads with them, “You heard what Asmodeous said that day. It was Magnus. You know it was.”

Clary stares at the floor, fidgeting uneasily. Izzy looks like she wants to cry, but she eventually relents. “I guess it could maybe have – “

“No, no, don’t let him bully you into telling him what he wants to hear.” Jace snaps. He comes between Alec and the others, running a hand through his blonde hair, “I’m sorry about what happened, okay? But I cannot watch as your destroy yourself anymore. I don’t want to have to keep watching you get so drunk you can’t stand, or worry that you’re going to throw yourself off the roof. You need to move on with your life, Alec.”

“What life? You just expect me to go about my day as if nothing happened? To just go to work, fill in meaningless paperwork and go to family dinners like I didn’t lose him six months ago?”

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t mourn Alec, I’m saying you need to find better coping mechanisms.”

Alec crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m coping just fine.”

“Really?” Jace says, “Everyone here has had to pick you up off the floor more than once in the last six months. Not 4 hours ago you were spewing in an alleyway in the Bronx.”

Alec scoffs. “If I’m such a burden to you Jace, by all means, cut ties.”

Jace grinds his teeth and shuts his eyes, and when he reopens them, they burn with barely concealed rage. “Magnus is dead.”  Jace spits, and Alec doesn’t manage to hide his flinch, “That thing wasn’t him, because your husband is dead.”

“Jace.” Clary interjects weakly, but Jace continues.

“You need to find some way to make peace with what happened. Everyone has tried to help you but you just keep pushing them away. So either you need step away from this mission and let us deal with it, or you need to get your head on right and help us find whatever is using Magnus’ body as a puppet and kill – ” 

Alec’s fist connects with Jace’s jaw.

“No one lays a hand on him.”

Clary is by his side in an instant as he lands on his ass, whilst Izzy looks on, glancing between her two brothers with an exhausted look on her face. Jace looks up at him, and Alec can feel his anger and sadness seeping in through the parabatai bond. He hasn’t been overly concerned with what he was feeding through these last few months, too incapable of confronting his emotions, let alone concern himself with anyone else’s. Jace thinks he understands Alec’s pain because he has felt a fraction of his grief through the bond, but he could never understand the pain of losing the one person in the world who saw you for who you were, and not who they wanted you to be. Who had no expectations of him, who would hold him when he cried, who he could tell anything to. Jace has Clary, of course, but he’s had a lot of Clary’s.

Magnus was the sun, and Alec has been living in darkness ever since.

“I can prove that it’s him.” Alec says as Clary helps Jace to his feet. Alec reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small paper charm. It’s a little tattered, and the colour had faded significantly, having been worn by the oils on Alec’s skin. “Help me track him.” He says to Jace, gesturing to their bond.

“Are you kidding?” Jace sniffs, shaking off Clary’s touch.

“We can’t report this to Lydia, or to the Clave,” Alec argues, “They’ll send people after him. We need to do this ourselves.”

“You’ve lost your mind.”

“Give it to me, Alec,” Izzy says, “Clary and I will try and track him.”

Clary looks between her boyfriend and her parabatai. Izzy takes the omamori from Alec, and holds it out to Clary, a silent question. As Clary debates her options, Jace shakes his head, and turns away. To Alec’s relief, Clary takes Izzy’s hand.

“Don’t get your hopes up.” Clary says.

Sprites of iridescent angelic power dance around their joined hands, and Alec can see the faint glow of their parabatai bonds under their clothes. They lock eyes with one another, and Alec absently mindedly wonders if it looks this homoerotic when he and Jace do it. Both their faces are slack, betraying their doubt, but Alec waits patiently with bated breath.

His hopes and prayers pay off a moment later when both women gasp simultaneously, and Alec knows from experience that their minds have suddenly become flooded with images, clues, as to the location of the owner of the charm.

Magnus.

Alec laughs, tears falling unbidden down his cheeks.

Izzy and Clary break their connection, panting.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Alec asks. “You saw him?”

Izzy nods, and then throws herself into his arms. He squeezes her tightly, trying to focus on how tangible she is, how real she feels. This isn’t a dream. Magnus is alive, and in New York to boot.

“Alec listen to me,” Jace says, “If Asmodeous really did bring him back, then he came back different. It might be a version of Magnus, but it isn’t your Magnus.”

“He’s a he, not an it, and if we can free you from Lilith’s influence, we can free Magnus from Asmodeous’’.” Alec tries not to think about that tumultuous period, or what Magnus had to give up in order to free Jace. He thinks back to the options they cycled through. They don’t have anything like a parabatai connection to enter Magnus’ mind with, and even if they did, necromancy is distinctly different from demonic possession. Who knows what they would find inside his head. The other option requires a lot of favours. “Magnus once told me about a synthesis spell, in the Book of the White. It would allow lots of Warlock’s to channel their energy into one conduit. Magnus thought that could purge you of the Owl, but Lorenzo got in the way.”

“We need to find Magnus and diagnose the problem first before we start brainstorming cures.” Izzy says. “It looked like he was walking across Wards Island bridge.”

Alec adjusts his quiver on his back.

“Then let’s go get him.”

*****

By the time they make it to the East Harlem, the city is well and truly awake. Alec eventually gives up dodging pedestrians who won’t stay out of his way, and opts for running along the road instead; no one is able to drive that fast in rush hour anyway, and Alec refuses to be slowed down. He’s already burned through one speed rune, and he barely falters in his pace as he scribbles another on his arm.

They’re about 20 minutes behind Magnus, but with his new ability to flicker in and out of existence,  the chances of him still being there are slim to none. Doesn’t matter. If they get there and Magnus is gone, they will track him again, and he’ll keep chasing after Magnus for the rest of his life if that is what it takes.

They make it to the foot of the bridge, and whilst the others stop to catch their breath for a moment, Alec pushes on. There aren’t too many mundanes at this time, compared to the rest of the city, but Alec still has to sidestep the odd one that intends to walk straight through him. He searches the faces that pass him by, but there is no one here that he recognises. His attention is drawn by a noise. A rattling or tinny banging, somewhere further down the bridge. He keeps moving forward, the trickle of people thinning the further along he gets. The noise gets louder, and louder, until he spots the source up ahead.

Magnus has managed to get himself perched on the high barriers running alongside the bridge, thankfully facing inwards, his legs swinging back and forth and bouncing against the metal fencing. It’s difficult to tell, what with his eyes being monochrome and all, but Alec can tell by the way the light catches them, that Magnus’ eyes are following the mundanes that pass him by. He’s people watching.

He's also changed his wardrobe. He hadn’t had much time to take in Magnus’ outfit back at the Industrial Estate, but at the very least, he can tell that Magnus has lost his suede jacket and black button up shirt. The sleeves of his billowing cream blouse are rolled up to his elbows, and said shirt is tucked in to a skin tight pair of leather pants. Again, Magnus is uncharacteristically devoid of adornments, but the sun catches something faintly shiny on his eyelids.

Magnus’ eyes follow a mundane along the bridge all the way until he locks eyes with Alec. He smirks, and jumps down from his seat, landing solidly on heeled boots that even Izzy might have broken her ankle in. As much as Alec wants to reach out to him, he keeps his distance. He’s not stupid, he knows there is every chance Jace is right, but until he has absolute proof of that, he intends to go on like he isn’t.

“Shadowhunter.” Magnus says by way of greeting.

“Magnus.” Alec breathes.

“Yes, how do you know my name?”

“Because I know you, Magnus.”

Magnus laughs, but it isn’t the sweet sound that Alec could draw out of Magnus when they were drunk on the balcony, swapping stories, it’s cold and disbelieving. Magnus studies him and Alec tries to keep his features as calm as possible but the way Magnus’ eyes roam his body with such attention to detail, makes Alec wonder if he could possibly sense how fast his heart is racing.

“Coming here was a bad move, Nephilim.”

“Why? You said you weren’t allowed to kill us.” Alec says, “Who tells someone as powerful as you what to do?”

Magnus bristles. “Maybe I can’t kill you but I can cause you a great deal of pain,” He says, and then raises his voice to a shout, “Come any closer Shadowhunters and I’ll turn this one’s skin inside out.”

Alec hadn’t even heard the other creeping up behind him, but Magnus had. Alec is actually grateful that Magnus has warded them off. Jace is far too trigger happy for his liking. He tries to push a sense of calm through the bond, so at least Jace knows he’s alright, but he gets only anxiety in return.

“You didn’t answer my question.” Alec continues.

“I don’t answer to you.”

“But you answer to someone,” Alec takes a page out of Magnus’ book and pauses for dramatic effect, “…Asmodeous?”

Magnus’ whole demeanour changes, suddenly on the defensive. He looks like he wants to ask Alec how he knew that, but that would be telling. Magnus balls his fists, pops of light flitting around them.

“I’m not here to hurt you Magnus,” Alec says, “I just want to talk to you.”

“Then talk Shadowhunter.”

Alec gently lowers his bow and quiver to the ground, throwing away his seraph blade whilst he’s at it. He wants to come across as non-threatening to Magnus as possible, though the others flanking him, with weapons raised no doubt, probably isn’t helping. He hears Jace bite out his name, albeit softly.

Alec reaches into his pocket, and pulls out the omamori. He holds it out so Magnus can see it.

“We know each other. Asmodeous’ magic has changed you Magnus but I know your soul,” Alec creeps forward as Magnus’ eyes stay fixed on the charm in his hand, “We had a life together. I gave this to you, and you carried it with you always. Asmodeous took you away from me.”

Magnus reaches forward, tentatively running a finger along the charm. He swallows, looking up at Alec. Carefully, Magnus takes the charm.

 “Alec?” Magnus gasps.

“Yes!” Alec replies, tears filling his eyes, “You remember?”

Magnus smiles gloriously, and then stretches even wider, until laughter is bubbling out of him in uncontrolled, gasping breaths. Alec is beginning to get concerned, but then then like a switch, Magnus stops laughing and his face drops into a hard mask.

Magnus pinches the omamori tightly between his pointer and thumb, and then with a barely perceptible twitch of his finger, turns it to ash.

Alec’s cry gets caught in his throat, watching the only thing that has anchored him to this existence become nothing more than embers and dust carried away by the breeze.

“Tell me, are all Shadowhunters this gullible?” Magnus says with a wicked smile, “My father told me American Nephilim were to be avoided, I just assumed he meant you were a formidable adversary, but this is a pitiful display.”

As magic begins to snake up Magnus’ arms, Alec’s hand twitches toward his sheath on pure reflex. Magnus catches his movement, and as he bends his wrist to the right, Alec feels the bone in his arm shatter. He cries out, clutching his arm and dropping to his knees. Magnus looks down on him, nothing more than pity in his eyes.

The air shifts slightly, and between one blink and the next, Magnus is gone.

*****

Magnus collapses into his chair summons a Scotch on the rocks before his ass hits the cushion.

