A/N: Hello, all! I come bearing an AU oneshot because I, apparently, love Malec AUs. It seems kinda OOC, but I think (hope) it works for the situation and the dynamics here. I had fun writing this little snippet nonetheless, and it pretty much wrote itself.
If anyone would like to take this and run for a full-length piece, please let me know. Or maybe even a collab.
Warnings:There's some violence at the end.
When looking back the past three and a half years, Alec's shocked at how far they've come. He recalls blurrily the day when he saw a tall silhouette in the rain-shrouded distance staggering toward him in an alleyway. He remembers the frantic thudding in his chest and the shroud of pain as what's left of his attention is pulled back to the two assailants – two (or was it four again?) men he could have easily escaped if they hadn't jumped him and bashed him over the head. Now he was lying on the ground as the figure approached on the dark, damp street, although he would have appreciated if it would stop uniting and dividing into one and two. There were shouts, the first of which he's sure to this day was from the newcomer; his assailants he thought jumped and spun. Were they surprised? Who knows. Their voices echoed menacingly and pound against his throbbing skull, and he forced his eyes shut to keep the world from spinning sickeningly. He may not have been able to see any oncoming blows, but he suspected there wouldn't be any for a few moments at the very least. The third person served as a distraction. Their voices grew angrier and in volume, chiseling at whatever sanity may have been left in the battered man's mind and feeding his nausea.
The shouts increased in volume once again, his eyes squeezed shut in hopes to dull the pain, and were followed by a cacophony of shrieks and metal. Alec doesn't have it in him to jump or react in self-preservation. Instead he slowly cracks an eye to find the two men motionless on the saturated pavement and the newcomer nearing him. He was certain that day he was going to die, but maybe death would have been sweeter.
Then again, maybe not.
Alec stabs a white plastic fork into the cup in front of him and scoops some of the bland macaroni and cheese into his mouth. He crinkles his nose; it's definitely past its expiration date and could use the recommended milk and butter, but it's the only thing that still semi-edible in this empty, forgotten house. Lately his philosophy has been something akin to if it can fill his stomach without making him sick, he'll eat it. It's not like he has much of a choice anyway; he's been on the run for about two years, trying to stay low and undetectable. It isn't him that's valuable either – that's his companion, but he knows much too much and is, as they would likely put it, sheltering that person.
He shovels another mouthful of the godforsaken Kraft into his mouth and taps the disposable fork against the side of the bowl. That's life, though, or at least that's what it's become, not that he's complaining. Well, he could do without the whole chasing-and-on-the-run thing along with the frequently questionable nourishment, but it's made life a bit more interesting. With a small, absent huff he wonders what his old colleagues and friends think of his disappearance. It was really abrupt without much media coverage, but it makes sense all things considering.
He sighs into his dish, his dinner, and takes another bite. He's living quite the luxurious, glorious life, isn't he?
Alec hears a dull thudding in the distance, but it doesn't bother him. It's the rhythmic padding of steps; his companion-in-fleeing is most likely pacing on the porch just outside the window. It wraps around the house, something that simultaneously put them at ease and edge. He lowers the bowl and spoon to the counter and steps over to the window, looks out at a now very familiar figure. A wave of fondness washes over him, and he feels an increasingly rare smile float onto his lips.
He taps on the window, springing the man from the thoughts that creased and crinkled across his forehead. A smile breaks off across the man's face, and he gives Alec a small wave, approaches the window. Alec opens it.
"You're pacing again."
The man settles his eyes, a color lying somewhere between green and gold (it really depends on the light), on him. Years beyond his age leak into them, clouding them. His tone is cheery nonetheless. "Am I? I suppose I should worry about you gluing my gorgeous behind to chair, shouldn't I?"
Alec notices, but he's not going to mention anything. It makes sense, really, and he's certain Magnus can detect something akin to that in his own expressions – but nowhere near the extent of Magnus. "I'm starting to consider it more and more."
Magnus chuckles, some of his age disappearing behind a twinkle of amusement. "No more chairs for me. It's a shame, really. I've grown rather fond of them over the years."
Alec sidles up to the screen separating them and sends a wistful look back to the mediocre, expired macaroni and cheese before turning his attention once again to Magnus.
"Are you sure you aren't hungry? You should make sure you eat and rest before we leave again." They don't know how long they'll stay. The house isn't theirs, the owners don't even know they have two new tenants, so they don't know when they'll wake up to find that they have to leave. That is if they aren't found first by the Clave.
