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Chapter Text

A Bedtime Prayer
Chapter 1: Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep

(***)

"Jace, the door!"

The words had barely left Alec's mouth before a resounding gunshot sliced through the air of the decrepit church, its echo leaving a high-pitched squeal in his ears. He felt something whiz by his cheek, and unconsciously, he dodged it. His legs stumbled against the front pew, but thanks to his enhanced reflexes, he regained his equilibrium quickly.

Stupid mundanes, and their stupid weapons. They really had no idea what they were dealing with, did they?

The distinct smell of sulphur, and the sound of frantic shuffling suddenly reminded him of the business at hand. Moving quickly – too quickly for those simple human eyes to track – he charged the shooter, grabbed the gun, and with a smooth pivot step, elbowed his attacker in the head. The man went down with a grunt.

Alec glanced around the room. The split second assessment was enough for his mind to process the scene. The remaining mundanes had scattered in a frenzied panic, their shouts and fumbling around the pews evidence enough for him that they'd abandoned the misguided ritual. How they'd managed to learn about the Shadow World, and how they'd gained the ability to see beyond their realm were questions he would have answered later – hopefully if Jace had prevented their leader's retreat. It was enough that their main mission objective had been achieved: they'd stopped the summoning.

The crack of a whip drew his attention to Isabelle's corner. She was struggling to contain the retreating figures as well, the mandate they were under to not kill humans likely making it difficult. This wasn't one of their usual search-and-destroy gigs. He rushed over to join her, trusting Jace and Clary to handle the escape route.

With blade in hand, he fell easily into position beside his sister. Their years of training together were apparent in the efficiency with which they took town their opponents. Minutes later, five unconscious forms were sprawled on the ground around them. Alec drew in a triumphant breath. The mundanes were mostly alive, he surmised, and he'd barely broken a sweat. He was rather proud of the way their little group had finally gelled into a well-functioning unit – homicidal megalomaniacs and parabatai kidnappings aside.

"Sorry, Alec. He got away." Jace approached with an angry set to his expression.

Clary followed up close behind him. "We were sidetracked by a couple of other crazies."

Alec's mouth tightened into a grim line. So much for the answers he'd wanted. "That's alright. We stopped the ritual before they did anything too dangerous. That's the most important thing." A single mundane shouldn't pose too much of a threat, not after tonight, he reasoned. And if the escapee did cause any more trouble, they could always track and stop him then.

"And we ended up with a souvenir," Isabelle pointed out as she inclined her head toward the altar at the front of the church.

All business, Alec sheathed his blade, and made his way over. The others followed, their steps muted as they skirted around the unconscious bodies.

What weak moonlight filtered in through the old stained glass windows illuminated a crudely drawn pentagram in a spotty pattern. Shakily etched lines met in a cross-section of geometric shapes, all converging toward a lifeless form in the center. A sliver of red-tinged moonlight reflected off a tell-tale sheen of iridescent scales on the body's skin.

"Warlock?"

Alec bent down beside the body, and nodded at Jace's question. He knew the action was moot, but he checked for a pulse anyways.

"Did they kill him? The humans, I mean." Clary's voice was clear and steady, but there was a hint of sadness in it. Trust the only one among them raised as a mundane to be the most empathetic.

"I don't know." He rose, his eyes catching sight of something that had been pushed to the edge of the ritual zone. He walked toward it, and picked up a heavy, leather-bound book – a very old book, by the looks of it. He haphazardly flipped through the pages, and caught a whiff of the musty, aged parchment.

"Is that a grimoire?" Izzy asked as she neared. "It looks ancient. Think it belonged to the dead warlock?"

"Maybe." He closed the book and tucked it more securely under his arm. "It's in Old English, I think. I can't understand anything in it. We'll have to get it analyzed."

Izzy arched an inquiring eyebrow. "By Magnus, you mean?"