Even after having a lifetime to get used to it, Magnus begins to sweat as soon as he enters the sweltering heat of his father’s kingdom. The air here is constantly thick and dry, and it’s not as if there is cool water on tap. All the many candles dotted about don’t help. He’s not sure why Edom has to be a thousand degrees at any given time; both the greater and lesser demons that reside here can do so comfortably at any temperature, but he supposes it wouldn’t be hell if it weren’t at least a little torturous. That, or Asmodeous is just really into his aesthetics.

Magnus pulls his shirt away from his already clammy skin. He was better at managing the heat when he spent all his time here, but hopping around the variable climates of the mundane realm have caused him to go through some kind of devolution. Doha was nearly as intolerable, but so was Helsinki at the other end of the spectrum, and as such, they got off easy. Magnus sent more demons in Nassau than anywhere else, purely because the warm sun and bountiful tropical drinks made the Bahamas feel like a second home. Asmodeous had punished him thoroughly for that misadventure, because apparently it drew the attention of the Clave. Whatever that was.

Speaking of the literal devil, Asmodeous appears in the room with little warning or fanfare. He sits on his throne – much bigger than Magnus’ leather chair, but also profoundly uglier and less comfortable – and sighs. Magnus has never seen him eat or drink, but when you live in a place where the soil is arid, it only ever rains acid and your aquifers are molten rock, you would evolve out of silly things like hunger and thirst.

“Tough day at the office?” Magnus asks. Asmodeous also never evolved a sense of humour, but Magnus tries anyway.

“How many Shadowhunters are you up to now?”

Asmodeous only ever wants to talk about their so called ‘sacred mission’. At least now that he’s doing stuff outside of Edom, he’s not relying on scintillating conversation like this to keep from going insane with boredom. “30, give or take, but I don’t think they realise some of them were me.”

“Us.” Asmodeous hisses.

“Right. Us.” Magnus acquiesces. Never mind he’s doing all the leg work and demon summoning, this is a team sport, apparently. “You know, we’d greatly increase that number if you came topside and we just…” Magnus shoots a sprite of magic from the end of his fingers like a gun.

“It would draw too much attention. It’s better to let the lesser creatures do our dirty work.”

Magnus can’t argue with that logic, but still, he’d really like to flex his magic a little.

“Well I could do it then. I can hold my own against the Angel blooded.”

“Of that I have no doubt, but I said no.”

Magnus takes a sip of scotch to drown the reply on his tongue. He’s lived hundreds of years under Asmodeous’ guidance, abided by every rule, filled out every request. He’s never had a problem with it before, but lately he’s become somewhat disillusioned. The sacred mission to wipe out the Nephilim and then rule over the mundanes is getting less and less appealing by the day. What that really all he was made to do? His life’s purpose?

“Of course,” Magnus says, “I’m only asking because I feel they may be closer than we think. I saw some Shadowhunters today and they knew my name.”

Asmodeous growls low in his throat, and Magnus swears he feels the temperature increase. “Tell me what happened.”

Magnus takes another sip to steady his nerves.

“I was in New York –“

Each of the hundred candles suddenly explode into life, the flames increasing in size exponentially and a trail of fire slithers toward Magnus’ chair. He quickly picks his feet up before he can be burned.

“I told you in no uncertain terms that you must not enter North America.”

“I wasn’t going to, but some Shadowhunters managed to kill one of my – our demons. You said that wouldn’t be possible, so I wanted to see what they were made of. As it turns out, not much.”

The flames creep higher, licking at Magnus’ toes. “You killed them?” Asmodeous asks.

“No, but it would have been easy enough. I just went to scare them. The funny thing is, after I left, they managed to track me down. One of them claimed to have something of mine. Said he knew me.”

Asmodeous rises from his throne. The fire parts under his feet as he walks across the room to Magnus’ corner. Magnus doesn’t meet his eye as his father looks down on him.

“Shadowhunters lie. They will manipulate and twist your mind in order to make you doubt the work we do. You must fortify your mind.”

“Yes, yes, fortify, I know,” Magnus says, “but that doesn’t explain how he knew my name?”

The slap is swift and sharp across his cheek.

“Do not question me again, boy.” Asmodeous snarls.

He brings his finger up to sooth the sting and when he takes them away, they’re specked with blood. Magnus’ cheek feels like static, but it’s nothing new. Asmodeous wanted a soldier, and quashing Magnus’ human side took a considerable amount of disciplinary action.

“I apologise, that wasn’t my intention.” Magnus says.

Asmodeous raises his hand to Magnus cheek, and Magnus does his best not to recoil. Cool magic soothes the inflamed skin, and soon, there is no pain at all.

“We can only trust each other, son.” Asmodeous says.

“Of course.” Magnus replies reflexively. The viridescent flames have slinked back into the candle light, so he stand, nods to his father, and walks away.

“If you are ever to encounter this Shadowhunter again, you have my permission to kill him.” Asmodeous calls after him.

Magnus doesn’t have a bedroom, as such, but a thin mattress tucked away in one of the many open plan sections of his father’s door-less domain. Asmodeous has always seemed disappointed in Magnus’ need for sleep, but it’s just one of the may human dependencies that Asmodeous was unable to purge him of.

Magnus collapses unceremoniously on his makeshift bed. He traces the remnants of ash on his finger tips, and from it, reconstitutes the paper charm the Shadowhunter had given him.

Asmodeous’ words circle his mind, but the boy had looked so sincere on the bridge. Overjoyed when Magnus said his name.

We had a life together

Magnus pushes his magic out, checking to see if Asmodeous is close by. He finds no immediate trace of his father, so redirects his focus into the charm.

I gave this to you, and you carried it with you always

If what the Shadowhunter said was true, then a tracking spell should reveal the true owner of the item. His magic probes and pulses for a second, before he’s inundated with pictures in his mind. When they subside, Magnus remembers what else the Nephilim had said.

Asmodeous took you from me.

Chapter Text

“What happened?” Lydia asks as soon as they’re through the door.

Jace all but dragged him off the bridge and back to the Institute. The iratzes Izzy activated for him are barely touching the pain, and he highly doubts it’s doing very much at all to pull the bone back together. Alec had hoped that they could sneak past Lydia to the infirmary unnoticed, but she was already waiting for them, metaphorical steam coming out of her ears.

Watching the omamori burn was like losing Magnus all over again, and without it, Alec couldn’t force the others to track Magnus any further. He doubts they would have done it anyway. He’s never seen Jace this angry, and for once, he’s actually agreeing with Lydia.

“This idiot nearly got himself killed, that’s what happened.” Jace bites out.  

Alec gets situated on a bed, doing his best not to jostle his arm but with every little twitch he can feel bits of bone grinding against each other and threatening to pierce through the skin. Izzy hands him a small vial filled with clear liquid. Taking painkillers, like a lot of things in Shadowhunter society, is seen as an admission of weakness. Strong soldiers grit their teeth and bare the pain, no matter how bad. Alec hasn’t been a soldier in some time now, so he downs it without guilt. He can’t function in this much pain anyway.

“You were supposed to check in at 7 am.” Lydia says.

“We were pursuing a time sensitive lead.” Jace replies.

“Well what did you find then? And how did Alec break his arm?”

Alec tenses, eyes boring a hole into his brother’s skull. Jace, like Izzy, has become less dismissive of authority as of late, and coupled with the fact that Jace is supremely mad at him, this could go either way.

“We tracked a demon out of the Industrial estate – ”

“Jace.” Alec hisses.

“ – We thought it might be like the others, but it was just a Ravanor.” Jace leans in to Lydia and whispers conspiratorially, “It caught Alec by surprise. He’s a little embarrassed, you know?”

Lydia nods slowly in understanding, and then sends a sympathetic smile his way.

“Of course. Alec will heal faster with you here. Clary, Izzy – will you come give me a full report?” Lydia asks.

As soon as they’re out the door, Alec is pulling his phone from his pocket.

“Who are you calling?” Jace asks.

“He knew my name, Jace.”

“That’s because I said it 10 seconds before he turned your humorous to dust, idiot.”

It goes to voicemail. Alec tries again, and on his third attempt, a fatigued voice fills his ear.

“This better not be an emergency, my shift ends in 20 minutes and then I’m sleeping for a week.” Catarina grouses down the phone.

“Cat, can you meet me at the loft in like half an hour?”

There is silence on the other end of the line. He can hear the usual calamity of a busy emergency room in the background, but Catarina struggles to find her voice for a few moments.

“Are you sure?” She asks eventually.

“Yes.” He says, and hangs up without saying goodbye.

*****

Every Institute has a standing portal to Alicante, so after he convinced Jace to cover for him, he’s in the City of Glass in no time at all. Magnus had moved the loft right into the heart of Idris, and it takes him 15 minutes at his glacial, pain-addled pace to make it to their building. Alicante doesn’t have the skyline New York does, but Magnus had magicked the outside of the loft to look like the terracotta exteriors of all the infrastructure here, but left the interior untouched.

He hasn’t been back here in 6 months.

Coming back afterwards just felt wrong. To be surrounded by Magnus but not have him felt like too much to bare, so he refused to bare it. There are no wards anymore, so Alec is able to enter with a small, unassuming key. Magnus had insisted that they both had one; even though Magnus could use magic and every other building here uses locking and unlocking runes, Magnus had insisted upon it. He had said it was for added security, but Alec knew he just wanted a memento. Something for his box after Alec died.

The thought doesn’t send him spiralling like it used to. If Magnus loves him even half as much as he loves Magnus, losing him will not be as trivial as Alec once thought, even to an immortal. He just wishes he didn’t have to lose Magnus to know that.

He toes off his shoes and then drags his fingers over the entryway table. It’s dusty, a thin layer on almost everything. He’s tossing his key in the little ceramic bowl before he’s really aware of what he’s doing, his whole routine rushing back to him in an instant. Any moment now, Magnus should be rounding the corner, summoning a drink for them both, and regaling him with stories about irritating clients and stubborn Shadowhunters.

Of course, that doesn’t happen.

Alec’s arm is beginning to throb incessantly, so he takes a deep breath and heads through to Magnus’ apothecary.

He’s gotten good over the years at identifying the obscure ingredients and the numerous elixirs that decorate the shelves. He scans the bottles until he finds an ornate flask containing shimmering blue liquid. Alec pops out the cork and gives it a dubious sniff. He’s not sure if magical potions have an expiry date, but he’s about to find out. It still tastes like elderflower, as Alec remembers from the last time he took it, which is a positive sign. He holds his breath and waits to turn into shapeless pile of slime, and then releases it when he feels the warm tingle of magic begin to sooth his pain and drag the bones of his arm back together. It will still take some time to heal, but the analgesic affect is instantaneous.

As he leaves, he stumbles over something on the floor. He picks it up and thumbs through the pages, and breathes in the combined scent of magical herbs and leather. Alec can’t remember how many times he’s told Magnus to stop throwing things on the floor whenever he’s done with them. Aside from the dust, this whole room looks like Magnus just stepped out for a moment. There is a cauldron set up on the dark oak executive, with a few recipe books laid next to it. Magnus’ circuitous calligraphy makes a chthonian recipe alimentary injection look like a love letter, and it’s so very him. Alec remembers that this is what Magnus was working on the night before. He’d come in here to get him after midnight had ticked by and his husband still hadn’t joined him in bed, tempting him away with promises of blueberry pancakes in the morning.