"Thanks, mother, but I think I'll pass."
Alec settles him with a look of his own. "Magnus."
"Fine. Give me a few moments to come inside."
So Alec shuts the window and returns to his macaroni and cheese silently, contemplatively.
The next thing Alec remembers after that hazy night was drifting back into a sea of black and surging pain. He groaned as he slid back into consciousness, not yet ready to open his eyes. No, not with the sharp hammering sensation at the back of his skull. There was a voice he didn't recognize humming in the background. No, not humming. Talking. Buzzing. He attempted to grumble something, but it most likely came out as something incomprehensible. There was a hand on his head, a firm hand, and another holding his shoulder down. Why, though? He just wanted to escape the pain and consciousness and sink back into the dark abyss.
The voice grew louder still, the cursed thing, and kept him from rolling over to hide in whatever soft cocoon he found himself. Alec was finally forced to agonizingly crack open an eye to glare at whatever force may have been keeping him from his flight. The sight wasn't exactly what he was expecting; then again, he wasn't sure what he was expecting. He was in his bedroom. That was great, but he demanded himself why he felt like he had been run over by a steamroller and why there was some stranger in his room.
He scrambled to the other side of the bed, forcing both hands off of him and subsequently tumbling off the edge. To say it hurt on top of all the pain he was already in was an understatement; he let out a sharp, uncharacteristic cry as he landed with a thump. The stranger was by his side in no time, waiting and calculating.
"Listen," Alec managed through gritted teeth, somehow able to keep his tone semi-level, "I don't know who you are or why you're here, but-"
"Magnus," the stranger cuts him off, studying him. "My name's Magnus, and I'm here because I was the one who stumbled across you mangled in the alley, and I couldn't very well leave you alone."
Alec blinked. That's right. The alley.
"And you knew where my apartment was?"
Magnus's expression was controlled, and he shifted his crouch. "You told me."
Alec didn't recall supplying him with that information, but it wouldn't surprise him at all; that night was already foggy as it was. "Right."
"You did. Now let's get your pretty little head back up on the bed." Magnus supplied him with a smile, one that worked to both irritate him and foster the first bud of fondness. "We don't want it to be anymore scrambled than it already is."
Alec nodded in agreement and bit his tongue from retort, feeling up the side of his bed for the top. He doubted he could stand on his own, his legs felt like jello yet, but he could manage pulling himself up onto the furniture. But the man was having nothing of letting him climb his way up on his own. He helped hoist Alec up onto the mattress and mothered him into a comfortable position – much to his protest. He wasn't a child, and he could handle himself.
Yet none of those grumblings seemed to work, and they never would.
Alec smiles fondly at the memory. He may not have been the most pleasant person in those waking moments, but he argues that he had an excuse. He was in pain, confused, and there was some strange, unfamiliar person in the room; Magnus merely nods in amusement as he debates those points. It wouldn't be until later that the question of why he hadn't been taken to the hospital hit him, and it wouldn't be until later yet that the question would finally be answered.
"Earth to Alexander. What's our water supply looking like?" A hand waves in front his face, pulling him from his memory sojourn.
"Oh, uh," he stammers, fiddling through the first backpack, one they managed to scrounge up in Alec's apartment. The three water bottles in there were full – and the same's true in the second backpack (one he would be ashamed to admit they pilfered from poor student). "It's looking good. Have you searched the pantries for anything useful?"
Magnus smirks. "If you'd have looked a bit harder you would have found some gourmet cans of Chef Boyardee and vegetables. I even managed to find a new can opener here, too."
Alec glances down in the bag, an "oh" forming on his lips. There they are, the red labels of delicacy greeting him, slightly miffed that he hadn't noticed them earlier. Hopefully they won't fight back later. He repacks the bags and zips them shut.
"I also found us some medical supplies, but they're more toward the bottom. You wouldn't be as blind to have missed them." His smirk grows, earning a frown from Alec.
"You're mocking me."
"Oh, darling. I only mock you out of love."
Alec comes back with nothing except for a blush and some fiddling with the bag before him.
After learning that the man had nowhere to go for the night and no money, Alec offered to let him stay. He felt indebted to the man who may have saved his life and, after Magnus declined many times with differing excuses, he somehow convinced the man to spend at least one night there. Soon that night turned into two, three, a week, and soon a month. Neither was sure quite how it happened, and Alec's certain he's lucky Magnus didn't turn out to be a serial killer. They fell quickly into a rhythm that entailed Alec leaving for work early in the morning, Magnus leaving to do God knew what (Alec has still never learned, although he has some guesses considering the abrupt appearance of vividly colored clothing), yet Alec returning from work to an attempted-but-still-palatable dinner, and finishing the long day with Magnus dragging Alec out from under his television-show rock.
