Prologue

The kids across the street were really starting to grate on his nerves, and if they didn't shut up, and quickly, Magnus was going to go over there and blast their little asses—

"You're growling, Mags."

Magnus' eyes narrowed, and he snapped his gaze away from the window to settle his glare on the white-haired man before him. He looked so smug, but he wasn't the one with the pounding headache. And this goddamned headache was all his fault, anyway!

"Shut up. This is all your fault—if you hadn't ever dragged me out to that damned club last night, Ragnor, then maybe I wouldn't be 'growling'," Magnus hissed, closing his eyes and rubbing his throbbing temples. He had no patience for his supposed 'friend' at the moment, if you couldn't tell.

Ragnor grinned and sank down into the armchair across from Magnus. He was really trying Magnus' patience this morning, that's for sure. "Oh, what? Is little baby Magnus cranky today? Did you not get your nap, sweetie?"

Magnus glared at him, cursing his stupid white hair and his stupid green skin and the way he just had to make his normal voice the volume of a Helter Skelter scream. Ragnor was the epitome of all that Magnus hated, at that moment. "Shut the hell up, Fell."

"Oh, now you've resorted to wounding me? How brash—and to think that I housed you even after you got yourself completely smashed!" Ragnor paused, a devilish glint in his dark eyes. "And I couldn't 'shut the hell up', anyway—Hell is, after all, down below. I can't shut hell up, silly Magnus. It would have to be shut down, and even then it would be more horizontal than anything—"

"My God, just shut your mouth. Please."

Ragnor sat back in his seat, looking completely satisfied with himself. Annoying Magnus was one of his favorite pastimes, after all, and nothing was more fun that being cheeky when his glittery friend was hungover. Absolutely nothing topped that.

Sensing that his green friend was going to finally be quiet, Magnus looked back out of the window next to him, his sensitive ears pricking at the sound of high-pitched screams and laughter. Dark thoughts against children started to fill his head as he watched the group of kids across the street run around the front yard. He wasn't normally this horrible to children—in fact, he quite enjoyed the small beings, would like to have a few of his own someday, maybe—but today he just hated anything and everything that was being especially loud. Or bright.

So, yes, he had cursed out the sun when he'd first woken up. Don't judge him.

Another ear-shattering shriek reached Magnus' ears, and he groaned and winced, glaring through the window at the small child who had presumably created that horrid noise.

"Remind me again why I agreed to come here?" Magnus complained, glancing over at Ragnor out of the corner of his eye.

The green-skinned man had a glass teapot floating by his elbow, a fancy-shmancy teacup help in his hand, both most likely stolen from some unsuspecting mundane with a flick of his wrist. Magnus almost sighed—what he would give for a cup of coffee right about now…

And then he remembered—he could just summon himself one right up. He was a warlock!

Stupid, stupid, stupid, he thought to himself as he twitched his finger. A large, steaming hot macchiato appeared in his hand before he could blink, and he sighed in pleasure as he sipped at the drink. Yes, being a warlock had its perks.

As Magnus was enjoying the sweet bliss of caffeine, Ragnor said, "Well, you just couldn't stand to be away from my beautiful face for much longer. And there was also that thing with the vampire clan in Monte Carlo…"

Magnus internally winced at the thought of the vampires that he had abandoned somewhere in Europe, who were most likely out for his blood at this very moment. He hadn't meant to lead that werewolf pack right to their hideout… It just happened.

"And besides, I know that you've wanted to live in New York ever since the Brits came over. Don't lie to yourself." Ragnor dared him to deny this fact, raising a pale brow over at him.

"Fine, whatever you say." Magnus rolled his eyes, before looking back out at the kids across the street. They were still messing around, but they had calmed down more than before. He watched as a group of boys, who couldn't've been more than ten years old, gathered around another kid and started laughing—he couldn't really make out the other kid, though, so he assumed that they were just playing around, being jerky little snots like they were.

His mind started to wander as he watched the kids, though. His thoughts got so far off track that he didn't even realize that all the kids had gone to be little jerks elsewhere after a while; he just kept staring out the window. Why was he even in New York? Sure, he'd wanted to see Ragnor—it had been a couple decades since they last met up—but what other reason was he here for?

He didn't know, couldn't come up with an excuse for why he was currently sat in Ragnor's living room with a killer hangover, drinking caffeinated beverages stolen from some nearby coffee shop.

After a while of just sitting there, Ragnor brought him out of his head by standing up. "Well, it's almost two o'clock, and I don't know about you but I'm starving. Let's go get some food or something, eh?"