He broke that promise.

The realisation hits him like a ton of bricks. It’s so inane and yet all encompassing. He told Magnus that he wouldn’t let Asmodeous hurt him. He’d thought he’d broken that promise when Magnus died, but he’s actually been breaking it every single hour of every single day since that wretched morning. Magnus is living his nightmare; if Magnus were visited by Ephialtes whilst he slept, more often than not it would be about the time he spent with his father, and he’d be hesitant with his magic for days after. Alec would kiss his forehead, his nose, his lips and all the way down his body deliberately and back up again until he pressed his cheek into Magnus hands, showing him how absolute his trust was in Magnus’ magic.

A breeze blows in through the door. Catarina is here.

He comes back into the living room in time to see her portal swirl closed. She’s still in scrubs the same shade of blue as her skin.

“Long shift?” He asks. It must have been if she’s too tired to even keep her glamour up.

“Mundanes can’t get out of their own way.” She says.

She studies the room intently, smiling fondly at Magnus’ various knick-knacks scattered throughout. He didn’t even think about what it would be like for her to come here. She’s known Magnus centuries longer than Alec could ever hope to, and he’s dropped her in the middle of a shrine to his whole life. He regrets not being able to tell Catarina personally about what happened to Magnus. She knew immediately that he was gone when she stopped feeling his magic, but the details found their way too her through the grapevine, along with the rest of the Downworld. She’s reached out a couple times since, but he’s never felt up to reminiscing.

Immortals are better at dealing with loss, he reasons, but it sounds like a lie even in his own mind.

Catarina cricks her neck and pushes her arms forward in repeated, gentle motions. Waves of warm air pass over him, and when she’s finishes, she drags a finger along the bookshelf, and then holds it out for him to see.

No dust.

“Why am I here Alec?” She asks.

“Something happened today, and I might need help from the Warlocks.”

“So talk to the High Warlock.”

He’s not sure if she means Of Brooklyn or Of Alicante. With so many people in Idris having had ward work done by Magnus, and then subsequently undone when he disappeared, people demanded someone fill Magnus’ position as soon as possible. Alec hadn’t bothered to learn the name of the woman who snaked in, but when Magnus comes back, he’ll make sure that the position is still his. He won’t be responsible for his husband losing his title twice.

“I don’t trust either of them with something like this.” Alec says.

 Catarina sighs audibly, and he thinks that’s the closest he’s going to get to assent.

“When Magnus – when he, you know,” Alec stammers, “Asmodeous said that he wasn’t afraid of dark magic, and that he could have a do-over. I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I do now. I saw him today.”

“Asmodeous?” Catarina gasps.

“Magnus.”

Catarina shakes her head emphatically. “Whatever you think you saw Alec – ”

“Cat I’ve already been through this with Jace, but we all saw him. I spoke to him. Asmodeous did something, changed him somehow, but he’s still Magnus.”

Catarina blinks rapidly, and then in hardly more than a whisper, says, “Necromancy?”

“I think so,” Alec replies, “He’s not in control of his actions, he’s got these demons that are insanely lethal to Shadowhunters, but I think I know how to free him. Back when Jace was possessed by Lilith, Magnus said there was a spell – ”

“The Synthesis spell? In the Book of the White?”

He nods.

“This isn’t like the Owl, Alec, Magnus isn’t trapped he’s…” She wrings her hands and paces, trying to find the words, “Asmodeous will have made him in his image. Jace still had his soul, but necromancy corrupts the very essence of life. There is a reason why it’s considered dark magic; it’s Magnus, but it isn’t Magnus.”

“I tracked an item of his, and it took me straight to him.” Alec bargains.

She shakes her head. “It’s his blood, his body, his cells. Just not his soul.”

Alec turns away so she doesn’t see him cry. There has to be something they can do. He hears her exhale softly, and then clinking as she pours a drink at the bar cart. Dalmore never spoils.

She hands a glass to him over his shoulder, but he refuses. Alcohol and potions don’t mix.

Catarina takes a sip, and then cringes. “I never understood how people drink this stuff,” She muses, but takes another, “Gets the job done though.” She looks at him thoughtfully before continuing. “Magnus’ greatest fear was being a pawn in his father’s games. If he’s attacking Shadowhunters then that fear has been realised. The merciful thing to do would be to end his suffering.”

Alec balks. “Why does everyone keep suggesting we put him down like a dog?”

“Alec – ”

“I asked you here because I needed your help. I don’t need it anymore.” He stalks over to the front door and holds it open.

Catarina knocks the rest of her drink back, and puts the cup down harshly on the coffee table. “I won’t let his good name be tarnished Alec.”

He doesn’t reply, and slams the door shut behind her as she leaves.

Alec rubs a hand over his face, waves of exhaustion both emotional and physical courses through him. He makes it to their bedroom door, and then stops. The sheets are still crumpled from where they tossed them aside hurriedly. The well-loved book Magnus was reading – fairytales in a long dead language – is still waiting on the nightstand, eternally dogeared half way through, the story forever stuck in the middle. He shoots a quick text to Jace. Alec doesn’t bother to get undressed, crawls under the duvet, and buries his face into the pillow. He’s soothed to sleep by the scent of burnt sugar and sandalwood.

*****

At first, he’s not sure what woke him up.

His heart is running a marathon before he can squint his eyes open. He tries to think if he was having a nightmare, but he can’t snag any traces of a dream if he was having one. The pearlescent moon illuminates his surroundings, but even as he sits up and rubs the sleep from his eyes, there is nothing to be seen.

Wait – the moon? It was just after nine in the morning when he spoke to Cat. How long has he been asleep? He looks around for his phone, and then realises he never took it out of his pocket. He peels it out of the back of his jeans, and prays that his proclivity for sleeping on his stomach has spared any damage. The screen lights up and shows a time of 23:21. 14 hours. He’s been asleep for fourteen hours.

He stretches his long limbs, and then hisses in pain. He almost forgot his arm was nothing more than a crushed pile of marrow not that long ago. He rolls his shoulder gently, and finds that the pain is mostly gone, just the odd twinge when he pushes it too far. Magnus’ potion will have worn off by now, so he’ll need to take another if he wants to be healed anymore.

On cue, his stomach rumbles. Magical solutions are not particularly calorie dense nor filling. He throws his legs over the side of the bed, and heads to the kitchen.

He’s not sure what he expects to find. Izzy must have gotten rid of perishables like milk and bread when she got his stuff, or maybe that was Catarina when she did that cleaning spell. The fridge is bare, aside from a few jars of multicoloured preservatives, and the cupboards are much the same. The last place he looks is the freezer, where he finds a pizza bought for one of the nights Alec would be stuck having dinner on his own, or Magnus too exhausted to portal or summon takeout. Alicante doesn’t really subscribe to restaurant culture, but it’s on Alec’s very long list of Quality of Life Improvements for Shadowhunters.

He half expects the oven not to work with how long it’s been since it was last used, but as the amber glow begins to emanate from behind the glass, Alec tosses the pizza onto a tray, and bungs it in.

His mouth is dry. Water is closer, but whiskey is better. He pads back through to the living room, and then his focus becomes stuck on a shape in the darkness.

Standing by the bookshelf, faintly brightened by lunar rays through the French doors, is his husband.

Magnus appears to see him, but doesn’t move, and Alec is rooted to the spot all the same. He can see that he has a photo frame gripped tightly in his hands.

“I came to kill you.” Magnus says airily, as if he were discussing the weather.

If that’s the case, then Alec is as good as dead. He brought no weapons here with him, his good arm is no longer all that good, and he’s just woken from what was essentially a small coma.

Magnus steps forward, looking down at the frame in his hand.

“You lied to me. You said that little bit of paper belonged to me, but when I put a tracking spell on it, it showed me you.”

“The omamori?” Alec asks.

“If you say so. It brought me here, and I was going to be nice and kill you in your sleep,” Magnus says, “but then I saw this.”

Magnus steps forwards, and Alec resolves not to step back. Magnus flips the frame around. It’s one of Alec’s favourites; it’s both of them, from when they went to Iceland, an impromptu trip after Alec confessed that he’d always wanted to see the aurora borealis in person. Magnus had wasted no time costuming him in fleece and insulating winter habiliments, and hustling him through a portal. Magnus took the photo, holding his phone down low as they kissed, capturing the northern sky awash with pinks, reds and greens in the background.

“That’s me.” Magnus says.

“Yes.” Alec says.

Magnus throws the frame to the side, letting it clatter to the floor, glass shattering noisily.

“Tell me what kind of magic you used to do this Shadowhunter.”

“No magic. I was telling the truth on the bridge. We had a life together.”

Alec backs up slowly, hands raised, and walks to the identical bookshelf on the other side of the balcony doors. He takes an antique gold frame down, and shows it to Magnus. In it, they’re both lying back on a cliché red and white checkered blanket, smiling up at the camera in Alec’s outstretched hand.

“This is us in Central Park. I wanted to do something nice for you, but I didn’t want to ask you to have to portal us somewhere. It was right after we moved here, and I think you still felt a bit weird living in a Shadowhunter city, so I thought you would appreciate going back to New York for a day. I made little sandwiches and some chocolate strawberries. It was really warm that day so we got ice cream afterward. We always said we should do it again, but life got in the way.”

Magnus listens with rapt attention, his jaw flexing repeatedly.

“Shadowhunters lie.” Magnus says. “They manipulate.”

“Those don’t sound like your words, Magnus.”

“You don’t know me.”

“Yes I do.”

The oven begins to blare obnoxiously, drawing Alec’s attention for a moment, and when he looks back, Magnus is staring at the bookshelf again. His attention jumps between photos. Barcelona, Cape Town, Havana, Berlin, every adventure they’ve gone on together is meticulously documented.

Magnus seems to realise this. “Tell me about the Magnus you knew.” He says.

It appears to Alec, that Magnus’ soul is very much intact. If Asmodeous had truly created this Magnus from purely demonic magic, Magnus surely wouldn’t have doubts. He would have come here, slaughtered Alec where he stood, and left before the blood had dried. Sensing an opportunity to appeal to whatever sense of humanity Magnus still has, Alec steps forward cautiously.

“Hundreds of years before I met you, you left your father’s side and banished him to Edom. You didn’t want any part in the destruction he caused. You built your own reputation without him.” Alec scans Magnus face for a reaction, but his countenance doesn’t change. “But eventually we needed his help,” Alec says. He decides to give Magnus the short version, unsure if he himself can stomach recounting the events which led to his husband taking his own life with one of Alec’s arrows. “You put him in Limbo afterward and – ”

“Limbo?” Magnus interrupts.