It was a comfortable ritual, one neither wanted to break.
Alec was pondering it as he folded his clean laundry, a habit he'd formed after Magnus gave him a stink eye and a tangent on the tragedy of wrinkly clothes. He would say he was happy with his new roommate – despite his occasional tendencies – and he was sure he would get along splendidly with his younger sister. There was little room to doubt.
The door creaked open slightly, and Alec knew it was Magnus. Who else could it be, and only he was able to make the door creak just like that. How, he didn't know, but it was a long, whining creak that reminded him of a ghost creeping through the doorway.
"Alec," there was the now familiar voice, its tone light and conversational.
He didn't turn to face his new roommate and tossed a folded pair of jeans onto his navy comforter. "Yeah?"
"There's a marathon of Star Wars on."
Magnus, for all he was worth, had fallen in love with popular culture as soon as he discovered what a television was. This puzzled Alec – who had never heard of a television? – but the other merely blew of the question with an avoidant shrug. Already within the month Magnus was able to prattle on about pop culture, hits, celebrities, shows, fashion, and whatever gossip there may be than Alec had been able to in his life – and he would be willing to bet the same was true with most of the population of New York. The man was an enigmatic sponge who was growing increasingly enamored with marathons.
"And?" He knew his roommate was going to drag him away from the laundry he was folding for once, the laundry he was constantly complained to about, to see the movies.
"Come watch them with me." He leaned against the frame expectantly, his unnaturally colored eyes on the tidying man. The latter paused, contemplating, yet knowing there was no feasible way in which he could weasel his way out, and conceded a nod.
"Fine. Just give me a moment."
Magnus practically cheered in triumph and bounded out of the room and toward the living room. A small smile pulled at the edges of Alec's lips as he finished a few more articles of clothing.
Alec scrutinizes his partner on the couch, the one who was pacing relentlessly a mere hour before, the one who insisted having medical supplies (not that they weren't useless – but why not before now?), the one who double and triple checked their rations to make sure everything was as plentiful as possible, and the one who's staring back with veiled, unfocused eyes.
He wonders what's happening in that beautiful, exotic, entrancing, spellbinding head of his. Alec shifts slightly in his seat, not that the other notices, and wets his lips. Does he want to know why Magnus is acting so weirdly? Probably not, but it's probably necessary nonetheless.
His voice croaks when he finally manages to speak. "Magnus?"
The other jumps uncharacteristically; Alec blinks in surprise. "Yes, Alexander? Sorry." He shakes his head, presumably to clear away the thoughts that were eating away at him earlier.
"You're acting strange. Well, stranger than usual." He bites at his lower lip, a habit that Magnus has teased him incessantly about, but one that hasn't relented in the slightest.
Magnus exhales heavily, leans back in the chair; Alec worries at his lip more ferverently.
"I'd tease you back, but I suppose I have no choice but to tell you."
Alec raises a brow. "No choice but to tell me? Magnus, I thought we were past secrets, especially big ones."
Magnus chuckles wryly and runs a hand through his hair. "They've been getting closer, and they'll get to us soon. Listen, Alec, I don't know what'll happen, but please promise me that you'll listen to every word, every order I give you."
Alec feels his stomach drop as Magnus explains this, eradicating the anger that should be racking his body. "Magnus –"
"I don't want to hear any protest. You know I can destroy you with a snap of my fingers and not leave a trace." His eyes are hardening, steel. "We've made it out before, but that's because they were sending their lackeys. Not this time."
"But Magnus, I –" Alec's cut off again, much to his frustration, and Magnus presses forward.
"Please, Alec." His voice is pleading, his desperation cracking through his stony eyes. "Just this once, that's all I ask."
Alec's sure he tastes blood from a layer of skin he pulled off, but it's insignificant at the moment. He pulls himself forward in his chair, levels Magnus with a sturdy look. "I thought we agreed we were handling this together, no matter what will come."
Magnus works his mouth for words for a moment, another off behavior that puts Alec on edge a bit more, and then speaks. "There's not going to be anymore together if you don't get a head start and let me fend them off."
Alec snorts and shakes his head. "From the sounds of it, there's not going to be anymore together if I do."