Alec shot his sister a warning look, although there was no heat behind it. "He's an authority on this stuff," he stated plainly.

He received an amused chuckle to his comment. "Sure, big brother, we'll go with that. I'll ignore the fact that it's just another excuse to see your boyfriend."

Almost automatically, Alec responded. "He's not – "

"Speaking of, didn't you two have a date or something tonight?"

At his sister's words, realization dawned and Alec's stomach dropped. Shit, she was right. He'd completely forgotten about his date with Magnus!

His thoughts must've shown on his face because if the widening smile was any indication, Izzy's amusement deepened. "Go, Alec. We can take it from here. We'll get the body back for examination, and we can call one of the other contracted warlocks the Institute has on hand to erase these mundanes' memories."

"Thanks, Izzy," he said with relief as he started to move away. He gave Jace and Clary – who had started taking pictures of the ritual site with her phone – a quick nod good-bye before heading out of the church. He tapped into the last of his reserved speed and plotted the quickest route to the loft, all the while hoping Magnus wouldn't be too upset over their forgotten date.

(***)

They had failed. He had failed. Master would be angry.

He leaned against a building's brick façade, chest heaving as his lungs tried to take in air that only burned his dry throat. He was safe, he assumed. He couldn't hear any footsteps behind him. He could only guess those ... those things had been interested in what he'd been doing, not he himself.

But he had failed. And Master would be angry.

His hands clenched inside his jacket's pocket, and he was calmed by the sound of crinkling paper. His pulse began to slow, and his breathing relaxed.

Indeed, he had failed. Still, he would try again. And maybe, just maybe, Master would not be angry.

But first – first, he would need another warlock.

(***)

Magnus felt Alec's presence before he saw him. The Shadowhunter's aura was almost like a balm against the wards he'd placed around his loft – strong, soothing, and reassuring. And given the advanced warning, Magnus stood up from his slouched position on the couch and affected his somewhat 'put-upon' air. True, he wasn't one to be petty about a missed date – wedding crashing notwithstanding, several hundred years had taught him to choose his battles wisely – but he did rather like the guilt he could elicit from Alec, and more importantly, the concessions the younger man would make to appease said guilt.

A small, wicked grin pulled at his lips with that thought. Yes, indeed, Magnus knew the game, and he played it well.

He shrugged into the red velvet jacket he'd thrown aside earlier, smoothed an imaginary wrinkle from the lapel, and crossed his arms over his chest just as the door clicked open. Seven months of dating, one month with the key to the loft, and Alec had just started to let himself into the place last week. For a Shadowhunter who took pride in his quick thinking, the younger man sure took social cues at a glacial pace. Still, Magnus supposed he should be happy with the baby steps.

"Magnus, I'm so sorry."

The apology was out of Alec's mouth before Magnus had a chance to lay on the guilt. To be honest, it took some of the wind out of his self-righteous sails, but he couldn't let this opportunity to play with the usually serious Shadowhunter go to complete waste. Letting out an audible sigh, he turned and moved to the cozily set dining table he'd conjured up earlier that night. The magic itself hadn't taken too much effort, but the time he'd spent on the details – from the perfect positioning of the candles to the color scheme of the centerpiece – well, that had been a completely different story.

"I suppose," he started resignedly as he glanced behind him, "getting a small piece of the pie is better than none at all."

He heard Alec shuffle up close – close enough for Magnus to feel his heat and smell his scent, curse the man – and stop just short. "Look, I'll make it up to you. I promise."

A corner of Magnus's mouth lifted into a suggestive smile, but he tempered it before turning around. The earnest expression on the Shadowhunter's face almost undid him. A bemused laugh bubbled beneath the surface of his aloof veneer.

Now weren't they an odd pair? An eager young man who was naïve in the ways of emotionally intimate relationships but trying so hard, and a centuries-old jaded one who behaved like an eager young man when they were together – Magnus would've written them off long ago if it hadn't been for the insane attraction he felt.

