So, I'm not dead. Really.

12: Fare

The night is unsurprisingly cold. Th area's deserted. The sky is moonless. Robert takes it all as a sign. He steps forward into the shadows, footfall as silent as a cat's. The three hunters in the alley nod in unison- curt, precise and deadly. Robert's hand tightens around the hilt of his sword. His eyes narrow as he looks past his companions towards the street. It's a peaceful enough neighborhood. He hopes they won't have to disturb the neighbors with the noise.

His phone vibrates in his pocket but he ignores it- not for the first time tonight or this past decade. Maryse has been calling for the past two hours, persistent and irritating. Distracting. He can't get distracted tonight.

She knows. She must know. She's not a fool, or at least wasn't one when they married. Perhaps it has changed. Maybe that's why she's calling. Maybe she doesn't know.

Robert grits his teeth.

She should. It's only right.

The night grows darker and the hunters more restless.

"How long?" Harley grumbles, eyes firmly fixed on the street ahead. He's searching for the target. Robert approves of his dedication.

He rewards it with a sharp snipe of, "as long as it takes."

Joshua turns to look at him with eyes too dark, too shifty. He's rebellious and young- too young to sport the rank he flaunts so recklessly. Too young to be any good, to be reliable or trustworthy. Robert glowers at him down his nose. Joshua lifts his chin but doesn't utter a word. Benjamin doesn't even turn from his post by the fire-escape at the brief exchange of words. Robert stalks forward to join him in his watch.

It's one hundred and ninety six minutes before the warlock appears. Robert gives the sign. The small group moves.

The shadows swallow them as they proceed. Their journey is brief, the distance so short every sound must be muffled, extinguished- else the target might discover their exact location and flee. They can't have that, not tonight. Not with this one.

The glamour masks their presence, drowning their scent and energy and breath at the heart of the night. Mask it enough so it's untraceable unless looked for- enough for an opening.

They strike as one- lethal, quick, and efficient.

The warlock crumbles down at the first hit. They don't stop. Robert doesn't want them to. Neither Shadowhunter cares enough about Downworlders to rein their fists and knives even if he did.

There's not enough time for magic.

Not enough time for the Downworlder to even scream.

They remain silent throughout the whole ordeal. They make sure to hit repeatedly below the lungs- an inch or so in- so not to allow any sound to escape.

The neighbors aren't bothered.

When they're done the asphalt's slick with black blood. Robert takes a step forward, carefully avoiding anything the might cause a stain, and kicks the warlock in the ribs until his body rolls around.

The face is bruised and swollen, with deep gashes and a cut just below the temple, but the eyes are alert. Alert and yellow like those of the hellhounds.

"Stay away from my son," Robert murmurs, low enough so the rest of the group won't hear. "Stay away from him or die like the monster you are."

They leave before the sun comes up.

The warlock resembles a bloody pile of useless, beaten meat when they do.

X

Magnus leaves a few hours before dawn. Only now it's been three and he has promised to come back after two. Said he had a colleague to meet and things to pick up at the loft. He said he'd be back.

Alec gives it another half an hour before he feels justified to fret and pace and tear at his hair like he's mentally unstable. He's started calling as soon as it became apparent Magnus is stuck somewhere between getting home and being home- but to no avail. It's been almost two hours of dialing and nothing but deadly silence.

Uneasiness slithers up Alec's back, cold and unwanted in its caress. By the Angel, I hope he's just got sidetracked by some shoes, he thinks, trying another call. The voicemail message is predictable, but disappointing nonetheless.

He contemplates going out to search- though he doesn't know where exactly. He doesn't know how to cast a tracking spell to find out, either. It takes another call that goes straight to voicemail to convince him he should. With his head spinning Alec pulls on a jacket and storms out of the apartment, though he makes sure not to slam the door in his haste- mindful of his family strewn about the living-room floor. He contemplates his decision to leave them behind as he goes down the stairs. One of them would have to stay with Max anyway. He's just late, he thinks, and if Alec's alone with no one to tell him otherwise, no reinforcement to sustain the belief that something might've gone wrong, then everything might be alright. He's just late.

The presence at the back of his mind urges him to move faster, to run. His gut twists painfully.