Magnus presses his lips together in thought, Alec across from studying him in determination and fear. The former sighs heavily and closes the gap between them in hunger, desperation, and – most of all – adoration and love. They'll continue discussing it later.
The memory of their first encounter of Magnus's followers is etched indelibly in Alec's brain. The day started off normally. Alec worked that day and got home from a long shift to find Magnus flitting nervously around the apartment. Alec set his keys on the kitchen counter and crept up to the arch from the kitchen into the living room, watching the man. He didn't seem to notice him, mumbling to himself under his breath and stepping erratically around the room. It took Alec to finally call to him for his attention to snap from whatever fret he had to him.
His anxiety seemed to melt away significantly, his shoulder relaxing dramatically, and then plunged back into his fit. Magnus declared to pack what he can and absolutely needed and that they had to leave instantly. Alec was bewildered, demanding answers, but he received none. Instead he received more frantic glances and nudges as he resisted, deciding that he wouldn't budge unless he knew what was happening.
Magnus was just as stubborn. Alec suggested that he leave without him if it really were that important, but he received a look that he assumed mirrored his own when Magnus ordered him earlier. He then said that he wouldn't leave without Alec, but it was dire that they must.
Alec anchored himself to the couch in defiance, Magnus planting himself next to him.
They would stay there for another three hours silently and tensely until a deafening crash shattered Alec's will. He jumped from his seat, but Magnus merely peered up at him with a raised brow that said "I told you so" and another unreadable, unfamiliar glint. Alec would later learn it to be trepidation.
Alec couldn't find a source of the sound, but Magnus rose to his feet eerily slowly and calmly. "We know you're there. You made enough of an entrance."
A terrified blink in Magnus's direction. Who was he talking to? Why? Had he gone insane or something? There was obviously something Magnus hadn't told him earlier that would have been very nice to know.
There was the echoing sound of footsteps emanating from the hall to his bedroom, and Alec shrunk back from it. What was happening? It wasn't like he couldn't handle himself if he came down to it, he did know some basic fighting techniques, he grew up with siblings, and he could work a bow, but Alec was in the dark and frightened.
"Number Thirteen," came a sultry voice. "Long time no see. I see you've settled down."
Magnus's lips were a thin line at this point, and he turned toward the hall. "Fortunately, and I sense a bit of jealously."
A woman appeared in the opening, a wide smile plastered on her stunning face. Her lustrous green eyes darted momentarily over to Alec, taking in the poor man, and then back to Magnus. Her smile turned into something he couldn't place.
"I see you've made yourself extra comfortable." Magnus shifted his weight, uneasy.
"Leave him out of this." His tone, however, is stern, and he took no time to look back at Alec. He continued to watch the woman.
Alec felt words on the tip of his tongue, words that wanted to roll off that edge and pull back answers. Who was this woman, why was she there, and what in the world was happening? He didn't get the chance to ask then.
The woman looked at him disbelievingly. "You know the rules, not that you haven't broken them already by leaving."
"He knows nothing."
Alec finally found his voice, cracking as he finally demanded an explanation.
Both glanced back to him, the woman briefly after taking the opportunity to lunge at Magnus, her movement invisible and Magnus's response even more so. Alec stepped back toward the wall in shock, eyes widened in horror, and surveyed the scene before him.
To be honest, he still isn't sure what happened. That segment of the memory is nothing more than a flurry of motion, a cacophony of destruction, and an overwhelming sense of uselessness. He could do nothing more than press himself against the wall and hope that Magnus would come out alive from the blur, that he would survive from whatever was happening in his living room. There were times in the what felt like an eternity (but was perhaps a mere thirty seconds) when he could have sworn he saw lights dancing between the two – at least when he could make them out – and he would later learn that he wasn't mistaken.
A final, booming, resounding thunder and it was over. His apartment was demolished, there was a dead woman in the room, and Magnus was slumped on the couch once again and staring at her. Alec, to say the least, was in shock and panic for a while yet, trembling against the wall.
Magnus did nothing but breathe for a minute or two, and then he turned darkened, now slitted eyes in Alec's direction. A blink and they were gone, leaving normal, rounded pupils and more questions budding furiously in Alec's mind. Magnus rose to his feet and approached him slowly, who watched the battle weary man attentively.
"Alexander." There was that undecipherable undertone that he had learned existed that day. Then again, he'd only known the man for a month, and apparently not terribly well. Alec's glued, terrorized eyes questioned him, the man standing feet in front of him, yet he remained silent. "Alexander, say something."