"I am taking you up on that," he finally said. "Shall we say next week? With interest, mind you."

Even with the time they had spent – and slept – together, a slight flush painted Alec's cheeks at the innuendo. "Y-yeah, okay. You got it."

And who would've thought he'd ever find the casual innocence charming? Definitely not him. "Then it's a deal. Date night, next week. Maybe we can hang out on the roof patio like we did last time. Just you and me."

Alec's features softened visibly at the memory, and Magnus was glad the other man fondly remembered the sixth month anniversary date he'd planned so meticulously. There had been no urgent missions or pressing appointments, simply the two of them enjoying each other's company. They'd had a cozy dinner at one of his favorite Italian restaurants, followed by a walk through the park, and had capped it off by lazing the night away under the autumn night sky. It had been a rather clichéd date, but as much as he hid it with his feckless attitude, Magnus was a romantic at heart, and he'd absolutely loved it.

"I'd like that." Alec smiled the half-smile that never failed to do odd things to the insides of Magnus' chest.

Giving into the compulsion, Magnus leaned in and placed a quick kiss on the other man's lips. "Good, because you're not forgetting about me again, on threat of my magic conjuring neon pieces into your very monochrome wardrobe. You know, a warlock scorned is no small matter."

"Don't do that."

Magnus tilted his head up, an air of challenge in its angle. "Then don't stand me up."

"I didn't do it on purpose." There was an honest sentiment in Alec's voice that only he could pull off. "Besides, bright colors are a work hazard."

"So are seven-inch heels, but that has never stopped Isabelle," Magnus threw back with a wink. He did enjoy baiting Alec, but sometimes, it was too easy. Thankfully, the younger man had gotten used to it by now, and took it in stride.

Alec opened his mouth to retort, but seemed to be at a loss for a comeback. "Touché," he finally said, conceding the point. Then, he straightened, as if remembering something. "Oh, speaking of work, I was wondering if you can do me a favor. I need you to take a look at this."

That was when Magnus noticed the book Alec was holding. The leather tome looked old, with crude bindings and aged parchment placing it around the middle ages, or perhaps medieval even.

"Oh, Alexander, you sure do know how to bring a warlock the most romantic gifts," he noted flatly. Yet, despite his teasing, his professional curiosity was piqued. He took the offered book, and moved to take a closer look at it on the kitchen island counter. A musty smell wafted from the pages as he flipped it open, his fingers running gently over the cover's intricately embossed ridges. "Where'd you get this? Was this why you had to leave so early this morning?"

Alec came up behind him to look over his shoulder, his nearness causing delightful shivers to run up Magnus' spine. "No, we had reports of mundanes dabbling in things they shouldn't have this morning. This, this we found by a dead warlock at one of their ritual sites. I can't read it, but I thought you might be able to."

Magnus made a contemplative sound as he browsed over the meticulously inked notes on the parchment. "I don't know whether to be insulted you think I'm that ancient, or flattered you think so highly of me. But no, this is older than me, it seems. I think I might be able to decipher some of it though with a little research. It's definitely a warlock's spell book. I recognize some of the diagrams. You said the warlock is dead?" He cast a quick look at the handsome profile of his Shadowhunter. Time had worn away the younger man's shyness, and Magnus reveled at the ease with which they now interacted.

Alec nodded. "Izzy brought his body back to the Institute for an autopsy."

"Hmm, I wonder if I know him. Whoever he was, he was old, which meant he was likely pretty powerful."

"Well, you're welcomed to take a look. I don't think Izzy would mind."

"I might take you up on that offer. It sounds like something a high warlock should be on top of. Though, you might also want to keep an eye on the humans. Taking down a strong warlock warrants extra caution." Although his presence at the Institute still elicited some censure from a few parties – mainly because of his relationship with a certain Lightwood, he assumed – he was tolerated on a professional level. "And this is–" Magnus paused in his perusal, his hand stilling.