Magnus nodded distractedly, standing also. "Yeah…"

After getting dressed and making sure that he was fit to be seen in public—hangover be damned, he was going to look amazing with or without it—Magnus followed Ragnor out of the house. They were apparently going to some restaurant that was in the middle of town—so they were just going to walk there.

Ragnor lived in a small town in upper New York, close to Albany, so the majority of the town's population was crowded around itself. All grouped together in the middle of the town. And unlike New York City, there was never any traffic, so they could've technically driven to the restaurant, but what fun would that be?

Oh, yeah—they wouldn't've had to walk!

But Magnus wasn't going to complain about Ragnor's questionable ways of doing things—he was, after all, allowing Magnus to stay at his house for as long as he needed, until he decided where he wanted to go next.

Ragnor and Magnus walked side by side down the porch steps, down the walkway that led to the street in front of Ragnor's house. The day was cold, but surprisingly dry for New York, and Magnus wrapped his coat more tightly around his form. They were going to freeze their asses off before they even got to the restaurant, Magnus knew, and he was just preparing for the inevitable onslaught of cold as the made their way toward the middle of town.

At the end of the walkway, where landscaping stone met concrete sidewalk, the sounds of children rang out from across the street once more. Magnus glanced over, slightly cringing— because while his hangover may have faded a little, his head was still pounding, and the screeches of small beings was not helping at all.

But his interest was piqued when his eyes landed on the small forms across the street. A group of kids—around the age of ten or so, he supposed—were gathered around a couple of forms on the ground. The kids were all cheering and throwing insults and doing what little snot-nosed brats do, and the forms on the ground were a mass of flailing limbs. Magnus squinted, because he couldn't see the forms on the ground very clearly from where he was standing, but he caught glimpses of them through the legs of the kids surrounding them. He was immediately concerned and at an impasse with himself when he caught sight of blood through the barrier of legs—Should he intervene? Are those kids hurt? Should he go get a parent or… something?

And it was made even worse when he reminded himself that whatever the hell was going on across the street was absolutely none of his business and that he should just walk away. He wanted to help, yet he didn't know if he had any right to.

He was at a standstill—all the while watching the group of kids surrounding the forms on the ground cheer and jostle each other around as they watched whatever fight that was going on in front of them. Small cries of pain and grunts of satisfaction could be heard over the sound of cheering, and Magnus had to wince at the sound. Whoever was losing the fight over there must've been in a whole lot of pain for that sound to be so gut-wrenching.

And then Magnus had a thought: Why are a bunch of kids cheering on a bloodbath? What kind of monsters are the mundanes breeding these days?

When Ragnor started to walk past him on the sidewalk, not noticing that he had stopped to watch the brawl across the street, Magnus reached out a hand and halted him. Ragnor opened his mouth to ask what he wanted, but Magnus pointed towards where his eyes were still glued, making Ragnor look over as well.

"What's going on over there?" Magnus asked lightly, faking nonchalance and trying to hide his concern for whoever was getting the absolute shit beat out of them across the street.

Ragnor just shook his head, looking slightly annoyed. "It's those damn kids again. They're always fighting and screaming at each other. If I didn't want to remain inconspicuous, I would've blasted their asses months ago."

The sound of sobbing reached Magnus' ears as he continued to watch the brawl, and he found himself off the sidewalk and crossing the street before he could even think about what he was doing. Ragnor stopped him before he walked straight into the sights of an incoming car, and Magnus glanced back at him with a frown.

"We need to stop them. Someone is getting hurt over there—and pretty badly, by the sounds of it," Magnus said, pulling on his arm to free it from his friend's grasp.

Ragnor sighed, saying, "They do this all the time, Mags. Don't worry about it—kids do this kind of shit all the time. Their guardian will come break it up before anything serious happens. Now—let's go. I'm starving."

He started to walk in the direction of town once more, but Magnus didn't follow after him. He was thinking about what Ragnor had said, about 'their guardian'…

"Should we at least go get their parents or something?" Magnus called after Ragnor, making the white-haired man stop and turn around once more.

"Magnus," he said exasperatedly, "just leave it alone. They'll be fine. Now come on, let's go. You can mingle with the mundies later."

Magnus ignored him, though. He started across the street once more, after glancing around for any sort of parent or guardian and finding none. He heard Ragnor sigh behind him, and then footsteps following in his wake.

At least, he mused to himself as he stepped onto the sidewalk adjacent to that of Ragnor's house, I won't have to face the apparently violent mundanes by myself.

The group of kids was gathered in the yard of a large black-and-white house, which had to have at least three floors in it. Now that Magnus was closer to the 'scene of the crime', if you will, he could see that there were a few older boys mixed in with the younger ones—but not one of them, he noted, could be over thirteen.

