A/N Well, I've been on a roll, so I figured, why not?

This is a bit of a crossover with Holly Black's Valiant; Nevermore is borrowed from that universe. You don't need to have read Valiant to understand this story, though. It's post-CoG, in the Mortal Instruments timeline, an AU from CoFA.

There are no drugs at Magnus Bane's parties, just as a general rule. He condones alcohol and cigarettes, but nothing worse than what a little bit of one of his potions can't fix in the morning. But things slip through the cracks. He can't really be everywhere at once, he isn't really aware of everything that goes on in every nook and cranny of his house.

Its just one hit, he tells himself. And besides that, she's a Shadowhunter. He can handle this shit. He's Alec Lightwood, he has fucking angel blood, and two drinks in he feels beautiful and invincible and brave.

So when that fae girl with pink in her hair and stars in her eyes offers him a needle full of thick, syrupy liquid, he takes it from her and rolls up his sleeve.

Nevermore is what its called, but all it is really is fairy dust, fae magic. You put it in a spoon with some water and a little piece of cotton, heat it up and suck it up in a syringe and it shoots like heroin. But its not- its not bad for you like heroin, right? Because its just magic. And, being with Magnus, Alec has learned that magic is good. Magic is life. So its not really so awful. It can't be.

And it smells like burned sugar, which only makes sense. Sweetness licked at by the fires of hell. Like faeries. Like-

And Alec has stopped thinking because that faerie girl has found a vein and is pushing down on the plunger, spreading icy fire through him from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. He closes his eyes, he lets go, and he is gone.

He, is, gone.

Alec wakes up in his boyfriend's bed, alone and naked and sore all over. He wants to cry, not because of what he did, but because of what he can't remember he did. Everything past the Nevermore is a blur. Its disappointing, frustrating, because he compromised himself, and what did he get for it? Nothing. He's got nothing.

Maybe if he just… tried it once more. He just needs a smaller dose, that's all. Then he'll remember. He just needs to get his hands on one more hit.

Magnus comes into the room, then, also naked, holding two cups of coffee, so, for now, Alec pushes the thought away.

There are some mundane kids with the Sight who live down in an abandoned part of the subway. Mostly Alec feels bad for them, but they're really only there by choice, he knows now. They make a decent living skimming and dealing the Nevermore. Addicts, all of them.

And for just $550 a gram, he can be just like them.

-except he won't be just like them, because he's too smart for that. He's too good for that. He's a Shadowhunter, for the Angel's sake; he's practically immune to shit like this.

3 grams. More, much more, than what he had at the party. But its not like he's going to take it all, he just needs enough for a high and whatever he fucks up beforehand. Its not like he really knows what he's doing, just what he saw that faerie girl do. Its not that hard to get his hands on the rest of it. Spoon, needle, cotton, water, tourniquet.

"Where have you been all day?" Jace asks suspiciously when he gets home, 11:30 at night, too nervous to do anything more than shrug and push past him. Alec doesn't need him to know- even though someone probably should, just in case this all goes south and he ends up dead on the bathroom floor-

But no. It won't happen. It won't. not to him.

The bag of Nevermore weighs in his pocket like rocks.

It stays in that pocket for three days before Alec works up the nerve to pull the kit out from under his mattress. He preps the powder, sucking what he's made up into the needle and tapping to get the air bubbles out. It looks the same as when she did it, just… less. He ties to rubber band around his upper arm, just above his elbow. The vein stands out stark and blue against pale skin. Now or never. Or just later, he guesses, if not either one of those.

The needle pinches only just a little when it punctures skin. It stings a little more when the plunger pushes down.

And after that-

Ah.

Bliss.

Alec is floating.

Slumped over on the bathroom floor, Alec is free as a bird and far away. He doesn't recall tugging the needle from his arm, taking the tourniquet off, tucking everything up and away under the sink oh so carefully. He can't have been there long, though. He's not-

Oh. Oh.

Colors. Lights. Everything is… beautiful. Light. A laugh bubbles up in his throat, out of his mouth, and he sees it float in waves across the air. How glorious. How-

Alec sits up. He gets to his feet and looks at himself in the mirror. He looks… different. Flushed. Pupils blown. His mouth turns up at the corners and he's not even trying. Wow. Ha. And he can't stop laughing.

This is probably a good time for a walk, right. His reflection in the mirror nods at him, though he can't feel the motion being made by his own head. It should be scary, but its not. Its just funny, like everything else.

Shoes. He needs shoes. He puts them on and out he goes.

Alec spends as much time in the park as it takes for the high to wear off. Its almost a solid twelve hours, with 3 AM seeing him barely stumbling inside. He's dead tired and achy again, and he wonders if that's an aftereffect of the Nevermore or just from the way he tosses himself around when he's on it. No pain, no sense of how far he can push himself. Which means it would be way too east to push himself too far.

