It took one single moment for everything to go wrong. One moment where suddenly their whole world had been turned around. In a single moment where Lilith attacked the vampire cursed with the Mark of Cain, and everything in his vicinity was blown away, including Clary. In one moment a possessed Jace stabbed Alec, with a no longer magical Magnus incapable of saving the man he loved.
For just being one moment in time, so much had been lost.
Magnus paced the length of the back patio, a liquor bottle half drunk poised on the balcony edge. It hadn't even been an hour since he had begun drinking, and he was already feeling the numbing effect. As a warlock, alcohol had always worked slowly through his blood stream (though he had always managed to slowly drink his way to the point of drunken pleasure), but he found that as a mortal, he was all too easily lost in the bottle.
In the dark places of his mind, Magnus bitterly thought that this was the only positive aspect of losing his magic. At least now the alcohol would work quickly and effectively to distract him from otherwise overwhelming emotions. Emotions that threatened to tear Magnus apart from the inside out.
He had been at the Institute earlier, holding onto Alec's hand as Catrina did her best to keep him stable. By the time she had gotten to the Shadowhunter, however, he had already lost too much blood and the wound itself had become infected. Even now, the young Shadowhunter fought for his life, painfully struggling to push through.
Magnus had wanted - had needed - to stay by his lover's side, but after so many hours of struggling to remain calm in that suffocating infirmary room, he had been all but forced to leave.
Catarina had been the first to try to convince him to go home. "You need rest," she spoke to him gently. It was clear that she worried about his state of mind, having seen him at his lowest points already, and knowing that he was worse off now than ever before. "I could take you with me."
Yet all he could do was shake his head. "If I leave, I won't be getting any sleep anyways."
Isabel had been the second to try. She stepped into the room, her eyes puffy and her demeanor a mess. Outside the infirmary, the Institute was in rambles, and Isabel had been doing her best to keep high tempers at bay. Too lost in himself, Magnus wasn't sure how well her mission had gone, but it was obvious enough that she herself was tearing at the seams.
The moment she sank into the chair on Alec's other side, she stated weakly, "You look absolutely horrible. You should go home and rest. You know we'll call you as soon as he wake up." He just shook head, and she accepted it without argument.
So they all sat there - Magnus and Isabel, and Jace who hadn't moved at all since they had arrived - with Alec still too close to death on bleached sheets on a stiff bed.
Then Robert had shown up and Magnus was compelled to let go of Alec's man stood by his eldest son's feet, staring down at him soberly and morosely. With his sudden presence, a new sort of pressure settled into the already dreary room, and Magnus shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The small movement brought Robert's steely gaze upon him.
"Bane," he greeted dryly. Magnus, having spent centuries witnessing horrors because of this very thing, noticed immediately the thinly veiled hatred in the man's voice. "Is there a reason why you haven't healed my son yet?"
"Dad," Isabel started, tone strained with sorrow and stress.
"He gave up his magic to save me," Jace stated off from the side.
Robert frowned. "In that case," the steeled gaze remained on Magnus, and the ex-warlock had no power in himself to be his usual confrontational self, "would you mind giving us some space. This is really a family affair."
"Dad," Isabel argued again, but Magnust was already standing and heading out the door.
Which was why he was there now, on the balcony where he and Alec had frequently shared drinks and comfort. He picked up the bottle and took a long swallow.
Simon didn't know what to do, or where to go. He couldn't go home - his mother didn't know who he was anymore. He didn't know where Maia was - last he had seen she was with Jordan. The nephilim had abandoned him. Clary was gone.
The vampire faltered; tears flooded his vision. Clary was gone. And it was his fault. He had killed his best friend, the girl he had been in love with for the majority of his life.
His mother had been right; he was a monster. He had died months ago, and he should have stayed died. Like in the ground, not existing, dead.
Except, that was never going to happen now. Death, true death, would forever be out of his reach. Forever to be cursed to walk alone, the guilt and the pain were to be as permanent as the mark of Cain on his forehead.
"What's wrong, little one?" someone cooed from behind him.
He pivoted, his eyes narrowed and his entire body tense. "Camila."
There was a lack luster energy in the Hunter's Moon that evening. Though only a few were privy to the events of the battle that had taken place in that cathedral, all of the Shadow World had felt the demonic energy that had exploded. The werewolves and the vampires were uneasy. The shadowhunters were readying themselves for yet another war.