Alec leaned in. "What?"

"A few pages were ripped out." He traced the jagged pages, puzzled. "It may be nothing. It might've been done centuries ago, but it's something to keep in mind."

"I would agree." The younger man placed a kiss on his temple, and rested his chin on Magnus' shoulder. The warlock practically preened at the contact. Six months ago, Alec had skirted around casual touch like it was the plague, but now ... now, he seemed more comfortable in his own skin, and although still reserved in public, he was not so ready to jump out of it when things between them got hotter and heavier. Magnus preferred to think he had been the reason for the change, but realistically, he knew Alex was much stronger emotionally and mentally than anyone gave him credit for. Alec had wanted to change, and therefore, Alec had changed. Magnus had only been a guide along the way. "But we can take a closer look tomorrow. I've been up for over twenty hours. Right now, I need a shower and sleep, and not necessarily in that order."

Magnus turned, and pulled his companion in for a more thorough kiss. As always, a tantalizing heat oozed slowly from the pit of his stomach down to pool in his groin. Suddenly, his already tight pants became even tighter, and the taste of Alec on his tongue wasn't enough. He wanted more, so much more, and the way his body – erection and all – rubbed against the Shadowhunter was a clear testament to that fact. A pained groan of longing rumbled deep in Magnus' throat as his brain honed in on one singular mission: Alec. Fuck. Now.

"Want company?" he managed hoarsely when he briefly pulled away.

Alec made a sound of agreement, the glazed quality of his eyes enough to signal his pliability.

Without a second thought, and in record time, Magnus led his lover through the master bedroom and into the ensuite, a trail of discarded clothing left in their wake. By the time he had the rain shower going, Alec had just shucked off his boxers. It had taken a bit of patience on Magnus' part, but he'd finally persuaded the younger man to let go of some of those Nephilim-instilled inhibitions, at least in private. And damn, Magnus was so glad he had. Alec, at full attention, was a sight to behold. Hunger and lust clouded Magnus' thoughts as his eyes drank in that beautifully sculpted body, smooth rune-covered skin encasing solid muscle. Every part of him itched with need to touch, to feel, to possess.

Suppressing a growl, Magnus pulled the Shadowhunter into the shower, and under the warm spray. Alec came willingly, eagerly, crushing his mouth and consuming him like a man starved for days. Not that he minded. Nor did he mind when the Shadowhunter pushed him against the cool, wet tile. In fact, he liked the blatant show of aggression.

Using the hard surface for leverage, he pushed himself up, and wrapped his legs around his lover's waist. Alec held steady at the change in position as he continued to work his mouth along Magnus' jawline and down his neck. Holy Hell, the man was strong, and Magnus loved every ounce of that supernatural strength. He tilted his head back, allowing the younger man access to the most sensitive and vulnerable spots on his throat. He rocked his hips, and felts his partner's cock tease his own entryway. The mere touch of it sent a shock through his body, and he almost cried out in frustration at why Alec wasn't in him. Now. The sooner Alec came, the sooner he would too.

His vision blurred, the world around him a haze, and whether that was from his own need or the water, he didn't know. Frankly, he didn't care. As if from a distance, he heard a muted click. He absently registered Alec working open a shower gel bottle with one hand. A practical part of him wanted to point out he could easily conjure up a proper tube of lubricant, but that was immediately drowned out by the lust-filled part. Truthfully, he'd have trouble conjuring air at the moment, and he rather enjoyed it when Alec got all inventive.

Sure fingers stroked him, smoothly and deftly readying him for what was to come. A moan of anticipation rumbled deep in Magnus' throat at the ministration. How far the student had come, Magnus mused with pleasure. It wasn't that long ago when he had to show the Shadowhunter the mechanics of the whole thing, through heated blushes and stuttered exclamations and all.

