So. Much. Writer's block. Well, less writer's block, more I-got-a-new-idea-for-my-novel-and-I-really-really-really-want-to-write-it. But you guys are lucky and I managed to type this out. Even though it's not very good and probably riddled with typos. (I wrote it one handed while eating a piece of pizza.)

I decided that Jace and Isabelle's side story will be included, but POVs will switch around every chapter or two, so you don't spend too long with them.

Disclaimer: My name's still not Cassandra Clare. I only wish.

"His wings are gray and trailing, Azrael, Angel of Death, And yet the souls that Azrael brings Across the dark and cold, Look up beneath those folded wings, And find them lined with gold" —Robert Gilbert Welsh quotes

Magnus lay awake on the ground for a long time. But he kept his eyes closed, lingering precariously on the edge of sleep, keeping himself just enough in his dream so that he wouldn't realize where he was. Because he didn't want to know. Even without remembering everything that had happened, there was enough animal instinct in his brain to tell him that something was terribly wrong. And he didn't want things to be wrong. So, he kept his eyes closed.

If he kept his eyes closed he could fool himself into believing that he was at home, bundled up in his bed, the fragile warmth he felt radiating from the figure beside him nothing more than Alec curling up against his chest after a long night.

The deep ache that ran through his bones didn't mean anything. Neither did the smooth surface poking him in the side through the material of his jacket. Or the fact that his head felt like it was splitting open. Meaningless. All of it.

Alec twitched gently, his wayward curly hair shifting to brush over Magnus' nose. Was he waking up? If he was, Magnus probably should too. But the muffled warning going off in the back of his head kept him under. Asleep was good. Asleep was safe.

"Magnus?" Alec asked, his voice so raspy and fragile that Magnus winced even half-asleep. "Are you okay? Wake up Magnus."

And he couldn't stay asleep any longer.

Magnus opened his eyes and the first thing he saw was Alec's pale face, blurry and ringed with shadows. As his vision cleared, he couldn't stop a little gasp from escaping his lips.

The boy's skin was layered with blood and filth, a shallow cut running across his forehead. His hair was plastered to his face with sweat, and there were dark bags hanging beneath his eyes.

Alec sighed with relief, a horrible wheezing sound that made Magnus want to cover his ears. But he didn't. "You're okay," Alec said, and Magnus couldn't keep his eyebrows from jumping up.

"You're worried about me?" Magnus said, giving the Shadowhunter an incredulous look that had are-you-freaking-kidding-me written all over it.

Alec stared at him as if he'd suddenly grown a third eye. "Of course I was worried about you," he whispered, shifting slightly. Suddenly Magnus was hyper-aware of his closeness. Every line of their bodies were locked together like two fitting pieces of a puzzle. Somehow, Magnus doubted they had started out like this. Had he rolled closer to Alec in his sleep? He must've.

Alec winced, pain flickering over his features, gone as quickly as it had come, like snuffing out a candle.

"Scoot over," Magnus said, forcing the words out. He didn't want Alec to move away from him. It felt so right lying there together, just having him near made the world turn in the right direction. "Let me look."

Alec complied, trying to hide the grimace that twisted his lips as he shuffled backwards, using his hands to push himself along the smooth stone floor. They were in a small cave, lying beside a murky puddle that gathered in a shallow depression. Every few seconds a drop of water would fall from the ceiling and break the pool's surface, making ripples lap against Magnus' toes. The only light in the room came from a furry mess of phosphorescent moss that coated the craggy walls, glowing cool, eerie colors. Neon blue, sour apple green.

Magnus sat up, and with gentle fingers pushed back what was left of Alec's shirt. He couldn't hold back the gasp.

"It's bad," Alec said, his tone impossibly light and joking and completely out of place in the grim cavern. "Isn't it?"

"No," Magnus lied quickly, letting the scrap of fabric fall back to cover the gaping, ragged wound that wept pus and blood. But it didn't help; he could still see it pulsing behind his eyelids each time he blinked. "Not really."

"You're lying," Alec said, leaning back to lay his head against the rock, pillowed by his lank hair. "I can see it on your face."

Magnus shrugged, pressing his lips together. He wouldn't cry. "Can you blame me?"

Alec shook his head, his skull scraping against the ground. "I never blamed you. Even when every part of me screamed that I hated you, it wasn't true." He paused, as if to add dramatic effect. It worked. "I hated myself."