Something's wrong; Alec can feel it in his bones. He sticks to rationalizations and logic and he's just late, that's all despite the nausea rearing its head. It's easier this way.

He's in such a haste to leave the building he misses the looming presence in the shadow by the wall.

"Alexander," a voice calls to him from behind. Alec's head snaps back so fast it's practically a whiplash. A sudden vertigo settles over him and the images swim for a few brief moments. The voice is familiar- the figure a tall smudge of black, wide and bulky.

The man steps out of the shadows just as the worst of the feeling recedes. Eyes glim blue in the sudden light of the streetlamps.

Alec's voice gets caught in his throat. He croaks something unintelligible.

Robert's gaze narrows in contempt.

Alec tries to speak again. His apprehension grows and his voice breaks- in fear or in shock, he can't tell- as he rasps: "What are you doing here?"

Robert huffs at him.

"Your mother told me what happened."

He should've known.

He shouldn't be surprised.

(He is)

She must've already reported it as well.

(He shouldn't be)

His father doesn't seem affected by the anxiety spreading on Alec's face or the pale quality of his skin. "I took care of it," Robert assures him confidently. His eyes shine with zeal, bright as that of a crusader, like those of an idealist in too deep and over his head and cutting off everybody else's. Hot and dangerous as a wildfire.

Alec takes a step back. His stomach drops. "What did you do?"

"Handled it," Robert tells him. If he were a lesser man, or any other man, he'd shrug. As it were, Robert just squares his shoulders and shifts his stance so subtly Alec has to strain to notice. His posture gives off an air of intimidation- a covert message of an alpha to the world. Alec matches him eye for an eye, now seething.

"What did you do."

Robert appears confused by his demand. He's stunned enough to answer directly: "We talked to him." Robert's lips twitch, but it's not a smile. Alec's not sure he's capable of such an expression. "He won't bother you again."

Alec knows what 'talking' means in Shadowhunter twang. His heart stutters and stills, slowly freezing over and dropping away. His chest contorts and his shoulders hunch over instinctively. He reckons it's a physical reaction to emotional stress, a protection against the terrifying dark images of broken bones and blood his mind conjures.

Magnus.

Alec's knees shake so bad he has to lean on the wall of the closest apartment building. It has nothing to do with the nausea he's been experiencing for the past few hours. Now he only feels hollow- as if something's been ripped out of him.

Did he kill him?

"Why?" Alec's voice is barely more than a whisper, but the street is too quiet for it to go unnoticed, his tone too pained to be ignored.

He should ask for confirmation, but Alec can't bring himself to form the words.

Robert frowns. "He marked you," as if that's an explanation, an excuse. As if it's a justified reason.

As if he knows what that means.

(Does he?)

Anger- sudden and welcome- flares at the pit of Alec's gut, spreading like Drevak poison. It warms his numb body, throwing reason into the wind. "That's none of your business!" his voice escalates as easily and quickly as a tornado might pick a house. It has the same disastrous consequences of the house dropping.

Alec moves before his mind orders his muscles to do so. His brain shifts from its usual flight mode so quickly he finds himself at point range zero with a fist in his father's leather jacket and a stele pressed against the hollow between Robert's neck and chin.

Robert lifts an eyebrow. His expression twists until his lips curl above his teeth- baring them in a snarl so ferocious and cruel it reminds Alec of werewolves in their first moon-cycle.

"Remove your hand, Alexander." Robert practically spits his name. His fingers curl deliberately slow, knuckle by knuckle, around Alec's wrist holding the stele. "Now."

Alec knows he can- and will- break his father's hand if Robert doesn't let go before the red haze in Alec's mind completely overtakes him. Alec growls and doesn't budge. He looms over his father, pressing him into the wall behind them. His hand doesn't loosen.

You deserve more than just a broken hand.

Robert's hand clamps on Alec's wrist- tight as a bear trap. "Stop it," he hisses.

"Tell me where he is."

Robert's lips thin to a none-existent stress line. "You shouldn't care," he tells Alec, his voice coaxing. "He's a monster."