Interesting. The science of necromancy isn’t well understood, even the ancient texts Magnus has on the subjects are disappointingly vague. Based on the evidence in front of him, he’d say that Asmodeous has populated Magnus brain with memories and knowledge of his choosing. He’s neglected to tell his son, the inventor of the portal, about Limbo. Even when he has Magnus under his thumb, Asmodeous is still safeguarding. Magnus hasn’t asked about portals though, so he knows what they are, even if he doesn’t use them.

“Limbo is where you go when you use a portal without a destination in mind.” Alec says, “You knocked him unconscious and you put him there.”

“I would never do that to him.”

“You didnd when he finally managed to crawl his way back out, he came for you.”

“I’ve heard enough.” Magnus snaps.

“He attacked you, and burnt you – ”

“I said stop.”

“- and tried to drag you to Edom but you refused – ” 

“Enough!”

“ – and you killed yourself Magnus. You didn’t want to be alive if it meant being by his side.”

Magnus’ eyes have somehow darkened even further, angry red magic coiling round his fists. He breaths heavily, staring at Alec like he’s trying to decide if he should kill him for his insolence. Magnus takes a deep breath, removing the anger from his face.

“He said Shadowhunters are talented liars. You’re trying to turn me against him.” Magnus says.

Alec shakes his head, beseeching him with his eyes.  

“I understand you can’t trust me, Magnus, but you can’t trust Asmodeous either.”

A shadow passes over Magnus face, but he disappears before Alec has a chance to decipher it.

Alec lets go of a breath he didn’t know he was holding. His hands shake. He expected to die by his husband’s hand tonight. He’s still not sure why he didn’t.

Forgetting why he was even in the living room in the first place, he returns to the kitchen, and finds charcoal in the oven.

****

If something were to happen to the Spiral Labyrinth, Magnus has a bountiful archive that could almost server as a replacement. There is next to nothing on necromancy as expected, he would have been rather disappointed had he found Magnus in possession of spell books for dark magic, but he’s accruing knowledge on everything else that may become useful. There is a leather bound anthology, much bigger than anything else on his shelves, tucked away in the corner of his apothecary that contains accumulated passages and stories on each of the Princes of Hell. For Magnus, this is like a genealogical record. He was shocked when he found out about Magnus’ lineage, but it didn’t occur to him until much later that if Asmodeous was his father, that made the other six Princes his uncles. His skips over the chapters on the Azazel and Beelzebub, and slides a bookmark into place when he reaches Asmodeous’ name.

Unlike the others, the information in Asmodeous’ segment is written mostly in a single handwriting. Magnus is the world’s foremost expert in his father, after all. There are stories in here about the long forgotten villages Asmodeous burnt to the ground simply because he felt like it, parts of the text smudged and illegible where the ink has met small drops of liquid. Alec reads on and on, reading page after page of violence and slaughter, but there is nothing in here that will help him.

Magnus’ visit from last night still weighs heavy on his mind.

He’d managed to choke down his blackened dinner with a significant supply of whiskey to wet his throat, before crashing out again. Apparently sleeping the day away wasn’t enough for him. He didn’t leave the loft from sunrise to sunset, and now the moon is high in the sky once more, and he’s no further forward than he was 24 hours ago.

He gets out his phone and makes to dial Jace, and then changes his mind, and calls Izzy instead.

“What’s going on at the Institute?” Alec asks as soon as the call connects, “Is Lydia getting suspicious?”

“How are you feeling?” Izzy replies, uncaring of his urgency, “Jace says he felt you have a nightmare.”

“I didn’t – ” He bites his tongue. The ‘nightmare’ Jace felt must have been Magnus’ visit.  He hasn’t told either of them about that, nor is he planning to. “…Yeah, uh, I had a nightmare. It’s okay now though. What’s happening over there?”

Izzy’s heels click, and the background noise quietens after he hears a door shut. “Jace told Lydia you’re recovering in your room here, and that you were completely humiliated by what happened and she shouldn’t try to talk to you.”

He wishes Jace’s chosen cover story didn’t make him out to be a complete imbecile, but it keeps the Institute off his back.  It’s probably a small form of revenge as well, for Jace, as his brother is still hurling buckets of frustration through the bond. Alec hits it right back like they’re playing emotionally repressed tennis.

“That’s good, that’s fine. What about you guys, have you made any progress?” Alec asks.

“Like what?” Izzy says, “We can’t exactly go looking for him, Alec.”

“I know, I know. I’m doing some research with the stuff Magnus has at his loft. I just need more time to put a plan together.”

He can imagine her holding the phone between her ear and shoulder, and popping her knuckles to relieve the pseudo tension there. “There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you Alec. I just need to make sure you aren’t getting your hopes up.”

I don’t think you could come back from this if you lose him again. It goes unsaid, but Alec hears it loud and clear. Unfortunately, he finds that he doesn’t disagree.

“I’ll be fine, Iz.”

“I love you, hermano.”

“Love you – ” Alec’s goodbye is cut off by a squeak as he catches a pair of eyes watching  him from the other side of the double-faced shelving.

“Alec? Are you alright? What was that?” Izzy says quickly.

Magnus steps into the room, and starts examining the contents.

“No-nothing everything is good I just stubbed my toe gottagobye.” Alec hangs up and tosses his phone on the desk.  

Magnus glides around the room, one hand hidden in his trouser pocket, picking up random items, scrutinising them and disturbing the constituents, before placing them back. He does this over and over, all around the room, without saying a word. Alec doesn’t dare move a muscle. He feels like he’s the centre piece in a museum, Magnus an idle tourist failing to have his interest piqued by his meagre display. He’s not putting things down in the same place he picks them up from, a fact that would drive Magnus mad if he knew what he were doing. Magnus has a certain disregard for order in the rest of the loft, but that does not extend to the apothecary. Too many volatile substances that he can’t afford to accidently add to a cauldron. Alec learned that lesson when he swapped the juniper root and chrysanthemum root inadvertently. Magnus’ lack of eyebrows was funny up until he’d dyed Alec’s pink and refused to change them back until Alec had sworn never to try and dust his shelves again. He’ll have to warn Magnus about it when he goes back to work.

Magnus meanders over to the executive desk, and stares down at Alec. His eyes flick to the anthology, still open on the surface. Alec shuts the book before Magnus can see was he was reading, but the Warlock rolls his eyes, and with a lazy puff of magic, the book moves from under Alec’s fingertips, and into Magnus’ hands. He opens it to the page Alec has bookmarked, and raises an eyebrow.

“Researching, are we?” Magnus says.

“Coming back because you forgot to kill me last time, are we?” Alec retorts out of habit.

Magnus looks vaguely humoured by his ill-mannered reply. He returns his attention to the book, the creases in his forehead growing with every page he turns. Without warning, he comes to stand on Alec’s side of the desk, leering over him menacingly. Neither of them say anything, until Magnus exhales impatiently.

“Move.” He grunts.

“Oh, right, let me – ” Alec is needlessly embarrassed about being in Magnus’ way. He vacates the chair, which Magnus sinks into. He stands at rest just to the side, intrigued as to what Magnus is doing. He lays the book open on a particularly harrowing story about the time Asmodeous had a village sacrifice all their virgins – including the children -  in exchange for bringing rain for the crops, only to bring acid rain because they never specified what kind they wanted. Magnus roots through the drawers, until he finds a clean sheet of paper. He dips a black quill in matching ink, and transcribes the text. When he’s completed a few sentences, he holds the paper side by side with the book.

Magnus compares the two. “This is my handwriting.” He says.

Alec makes an affirmative noise, clasping his hands behind his back. This does not alleviate Magnus’ confused look.

Magnus vanishes, and Alec is getting really tired of that. It becomes apparent that Magnus hasn’t left altogether when he hears noises coming from living room.

He’s scanning the bookshelves hastily, pulling out books and then becoming annoyed when they aren’t what he wants. He throws the rejects over his shoulder, in a movement so familiar that it makes Alec’s heart lurch. After a quarter of their library ends up on the floor, Magnus finally finds the one he’s looking for.

The cover isn’t much to look at, saturated grey plastic, significantly younger in age than the surrounding tomes. Inside, however, is a treasure trove. Magnus pulls out the first photo, leaving greasy fingerprints Alec will have to wipe off later. He shoves the picture in Alec’s face.

“Tell me about this one.” Magnus demands.

Alec takes the picture from him, and settles on the far end of the couch. He offered the other end to Magnus, but he takes the furthest armchair instead.

“This is you, and your friend Ragnor,” Alec says, “I didn’t get to meet him before he died, but you talk about him a lot.” Alec flips the picture and reads the inscription, “ ‘Fell and I at the World Fair, 1964’. I’m not sure I can tell you very much more, my parents weren’t alive then, let alone me.”

The photo in his hand changes to another. He looks at Magnus, who only dips his chin toward the new picture.

“This one I do know. This is your God-daughter. She was rescued from some bad Shadowhunters when she was young, but she was adopted by another one of your friends, Catarina.” Alec explains.

“I suppose they’re dead too, also unable to support your story?”

Alec laughs despite himself. “No, they’re very much alive. Madzie asks about you all the time, she misses you.”

Alec doesn’t technically know that, seeing as he’s been the world’s worst God-parent recently, but it more than likely to be true, and a little white lie never hurt anybody.

“Next.” Magnus snaps.

The picture changes again. Alec hopes Magnus is magicking these back into the album in the same slots he pulled them in, or future him is going to be so mad. He’s not sure of Magnus’ organisational conventions when it comes to his endless mementos, but he finds it’s best not to disturb the equilibrium. He’s uncertain about how long Magnus is going to make him do this, and his eyes are already starting to grow heavy.

“Well you’ve met some of these people,” Alec says as he examines the photo. It’s what Magnus calls their ‘gang’, though Alec disagrees. Jace, Clary, Izzy, Simon, Maryse, Luke, Maia and Bat. Magnus and Alec are tucked in the corner of the booth as well. It’s a candid, taken on a joyful and boozy night out that Alec doesn’t even remember. He’s not sure who’s taken the photo, as everyone Alec willingly associates with outside of work is frozen in a moment of peace in centre frame, but Magnus has a penchant for taking sneaky shots, floating his camera and taking the picture in his mind’s eye. Alec points out the people to Magnus, “Jace, Izzy, Clary – you met them and tried to kill them, remember? And then the rest are our friends, except for this woman who is my mother.”

“Where is your father?” Magnus asks.

“Well Luke,” Alec says, pointing him out, “is kind of like my step-dad at this point, which is kinda funny - ”

“Why?”

“I mean I’m happy for them and everything, but it’s just weird to think about your parent going out on dates and stuff, you know?”

“No.”

Alec pulls his lips into a tight smile. “Right, well, trust me, it’s weird.”

Magnus hums. “You were saying?”

“Yes, Luke is my step-dad, but my biological dad isn’t in the photo. He lives in another State.”

“Why?” Magnus repeats.

Alec rubs a thumb over the photo. Static Alec doesn’t notice, but static Magnus is looking at him. Even in an inanimate token, Alec can feel the love radiating off of his gaze.  Alec wonders if Magnus will ever looks at him like that again. “Do I get to ask you a question at any point?”