"I – What –?" Alec stammered, the only words coming out in the barrage that wanted to.
Magnus paused a long moment, and then finally succumbed. He made sure to sit Alec down on the couch first despite the debris strewn across it and then made himself comfortable next to him. And then he began.
Alec isn't sure where Magnus started, but he recollects a story of a boy, a boy raised in white rooms and a sterile environment. People in white lab coats passed frequently, asking questions, testing bodily functions, injecting him, and taking him to a field to unleash a power buzzing inside of him. He wasn't told until later what it was for – and at first he wouldn't understand, but he would come to resent the purpose. He was told that he and the other children there with him were bred and modified to become weapons, weapons that could blend in and destroy at a moment's notice. Weapons that surpassed all human ability and even the highest technology. He, Number Thirteen, was one of the most prized results – until he managed to escape.
He stayed low, under the radar for three months until he stumbled across Alec, bloodied and beaten in the alley with two men closing in on him one final blow. He distinctly remembers Magnus telling him he never meant for things to get so far, he tried to distance himself, he tried to keep him in the dark in hopes that he could spare his life, but fell more and more for the man who let him in.
Magnus told him it was the first time he really had a home.
It's dead silent. Neither brought up the discussion that had transpired a mere hour and a half earlier, but they're both on the cozy, woodlandish sofa. Alec is nearly asleep on Magnus, who is stroking his hair absently. Yet, despite the haze of sleep that clouds his consciousness, his thoughts drift.
He floats between the hand carding soothingly, reassuringly through his hair, to the rise and fall of the chest below him, to the rhythmic beat of a heart under his ear, to memories of their time together. The unraveling of their story. He hums and shifts, the hand pausing in his hair as he does so, and it resumes once he stops.
"Comfortable?" a voice purrs, effectively breaking the silence between them. Alec merely hums again contentedly in response. It chuckles, presses a kiss to the top of his head. "Good, darling. Sleep."
It's quiet again, but it's comfortable. The breeze outside rustles the leaves, an occasional bird chirps in the distance, and the distant rring of the house fill in for background noises. Yet Alec is yanked back when the hand stops abruptly, the body under his tensing.
"Magnus?" His voice is groggy; his head lifts just enough to peer at the man before him.
He shushes him, forcing Alec off him as he sits up slowly.
Alec waits, lip between his teeth as usual, and turns his eyes toward their surroundings. It's the same living room. The walls are wood, as with the floor, and don't match in the slightest. There's a door ajar, the one the leads to the kitchen, and another firmly closed against the entryway. He shivers slightly as he drops his feet to the frigid floor.
He looks back over to Magnus, who is now watching him.
"They're here, Alec."
He swallows.
Magnus convinced Alec much more easily this time to pack what he needed and to travel with him. After the woman, both knew it was safe for neither of them to remain there; they had to get moving. Unfortunately there was nowhere really to go except someplace hidden until the Clave caught wind of Magnus again. Then the process would start all over again.
The first few times were nerve-wracking for Alec, but to lessening degrees as time went on. He knew he could rarely fight whoever came, but he also found himself useful in keeping an eye out for others, Magnus's blind spots, and aiming for those rare ones slow enough to peg with an arrow. Magnus insisted that, although he regretted tremendously dragging Alec into the mess, he'd been his saving grace, his grounding. After that he kissed him for the first time.
But they fell into a pattern, a sort of synchronization that allowed both of them to survive together. Magnus would remain alert of possible threats or approaches, combatting those who came too close, and leading the way when they needed to become scarce. Alec, on the other hand, became increasingly resourceful when it came to finding supplies, packing them, and using them efficiently and as limited as possible. More than that, they grew increasingly dependent on each other just for support, for some form of consistency, for some reprise.
They're both on the porch, hand in hand and waiting. Alec's waiting for Magnus to attempt once again to shoo him to the sidelines, but he's happy that he hasn't yet. Although he may have jinxed it as he tugs at their joined hands.
"Alexander. Please go. I'll find you." Magnus doesn't look at him, and Alec surmises that he refuses to. It's a losing battle – Magnus confirmed it earlier – and Alec refuses to allow him to face it alone.
He grips his hand tighter.
"No, you won't." Magnus turns his gaze to Alec, his heart melting. He scrambles to clarify. "You won't make it out, and we both know it."
"That's why you need to go."
He shakes his head. "Not without you."
"You're an infuriating, petulant child, you know that?"