Not that it really mattered to him, though—he just wanted them to stop brawling. If anyone asked, Magnus would say that he just wanted them to not be fighting anymore when he and Ragnor got back from dinner, that he enjoyed not having to listen to snot-nosed little brats roughhouse with each other all day. That wasn't the whole truth—though it was part of his reasoning for intervening; Magnus also wanted to make sure that whoever was crying, whoever was making those painful retching sounds that he'd heard from all the way across the street, was okay.

After all, he had a soft spot for kids—sometimes—and he wasn't going to stand by and watch while some child got beaten across the street. He'd never been good at staying out of things when they piqued his curiosity, anyway.

The kids were all huddled relatively close to the sidewalk, and Magnus walked right up to them and said, "Hey! What's going on?!" He even made sure to sound super 'adult-like' so that the kids would listen to him. He would be a wondrous father. He would have to be one someday… maybe in a couple of centuries.

The cheering from the kids stopped abruptly, a dozen young faces snapping around to look up into his eyes. He towered over these small beings. It was surprisingly satisfactory.

A kid with beady little eyes asked, more like demanded, "Who're you?"

Magnus sniffed, indignant. Who was he? That little brat—he was Magnus Bane. Humph.

Magnus opened his mouth to retort, but his ears picked up on the sounds of flesh hitting flesh and the groans of pain coming from the center of the group of kids, and he shoved Beady-Eyes aside, along with several other kids, so that the group was broken and he had a clear view of the kids on the ground.

He almost started spewing out the ugliest curses he knew when his eyes beheld the sight before him: a kid, about twelve or so with brown hair, was straddling a much smaller form on the grass. The bigger kid—Magnus assumed he was the bad-guy in this situation—was still throwing brutal punches down upon the small kid below him. He was laughing and cursing up a storm, startling Magnus because kids aren't supposed to talk like that!

But Magnus couldn't really give a shit about the bigger kid—all his attention was zeroed in on the crying form being beaten into the ground. He was so little, probably not even out of first grade yet, and there was blood all over the parts of his face that Magnus could see. The rest of him was blocked by his arms, which were held up over his face to protect himself feebly from the punches. His eyes were squeezed shut so tightly that Magnus would've been afraid that he'd hurt himself—you know, if he hadn't already been focused on stopping the little cunt on top of the boy from hurting him even further.

Half a second probably had passed since Magnus first parted the kids surrounding the two boys on the ground, and that was enough for him. He lunged forward, grabbed ahold of the back of the larger boy's shirt collar, and hauled him off of the poor kid on the ground. He'd seen enough—and he was going to have a serious talk with these kid's 'guardian' once he made sure the smaller kid was okay. Because really—what fucked up kind of parent lets their kids beat each other up like this? Mundanes were the scum of the world.

"What the hell—?" the brown-haired, small-child-beater demanded as Magnus yanked him to his feet and pushed him away from the crying form on the ground.

Magnus glared at him, may have growled a little bit, and spat, "What do you think you're doing?"

The kid glared up at Magnus, showing absolutely no respect for his elders. Little fucking prick.

"None of your business, Old Man," the kid said, causing some of the other kids to snicker. "Why don't you go back to the nursing home and wash all the sparkles off—you look like a fag."

Oh, no he didn't. He did not just insult the glitter. Magnus clenched his jaw and told himself that he was not going to turn this little asshole into a rodent—if he did, then he'd have to deal with shadowhunters, and they were almost worse than mundanes. Almost.

"You little punk-ass mother—," Magnus started to hiss, but another voice sounded before he could finish.

"What in the world—? What is going on out here, boys? Why is Al—Is that blood?!" a female voice fretted, coming from the porch of the black-and-white house. Magnus lifted his head to see a woman with graying-brown hair rush down the porch steps, a man and a woman following closely behind her. She was dressed in a business suit, kind of like a real-estate salesman. Magnus almost winced—no one should ever wear a pantsuit. Ever. They were made to be used for emergency fire fuel, and nothing more.

The woman rushed over to the small boy, who was still on the ground. He'd sat up, though, and was cupping his hands over his nose and mouth, blood dripping through the cracks of his fingers and onto his shirt. Magnus felt a pang as he watched tears trickle down the boy's cheeks, his small face scrunched up along with his eyes as he shook and tried to calm himself down. He looked downright miserable, pitiful, and Magnus wanted to give the poor kid a hug. Maybe heal his wounds, at the very least.

Of course, he couldn't do anything like that. He was a stranger, a nosy stranger, and it would've been odd for him to show any sort of affection for a child that he did not know. God, he needed a drink. And some aspirin.