“You can ask.” Magnus says.

“Why are you here?”

“Do not concern yourself with my motives, Shadowhunter.”

Magnus tosses the photo album to the floor dismissively, but Alec can see the indentation in the plastic where he was gripping it tightly. Magnus walks past him, and he feels the increasingly familiar flurry of Magnus coming and going.

He doesn’t know where Magnus goes when he’s gone - back to Asmodeous and Edom, probably, head getting filled with the propaganda that Alec is working to undo – but the important thing is that regardless of where he goes, Magnus keeps coming back.

Every night for ten days, Magnus appears in the soft green armchair like a premonition, a photo album in hand. Alec has come to expect him, and has a warm cup of Magnus’ favourite herbal tea waiting, which the Warlock never drinks. Every night Magnus softens incrementally, Alec too though he’s never not been soft on Magnus. His husband watches him like a hawk as he recounts stories from trips they’ve taken, or gives second hand accounts of adventures Magnus went on before he’d met Alec.

“So which one is it?” Magnus had asked him on their fourth night together, voice full of mirth.

“I don’t know, you tell me a different story every time.” Alec said, “You seem to have an endless amount of variations. I think one of them is probably the real reason you got banned from Peru, but I can’t tell which.”

“I bet the real story is the one with the goat.” Magnus had laughed heartily.

By the sixth night, he had too many missed called from his siblings to count. He could hardly tell them that he’s being visited every night by his sort-of-dead husband and that his current plan is rooted in the naïve belief that he can bring Magnus back with bed time stories, so instead he tells them that they should they should just lay low for now and let Lydia and the Institute chase their tails until they give up the ghost. It helps that there have apparently been no Shadowhunter deaths or suspicious demon attacks since that day on the bridge. Not in New York, or anywhere else in the world. Apparently, the prevailing belief of the Clave is that this was one tenacious, teleporting demon which Alec and Jace managed to successfully kill.

He's had a call from Jia not long after that. Apparently Jace had let slip to Lydia that he wasn’t in the Institute. Alec had done his best to impress to Jia that he was working from home, with Magnus’ deluge of magical texts. She’d only hummed thoughtfully and told him that if there was no substantial lead, or a reason to believe this was anything more thana stubborn demon, she would consider the case closed in a week’s time.

That deadline is only 2 days away, now. The Clave and New York Shadowhunters no longer looking for Magnus, even if they don’t know that’s who they’re looking for, is a good thing, but Alec still needs their resources if things start going wrong.

Tonight, Alec places a steaming mug on the coffee table whilst Magnus picks out another photo album. The advent of photos was less than 200 years ago, but Magnus has taken advantage of that time, freezing every emotion onto a thin sheet of plastic. Alec guesses that Magnus has over 20 albums of varying thickness’, and a couple more at his different foreign residences. He and Magnus have managed to get through 5 so far. The one Magnus chooses tonight is bound in white, with large gold rings looping through the spine. It’s the newest one in his collection, and the smallest. It only has room for about 30 pictures equally divided on as many pages. It’s the only photo album of Magnus’ Alec had any hand in putting together.  

Magnus unfolds the scrapbook with delicate fingers, and then jerks his head up at Alec when he sees the first photo.

He turns the pages with increasing urgency, the bewilderment on his face growing.

“What is this?” Magnus croaks.  

“It’s our wedding.” Alec says, “We got married just over a year and a bit ago.”

“You claimed last week that we were together for that long in total.” Magnus accuses, body going rigid like he’s just caught Alec in a lie.

“We got married after dating for like, 2 months. We had the wedding 2 days after you proposed.”

“I proposed to you?”

“Well,” Alec says, “we kind of proposed to each other, but technically speaking, you did get there first.”

Magnus absently traces his ring finger as he continues to look through the photos. Alec gets up from his designated spot on the couch, and goes into the corridor to pick one of the frames off of the wall, as Magnus has never ventured this far into the loft.

“I think there is a smaller version of this photo in the album too, but this was both our favourite.” Alec keeps a none-threatening distance between him and Magnus, and shows him the photo. It’s their first kiss as husbands.

“Was your husband mortal?” Magnus questions.

“You’re my husband.” Alec insists.

Magnus rises from his chair, and comes closer to examine the picture. This is the closest they have stood to one another since the bridge. Alec’s reconstituted arm bone throbs in protest.

“Immortal then.” Magnus replies, “Why would an immortal every choose to spend their life with someone who would wither and die in front of them?”

Magnus’ words feel like a swift cut to the heart. Alec has ached over that question many times. Why would Magnus choose him? What could he possibly have to offer the man who has everything he could ever want?

Alec looks into the deep, dark pools of Magnus’ eyes. “Because you love me.”

Magnus stares back, unblinking.

“I couldn’t possibly love you.” He says.

Alec tries not to take it personally.

“A lot of people thought that when we got together. Including me. But you were so…unyielding. You never let the way people looked at us affect our relationship, you proved to me over and over that you were in this until the end, even if that end was you outliving me. Because you love me.”

Alec inches closer to his husband, who looks torn between striking him down and falling into his arms.

Alec’s hand brushes against Magnus’, who stands like an oak tree rooted to the ground, but he doesn’t imagine the spark that shoots up his arm as their skin finally meets.

“Because I love you.” Alec whispers.

They’re only a breath apart now, and Angel does it feel good to touch Magnus’ skin again, even if it is just one finger. They breathe each other in, and then like magic, the sun begins to rise in Magnus’ eyes, endless night giving way to golden rays.

Alec gasps as hints of a Cat’s eye fights it’s way to the surface.

“Alexander?” Magnus says.

“I love you.” Alec says again, and then covers Magnus mouth with his own.

It feels like coming home after a lifetime at war. Like a wave finally breaking on the cliff. Like the first taste of water in an endless desert. Like the very first time.

And then it feels like his head hitting the hardwood.

The room swims in his vision after becoming suddenly horizontal. When Magnus comes into clarity, he’s panting and shaking life a leaf. The embers in his eyes have burnt out, leaving behind resplendent carbon.

“Magnus?” Alec asks quietly as he gets to his feet.

“What was that? What did you do to me?” Magnus demands.

“I – I didn’t do anything.”

“He was right. You’re trying to trick me, trying to get into my head!”

“No!”

“I shouldn’t have come here,” Magnus says, “I never should have come here.”

Magnus doesn’t visit again.

*****

Alec thought a good night’s sleep would alleviate his panic, but he’s nearly in a frenzy as he gets to the Institute the next morning. He waits on the sward for the others to arrive, having texted them to meet him outside. He doesn’t want Lydia and her brownnosing to get in the way. The grass is perfectly green and manicured, no trace that anything bad ever happened here. Even the best landscapers in Idris couldn’t have turned scorched earth to lush emerald so fast and effectively; magic was involved in the destruction here, it makes sense that it aided the recovery. There are no discrepancies between one blade and the next, perfectly uniform in length and hue, but Alec is drawn to a certain spot. His husband’s blood mixed with Alec’s tears feed the roots. He doesn’t need to close his eyes to see the burnt and battered image of Magnus as he lay dying. Above, an amber leaf is cast out, and carried by the breeze down onto the unblemished lawn. September is days away, but the air is already algid in anticipation.

Alec crushes the bony frond beneath the toe of his boot. It does not crunch satisfactorily.

A door creaks open and voices emerge from the Institute.

Jace looks lighter than he had when Alec last saw him 2 weeks ago. Alec’s poisonous effect on their bond must have been alleviated as Alec’s mood lifted with each of Magnus’ visits. He may look more well rested, but his brother still wears his concern for Alec on his sleeve.

“How are things in there?” Alec asks with his arms crossed.

“Orders from the Clave are to drop the whole thing,” Clary replies, “Lydia seems reluctant, but…” But she’ll do it anyway, Alec finishes in his head.

“Good. Have you guys found anything?” Alec says.

“Other than reading about all the awful things Asmodeous has done over his long life, no.” Clary says.

“I take it you have?” Jace says, tone belaying the accusation.

Alec wants to tell them about what happened last night. About how he got Magnus back for a just a second, and if he had more time and more trust from the Warlock he’s convinced that he could get him back with photo albums and trinkets alone. But he has neither of those things.

“I have a plan,” He says, “I found a very ancient spell that can recover lost souls.”

“Recover souls? Why wouldn’t Magnus have used that when Jace was possessed?” Clary asks.

“I had to call in a favour from one of Magus’ old friends at the Spiral Labyrinth to get it. Tessa said they weren’t willing to reveal they had such magic in aid of a Shadowhunter, but she would do it for Magnus.”

“Exactly how legal is this?”

“I’m getting heat about following Clave regulations from you?”

Clary looks away guiltily. Jace comes to her aid.

“I think we are all worried you’re taking risks that might affect the career you’ve worked so hard for.” He says.

“You don’t need to worry about that. Jia gave me an ultimatum so I’ll be resigning in tomorrow anyway.” Alec says.

“Alec you can’t!” Izzy protests, “This job is everything you’ve ever wanted.”

“Everything I ever wanted died six months ago. Now I have a chance to get him back.”

Silence descends over the group like a weighted blanket. Alec didn’t come here to defend his choices, especially not to people who have broken rules faster than the Clave could create them, and who left him behind to shoulder the blame. He doesn’t care if he’s asking too much of them, or being selfish. Magnus needs him to be selfish right now.

“What’s your plan, then?” Izzy asks with a resigned sigh.

“We’ll go to the warehouse where you first met Asmodeous. It’s away from mundanes and it’s a big enough space. We can summon Magnus, like we would any other d-demon,” the word tastes like soil in his mouth, “and we’ll use the Malachi Configuration to trap him.”

“The Malachi Configuration?” Izzy questions, “Do you remember what happened when we stole it the first time?”

 “I’ve got security clearance now for the Alicante Armory.”

“Won’t the pentagram be enough?”

 “Extra security.” Alec shrugs his shoulders.

“We’ll need a warlock.” Jace chimes in, “Tessa?”

He shakes his head. “The High Warlock of Alicante is willing to cast the spell.”

“Why on Earth would she risk her position like that?” Jace asks, “Alec the fall out from this could – ”

“You know what Jace? I’m really sick of you not having my back.” Alec hisses lowly, conscious that there is very little distance between them and the Institute.

“I’m looking out for you.” Jace says indignantly.

“I said the same when you were a bull in a China shop chasing Clary.”

“That was different.”

“Why? Because doing whatever it takes for the person you love only makes sense to you when the person you love is a girl?”

Jace takes a breath to defend himself but Alec raises a hand to cut him off.

“You’ve never liked Magnus. You treated him like shit when you first met him and you’ve never made an effort to get to know him beyond what you could use to your advantage. Still, every time I asked him to help you, he did. He gave up his magic to save your life. Did you ever thank him for that, by the way?”

“You’re talking out of your ass,” Jace snarls, “I’ve supported you and Magnus from the beginning. I was the best man at your wedding.”

