This is the first fanfic I've written for this series in years. I've remained in love with Cassandra Clare's writing and her characters, but haven't been inspired to write any fanfic for the Shadowhunter World. I recently read "Born To Endless Night" and this incoherent mess of a fic was born. I haven't read the earlier Mortal Instruments books in years and don't have any of them at school with me, so if I make some factual errors, please bear with me. Don't judge too harshly, but please let me know what you think?
"You're in love with him," is the first thing Tessa says when Magnus pauses to breathe, "Aren't you?"
Magnus nearly drops the phone. "What?"
Tessa's familiar laugh warms hears ears, crackling across miles and countries, rich with static. "You're in love with him," she says more clearly, seriously, "you care a lot about this boy."
"I saved his life. I'm a warlock," Magnus runs his hand through his already spiked hair, nearly tearing it with frustration. 'It's what I do."
His fingers are still buzzing with magic, tiny sparks snap between his fingers. He's exhausted, but too full of power to even consider sleeping.
"Magnus," Tessa says, gently, calmly, "Magnus, are you alright?"
He doesn't know how to answer her question. Chairman Meow is glaring at him from the corner, a bristling, indignant ball of fur. The energy in the room is raw and rubbing, Magnus's skin feels hyper sensitive, burning, dangerous. He'd spent the past few hours rushing to the institute, and then another fighting to save the life of a dying Shadowhunter boy.
It had all been a blur—the Lightwood girls frantic message, Clary, small, covered in blood, furiously confused, the mundane boy, standing despondent in a corner, and Jace, the one with the golden hair and a wit that reminded Magnus to much of the past, cradling his parabatai in his arms.
Alec, that was his name, Magnus remembers, Alec Lightwood.
He was badly injured, his face a sickly pallor, his clothes covered in blood, fresh blood, even as Jace drew iraztes. Jace looked up, eyes wild with panic. "Help him," He whispered, "Please."
Magnus didn't think. Bending down he lifted Alec out of his parabatai's arms and rushed him into the institute's infirmary. "Don't come in," He snapped, then as Jace opened his mouth to protest, "I need to work alone. I promise I'll do everything I can to save your parabatai's life."
Jace had still looked furious, but nodded sharply.
Magnus closed the door.
"Magnus," Tessa says, bringing him back to the present with a sudden jolt. Her mothering voice. "Are you still there?"
"Here," Magnus almost snaps. He needs air.
Throwing open his apartment door, Magnus half runs, half falls down the stairs. Chairman Meow lets out an indignant hiss as the door slams shut.
The city is alive with color and noise but somehow Magnus finds this soothing. Stepping out onto the hum of New York's city streets allows him to fade a little. He will never perfectly blend in with the mundane world, but in the wild lights of this city, he can relax. Taking deep, heaving breaths, Magnus begins walking. He has no idea where.
"Where are you?" Tessa asks.
"Outside," Magnus says, the word coming ragged and worn. He's so exhausted he's slurring his words now. Not a good sign. Tilting his face up towards the wind, he allows his eyes to slip closed for half a second, savoring the cool air.
"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Tessa's voice is sharp with concern.
"Not particularly," Magnus admits. Shaking his head, he turns down an alleyway. The monotonous motion of walking is clearing his head.
"I'm not hanging up until I know you're back at your apartment."
It's a ridiculous statement. Magnus is the High Warlock of Brooklyn. He's over six hundred years old, many centuries Tessa's senior. He can take care of himself. Still, the fierce protectiveness in her voice is touching. There are not many people in Magnus's life who care for him so deeply, or who have known him for as long as Tessa has. He's lucky to have her as a friend. "Alright," he sighs, and turns down another street, heading in the direction of home. "I'm going back."
"Are you going to see him again?"
Magnus rolls his eyes, though he can feel his heart skip a few beats in his chest, "Probably. You know how Shadowhunters are always coming to me for help. Annoying brats."
Tessa laughs again. "I know you don't really mean that, Magnus."
"Yes, I'll probably see him again. I don't know."
"You know what I mean," Tessa's voice is sly, "Are you going to call him?"
Magnus is in no state to have this conversation. "Tessa Gray—"
She laughs.
Alec Lightwood has destroyed Magnus's life.