Isabelle's on him the second he walks in. "Where have you been? I've been worried sick! We covered for you when mom called and Jace is still out looking for you and-"

She throws her arms around his neck and buries her face in his neck. "You're ok, right?"

"Yeah," Alec hesitantly wraps his arms around her, guilt coloring his words. "I'm fine. Just lost track of time?"

She doesn't look like she believes him. If he were her, he wouldn't believe him, either.

It takes another week for him to touch the Nevermore again. He's fought with everyone he loves in the past seven days: Jace is still going hard on him in training; Isabelle shoots him dirty looks whenever they're in the same room; his parents have taken two separate phone calls to tell him about their disappointment in him; Magnus isn't even talking to him at all. For most of it, he's not even sure what he did. So, yeah, this week has kicked his ass, and he just wants to feel good, so-

He actually got a lot more of that stuff than he realized. Its barely a pinch to get him where he needs to be. And- well, he doesn't wanna waste it. That was a thousand and some bucks. He'll just use what he has and then he'll just be done.

He shoots up and lets go, again, again.

In that moment, he wonders if he'll ever come back down.

He goes five days. Then three. Then just two. He just wants that lightness. That's all he wants. That's all.

At some point after he's screamed himself horse at Magnus, he decides that the only thing that could make the Nevermore better is if he was on it, and in a club. Pandemonium looks good this time of night, and he knows he can get in, if not with runes of concealment then with charm. The Nevermore removes his inhibitions, leaves him open and free and easy.

And easy.

She looks 22 and gorgeous, and she doesn't mind that he doesn't have a condom, and she doesn't mind that he comes all over her face. The back rooms there are surprisingly clean. He doesn't feel guilty about it until the next morning, and, really, not even then.

Apparently, iratzes don't heal track mark when they're from fae magic. No big deal. With Magnus still avoiding him, he's only ever not wearing sleeves on the dance floor.

He's not even sure why he likes it, the mass of roiling bodies, the sweat and shared breath and closeness to everything he hates being close to. But maybe it's the Nevermore that likes it. Not him. He can't really tell the difference anymore.

"Hey, are you ok?"

Jace asks it out of the blue while they're training. Alec is about to laugh (of course he's not still high, of course he's not still waiting for the last of his last hit to wear off because no pain means that he can fuck around with Jace all he wants and not feel it.) but he thinks his brother might find that suspicious. He rolls his eyes instead. "I'm fine."

Jace is straddling him, sitting up on him while Alec is on his back. If he wasn't still feeling the Nevermore, Alec would have been red in the face and choking for him to get off of him, but instead he stays relaxed, pliant and uncaring. And Jace is frowning above him, his voice quiet. "You know if you weren't we would be here for you, right? If you ever needed help or something?"

"I don't, alright?" Alec snaps, coming down fast with the turn this conversation has taken. He shoves none too gently at Jace's chest, rocking him back slightly. "Get the fuck off me."

Jace blinks, not moving an inch. "If you're fine, then what's been up with you for the past, like, three months? You stay out later, you're barely ever home, you don't even talk to us anymore, Alec-"

This time, he does laugh. Three months. He's been using for at least six. "What are you, my mother?"

"Well, she's not here, so someone has to be," Jace snaps, irritated. "Why, am I not pretty enough to be your mother? Should I have used more lipstick? More blush?"

"You're plenty pretty." And, fuck all, he's still just high enough to think that its an invitation to get flirty, settling his hands on Jace's waist and languidly rolling his hips up to grind against the other boy's ass. "Want some sugar, pretty boy?"

Sugar. He doesn't know if he's offering Jace a kiss or a hit.

But Jace doesn't even move. He just stares down at his parabatai with wide eyes, hands fisted in the front of Alec's shirt after having been jostled by him. Alec counts this as a win. Nothing, nothing surprises Jace.

He shoves Jace off of him and gets to his feet, a little wobbly, not quite staggering, as he heads for the door.

Alec isn't stupid. He knows that there's a difference between being a recreational user and being an addict. He knows that he crossed that line a long time ago. He knows even better that he's crossed a lot more lines since then.

When Isabelle comes to confront him about what happened with Jace in the training room, it takes everything in him not to physically push her away. He wishes things were different, but its not like he's going to do anything about it. He pushes past her out of his room, out of the Institute, and into the night.

Since that first night, Alec has never shot up with a needle that wasn't his own, but he finds that he doesn't mind so much sharing with those mundie kids down beneath the subway.

Alec gets home a few days later, and the first things he does is go looking for a hit. When he gets to his room, e finds it even more a wreck than he left if. Clothes everywhere, drawers on the floor, all of his weapons and all of his shit all over the place. And fuck that makes him angry.

"You know," drawls a voice from the doorway behind him, "I don't think I'd seen Isabelle cry since she was about nine, until yesterday."

Alec turns to face Jace, leaning casually against the door frame. "What did you do to my room?"