"Just do it already," he ground out. His own fingers dug deep into his partner's shoulders, willing the other man to hurry things along. They could leave the foreplay for some other time. He'd waited all night for the man, and he was going to damn well get something out of this night. His own erection strained in agreement.

Alec complied. And Magnus was grateful his erstwhile lover hadn't learned the full art of seduction just yet. His breath caught as Alec filled him, stretched him, deeply, hungrily, and after taking a moment to adjust to the sensation, he started to roll his hips, feeling more complete than he ever cared to admit.

Breaths heavy, Alec's arm came up and braced them against the tile, but Magnus barely registered it in his periphery. Sight was the dullest of his senses right now. Yet, he felt as if he'd never seen clearer. All his other senses had heightened, converging in and overloading his brain: the droplets of water, dancing a steady rhythm around them, pinpricks of sensation along their skin; the clean, refreshing scent of soap, silky slick between them; and the warm, salty taste of Alec, ever so present on his tongue.

Their cadence built, as did a coiled pressure deep in Magnus' core, until the muscles beneath his touch tensed, and Alec cried out in sweet release. Magnus leaned forward and reclaimed that delicious mouth, gently massaging those lips and that tongue with his own as he himself finally climaxed. Alec held him, supported him with his steadiness, as the shudders rippled through his body, and his ejaculate slowly washed away from their abdomens.

"Thank you," Alec breathed out.

Magnus smiled. His little Shadowhunter, ever the polite one. With a soft kiss, he languidly extricated himself from the younger man. He wanted to stay here longer – forever perhaps – basking in a steamy shower with a lover he would never get enough of, but alas, life was never so simple or fanciful. In fact, if his wrinkling skin was any indication, life could be a bit of a bitch.

"We should get out before we turn into prunes," he supplied tiredly.

"Mmm-hmm." The reluctance in Alec's response mirrored Magnus' own.

He chuckled quietly. "You did say you wanted sleep. So go!" He gave those wonderfully sculpted pectorals an assertive pat. "I need to clean up here. I probably look like a raccoon with the amount of liner and mascara I had on."

"You look beautiful," Alec replied firmly.

"Thanks, darling. I appreciate the lie."

"No, I'm serious. You – "

Magnus gave the man another quick kiss and pushed him out of the shower. The lack of artifice really astonished him sometimes, and it only pulled him deeper and more fully under Alec's spell. He heard the Shadowhunter ambling about for a few minutes as he worked on scrubbing the remaining cosmetics from his face, and sighed at the contentment he felt. He could get used to this. Sweet holy hell, he could definitely get used to this. And for some reason, that very thought frightened him.

As the realization dawned on him, he froze for a few seconds. Then, almost mechanically, he turned off the water, and grabbed a towel as he made his way over to the sink. He took a fortifying breath, and swiped a hand across the steamed-up mirror. His bare face, flat hair, and glowing cat's eyes stared back. Was this what Alec saw? Him, exposed and vulnerable, as he truly was? Or did he see all the glitz and glamor instead? Would either one of those version of him be someone the Shadowhunter could actually ... love? For a man who'd walked this road countless times before, he sure felt like a novice all of a sudden.

"Don't fall, Magnus," he whispered to his fuzzy reflection in a slightly anxious tone. "Whatever you do, don't fall."

Because if he did, he wasn't sure if he would ever be able to get back up.

After taking another minute to collect himself, he straightened, infusing a confidence into his spine that he wasn't sure was completely real, and walked into the bedroom. A pair of pajama bottoms lay on the bed beside the sprawled form of one exhausted Shadowhunter. Trust Alec to use the last of his energy to take out something for him to wear, and leave himself with none to even pull up the blankets before falling asleep.

A soft snore came from the younger man as if to highlight Magnus' thought. Yes, indeed, Alec hadn't been lying when he'd said he'd needed sleep. He was dead to the world.

Feeling all warm and nurturing at the sight, Magnus gently pulled the bedcovers over the sleeping form, and ran his fingers slowly through the younger man's still damp hair. "You know, Alexander," he said quietly. "I think I'm beginning to fall in love with you."