Being in love with a Shadowhunter is dangerous. Magnus knows how brief their burning lives are, how intensely they love and how intensely that love can hurt.
Alec Lightwood is a warrior—a proud, beautiful warrior with terrible fashion sense. Brave Alec Lightwood, who has to live in fear and shame for who he is, who still desperately loves his parabatai and has always been so busy trying to save other people that he has never stopped to even consider himself.
Magnus lies on his back, arms crossed behind his head, Chairmen Meow at his feet, and stares up at the ceiling.
He is in love with a Shadowhunter.
Chairmen Meow stands and stretches, kneading his claws against Magnus's wool socks, purring. Magnus looks at his cat and sighs. "This is not going to end well," he says.
It doesn't end well.
The streets of Alicante are a mess of shattered cobblestone and flames. Blood runs through the streets like water. The air is full of screams—high pitched demonic screeches, Downworlders and Shadowhunters alike crying out in pain or grief. Magnus is alive with magic. He and Alec fight side by side, a whirl of blue fire and seraph blades. Magnus has to admit, there is something exhilarating about this, something invigorating about fighting side by side with the person he loves. He's been in battles before, obviously, been afraid for his life before, but never like this.
Now the entire world is crumbling around them, quite literally. They've lost so many people, so many Shadowhunters would join their dead in the City of Bones after tonight, so many of Magnus's Downworlder kin lay dead at his feet. Children still cry, a constant wail—white noise to Magnus now.
Alec is fierce, a constant blur of motion at Magnus's side. He reaches out now and grabs Magnus's wrist. "Back up," He's panting, the words are quick, breathless, without thoughts. "We need to retreat back into—"
A demon leaps at them and they act.
Alec's blade sweeps up in a perfectly executed arc. Magnus's fingers spark with fire. Both of their weapons find purchase: the creature falls back, shrieking. Alec leaps after it in pursuit, angling his body defensively so he is in between the demon and Magnus. Magnus is torn between affection and exasperation. Alec Lightwood. Always putting himself last.
He's momentarily distracted by another demon, this one with a spiked tail and a disgusting tentacle-like tongue that flickers out and wraps around a column of a building, sending it crumbling to the ground.
Magnus is exhausted. If he is being honest with himself, he knows that he cannot keep fighting like this for much longer. Magic is not an inexhaustible resource, despite what the Shadowhunters seem to believe. Taking a deep breath, he reaches for the last flicker of power he can feel burning somewhere in his belly. It sparks up his arms and flares out at his fingertips. It is a pleasant kind of burn, tingling and wild. Tossing back his sweaty hair, Magnus shoves his hand forward, fingers splayed.
The fire erupts out with a kind of roar, startling the creature. It rears back, tail swinging out. Magnus ducks—
And Alec is there.
Landing with Shadowhunter grace in front of Magnus, he sweeps his blade down in a ferocious arc. Ichor sprays, hitting Magnus's cheek as the demon's tail falls to the blood soaked streets. Shrieking the demon whirls, and Magnus snaps his fingers, pulling the air from its lungs. It's a complicated piece of magic and he staggers back, vision swimming as the demon falls, choking.
A hand grasps his elbow, firm, gentle. Magnus blinks, struggling to focus and sees dark hair, blue eyes. Alec.
The Nephilim is watching him with concern. He's covered in ichor and blood, his hair sweat soaked and plastered to his head. There is a long gash down his right cheek which Magnus aches to heal, and he's favoring his left leg. But he smiles, and all that seems to fade away. Magnus does not think he's ever seen a smile more sincere that Alec Lightwood's.
"We make a good team," Alec says.
Magnus coughs a laugh, drawing strength from Alec's hand, warm and sure against his arm. "We do," he says, and smiles back.
They survive the war.
They survive so much more than that—stares and hate and guilt. Alec is stoic and tall and proud in the face of his father's prejudice and the Clave's hatred. Magnus is proud of him.
And then, because Magnus is convinced that the Lightwood family is cursed, Jace disappears. Alec is pounding on his door and it's past midnight and Chairmen Meow is hissing and wailing and Magnus does not know if he can handle this. Taking a deep breath, Magnus throws open his door.
