I'm kind of decently known for my non-sensical middle of the night one shots, and apparently I've started writhing Malec ones… oh dear.
Alec smiles, looking at the white walls. He's going to get out, he's going to escape. He's going to break out, then nothing can keep him from his family, from his Magnus. Not the idiot doctors telling him it's not real, not anybody. Not those liars.
How can those precious times be fake, fabricated? They say that the voices he hears aren't real, that Magnus isn't guiding him through his nearly solitary life in this cage, but sometimes Magnus sneaks in to be here with him. Sometimes, he's curled up with Alec under the sheets, and sometimes they do the nasty, but they talk more often than anything physical happens. Hours, hours and hours of mindless chatter and Alec can almost recite Magnus' every word. How can all this be fake?
They tell him that Magnus Bane was a childhood friend, a boyfriend that died right in front of him. No, it's not true. Ce n'est pas vrai. Que no es verdad. No matter what language he recites it in, it's still not true. Magnus lives outside these white halls, sneaking in to visit Alec, and they're each other's everything. They whisper about Shadowhunters and Demons, Angels and mundanes. They might occasionally slip in a word about Alec's family, but neither of them really cares much about them. They've been in here too long for that. But everything is forgotten as they share the contents of their minds absently. They know each other inside and out yet Alec's never bored of those dangerous, shinning eyes.
The wall, though. Alec's greatest opponent, the smile that ensures his escape pursues his lips in an audaciously real way, he's going to get out then the men in white coats won't be able to tell him demons aren't real.
He's seen enough demons to know they're real