"Why?" Magnus asked, scrunching up his face.

"For causing you pain," he said simply. "I saw it every time you looked at me, heard it every time you spoke. You were dying from the inside out, and it was all because of me."

"I was the one that ended it," Magnus argued, pulling his legs up underneath him and fisting his hands in his lap. The pain of his nails digging into his palms helped clear his head.

"But I made it necessary."

"Fate made it necessary," Magnus shot back, the words quick and inadvertently tipped with acid. He made up for it by pushing aside Alec's hair, letting the pads of his fingertips linger on the ridge of his cheekbone.

"I don't believe in fate," Alec whispered, his lashes casting long dark shadows over his cheeks that flickered as the light from the moss pulsed erratically.

"You should," Magnus said with a smile that refused to touch his eyes. "It makes a wonderful scapegoat."

Alec lay there for a long time, watching the water in the puddle jump and roil. "How long do I have?" he said finally, his blue eyes flashing in the dark. For a split second, they were the same unnatural color as the moss.

Magnus knew wounds, he'd been in too many wars not to. He knew Alec had an hour, two if he was lucky. But he couldn't bring himself to say it.

"A while," he said instead, careful not to blink. People blink when they lie.

The look on Alec's face said he didn't believe the kind words for a second. But what could he do about it? Nothing. He could do nothing but lay there in the cold and the dark and wait for death to claim him. Not a very epic ending. He'd always imagined he would die struggling against some unassailable odds, fighting to the very end. He figured he'd die alongside his fellow Shadowhunters, or maybe his death would save them, and he would be remembered as a hero.

He thought he was going to die years ago, fighting the Greater Demon Abbadon. But Magnus had yanked him back to life at the last second. This time was different. Magnus was still the one by his side, but there was nothing he could do. This time, Alec knew he was going to die. And the only comfort he found was in the fact that he could reach out and hold the warlock's shaking hand.

The choking sound that escaped Magnus' lips made Alec smile sadly. He'd rather die this way. Here, in the dark, sitting beside the one person he had ever truly loved. The only person he wanted.

Magnus turned his head away, his eyes glowing in the dark, the color of amber, of the sun. Alec remembered when every inch of him used to sparkle as brightly as the stars, but it was just his eyes now, rimmed with beading tears. "Alec," he started, and his voice was so soft Alec almost couldn't hear the hitch. "I—"

"Shh," Alec said, cutting him off. The warlock looked at him, and Alec stared back, refusing to blink. But he broke first anyhow. "I love you Magnus," he said, and watched as Magnus bit down on his lip, hard enough to draw blood, his face crinkling. "Always have."

The words that followed were a breath, but just as strong as if he'd screamed them to the sky. "I love you too." Alec tried to remember the first time he'd heard Magnus tell him that, but the memory was just a hazy blood-filled blur, filled with smoke and demons and fire. They were in Alicante, but, where, when? Why couldn't he remember?

The world began to smear at the edges, the already dim room slowly engulfed by thick, menacing shadows. The pain humming through his veins ebbed just enough to let him tighten his grip on Magnus' fingers. Darkness ate away at his vision, until all he could see was the hauntingly familiar shape of Magnus' worried face, framed by limp dark hair that hung down to tickle Alec's cheeks, engulfing him like wings. He looked beautiful. An angel, come to bear him away. To heaven? To hell? It didn't matter.

"Magnus?" he whispered, feeling the lines and whorls of the warlock's palm, hating the fact that he could feel his hold loosening with each second. He didn't want this last connection tying him to life to be severed, even if it helped nothing.

"Yes?" Magnus' face began to fade, until all that assured Alec he still existed was the glimmer of his golden eyes and the pressure of his hand. And even that was disappearing.

"Don't let go," he breathed, letting his eyes drift closed, because the effort of keeping them open was just too much. The pain became a dull ache throbbing at his abdomen, keeping in time with his fragile heartbeat that he could hear pumping through his shirt. Thump…thump…thump. So slow and weak. It scared him almost more than the darkness that hid behind his lids.

Magnus' words were the last things he heard before the black claimed him. "Never ever."

Sorry if it's more out of character than usual, I've been reading The Hunger Games (one of the best books EVER) and I keep trying to write from Katniss' point of view.

Just curious, does anyone else see what I see in the quote up there?