“Fine, you’re there for the big, happy moments. But when things get difficult, you’re nowhere to be found.” Alec snaps and then adds as an afterthought, “I think a part of you was relieved when he died.”

“You can’t honestly think that,“ Jace shouts. “I went to Edom to save his life!”

“Because the fate of the Shadow-world depended on it, not because you wanted to help!”

Alec’s aware their voices are carrying across the courtyard. He rubs his wedding ring with his fingers, trying to remember why he’s even here. Jace and his capricious principles irritate him like nothing else, but he refocuses his energy.

“Listen,” He says to them all, after taking a few deep breaths, “I am asking for your help in case something goes wrong. But I don’t need it. I can do this with or without you guys.”

Izzy speaks up without hesitation. “We’re with you hermano.”

Clary looks between her boyfriend and her parabatai, her mercurial loyalties creeping to the surface once more. Eventually she nods. “He’s helped me so much. I owe it to him to try.”

Jace’s knuckles are white where they curl around the grip of his blade. His jaw is clenches tightly shut, and he appears to be fighting his brain as he finally concedes, “We’re parabatai.”

For Jace, Alec thinks, the word holds meaning beyond comprehension. Brothers. Comrade. Confidant.  I’ll always be on your side.

For Alec, parabatai might be all they are anymore.

*****

The deteriorating derelict building, scheduled for demolition before the end of the year, is the perfect place to summon a demon. This whole area is set to become apartments much to Alec’s relief; this place attracts all manor of lesser demons, both by blood and by nature.

Clary was already drawing an overly artistic pentagram on the floor when he arrived with the Warlock and the Malachi configuration. He hands 2 of the four blue and silver posts to Jace. Together, they thrust the poles into the ground to form a 4-cornered box around the pentagram, except for one, which Alec keeps a hold of.

“My magic won’t be able to penetrate the barrier to do the summoning,” The Warlock explains at Jace’s questioning glance, “You’ll need to complete the trap when he’s arrived.”

Honestly, no one is very sure of the affect of putting the configuration around an active pentagram. Alec supposes they’re probably the first people to ever try something like this.

“What about afterward?” Jace says, “Will you be able to cast the spell when Magnus is trapped?”

Alec takes a heated breath, but Jace swiftly interrupts before he can speak.

“I’m not casting aspersions, I’m just making sure nothing goes wrong.” His brother says to placate Alec’s jump to anger.

This time, it’s the Warlock who speaks over him.

“I could do the summoning through the Marvin box, but it will be more difficult to ‘steer’ my magic, and we might end up with an uninvited guest.”

“It’s called the Malachi configuration,” Jace sniffs, “I’m surprised anything is too difficult for the esteemed Ifra Bashir, High Warlock of Alicante. I’ve heard great things since you took up post.”

Alec feels the Warlock’s eyes shift to him, but he forces his gaze to stay put.  

“I didn’t say I couldn’t do it,” she says, “just that there will be a greater chance of error if I do. You’re all about preventative measures, right?”

Jace levels her with a discerning stare, to which the Warlock just smiles and winks flirtily. Jace rolls his eyes and helps Izzy to finish lighting the candles and setting them up at each point of the pentagram.

Alec exhales steadily. He feels the thrum of his heart against his ribcage as Clary dusts off her pants and steps back from her masterpiece. No matter the cost, Magnus comes home today.

“Let’s start before we lose the light.” He calls out.

The 5 of them take position at each point of the inverted star, Alec poised with the final post of the trap.

“Everybody ready?” The Warlock says, undue excitement in her voice. This whole thing reminds him of when Magnus summoned the memory demon for them. His husband cared little for Shadowhunters then, entirely unbothered if Jace was alive or dead on his floor, but he had felt enough for Alec to try and console him after he thought he had been outed.

The Warlock begins to chant in chthonian. The consonants hit his ear like a sharp rock, pronounced with a rigid and non-practiced tongue. Magnus always managed to make the language sound like his first when he spoke it, but that likely comes from experience. Ifra Bashir, the High Warlock of Alicante, would have done it better, but would have never have agreed to something like this. Luckily for Alec, under Lorenzo’s indolent leadership, there is no shortage of Warlocks in Brooklyn who will carry out an ill-advised and illegal demon summoning for the right price. They’ll even assume a fake name to do it, if you pay them enough.

Not-Ifra’s off-kilter chanting grows louder and louder, swathes of plum coloured magic igniting from her finger tips and crystallising over the pentagram like heliotropes in the setting sun.

The ground begins to tremor, or maybe that’s his knees.

With a final surge of amaranthine light, his view of Izzy on the opposite point of the star becomes blocked by a shape. Alec forces the final pole, surging with angelic energy, into the concrete. Iridescent blue walls erect themselves into a cube formation, draining everything within of it’s power.

Then, Alec is face to face with a pair of citrine eyes that make his stomach turn.

Jace curses loudly. “You summoned the wrong guy!” He shouts at the Warlock.  

Not-Ifra laughs, “No I didn’t.”

“Yeah you did,” Clary says shakily, “That’s not Magnus!”

 “I know!” She laughs again, “You got a problem with services rendered, take it up with him.” She jerks her thumb toward Alec, who hasn’t yet been able to tear his eyes away from the feral grin of the trapped demon.

“Alec Lightwood.” Asmodeous says, a hint of surprise in his voice.

“Asmodeous.” He replies, and unlike almost everyone else in this room, there is no surprise regarding his chosen company for tonight’s summoning.

“Alec, what the hell?” Jace hisses. “Why is he here?”

“Yes, why am I here?” Asmodeous remarks. The demon flexes his finger repeatedly, and then notices the snare he is caught in. If he’s troubled by this realisation, he doesn’t show it.

“I want to make a deal.” Alec says, “Whatever it takes for you to bring Magnus back.”

Jace curses even louder this time. “Alec this wasn’t the plan!” He shouts.

“This was always the plan.” Alec admits.

“So there is no spell?” Izzy asks, the pity that has been written on her face every time she’s looked at him since Magnus died finally replaced by disappointment.

Jace redirects his anger at the Warlock. “You’re a disgrace to Alicante. You are underserving of your title!”

The Warlock quirks her lip. Comprehension mars Jace’s features.

“You’re not the High Warlock, are you?”

“Odille de Forest, pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Odille curtseys, bland American accent replaced by something distinctly European. She turns to Alec, “The rest. Now.”

Alec pulls a thick tan envelope from his back pocket and tosses it to Odille, who squeals with delight as she thumbs through the bountiful green notes.

“You still need to send him back afterward.” Alec reminds her before she can fly away.

“Any Warlock worth their salt puts a timer on a pentagram. He’ll be gone in thirty minutes, so work quick.”

Odille mouths call me at Jace, and then opens a portal and steps through.

Asmodeous stayed uncharacteristically silent throughout that interaction which somehow puts Alec even more on edge. He’d seemed enthralled by the cascading revelations of Alec’s deceit and foolhardiness. There was never going to be a way to hide his desperation, summoning Asmodeous here was evidence enough.

“I want to make a deal,” Alec repeats now that the attention stealing black hole has left, “I want Magnus back, the exact same as he was before you showed up. No I don’t want you to rewind time, and no, I don’t want you to kill someone and give them Magnus’ soul like some kind of creepy marionette. I want make Magnus  - of this dimension - himself again, the way he was on the morning before the day of his death.

Asmodeous smiles. “You’ve gotten a lot better in your deal making since the last time we did this dance.”

Magnus had chewed him out thoroughly when he found out the vague and imprecise deal he had struck with Asmodeous for his magic. Too many loopholes, apparently. It was only Asmodeous’ impatience for enacting his plan that led to the immediate return of his magic, otherwise Asmodeous may have take years to give back what he owed.

“Also you must do this immediately upon completion of my side of the bargain.” Alec adds.

“And what are you offering, Nephilim?”

Alec casts his gaze to the floor. “What do you want?”

“There are no shortage of things I want, Alec Lightwood, but they are not things you can provide.”

“Whatever I can give you, I will.”

“Alec – ”

“Silence!” Asmodeous demands, swiftly putting an end to Jace’s interruption. “What if I asked you for your life?”

“Magnus is worth my life ten times over.”

Asmodeous squints at him. “What if I asked you for the life of your parabatai?”

Alec hesitates, observing Jace in his periphery. To his credit, he looks unphased by the demon’s comment, but it’s almost certainly a façade for Asmodeous’ benefit. When Jace was the Owl, he had made inferences to Alec’s split loyalties. His devotion to his parabatai had led him to ask more and more of Magnus until his then-boyfriend simply had nothing left to give. Alec will not make that mistake twice.

“His life is not mine to offer, and therefore is not binding in a contract.” Alec says.

“I see you’ve been doing your research. Humour me, will you?”

Alec shakes his head. “It has no baring on any deal we strike.”

“I think it does,” Asmodeous purrs, “Would you trade your parabatai’s life for Magnus’, yes or no?”

Alec works his jaw over. He can’t find it in himself to look at his brother, worried about what he might see there. His feelings for Jace have been a roller coaster as long as he’s know him; friends, brothers, soldiers, parabatai. Alec has become disillusioned with the latter. It feels to much like subscribing to the unquestioning loyalty the Clave demands without any accountability.  Lifelong partners, bound together by oath and duty, willing to lay down their lives for one another. A contract he entered as an inexperienced and repressed youth, who believed that the bond was the closest thing he would ever have to a lover.

He knows his answer.

“There is nothing I wouldn’t do for Magnus Bane.”

Jace inhales sharply, and Alec feels a sharp stab in his hip where the parabatai bond is etched into his skin. Alec is ready for the wave of guilt to pass through him, but it never comes. Perhaps this has been a truth he’s been ready to admit for some time.

Asmodeous bares his teeth. “Excellent,” He says, “but irrelevant, as you said. In fact, nothing you could offer me would matter, for I cannot give you what I don’t have.”

“Don’t bullshit me. I’ve seen and spoken to Magnus, I know he’s alive.”

“Oh I don’t deny that, but this fairytale you’ve concocted about being married to my son…well it simply isn’t true. Magnus has lived with me in Edom for centuries.”

“No, that’s just part of the lie you fed him. I showed him the life you stole from him.”

“Did you?” A voice says from the darkness.

Magnus is silhouetted by the evening sun behind him as he pushes himself away from the window, bathed in ethereal light.

Magnus stalks toward the pentagram. Immediately, Jace and Clary have their weapons pulled, whilst Izzy’s whip is slow to slither down her wrist. Magnus notes the show of force with mild annoyance, and flicks his wrist. Thick, cast iron shackles appear around one of each of their ankles, with the heavy chain links attached to them disappearing impossibly beneath the concrete floor in a feat only possible with magic. Jace fights his bondage, but Magnus has kept them on a short leash. Alec notes with curiosity, that he hasn’t stripped them of their weapons. They can’t get at him, sure, but they could still be used as projectiles. He either is cocky enough to believe he could easily avoid such attacks, or he believes there is something or someone else that he feels they’ll need to defend themselves against.