The steady in-and-out of Alec's breathing was his only response.

Which, now that Magnus thought about it, might've been a good thing. He didn't think the younger man was quite ready to hear those words yet.

Yawning, Magnus discarded his towel, pulled on the pants that Alec had set aside, and slid into bed beside his lover. With a half-smile on his lips, he let the warmth and solid presence beside him lull him into a peaceful sleep.

(***)

Alec jolted at the familiar sound of his phone. Moving with uncharacteristic clumsiness, he stumbled, half-awake, out of bed, all in an effort to answer before it woke Magnus. If standing up a warlock on a date was like facing an angry puppy, then waking one up from his beauty sleep was akin to poking a hibernating bear.

"Stop that annoying sound before I send it into the mountains of Timbuktu," came a groggy voice from beneath the blankets.

"Sorry," Alec whispered apologetically. He stood in the middle of the room, and scratched the back of his head, trying to remember where he'd dropped his mobile last night. "I can't find my phone"

"Somewhere between here and the kitchen," Magnus mumbled before the bed covers shifted, and the warlock burrowed deeper beneath them.

Alec tried to ignore how adorable the action was and padded out of the room. True to Magnus' words, he found his phone in the hallway, a casualty of their escapade the night before that had left a trail of clothing to the bedroom. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he answered the call. "Yeah?" he sighed tiredly.

"Good morning, sleepyhead. You heading in today, or spending time with your handsome boyfriend?"

Izzy. Alec yawned. "He's not – " He stopped. He did not know why, but he didn't feel that he and Magnus were legitimately a couple yet. Sure, he enjoyed – no, he absolutely loved – their time together, from their casual dates to their intense sexual adventures, but 'boyfriend' seemed so ... so real. He knew Magnus was comfortable with that term, but he – he wasn't just yet. It was almost like labelling them gave him something tangible that was uniquely his – not the Clave's, or his parents', or his siblings', but all his – and he wasn't used to that. He brushed the thought aside, preferring to deal with it another day.

"What time is it?" he asked instead.

"Almost ten."

Alec stilled. Ten? How in the world had he slept in so late? Usually, he was up training well before seven. Images of slick skin and a warm mouth under a gentle spray of water flashed through his mind, and caused a stream of heat to trickle through his body.

Oh, yes, that.

"Sorry, I didn't realize it was so late," he said as he bent down to pick up the gear he'd tossed on the floor last night.

"I'm sure you had other things on your mind, big brother," Isabelle replied knowingly.

Alec decided to ignore her tone. "I'll be there right away."

"Don't rush on my account. I've just got some preliminary findings to share about the warlock we found last night, but nothing concrete."

"No, I'll leave in a few minutes. Talk to you then." Before Isabelle had chance to insinuate anything else, he hung up.

He headed back into the bedroom with his clothes and phone in hand, now fully awake. Not surprisingly, the lump on the bed hadn't moved. So, as quietly as he could, he dumped the dirty laundry on a chair – he would have to collect and clean it later – and dug in the closet for the spare clothes he kept at the loft. Just the whole concept of 'making himself at home', as Magnus had put it, had seemed foreign to Alec a month ago when the older man had given him a key. But now, it was beginning to sink in how convenient it was to treat the loft like a second home, especially because he was spending more down time here than at the Institute.

He dressed within a minute, and was heading into the ensuite to quickly wash up when a disembodied voice came from beneath the blankets. "Who was it?"

Alec paused. "Isabelle."

"What did she want?"

"She just had some information on the warlock we found yesterday. I'm heading in to the Institute now. I didn't mean to wake you."

The comforter shifted, and a head popped up from underneath. Tufts of hair, unaided by product, stood up in every direction as one blurry-eyed warlock stretched on the bed, arms widespread. Again, Alec tried not to be distracted by the cuteness of the tableau.