"Another," Maryse ordered at the bar, ignoring the wary glances that the other patrons kept throwing her. Though she no longer had her runes to mark her as a Shadowhunter, most of the Shadow World knew who she was, and her reputation had rightly unsettled them.
The bartender, a different person than usual, complied with her request and she quickly knocked it back.
As a shadowhunter, she had rarely consumed alcohol. Back then, even the thought of doing something to intentional lower her inhibitions would be unthinkable. Ever since she had been de-runed, however, she was finding herself too often drowning in the stuff. First it was to drown out the finality of the divorce and the resolution to strip her of her angelic power (and that was even before they had actually been taken away from her). Then it was drown out the emptiness inside that was left behind once they were. Later still, it was to drown the anger - at herself and at the society of the angel blooded - at being cast out. And now, to drown out the grief and the overwhelming panic of her son's condition.
She had tried to see Alec, but they hadn't let her through the door. The same shadowhunter that had blocked her entrance from before stood once again in her way. This time, though, there was no head of the Institute to shoo him away with an air of humble leadership.
With nowhere else to go, and nothing that she could do, Maryse was intent on losing all her inhibitions. Clearly, she no longer had any need of them. She was useless, she mourned silently. She couldn't be by Alec's side, couldn't take the burden that Isabel no doubt had put onto her shoulder, and couldn't comfort Jace who had lost the love of his life and was close to losing his parabatai too.
She tapped the counter to signal for another shot. The bartender frowned, seemed to debate internally, and then placed the next round in front of her. Even without her title, she appeared to evoke some threatening air that made it difficult to not try to appease her, in case she decided to wage her wrath upon him. Before she could throw it back as she had done all the rest, a hand swiped it away. Furious, Maryse spun around, having to catch herself when she tipped slightly off balance. Warm, but pain filled eyes stared straight into hers. "I need your help."
"Luke," she tsked, and she found herself surprised at how off her voice sounded. "I highly doubt I can help."
Luke scowled, but still reached out in a friendly manner to balance her. "I need you to help me find Clary."
Robert Lightwood didn't stay long in the infirmary. It seemed all that he had come to do was check in on Alec's condition, send Magnust away, and frown disappointedly at the details of what had transpired in the last few days. Then he was off into the thick of the Institute, presumably to take charge of it while Alec was indisposed.
Jace watched him leave. Somewhere beyond his incoherent senses, he thought bitterly about the fact that Robert didn't seem altogether distraught over what had happened, only disturbed by what it meant in the scheme of things concerning the Clave. To him, all this was simply a mishap that needed to be dealt with in a smooth and efficient approach.
"Why is he even here?" he grumbled when the door closed behind Robert. Since the affair had come out into the open, and he had divorce Maryse, Robert hadn't made much of an effort in leaving Idris. Or maybe it was more appropriate to say that since being promoted, Robert hadn't bothered to become distracted by the family he had left behind in New York.
From across the room, Izzy sighed exhaustedly. "Penhallow probably sent him."
"What do you mean?"
Izzy shrugged downheartedly. "I heard she's pissed. Especially at us."
Of course she would be. Not all that long ago, though it felt like an eternity, the group had stolen a weapon, a demon possessed Jace had killed the Inquisitor, they had all disappeared from Penhallow's chase, and Clary had escaped their prescribed punishment.
"Is that what you were dealing with out there?" A pang of guilt - as if he needed anymore - hit him hard, having left Izzy to handle the mess single-handedly.
"I wouldn't say I dealt with anything," she huffed, and in it Jace could hear her worry and panic.
Jace frowned, the only expression he had been able to bring himself to form. There was no doubt that there would be consequences. Those of heavenly blood would reign hell down upon them. All of them. They would all be punished for the sins that Jace had committed.
A profound silence encompassed the room again. Alec lay on the bed, twitching in pain with no hope of relief - Catarina had already tried. Izzy was folded against his side, her forehead resting on the back of Alec's hand. Jace sat there, quietly imploding in on himself.
It was his fault. Possessed or not, it had been his body that had done all those things. He had been too weak, and the demon had taken him too easily. Because of that weakness, too much had been lost. It had been because of Jace that Magnus had lost his magic. It had been because of him that Penhallow would go after his siblings. It was his hands that had killed all those innocents. Had killed Imogen (his own flesh and blood). Had tried to his hardest to kill his own parabatai, and who might very well end up dead any moment now. He had tried to kill Clary too, during a time when he felt no love for her (how could he have ever forgotten his love for Clary?).
Everything was because of him, and he was struggling with the ability of surviving through that knowledge. That everything was his fault.