Magnus prods the barrier surrounding the pentagram with an inquisitive finger, and then jumps back as it shocks him like an electric fence. He studies the engineering, and then zeroes in on the one of the four pillars. As he reaches out to touch it, Alec calls out to him.

“Please don’t. It’s the only thing keeping Asmodeous from escaping.”

Magnus fingers stop short of the pillar. “You’re trapped in there?” he says to his father, unfiltered glee plastered on his face, “I mean, I felt you get summoned and I thought that would be fun to watch but this…this is rather embarrassing for you.”

“Break the box, son” Asmodeous grits out through clenched teeth.

“You don’t have to do what he tells you, you know.” Alec says.

The smiles drops from Magnus’ face as he levels Alec a poisonous glare. He moves toward him with slow and deliberate steps, never once breaking eye contact between them.

“I’m tired of your lies, Shadowhunter.” Magnus says, “You offered him your life in service of your delusions.”

“They aren’t delusions Magnus and you know it. The real you came back for a second, that’s why I’m here, because it means that he can undo what he did to you.”

“They must have someone to treat your affliction,” Asmodeous snarls dangerously, “No one is buying into your fantasy.”

“Magnus killed himself to avoid this future. I won’t let him live it any longer.” Alec hisses at the demon.

“Magnus, kill him and then let’s go.”

Black fire burns in Magnus’ gaze. The chains clank where the other pull on them repeatedly, but there is nothing they can do. Alec feels pain explode across his chest as he’s thrown ayond the room, Magnus in hot pursuit before he has even come to a stop.

Asmodeous jeers proudly as Magnus lands blow after blow of magic. It doesn’t burn like Asmodeous’ did that day, it feels more like hand to hand combat. The pain is concentrated where he can feel his rib popping in and out painfully as he gasps for breath under another deluge of magic. Izzy screams his name and the clanging gets louder and louder as Asmodeous laughs.

“Finish him!” The demon instructs.

Magnus takes a breath, leaning over Alec and pulling his seraph blade free from his hilt. It glows red in his hand. Magnus tosses the blade into Alec’s lap.

“Fight back.” He spits.

Alec struggles to sit up, feeling another rib begin to set sail. He fumbles for the blade on his legs. The resulting white light highlights the Magnus’ face, and Alec reads the rage and confusion like a book. Alec casts the sword aside.

“I won’t hurt you.”

Magnus unleashes another waves of magic. Alec drags his failing body backwards as best he can, all while Magnus repeatedly screams at him, “Fight back! Why won’t you fight back!”

“I won’t hurt you.” Alec repeats, though he’s unsure if he manages to say anything at all through the blood beginning to fill his mouth, “I won’t ever hurt you.”

Asmodeous continues to spur Magnus on. “Kill him! Burn him alive!”

“Just shut up!” Magnus whirls around, quick as lightening and twice as deadly, “Everyone just shut up!”

Magnus presses the heals of his hands to his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut.

Alec rolls to his side with a great deal of effort, and aided by gravity, spits out the copper taste that has accumulated in his mouth.

“Magnus?” He asks carefully.

“Magnus, kill him!” Asmodeous commands. “Don’t be weak, finish him off!”

“Just let me think!” Magnus pants hard “I-I can’t think!” He is clutching his head, protecting it from an invisible assault, or maybe an internal one

Magnus keels over, spewing black sludge onto the floor in endless droves. Asmodeous recoils, unrestrained horror impossible to disguise. Black tears run down Magnus’ cheeks, and he wipes the edge of his mouth with his sleeve. His hand comes up to touch his chest gently, fingers tracing the would-be scar of where Alec’s arrow pierced him six months ago.

Magnus opens his eyes.

They’re gold. 

Alec knows then that Asmodeous’ son is dead, but Magnus Bane is back.

Jace, Izzy and Clary’s restraints fade into nothing without so much as a twitch from Magnus. They take a wide path around Magnus as he makes it to his feet, coming to Alec’s aid with steles at the ready.

“Son?” Asmodeous says cautiously.

Magnus meets his gaze, his jaw set. He takes ten determined strides to the edge of the Malachi Configuration to stand toe to toe with his father.

Magnus holds his palms out flat in front of him, like he’s asking Asmodeous to join hands. Slowly, one finger at a time, he brings his hands into fists, and as he does, Asmodeous begins to choke and squirm, darkness evaporating off of his skin like the tide moving toward the moon, and being sucked in by a vortex hidden within Magnus’ closed fists. The Prince of Hell falls, scratching furiously at blue barrier, scorching his hands in the process. Asmodeous turns a sickly shade of grey, before his skin begins melting off the bone in slick, fatty clumps that sizzle as they come into contact with the concrete. Magnus’ face doesn’t change as his father screams in pain and begs for his life, he only clenches his fists tighter still, fracturing and contorting bones at will.

The broken husk that was once the most powerful Prince of Hell lays at his son’s feet. Asmodeous has been reduced to bone fragments and liquified slush covered by a tailored suit. Magnus takes a corner of the Configuration out of the ground and tosses it to the side, causing the whole box to flicker and then dissipate entirely. He moves soiled garments aside with his feet.

Alec’s breath hitches as Magnus picks up a writhing mass of black magic. It pulses angrily, twisting as if in pain. Magnus whispers something that Alec can’t hear, and then crushes the magic in his hand. He pours out the stream of clay-coloured sand left behind.

Magnus takes a step back but then stumbles. Alec tries to get to his feet but finds that he’s in no condition. He uses Jace and Izzy as leverage as he hauls himself up anyway.

“Magnus?” Alec says.

His husband turns to him slowly.

“Nice beard.” He says, and then promptly passes out.

Chapter Text

The skin of Alec’s jaw and cheek itches where the razor trimmer passed over this morning. The coarse hair no longer fills the gaps between his fingers as they run through it, concise stubble frames his face nicely now. Or at least Magnus says so. Alec misses the protection it granted him from the outside world, but for his reintegration, it was the first thing he felt he had to tackle.

The Council, gathered around the opposite end of a long, mahogany table, watch him discerningly. His hand finds it’s away under his thigh to stop his fidgeting as they discuss Magnus’ sudden and miraculous return to the land of the living.

“This would all be a lot more convincing if the man in question had bothered to show up to plead his own case.” Jia steams, her crows-feet wrinkling. She is wearing a pristine pantsuit that reminds him so much of his mother when he was younger, that almost lowering his gaze on instinct.

“Magnus was more than happy to let me speak for him.” Alec says. Clave meetings are a particularly grating ordeal, and Magnus, who is just getting the hang of channelling the new and overwhelming swell of magic at his fingertips, was worried that a vexatious affair such as this may result in inadvertent casualties. “As I was happy for him to speak for me as he negotiated with Ifra.”

“Mr Lightwood it was not his nor your position to negotiate with the High Warlock.”

“And yet, Ifra is more than willing to relinquish her title should this board be gracious enough to allow Magnus to reassume his rightful position.”

“Why would she do that?”

Alec doesn’t allow his shoulder’s to shrug. He wasn’t privy to the conversation between Magnus and Ifra, but he knows they go back centuries. He knows the people in this room are trying to imply that intimidation was somehow involved, but Alec has been on the receiving end of Magnus’ persuasive techniques, so he knows that charm is just as deadly.

“They’re friends. Ifra understood that Magnus’ did not resign nor did he choose to leave of his own volition, and she felt it wrong that she subsume the role.”

“And what of the Shadowhunter’s he killed?” Another woman asks, the padded shoulders of her blazer high enough to extend past the handles of her wheelchair. “Someone must be held accountable.”

“The Greater Demon Asmodeous was responsible for the attacks,” Alec says, “and for that he received the death penalty by Magnus’ hand.”

“If Magnus Bane killed the Greater Demon Asmodeous –“

“He didn’t just kill him. He pulled the life from his body. Took his very soul, and crushed it between his fingertips. He reaped Asmodeous’ magic – and his own – and reconstituted it. Revolutionised it. He’s now carrying both his own power and that of the most powerful Prince of Hell.”

A fact that Alec finds equally terrifying and arousing. With Asmodeous gone for good – and he really is gone this time; Magnus explained that whilst he doesn’t remember much of what happened in the warehouse, he remembers being angry. He remembers feeling the pulse of his stolen magic, hearing it whisper to him from under Asmodeous’ skin. Magnus had wanted it back, and he had become enlightened to the mechanics of death. He called upon the same power that kept him trapped in his mental prison, and willed it to do his bidding.

“I couldn’t do it again.” Magnus had said, “I don’t even know how I did, but I don’t want to need it again.”

Alec had kissed the anxious pout from his husbands lips, and promised that he would do everything in his power to ensure he never would. He intended to keep that one.

“Exactly the point, Mr Lightwood.” A damp squib of a man says nasally, “Mr Bane was the most powerful Warlock in North America before this happened. Now he may be the most powerful Warlock on the face of the Earth. We keep powerful weapons away from greedy hands for a reason; Downworlders operate in their own best interests, and whilst I recognise that his marriage to you keeps his allegiance with us, that will not always be the case.”

Yes, it was definitely for the best that Magnus didn’t come here. The stereotype about Downwolrders being self-centred slaves to their instincts is as tired and as old as the people who still believe it. If that weren’t enough to get Magnus monologuing, the inference to Alec’s mortality would have his fingers sparking. Alec squares his shoulder in his best impression of someone who respects the opinions of the people in this room.

“What would you have me do?” He says with an obsequious smile, “Magnus is a man, not a weapon, and you should remain grateful that he is offering his services for Alicante, rather than against it.”

“Is that a threat, Mr Lightwood?”

“A promise.”

“You cannot deny that Mr Bane’s faithfulness may wander upon your…demise.”

“I assure you that will not be an issue.”

The man makes to retort, but Jia’s hand silences him.

“When it comes to those in your family Mr Lightwood, death seems to be an arbitrary issue.” Jia says. Indignance threatens to spill out of him like water from a too full pot on a hot stove. He is not here to discuss Clary bringing Jace back, and the ensuing chaos, and he certainly will not draw comparisons between the two. When he had found out about the wish Clary had made to the Angel for his brother’s life, he found that he was grateful for a possessed brother, the alternative being a dead one. Now, any mention of his parabatai makes needlepoint of his stomach.

They haven’t spoken more than ten words to one another since Magnus passed out in the warehouse 2 weeks ago. Alec’s been preoccupied reacquainting himself with his husband, and Jace has been preoccupied with avoiding him.

He smiles graciously at Jia, and nods his head to the others in the room. Her question does not warrant a reply, or any explanation that he is willing to offer.

“I will leave you to discuss. I hope that you come to a decision that reflects Magnus’ heroics and service to the Clave.”

Alec’s loosening the knot of the cornflower blue tie Magnus chose for him as soon as he is out of sight. His blazer is next. The once magically tailored item still hangs a little loose on his grief-starved frame, but it may as well be straitjacket for all it’s letting him breathe.