Alec is on the threshold looking horribly small in his overlarge sweater. His face is ashen, his eyes bloodshot and wild.
"Alec—" Magnus begins, but the word barely leaves his lips and then Alec is kissing him. Wildly, desperately. His hands are fists in Magnus's hair.
Magnus catches Alec, wraps his arms around him. When the Nephilim breaks away with a ragged breath, Magnus strokes back his hair. His heart is pounding in his chest, with adrenaline and love and aching with empathy. He's seen this fragile, fierce look before, the same eyes even. For half a second he is a world away and Will Herondale is staring up at him from his parabatai's death bed, all hollow and hopeless and furious at the world.
Then Magnus blinks and all he can see is Alec. "I'm sorry," is all he can think to say. Reaching up he tilts Alec's chin up, strokes back his hair, "I'm sorry Alexander, I'm so sorry."
Alec shakes his head fiercely, leaning into Magnus's palm. He wraps a hand firmly around Magnus's wrist. His fingers are as cold as ice. "He's not dead," he whispers, ragged, "He's not dead. He's gone, I can't explain it, but—" he swallows visibly. "He's alive," He glares up at Magnus, defensive. "I would know if he-"
"I know," Magnus whispers, wiping a stray tear off Alec's cheek with his thumb. "I believe you. He's not dead."
"The Clave won't listen to me," Alec growls. Pushing past Magnus he stalks into the loft, going to stand by the open window and stare out at the city lights.
Magnus watches him. Alec has always been gangly, but these past few years Magnus has seen his strength. Now his boyfriend is all awkward angles and sloping soldiers, bowing under the weight of his loss. Alec has always been so strong, so sure of his duty to protect those he loves. Now, with his parabatai gone….
Stepping forward, Magnus wraps his arms around Alec's waist, pressing a kiss to the Shadowhunter's cool cheek. "Alec," he says, "we will find him."
"You'll help?" It's a choked whisper, perhaps Alec hadn't even intended to say the words aloud, but Magnus hears them.
"Of course I'll help," Magnus says just as softly. "We'll bring him home."
Alec turns, burying his face in Magnus's chest, wrapping his arms around him. They are so close that Magnus can feel each and every one of Alec's shuddering breaths as if they are his own. Resting his cheek against Alec's dark head, Magnus stares out at the New York Skyline and holds the sobbing Shadowhunter as long as he needs to.
In the dark, Alec's hand finds Magnus's. His touch is so familiar now that Magnus does not flinch. A year ago he would have been pleasantly surprised, now the gesture is natural.
He has to admit, it's a little frightening how easy this feels.
"Are you awake?" Alec whispers.
Magnus rolls over onto his side. Snapping his fingers to turn on the bedside light. Its glow is dull, illuminating the room with a rich yellow glow, casting long shadows across the bedsheets. Alec's eyes are more pale in the shadows. He looks up at Magnus from his pillow. His hair is a tangled mess. Magnus can see faded and fresh runes along his boyfriends arm. Looking down at their joined hands he says, "I'm awake." Alec's wrists are scarred. Magnus rubs a finger along his boyfriend's knuckles, feeling the slight rise and fall of old scars there as well. A Shadowhunter's life was a life of scars and killing.
"I can't stop thinking about it," Alec's voice is a soft whisper. "The demon dimension."
"You mean meeting me illustrious father?" Magnus tries to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but it isn't easy. He's been dreaming of their time in the demon realms too, although he hasn't told Alec. They've been getting better about being more honest with each other, but that does not mean that Magnus has to run to Alec crying about a nightmare. He's over six hundred years old. He can handle it.
Alec's grip tightens on Magnus's hand. "You almost died."
"I know," Magnus says, quietly. For so long death had not seemed like an option. He'd endured for so long, lived through so much. He'd be lying if he said he had never thought about ending it, but he had not expected to die this year, this century, ever. The demon realms had been an entirely new, shocking, terrifying experience, and he knew that he had upset Alec.
"I wanted to save you," Alec whispers, and shifts closer to press a quick kiss to Magnus's lips, just a peck. He tastes like coffee and salt and Alec. Magnus closes his eyes. "I'm sorry about what happened to Simon. I'm sorry I couldn't-"
"Alexander Lightwood," Magnus says, "Shut up."