Alec slams Robert into the wall without a word. The stele digs deeper into Robert's skin. It must hurt. Blood slowly trickles along the contour of his father's neck.

Robert's eyes are bright but they hide an abyss of darkness so impenetrable and full of lurking creatures Alec finds it hard to stare at them for too long. He can see a thought being assembled, a decision reached. Alec prepares for a fight.

Instead, Robert tells him the address. Alec growls, "You better be telling the truth," before stepping away and rushing, without thought, to the other side of the city. He almost makes it past the corner when his father's voice stops him.

"Why do you care?"

And this time it's a question. This time he doesn't seem to know. This time he's only trying to suggest he shouldn't with his tone, his face- not his words.

"Because I love him."

Alec doesn't wait around to see his father's world crumbling down, but he thinks he can hear a choked, wheezy gasp and a broken, "Alexander."

X

The first thing he sees is the blood, already dry on the sidewalk. It creates a wide stain, like a halo, around Magnus' broken form. It has spread so wide Alec's afraid to guess exactly how much there is, but he's more than aware it's too much.

The body amidst the red looks like a shot bird, twisted and hunched on itself, too broken and disjointed to be salvaged.

There's a sharp stench of copper and sulfur, strong enough to make Alec's stomach churn.

He drops to his knees by Magnus' side, right in the middle of the drying pool of blood. There's a large lump in his throat. He can't breathe or talk or think. The tears slip out no matter how hard Alec's trying to push them back.

His hands latch onto Magnus' form, seeking a pulse. They shake too badly for the attempt to be successful.

Magnus is far too pale. There's blood on his face, red against blue bruises and brown, infected cuts. His eyes are closed, but no matter how blurry his vision and how painful the sight- Alec can't imagine he's sleeping.

Please, please don't let him be dead. Magnus' skin is cold and clammy. Please. There's blood on Alec's hands now. Pleasepleaseplease. Pushing against his chest doesn't help. Don't leave me, please. Breathing for him doesn't help. I love you. Nothing helps.

It's not until Alec hears the sound- hoarse, small, inhuman- that he becomes aware of his own sobbing, of the chant and pleas. Don'tbedeadpleasepl-the words pour like prayer- easedon'tleavemenever- but no one listens, no one ever does- leavemepleasepleasedon't. He makes such a racket he doesn't pay the pain any mind at first. It's not until he can smell something burning, something close, that he feels the searing heat from the dragontear.

Alec looks around.

The air about them is tinted gold, practically shimmering. The pendant strains against the silver chain holding it close to Alec's chest. There's a hole in his shirt, a burn mark by his heart and a glow so fierce from the gem Alec can't bear looking at for longer than a few seconds at a time. He trains his gaze on Magnus' face instead.

Magnus' eyes are open and glazed over.

Alec's heart practically bursts. His throat is too dry to speak, yet he does- a pathetic whisper, so quiet, "Please."

The dragontear gives a sudden pull and breaks the chain holding it. It hovers over Magnus and melts, slowly drips on Magnus' chest, face, arms and seeps into the wounds. Then it solidifies- like armor- over the injuries. Magnus steers. His first inhale sounds like a gunshot.

He's alive, Alec has enough time to think before he feels something reaping him in half from the inside.

It feels like magic, wild and out of control. Like Chumana's spell amplified, somehow more malicious. It feels like an invisible spear embedded in his chest all the way through, and someone pouring acid into the hole. Alec's skull throbs. His hands shake. He can't tell if he's upright anymore because there's nothing but darkness before his eyes. Everything is silent.

He can't hear his own ragged breathing. Can't feel his chest rising. There's nothing.

Maybe I'm not breathing.

The silence burns.

Maybe I'm dead.

X

The number you are trying to call is not reachable a generic voice informs Jace for the millionth time. His stomach performs a somersault before it clumps on itself again.

"Still no answer?" Izzy's voice wavers, but it doesn't bear much hope. She's propped against the filthy wall of the random alley they veered into, panting. Her eyes are restless- barely sparing Jace a glance, or his words a moment of thought- before her attention is back to scanning the crowds, the street.

Jace shakes his head. Izzy isn't surprised. "Let's go," he grumbles, pulling away from the shade of the alley and back into the mayhem of morning rush hour.