Strident clicks hurry along behind him, catching up before he can outpace them.

“Alec,” Jia says somewhat breathlessly, “I just wanted to have a word before you left.” She leans in a little further, “Privately.”

Magnus carried some new abilities with him now that he was brimming with primal magic, and the one Alec is most envious of, is his ability to teleport at will. Alec wishes more than anything he could blink and be home, no longer subject to Jia’s punctiliousness.  

“Lydia has tendered her resignation as Head of the Institute.” Jia says. “I will ask this of her as well, but I wondered who you thought a suitable replacement?”

Alec swallows his surprise. That will make the second time that Lydia has resigned from the post, both being caused by Alec, at least partially. Narcissism plays no role in his recognition of this, as when Jace dragged him and Magnus to the infirmary, the betrayal was on her face for all to see. It was not Alec or Jace, or any of the others under her command who soured her countenance, but it was she who betrayed herself. Lydia holds herself to higher standards than even Alec did at the height of his bootlicking, but Lydia prides herself on being a scrupulous leader. Still, Alec hadn’t expected her to resign because of it. Selfishly, he hopes that doesn’t mean she’s coming back to Idris. Jia is enough to deal with, he could do without Jia-lite.

Alec ponders the question. He’s out of the loop on Shadowhunters that reside there. He knows Andrew transferred to the London Institute a little while after his and Lorenzo’s relationship met it’s bitter end. There are plenty of good soldiers still there, few good bureaucrats.

“I’m surprised you value my opinion.” Alec says.

“I value your expertise.” Jia replies.

“Lydia was good at following the rules, but she didn’t understand what it meant to be a leader,” Alec sighs, “New York attracts a lot of weird shit. You need someone who knows the area, who adheres to orders from the Clave, but most importantly, knows when to ignore them.”

Amusement passes over Jia’s features. “And do you have someone in mind?”

“Two people actually,” Alec says.

Alec makes his recommendation, and Jia says she’ll take it under advisement. Alec doesn’t expect that she’ll jump to offer Jace and Clary the position of co-heads of the New York Institute, but regardless if she offers it, or if Jace and Clary accept it, Alec knows that they’re ready for it. Just as he is ready to return to being Inquisitor, but only if Magnus is there by his side.

He bids Jia a good day, and makes the short journey through the winding terracotta terraces to his home. The key slides into the lock then finds it’s way into the ceramic bowl on the entryway table. His blazer and tie are disappeared where they hung over his forearm before his can close the door behind him, his hand suddenly clasping a cool glass filled with a stiff drink.

Alec laughs softly and ditches his accoutrements in favour of following the sound of Magnus’ lilting voice out to the balcony. His husband smiles at him as comes through the French doors, absentmindedly swirling the liquid in his martini glass.

“On a scale of 1 to 10?” Magnus asks.

“An 8.” Alec replies, leaning down to kiss Magnus, whose lips are warm and gin-soaked under his tongue, but he is denied a deeper welcome. Magnus pulls always after a chaste greeting, clearing his throat pointedly.

Alec hadn’t noticed that Magnus had company, frankly he’d assumed Magnus was out here talking to the cat, or himself; neither would be at all unusual for his profoundly odd husband. He’d sailed past his guest, who was shrouded by the high-backed chair facing away from the door, thoughts preoccupied with confirming Magnus’ realness. There has been no lack of touching and reassurances since Magnus’ transcendental return, but the few times they’ve been forced to separate since, have felt like chancing fate. The separation anxiety is not something he can carry with him, especially for his return to work on Monday, but it isn’t something he’s ready to let go of quite yet. In many ways, he finds the anxiety is a good thing, reminding him not to take things for granted.

“Are they giving Magnus his job back?” Jace asks, thumbs drumming against a glass that mirrors his own.

“They said they would have their decision by the end of the day, but I made a good case.”

“Did you threaten people on my behalf, dear?” Magnus asks, holding out his arm.

Alec takes the hint, and situates himself on the armrest, a warm tingle floating up his spine as Magnus begins playing with the duck-tail of his shirt.

“Threaten?” Alec says, “No, I merely implied that you were all-powerful and that should they choose not to reinstate you, that there would be consequences.”

“Consequences?” Jace says with a raised eyebrow.

“I just let their imaginations run with that one.” Alec replies.

“You didn’t need to do that,” Magnus says, “Ifra is more than capable – ”

“And yet, she resigned.” Alec interrupts.

Magnus relents, leaning back in his chair. They just look at each other for a long moment, until Jace shifts uncomfortably.

“Well, I just dropped by to say ‘hi’, but I’ll get out of your hair.” He says getting to his feet. “Thanks for the drink.” He plonks down the glass on the coffee table, leaving a condensation ring adjacent to a coaster. He gives Alec a strained smile, and walks out the door.

The wooden bar beneath him makes a terrible seat, so he reclines onto one of the lounge chairs Magnus has out here for sunbathing. Without a word, Magnus follows suit and situates himself between Alec’s legs. Magnus’ weight against his chest is both a blanket and a rock, keeping his racing thoughts anchored to this moment.

“I’m shaving this weekend, just F-Y-I.”

Magnus turns his head as best he can to look up at Alec. “All of it? You wouldn’t dare.”

“It has only stayed this long for your benefit. I can hardly go back to work looking like a mountain man.”

“But I have not had the time to fully appreciate it yet. I never got to see it long!”

“Yes you did, and you loved it.”

“That was for like 2 seconds before I fainted, that doesn’t count!”

“I don’t make the rules.” Alec says, tucking his prickly chin into the crook of Magnus’ neck, causing him to squirm away.

“What did Jace want?” Alec says after a long swig of whiskey, and after Magnus has settled again.

He hasn’t told Magnus the full extent of the deterioration of his and Jace’s relationship. He’s not sure he himself knows it. Jace certainly doesn’t. Things between them have never been this strained, and he finds that the parabatai bond is just a never ending feedback loop. Contrary to what the Clave would have young Shadowhunters believe, the parabatai bond is not an open window into the other person’s…everything. If two complete strangers were to find themselves bonded, they would struggle to feel anything of one another. The parabatai bond is more like a door, that can be opened and closed at will. Jace has closed the door on him before, to prevent from being found when he was a foot soldier for Valentine, but neither of them had ever locked it.

Before now, at least.

Alec isn’t doing it consciously. His guard is up like a reflex around Jace now, memories of hand on the hilt of his blade, and the way he had looked at Magnus in the warehouse, and on the bridge. Jace would have killed Magnus, with the belief that he was doing it to help Alec. Jace doesn’t understand that there is no circumstance, no foreseeable future, no possible situation in which Alec’s life would be improved upon the death of Magnus Bane. Until his brother realises that, the door will remain locked.

“It was quite curious actually,” Magnus says, “He came by just to ‘see if I was okay’. I don’t mean to disparage your parabatai, but that’s rather out of character for him. And if that wasn’t peculiar enough, he thanked me.”

“Thanked you?”

“Yes, for giving up my magic. And for healing Luke, helping Clary and Simon get acquainted with the Shadow world, waking Jocelyn, and everything else that seemed to pop into his head. Stranger still – ”

“Stranger than Jace uttering the word ‘thank you’?”

“Oh hush you,” Magnus chastises, “Stranger still, he thanked me for coming back. I told him that I wasn’t much in control of my faculties at the time, and that for all intents and purposes, it was you who dragged me back to the land of the living, but he wouldn’t hear it. Insisted that he was grateful that you had your shining sun back in the sky.”

Alec snorts. “Jace said that?”

“I’m paraphrasing, but the broad strokes are true.”

Alec hums into Magnus’ soft and gel-free hair. He peppers kisses everywhere he can reach, soaking in Magnus’ contented sighs as his husband seems to sink into him impossibly deep.

“It’s almost as if,” Magnus mumbles after a few minutes, eyes falling shut, “someone gave him a talking to.”

Alec rests his chin on Magnus head, though not yet satisfied with the amount of kisses he has adorned his husband with today, there will be plenty of time to up the tally later. He puts his magically refilled glass to one side for a moment, and intertwines their fingers.

“Sounds like someone I’d like to get to know, if they were able to make Jace remember to mind his manners.” Alec says.

“Quite.”

Magnus rumbles softly as he falls asleep in Alec’s arms. Sleep has been difficult for the two of them, even though things are starting to look normal again. Alec has woken up with wet cheeks more than once, a crippling panic attack just moments from forming. Magnus whispers to him then, softly over and over, I’m here, I’m alive sayang, but a seed has taken root in his heart, a fear that they may become separated again. The life of a Shadowhunter is not a safe one, nor is that of the High Warlock of Alicante, regardless of how powerful he is. Alec wishes that they could go somewhere far away, have Magnus throw up impenetrable wards, and they could just live out their days together like that. Magnus had laughed when he suggested it, semi-seriously in the early hours after being ripped into consciousness with the feeling of Magnus’ blood soaking his fingers.

“You’d go stir crazy with nothing to do.” He’d said.

“I could work from home.”

“I’d go crazy.”

Alec’s world is bigger than Magnus, but it doesn’t have to be.

Magnus’ nightmares rarely wake him up, but he is still not well rested when he wakes. Instead, he spends the night hours tossing and turning, pouring with sweat, and a cry on his lips, pleading with someone stop it hurts I can’t take it, brow knitted with just the memory of pain. Magnus claims not to remember much of his time with Asmodeous. Alec isn’t sure yet if he believes him. He thinks the memories are more than likely there, but Magnus, or his subconscious more likely, refuses to let them surface. Magnus had paid for the funeral of Lara Perez, and of all the other Shadowhunter’s who were felled by the demons, anonymously of course; Alec never told him the names of those who died, but Magnus knew anyway, and he carries their deaths with them no matter how much Alec insists that he wasn’t to blame.

Sometimes, Alec will wake up in the middle of the night to find the space next to him empty and cold. He’ll head for the kitchen first, boil the water and steep the tea, before bringing it through to the living room where Magnus will inevitably be, sitting in that armchair with a photo album in hand, and eyes as black as night. Alec will tell him of their epics and exploits, of the people Magnus has known and loved over his long life, of the lengths Alec will go – has gone – to keep him safe. He’ll tell Magnus about their wedding, their honeymoon in Bali, when Magnus had showed him the village he grew up in, the land where his home one stood paved over and crushed beneath the weight of a towering skyscraper. He’ll tell him about coming down to the water’s edge in the dead of night, when no one was around to see them, and stripping off their clothes. How Magnus’ fear of water was only a passing thought as he clung to Alec, his life raft, and how they’d giggled like children as they’d collapsed onto the sandy shore and they’d had each other like that, under a moonlit sky.

And when he has no stories left to tell, he tells Magnus of their future. Of the children he sees them raising, of the vows he hopes they’ll renew in 20 years’ time, of the parties they’ll throw that last a decade just because they can. And as the sun begins to rise again, and those beautiful cat eyes re-emerge, Alec will tell him that he’ll be by his side for the rest of Magnus’ life.

Not even death itself could come between them.