"What happened?! Alec, sweetheart? Are you alright? You're bleeding—can I see? We should get you inside, honey, come on." The woman pulled the small boy—whom she'd called Alec—up into a standing position, and then carefully started leading him toward the house. The man who'd followed her out of the house before gently took Alec from the woman's hands and led him inside, looking just as concerned as the woman. He wasn't anything special to look at, the man: just a plain face with plain hair and an average height to him. Magnus only noticed him because he led the boy—Alec—with so much care; if it hadn't been for the boy, Magnus would've never taken the time to look at the man.

Magnus really needed a drink. Or five.

He allowed his eyes to linger on Alec's back as he was led inside the house, and then, figuring that he'd done enough social justice for one decade, he turned to start walking back towards where Ragnor was standing on the sidewalk, watching the mundanes in front of him with acute boredom.

But the woman's voice stopped him before he could leave.

"What did you do to that poor boy, Daniel?! I know it was you—don't even try to get out of this—and somebody better speak up before I take away TV privileges for a month!"

Magnus turned to look at the woman, inching subtly toward the sidewalk as he took in her murderous form. She was small, sure, but her glare almost scared Magnus—and that was a feat that no mundane had the right to accomplish.

The little punk who enjoyed beating smaller kids—apparently Daniel—glared at his feet and refused to speak. Magnus clenched his jaw in anger, wanting to pummel the prick, but continued to make for the sidewalk. If only he could just disappear… But the mundanes would see if he did any magic—

"And who are you?" The woman asked, narrowing her eyes at Magnus and walking closer to him. She was rightfully wary, but at least didn't seem angry with him—just at the little shit who had beaten the hell out of a child.

As she should be.

Magnus opened his mouth to introduce himself, when: "That's Magnus, Mrs. Thomas. He's staying with me for the summer, remember?"

Ah, Ragnor, Magnus mused. What would I do without my little emerald prince?

The woman—Mrs. Thomas, apparently—smoothed out her expression and smiled apologetically over at Magnus. "Of course, now I remember. I'm sorry if they bothered you, Ragnor, Magnus." She turned to glare at the little shit—Daniel.

Magnus smiled charmingly over at her, wiping away his need to pummel the little prick into the ground. He could do that later. "It's no problem, Mrs. Thomas—can I call you Mrs. T?—I was only worried about that little guy—Alec?"

He might have been pushing his limits with the seemingly kind lady, but he didn't care; he really was genuinely worried about that little boy. He looked really hurt, with all that blood… And the poor thing was crying…

Magnus bit his lip to distract himself, because just thinking about that little boy's crumpled face made him want to beat the ever-living shit out of Daniel the Prick. He would pay.

Mrs. Thomas smiled at Magnus again, this time tense lines around her mouth. "Thank you for worrying, honey. I'm sure he's fine, though. That boy just bleeds a lot—not that that excuses any of your actions, mister." The last part was directed harshly at Daniel, and the little shit at least had the decency to look chastised.

Magnus almost smirked—and he wouldn't have been able to control himself if he hadn't reminded himself that he was supposed to appear as an adult. You'd think that after having centuries of practice he would actually start acting like a grown-up, huh?

Oh, well. If he hadn't learned by now, then he was hopeless.

Ragnor spoke up before Magnus cold start another conversation—he was still hungry, and Magnus, ever the talker, seemed to have forgotten that little fact. "Well, I hate to be rude, but we were just on our way to dinner, Mrs. Thomas. We should probably go now—Magnus?"

The dark-haired man glowered over his shoulder at his supposed 'friend'. A is for Antisocial, he mused.

Mrs. Thomas smiled warmly at Ragnor, then at Magnus. "Of course, honey. I wouldn't want to keep you—I still have this one to deal with, anyway." She threw a thumb over her shoulder in the direction of Daniel the Prick, and Magnus secretly hoped that she'd tan his hide. With barbed wire. Or whatever parents used these days… for illegal corporal punishment…

As Magnus walked back to join Ragnor on the sidewalk, he said to Mrs. Thomas, "Don't go easy on him."

Ragnor grabbed his elbow and yanked—hard.

Okay, so maybe that was inappropriate of him to say, but—

"Don't worry—I won't."

Magnus smirked at Mrs. Thomas. Go Mrs. T!

She smiled grimly back, and Magnus couldn't help a little twinge of pity for Daniel the Prick. He was going to get his ass beat.

But then Ragnor yanked on his arm again, and Magnus was forced to stumble after him down the sidewalk. And as he walked, his pity faded into satisfaction.

The prick had it coming.

New Story!

And I know some of you guys are like, "What the hell? finish your other stories!" but... writer's block? I don't know. *shrugs*

And this is my first Malec fic, so... we'll see how this goes. :]

Review, tell me what you think!

Creds go to CC :D

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