"Where?"

-not reachable-

"I don't know."

Neither of them does.

Where are they?

Jace runs as fast as he can, his feet pounding on the asphalt too loudly, too slow. The street is a blur around him, the people a nuisance and an obstacle. Izzy's presence is the only one he's somewhat aware of. They cut through the crowd in unison, moving forward.

Too slow.

-the number you are-

They have no idea where to look. They just run, run because at least they can do that and try. Jace can only hope one of their guesses would hit the bull's-eye. The first two missed royally and they've lost enough time as it is. They can't spare any.

They run.

Still too slow.

Breathing becomes harder.

Run.

"There!" Izzy's voice cuts through the rhythm of step-breathe-step-faster-there'snotime. Jace's head snaps to the left sharply. He can see them now, across the alley.

Two figures, slumped together.

One bloody heap.

One red road.

No demons.

No movement.

Were we too slow?

Jace prays to the angel, hoping they weren't. They approach the figures cautiously, back to back- looking for threats. Izzy breaks formation and hurries forward.

Alec is the only word on her lips. Alecalecalec.

Jace can't think of anything else to say other than perhaps, please be alive.

They crouch by the injured.

"What do we do?" Izzy's voice is panicked, her words rushed, hands close to her chest. She's shaking. Jace can barely hear her over the sound of blood rushing to his temples.

Jace's hand fumbles for a pulse on Alec's neck, then he looks for Magnus'.

It has to be there.

There's something. Flattering. Faint. Maybe it's just his imagination- a figment, a sensory delusion result of wishful thinking. Maybe it's his own heart beating so loud he mistook it for theirs.

"Please," Izzy whispers over and over.

Jace doesn't say anything. Can't spare enough air to.

"What do we do?"

Jace shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts. It doesn't help. He's not the calm and collected member of their bunch and Alec's maybe-breathing maybe-not and Jace has no idea which or what to do.

"What-"

"Shut up!"

Izzy recoils. Her face is shocked. Too white. Scared. Her eyes are wet. Jace turns away from her. He looks for pulse again. That's when he sees it, all of it.

The golden patches on Magnus' skin- solid, like metal.

The missing pendant on Alec's chest.

The rings on their fingers.

The number you are trying to call is not reachable.

X

Movement is as hard as cognitive thought. Awareness of his surroundings returns slowly, in patches like smoke and water- impossible to grasp onto. Consciousness is evasive, slumber- tempting. It's long before he's aware of the pain in his limbs and the ache where his head hit the pavement.

There's a soft hand on his forehead; it's his only anchor to reality. When it retreats, it takes the darkness with it. He opens his eyes slowly, inch by inch. His eyelids fight him with vigor- clinging to the fog in his mind.

The first and only thing he sees are cold eyes and an empty smile blocking the rest of the room. His vision narrows to include only her face, everything else fading to a blur. The edges of his vision are black. "Nephilim," Willa's voice is softer than he remembers it being, like the faint bubble of a spring masking the roaring thunder.

Alec doesn't respond. It's cold. His head throbs.

"Alexander," Willa calls to him again.

Alec blinks. "Where-" he starts and halts, clears his throat. Tries again. The words stubbornly refuse to leave his mouth.

A question requires an answer. He's not entirely certain he wants to know the answer for his.

Willa seems to understand the meaning regardless of his poor phrasing but it takes her a moment to formulate an answer. In that brief pause million possible scenarios fly through Alec's mind, possibilities he hopes he won't have to explore. Dread moves up his spine, up and higher until it forces words previously stuck. "Where's Magnus?"

The smile doesn't drop from Willa's face, but there's a new quality to it, not quite vicious- but close. Willa's hand comes to grip Alec's. Her fingers stroke the ring on his finger.

Magnus' ring.

"I thought I should be here when you wake up," she tells him cryptically. Alec has no idea why she is there at all.

"Where's Magnus?" Alec repeats, panic distorting his voice. He tries to move, get up, anything. He pulls his hand out of her grip, rolling on his side. The room- unfamiliar, walls grey and cold like metal- spins.

"It's useless," Willa mumbles.

