Worse Than Death

Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to Cassandra Clare. They are not mine.

Warning: This story contains character death, lots of angst and will eventually delve into some other sensitive subjects.

Magnus lay on his bed under his covers and stared at the dull ceiling. It was a white ceiling, with traces of mold spreading from the corners. Pale light shown from behind his ratty gray curtains, telling him that it was morning and that he should be getting up. At least, he figured it was morning, but it could be the afternoon for all he cared. He didn't feel like getting up. He had no reason to.

The warlock's stomach growled loudly, taking him away from his trance. He groaned, placing a hand over it and willed it to calm down. It refused him, growling even louder and sending pangs throughout his whole body. Magnus sighed and forced himself to sit up. He couldn't remember the last time he had eaten. Food had lost it's appeal for him and eating was just something he did to keep himself alive.

Alive. Magnus thought bitterly as he threw back the covers and got to his feet. There was a time when staying alive was all I really cared about.

He walked slowly down the hall and downstairs towards the kitchen, rubbing at his tired eyes. No matter how much he slept, he never felt rested. He doubted he ever would again. It had been nearly six months since the war with the Dark Shadowhunters had happened and he was still in just as much pain as he was back then. The war had been won and the world had been saved. And none of it had mattered. Not to Magnus. He had lost everything.

The warlock's shoulders slumped and he breathed another deep sigh. The pain in his chest had intensified and tears began to sting his cat eyes. Cursing, he pulled out a box of corn flakes and tried to distract himself with a meager breakfast. He pulled some milk from the refrigerator and poured some into his bowl, only to find it coming out in lumps. A rank smell filled his nostrils and he cursed again. The milk had expired last week.

With a snap of his fingers, the expired milk disappeared and was replaced by a carton of fresh milk. He dumped the bowl of corn flakes and spoiled milk into the garbage can, noticing that it was quite full and that there were flies buzzing everywhere in his kitchen. There was also a rank smell coming from the garbage that he hadn't noticed before. Shaking his head, he snapped his finger again, removing the garbage from his kitchen. He would deal with the flies later. He didn't feel like dealing with them at the moment.

Maybe the Chairman will eat them. Magnus thought as he made a new bowl of cereal. He does like to chase them.

As if on cue, Chairman Meow jumped up on the white counter top and nudged Magnus with his head to get his attention. The small white cat made a piteous meow, it's paw stretched out towards the fresh carton of milk. Smiling a little, Magnus found a little bowl in the cupboard and filled it with milk. The small kitty eagerly lapped up the offering, while Magnus tried to eat his breakfast without enthusiasm.

Magnus forced a few spoonfuls down his throat, barely tasting the food. He ate just enough to assuage his hunger pangs, then he poured the rest down the sink. He put the bowl on top of a growing pile of dishes that he didn't want to clean. Then he moved over to his comfy red armchair and sat down. He sat there in his pajamas and stared at the peeling wall paper across the room, lost in thought. The Chairman came and sat on his lap once he had finished his breakfast. Magnus absently stroked the cat behind the ears and listened to him purr.

If he were perfectly honest, the little cat was the only thing that kept him going these past few months. The warlock hadn't been in the mood for socializing since the war ended. He talked with his clients and then only briefly. Otherwise, he'd been left alone and that was what he wanted.

Then again, Magnus thought bitterly, it's not like there's anyone who wants to talk with me anyway.

As with most wars, this one had brought a high body count with it. Luke and Jocelyn. Jordan and Maia. Maryse and Robert. The Daylighter, Simon, who had given his life to restore the balance and end the war. He had been the final casualty of the war, dying shortly after...shortly after Alec had.

Magnus swallowed heavily, a hard lump in his throat. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He didn't want to break down again. He had broken down more times than he wanted to count these past few months. It wouldn't help him to do it again. Unfortunately, with his eyes closed all he could see were images of Alec. The beautiful blue eyes, the messy jet black hair, the slender, fit body covered in scars. The image was burned into the back of his eye lids, as his memories were the only way he could see Alec now. His lovely, shy, awkward boy was gone and he would never get him back.

The warlock opened his eyes and brooded in the silence. Alexander had perished just before the war had ended, not even leaving a body behind. Magnus had gone over the moment of his death over and over again in his mind, until he had forced himself to stop. It wouldn't change anything. It wouldn't bring Alec back.

His death had left Magnus devastated and he was far from the only one. Isabelle and Jace had both survived the war and the death of their older brother had left them both reeling. Both of them had told him that they knew what happened wasn't all his fault, but at the same time they had both expressed that they wanted nothing to do with him. Isabelle had flatly informed him that she never wanted to see him again. The last time he had seen her, she was standing in front of her brother's grave, her dark eyes lifeless and hollow.

After that, he had moved away from New York City. He couldn't bear to stay in his old apartment any longer. Everywhere he looked he was reminded of Alec. His mark was everywhere and the scent of sandalwood, a scent they had both come to love, haunted the air. Every inch of the apartment was a reminder of the most precious thing he had ever had. That precious thing that he would never see again.

He had relocated to Los Angeles, a city he had never particularly cared for. He had no fond memories of the city from the times he had visited and no acquaintances in the area. Hence why he thought it would be the perfect place for him to relocate. No one knew him there. He would be left alone. That was what he had wanted at the time. But now, sitting here all alone brooding in silence, he wondered if he had made the right choice in running away.

Running away from trouble was something he had been good at in his life. It had always worked before. After all, back then, all he had cared about was self preservation. To live to see another day.

A mocking smile appeared on his lips as he lowered his head into his hands. He cringed at his own foolishness, wondering how he could have learned so little about life in his eight hundred years at it. A question rung out in his mind, one that had haunted him since he had ran away to Los Angeles.

What's the point of living forever if you have nothing worth living for?

Magnus let the thought reverberate through his mind for a moment before he pushed it back down. He abruptly stood up from his chair and walked back up to his bedroom. He hastily picked out an outfit, snapped it on and went to the bathroom. He made some modest adjustments to his appearance, mostly hiding the dark shadows beneath his eyes. Then, he marched out of the door of his apartment and went outside into the afternoon sun. He didn't want to sit in his dirty, cramped apartment for a minute longer. He was going to take a long walk.

Author's Note: This story has been an idea I've had in my head for a while now. The next two chapters will probably be background information and then the story will move along. Anyway, thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this first chapter. Leave a review if you have time!