Despite the situation, Alec smiles. "But you still love me."
Magnus sighs, a small smile forcing its way onto his lips. "But I still love you."
"And I love you, too."
Their smiles grow, and a crunching alerts them of four newcomers, breeching the clearing from a line of trees. One's massive – most likely Alec's usual target – and the others most likely nimbler due to their smaller size.
Alec can feel his heart beat increasingly furiously in his chest, clamps Magnus's hand tighter, yet he doesn't tear his eyes away from them.
"Number thirteen," a man, one of the smaller ones, greets solemnly as they stop about – as Alec estimates – twenty feet away.
"Number twenty-five." Magnus's tone is the same rigid he holds in these situations, but Alec can hear a nearly undetectable waver in it.
The man's demeanor doesn't change. "We have been sent by the Clave to eradicate you and whoever may be shielding or assisting you." His icy eyes fall on Alec for a split moment, and then rise back up to Magnus. "Please do not take this personally."
Alec blinks up to Magnus long enough to catch his pupils change as they do in situations like this, and he can feel him practically vibrate from the energy awakening in his body.
"Only if you don't take our resistance personally," is Magnus's reply before he pulls his hand from Alec's and tears toward the quartet.
Alec takes this as an opportunity to scoop up the bow at his feet and notch it, his target the huge man lumbering around yet thunderingly strong. The ground nearly trembles as he steps, winds erupting from his swings, all of which Magnus thankfully dodges. Yet the three others don't make his fronts any easier.
Alec levels the bow, aims, and releases the arrow to sink it into the man's elbow. It missed its target, yes, but it hit him nonetheless. He gives an echoing, gravelly cry and sets his heavy gaze on Alec; he notches another arrow.
Rumbling steps fill the property and Alec's ears as he charges, and he fires another arrow at him. This time it drives home and sickeningly so – taking out one of his stony eyes in the process – and he crashes into the porch. He's still, lying in the now mangled porch, and Alec allows himself a relieved sigh. There's one of the four down, they may actually make it out of this, and he doesn't have to reprimand himself for not being more useful afterward.
He should win a ribbon or something.
Crunching steps, grunts, and the sounds of impacts bring Alec's attention back to the trio fighting Magnus. Right. With a sinking heart, he can see his partner slowing, fatigued, but he also sees that's true with the other three. They're too fast and too close to Magnus for him to try to take one more out, so he settles for keeping an eye on his blind spots as per usual.
He worries at his lower lip, anxious yet triumphant, and observing the fight he can do little to help in. Then one of the three – the man who spoke earlier – sends a quick glance in Alec's direction; he swallows and sets another arrow to be safe.
It turns out he needs it, and it also turns out that the man is in fact too fast for him. He easily sidesteps the arrow as he rushes toward him, tearing Magnus's attention from the two women at hand. They manage to get a blow in, one that sends him back a few steps, before he returns to the fight.
Alec, on the other hand, hurries for another arrow. It's in his fingers, nearing his dearly beloved bow, when the man brushes past him.
He gasps, and the world stills. Magnus hasn't noticed – no, his attention is understandably and as necessary on the two women. He needs to keep his attention on them if he wants to survive this skirmish.
The man is stopped behind him, takes one, two, three steps so he can whisper a, "That's for Twenty, too."
Alec realizes his own hand his covering a wet, warm, sticky spot right beneath his sternum, and he also notes that pain blossoms from where some strange object – it's awfully long and slender – protrudes. His breathing becomes more erratic – was it fear? Shock? – and he drops his head to examine the injury.
It's the arrow, the one that he was scrambling to prepare.
And then his legs give out, and he lets out a small cry as he lands against the wooden planks, jostling the arrow embedded in his torso. His vision flashing white as the blossoming pain explodes, his breath shallowing in an attempt to ease it even if slightly.
He isn't sure what happens next – he can't see through the fiery, excruciating veil – but he hears frantic feet. Alec's also sure he hears Magnus's voice in there somewhere, but everything's becoming increasingly blurred together and distant he can't be sure. He just needs the pain to stop.
But the white turns dark, and everything grows farther and farther, much more detached and dreamlike. The sounds of the fight turns into background noise, a white noise, and the pain in his abdomen ebbs away slightly.
He can feel himself losing touch, and he asks himself if he's passing out or dying.
Then, in his last aware moments, he hears a sickening squelch and the sound of a body collapse. It shakes whatever plane he's on, and he hopes it isn't Magnus.