Alec twists his face to look at witch. "What are you talking about?" he asks. He can't be dead. His feet touch the cold floor. It's tiled. He can't be. The stone is familiar, but Alec can't recall where he's seen it before. "Where am I?"

Willa remains silent and still. Her eyes are as sharp as her smile.

"Where is Magnus?"

His demands go unheard and his panic grows. Willa slowly rises from her perch on the small, rickety chair by his bed, heading toward the back wall where a single, rectangular window up by the ceiling illuminates the entire room. The window is barred.

"He's safe," she finally says, almost too quiet for him to hear. Her eyes remain locked on the slice of sky visible through the bars. "He's safe as long as you're here-"

A tide of relief steals Alec's breathing momentarily. Through the rush of he'salrighthe'sfineohgodhe'sokaythankyou Alec barely registers the end of her sentence. Magnus is alive. For long, quiet minutes- it's all that matters. He's alive. He's alive. He's alive.

"-locked away." Suspicion creeps around the swelling excitement in Alec's heart, through to the back of his mind, stirring dust and rummaging through memories of days spent back home. He looks around but it's the stone under his feet that finally reveals the whole picture. The stone and the runes inscribed diagonally on all four walls, the door hidden with glamour and the sharp, familiar scent of willow trees.

Alicante.

"How did I get here?"

Willa's expression shifts to mildly bemused. "Aren't you a clever one," she murmurs, "so quick to disperse the mystery." The scorn in her voice is palpable- and worse than in their previous encounter- but Alec can detect the rapidly fading traces of bewilderment.

Alec awaits her answer. He knows there's bound to be one. It takes her longer than he expected; long enough for Alec to rise and pace the room, to inspect the runes and confirm his suspicions. He's in one of the cells in the Guard, though he doesn't know why or how the witch got in. His hand traces the long line of Enclose-Lock-Weaken-Lock-Enclose runes until he gets to Conceal-Conceal-Conceal. That's where the door must be. He's trying to find its exact location when Willa finally spits, "You almost killed him." Alec doesn't turn around to face her, but her eyes burn. "It's all your fault."

As petulant as her claim might sound, Alec answers with all the somberness the accusation demands. "I know."

Willa huffs, and when she speaks, her voice drips of loathing as thick as honey, "Do you, really?"

And he does; he knows she's right- a sort of bone-deep realization that makes him sick to his stomach and stomps over the relief. He'll get Magnus almost killed over and over until it's not almost but certainly, definitely, dead. Dead because his father kicks too hard or pulls too fast, or the Clave sends its own toy soldiers to fire warning shots with loaded guns and surgical precision. Alec's palm flattens, fingers spread on the cold stone wall. Magnus' broken body is imprinted on his eyelids, and when they close- it's like he can't breathe again.

"It was your responsibility, it happened because of you."

Alec leans his forehead against the cool wall, breathing through his nose air and harsh words. The accusation echoes in Alec's skull like the footprints of a disaster. He's alive, Alec tells himself. He's alive. "I'll make them stop," he says- lies- because he doesn't know how.

A hoarse, mocking note tumbles out of the witch's mouth. It cuts through Alec's numbness. "How?" she demands, "will you kill your father for him? Become a mundane for him?"

The silence that follows her words is almost painful. Then she laughs again. "You are selfish, Alexander Lightwood, and you should stay far, far away."

Alec turns to face her.

"If you care, you will stay away."

Alec's lips curl over a snarl. "I care."

"Do you, really?" she questions, disbelief a frown on her face. "Your family won't rest until you both are dealt with-" her tone reminds Alec of his father's. We talked to him, Alec remembers him saying. We dealt with him, he had meant. Alec's throat dries abruptly. Willa takes one look at his paling face and sees an opportunity. "Your father, the Tethering, the law-breaking, the sentence Magnus is about to face- it's all on you. If he had died tonight- it would've been your responsibility. It would've been his blood on your hands."

She moves past him to the concealed door and knocks three-four-one on a single stone right by the center. There's a confirming knock on the other side. Turning, the witch presses her back to the wall and melts into it with a single, cruel smile thrown at Alec. "Stay away," she tells him before disappearing completely.