"I went looking for buried treasure," Jace holds up his hands innocently. "Came up empty, though. Such a shame, seeing as I thought I would at least find a little more gay porn-"

Jace reels back as Alec's fist collides with his jaw. Alec slams the door, locking it behind him and trying to stop the trembling in his hands. There's no way he'll be able to get the need in right when she's shaking like that.

The kit is right up under the sink cabinet where he left it. Thank the Angel for small favors. He unties it, unrolls it, reaches for the packet of powder, and-

Its empty.

He said he would be done. He told himself that when he ran out, that would be it. And, at the time, it seemed like a pretty good deal. Now, not so much.

He needs it. He needs it.

Since Jace is still pounding on his door, Alec uses a rope to climb down two stories out the window.

This batch is one of the best in weeks, they tell him. Hate to see it go, but he's gonna love it. He gives them $800 for just two hits; he's gonna have to be more careful with Jace and Isabelle both asking questions and looking through his stuff. Enough for half the week, that'll be good enough, for now. He'll just have to come back soon.

He takes it home and climbs back up through the window. The door is still locked but Jace seems to have given up trying to break it down. A small stroke of luck, for now.

Alec settles down on the bed and preps the Nevermore and himself. He's only gonna take the one dose, but- but he's frustrated. He's angry. And he doesn't just want that lightness, he wants to be so fucking light that he drifts up and away and never comes back down. He wants it. He needs it.

He mixes up the whole batch and sucks it up into the syringe.

Nevermore has rules.

Never more than once a day.

Never more than two days in a row.

Never more than a pinch at a time.

Alec disregards these as folly.

The first thing Alec does after he pushes the plunger down and pulls the needs out of his arm is spill his guts on the floor.

He doesn't know- he's not really sure where the floor is; everything is spinning and he's nauseous and his lungs feel too small to take a breath, he can't breathe-

Is this what OD-ing feels like? Is he dying?

No. No, no, no, this can't be happeneing to him.

Alec lurches off the bed and falls almost flat on his face. The stone floor burns, jarring him down to his bones on impact. He tries to choke out a cry of pain but all that comes up is bile, singeing his throat and mouth. The door isn't even four feet away, but it stretches out like miles.

It must take him at least ten minutes to cross that space. He feels like he's dying. But if he can just get there, if he can just get into the hall, he- he can get to Jace. He can get to Isabelle. He can get help.

For a split second, he wonders if he wants the help. He's been burning bridges left and right; lying to his parents, pushing away his sister, cheating on his boyfriend, assaulting his parabatai. Would it really even matter, if he died. Wouldn't it just be a relief? For everyone?

No. No, he wants to live. For himself. He wants to be alive.

It is so hard to pull himself up and unlock the door. It is so hard to turn the knob and force it open. But he does it, because he has to.

Its easy to fall back down, half in and half out of the hall. Jace screaming from behind a closed door somewhere down the hall is the last thing he hears before he blacks out.

Alec feels heavy. Too heavy. It hurts. Everything, everything hurts. He wants to keep his eyes closed, pretend none of this is happening, and it will all go away. But he can't, not forever, so he's not going to put off the inevitable any longer.

Clary is asleep in a chair near his feet, curled up soft and delicate. To his left are Magnus, and Isabelle in his lap, curled close together and eyes closed in sleep. To his right, though, is Jace- eyes fixed on him like a hawk on its prey, standing behind the chair, his hands gripping the back of it so tight his knuckles are white. He holds Alec's eyes for a very long moment, and when he speaks, his voice is low, so as not to wake the others.

"I felt it," Jace raises one hand to his chest, palm pressed over his heart. "Right here, when your heart stopped."

When your heart stopped. Oh, Angel. Oh, Angel, that means he-

"You were technically dead for three minutes." Jace doesn't choke, doesn't trip over his words. Just deadpans them. Facts. "If Magnus hadn't been so close, you would be dead still."

Alec just blinks at him slowly, uncomprehendingly. Magnus. Magnus saved him again. Again, like he always does. Alec doesn't deserve that.

Jace moves to sit in the chair, leaning forwards with his elbows on his knees. Voice still low, eyes still on Alec's, he says, "I don't understand this. Any of it. But I'm here, and I want you to know that, because I'm not going anywhere."

Alec doesn't register that he's started to cry until Jace's face gets blurry. He doesn't realize that his mouth is moving until he hears his own voice in his ears, broken and guilty, repeating, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry-"

Jace leans forwards and pulls Alec against his chest, and even though it hurts, Alec has never felt anything better than his parabatai's arms around him.

"Its alright," Jace is telling him. "It'll be ok. Everything- everything is going to be ok."

For the first time in months, Alec listens, and he believes.

A/N cont

Its been a while since I read Valiant, so I pretty much based the use/measurements for Nevermore off of what google said about heroin. I hope no one goes through my internet history.

Reviews would be lovely, and thank you for reading.

xRachel