He tangles his fingers through Alec's hair and pulls him closer so they share breaths, so he can see nothing but those blue eyes. Magnus kisses him, and he doesn't think about dying or demon realms or his father.
He's home.
Magnus wakes to screaming.
He sits up in a panic, conjuring up an orb of light between his fingers. The room flares with color and he sees that its only Max, kicking and wailing in his crib.
Beside him Alec tenses.
"Go back to sleep," Magnus says gently, rubbing a hand across Alec's back, "I'll take care of him."
Alec had been out with Jace all day demon hunting. He'd returned covered in ichor, bruised, battered and exhausted. After he'd nearly fallen asleep at the table, Magnus had carried him to bed. He threatened to magic Alec to sleep if the Shadowhunter protested, but his boyfriend had promptly passed out cold the second his head hit the pillow.
Alec murmurs something incoherent and turns his head away.
Smiling, Magnus throws back the covers and pads across the room to his son. "You," he whispers to the wailing warlock baby, "can be a real trouble maker, you know that?"
The baby has stopped screaming. His cries are breathless little pants as he stares up at Magnus, wide eyed and wondering.
Reaching down, Magnus lifts Max up into his arms and carries the child out of the room. He doesn't want to wake the rest of the academy, but Max likes to look at the moon when he can't sleep, and frankly Magnus doesn't care what those bratty Nephilim children think. They're probably half up anyway, nursing bruises or kissing or something.
"That was an old thought," he comments to Max as they step down the stairs. He's been keeping track of thoughts like this, thoughts that differentiate him. It's a strange thing, being immortal. He's neither very young or very old. Caught in the middle. He knows Alec finds it strange.
He knows that's one of the reasons Alec loves him.
Max starts to cry again, and Magnus shifts him so his son can look over his shoulder as they walk. Patting the babies back, Magnus murmurs breathless phrases in Indonesian. Incoherent words that don't really make sense, but Max finds the sound soothing; he quiets.
Pushing open the door of the academy, Magnus and Max step out onto the grounds. It's a full moon tonight, and the sky is a warm, deep blue. The moon is a full yellow, illuminating the clouds around it with its brilliance. Magnus and Max stand in the silver light. His son reaches out a fist, as if he can catch the moon and play with it.
Magnus laughs and kisses him on his blue cheek. "You can't play with the moon, little one," he says gently. "it's way up there in the sky."
Max whimpers, as if disappointed, and Magnus rocks him. "Shhh," he soothes. "Go to sleep. Please go to sleep."
The warlock baby stares up at him defiantly, and Magnus sighs. "One day," he says, so softly he half hopes his son doesn't hear him, "It will just be us. You, me, and the moon."
Max looks up at him and laughs.
And then, one day it is just them.
Magnus doesn't count the years anymore, but he's nearing nine hundred now, give or take. Max is grown, still wonderfully blue, still fiercely protective, still hilariously funny.
Alec is gone.
Magnus tries not to think of Alec, often, but on days like this he can't help it.
Max wakes Magnus up and drags him and Caterina outside. It's sunny today, which Magnus thinks is just unfair. It should not be sunny on a day like today.
Caterina has baked a cake, because that is the kind of person she is. Still optimistic and so alive after all she has seen and heard. Magnus is in awe of her.
She wraps an arm around his shoulders and pulls him close. "Blow out the candles and make a wish?" she suggests gently.
She's trying to be kind, but Magnus does not want to eat birthday cake for his love because Alec is not there to eat it himself. He does not want to blow out his candles, choke on the smoke. He does not want to go back to an empty house.
Max sits down beside him. Max, named after the little Lightwood boy Magnus had never really met, Max, a living testimony that yes, Alec had been real. It hadn't been a wonderful dream. Alec had been real. He'd loved Magnus.
And now he is gone.
Magnus's son takes his hand. Gently, and then with a sad little smile, he leans forward and blows out the candles. They watch the smoke disappear into a cloudless blue sky. "Happy Birthday, Dad," Max whispers. He turns and looks at Magnus, almost expectant.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, Magnus tilts his head back and stares up at the dizzyingly blue sky. It's not quite the same blue as Alec's eyes had been, but it is close enough. "Happy Birthday, love," he whispers.