If he had died tonight, she said. For the first time since Alec's woken up and discovered Magnus is alive- the enormity of what could have been registers. No longer masked by the sickening panic of searching or the crushing weigh of fear, clarity finally settles over guilt. He feels like he's on that same stretch of road- facing a bloodstain, a beaten body and no hope. Magnus could've died. Might have. Should have- considering the extent of his injuries.

It's all on you.

It's your responsibility.

Alec slides down the wall, drawing his knees closer to his chest. His head throbs. When he closes his eyes all he can see is blood and glazed, golden eyes.

Your responsibility.

X

The floor creaks as Jace makes his way across the hall in a route that has become excruciatingly familiar in the past hour.

"They'll be alright," Izzy tells him again. She is nestled in the corner across him, feet bare and hair a mess. There's blood on her shirt and a tremor to her laced hands.

"I know."

It doesn't ease either of them.

There's no sound from the room they guard. There hasn't been ever since Willa stopped chanting spells. She was the last number used on Magnus' phone, and Jace called it without thought. They were lucky. The witch arrived almost immediately, magic trailing after her in the form of smoke.

"We should've been able to talk to him."

Izzy doesn't bother lifting her gaze from her thorough inspection of the worn floorboards. "The witch said we shouldn't."

"I know what she said," Jace grumbles, spinning on his heel and heading to the other end of the short, narrow hall. Pacing. "I just think it's extremely moronic."

As soon as they got both Magnus and Alec into Magnus' apartment, Willa booted both Lightwood siblings out and locked the door. Then there were muffled spells and a noise- a whirling, awful noise like magic tearing open the air- but no one answered when Jace demanded to enter.

They waited.

"I want to see him too," Izzy murmurs softly. She tilts her head down until her expression is obscured by the tangle of her hair. There are too many shadows cloaking the subtle shift of muscle in her face to effectively asses how deep the worry lines are.

"He'll be alright," Jace throws her own words like an attack. He knows he might be lying and hates the uncertainty more than its cause. Hates that they haven't seen Alec yet, hates that he doesn't know what happened, hates that little, humorless laugh Izzy wheezes out.

"That's what I said," she tells him quietly. "It didn't seem to convince you, either."

The tone of her voice makes Jace stop dead in his tracks. He turns slowly and inspects the line of Izzy's shoulders, the whiteness of her knuckles. It's alarming.

Jace steps closer and squats down. His hands find their way to his sister's slim shoulders. "Iz," he mumbles, squeezing his hands lightly. "He's going to be fine."

She's shaking despite his efforts.

Despite the comforting hope and possible lie he's offering her ears, her heart.

She's silent and Jace doesn't know what to do to ease her fears. He barely knows how to contain his own hysteria flavored panic.

He settles for crowding her personal space and pulling her into his arms, pressing as tightly as he thinks an anchor should. They remain huddled together until a sudden noise breaks the silence, louder than the one Jace panicked over an hour ago. It sounds like the aftermath of an explosion. Both jump upright, almost knocking heads. They rush to the door. It's locked.

When there's no answer, they knock it down.

The room is empty. One of the walls is singed black, traces of red magic crackling by. Jace can recognize the smeared marks of a portal.

Alec, Magnus and the witch are gone.

A/N: So I owe you all a big, fat apology for taking so long with this chapter. I sincerely apologize for it. Life kinda sucks lately, and aside from not having had the time or the right state of mind to deal with writing, this chapter also happens to be a bitch. It took me some time to figure out exactly how I want it, and I'm still not quite sure how I feel about the result.

Anyway, Willa's motive for turning into a pain in Malec's ass will become apparent later. What happened to Magnus and why Alec's imprisoned will also be revealed. Expect it might take some time though, I haven't even started on the next chapter yet- so it all depends on how much school and homework and tests are going to screw up with my free-time. On a brighter note- I do have an epilogue planned already (and by planned I mean I have stray lines of dialogue I'm fond of).

Also, remember the WIP contest I mentioned in the last chapter? we won. Imagine me jumping up and down, performing a silly victory dance, because that's how I reacted. So a huge thank you for everyone who voted.

(Also, how was Christmas guys?)