"Well, there go my plans to wrangle you into spending time with me."

A seed of guilt took root inside Alec. True, he did enjoy hanging out with Magnus – and the sex was an added bonus – but he couldn't just completely abandon his Shadowhunter duties either. So, whenever the older man suggested they spend time together, he always faced an inner dilemma.

"Sorry," he apologized for what felt like the hundredth time.

Magnus shrugged, and waved off the apology. "That's okay. Things happen."

Of course, it didn't help ease Alec's guilt when the man was likely the most understanding warlock in the world. Then, he had an idea. "Did you want to come with me? I'm sure Izzy wouldn't mind the help, and you can use the Institute's resources for that book we found."

Magnus' smile seemed to brighten the room, and if Alec wasn't mistaken, his own heart skipped a beat at the sight. "Why, Alexander, are you asking me on a work date?"

"I suppose I am."

"Then I accept!" With that, Magnus bounded out of bed as if tapping into a new source of energy.

Alec tried to not let his gaze linger too long on the bare, well-toned chest, and those neatly defined abs. He thought he did an admirable job. "Okay, but I'm leaving in five minutes, so don't take too long getting ready."

Magnus froze, and stared at him with a horrified look. "But darling, perfection takes time!"

A smile threatened to crack Alec's stern demeanor, but he turned toward the bathroom before the other man could see it. "Five minutes, Magnus. Five minutes!" he stated as he walked away.

(***)

Isabelle looked at the digital display on her tablet when a tall, familiar figure stepped into the main control room of the Institute, an impeccably dressed warlock in tow. She gave Alec a look of mock disbelief. "A few minutes, huh? It's been three hours since we hung up. I know I said no rush, but isn't this a bit extreme, big brother?"

Alec's eyes narrowed in warning, but what kind of sister would she be if she let this opportunity to tease the usually stoic sibling pass her by? She plastered on the biggest smile she could, and gave her brother's companion a wink. "Oh, hi, Magnus. Keeping Alec occupied again, I see."

A hint of devilishness sparkled in the warlock's eyes as he played along. "You have no idea how creative your bro – "

"It's not what you think," Alec cut in, tone all serious. "Magnus was getting ready."

The simple statement was supposed to be an explanation and justification all in itself, Isabelle assumed. Still, even the grumpiness in his delivery didn't sound as – as angry as it once had. At least, not since Magnus had entered his life. And Isabelle would forever be grateful to the warlock for that. "Yes, of course," she supplied, though she couldn't keep the amusement from her voice. She knew her brother was a horrible liar when it came to his relationship, so what he'd said had likely been true, but she just couldn't help herself with the teasing. Old habits died hard, as the adage went.

"So where are we at?" Alec asked, changing the topic.

Isabelle quickly pulled up some files she'd been looking at on her tablet, and handed it over. "I've been going through traffic and security footage from the area last night, and trying to identify the humans we saw. I finally got a partial image from a traffic camera of the one that got away after our fight."

"Who is he?" Alec glanced down at the picture she'd loaded on the screen.

"A man by the name of John Dorsett. I've been searching online for some background on him, but haven't gotten very far yet. All I've been able to find is that he used to be a security guard at the Museum of Natural History, and that he's a widow who lost his wife and daughter in a car accident several months ago."

"Tragic, but that shouldn't be an excuse for killing a warlock," Magnus said as he looked down at the screen in Alec's hands.

"And it doesn't explain how he knows about the Shadow World," Alec added.

Isabelle took in the two men for a second, and marveled at what a striking pair her brother and his boyfriend made. Nevertheless, even as Magnus leaned in to get a better view of the picture, she could see the stiffness in her sibling's posture. It was almost as if Alec was unconsciously avoiding any public displays of affection, even though Magnus was more than meeting him halfway. She made a mental note to talk to her brother about that. Give him a weapon, and he could wield it with the skill and precision of a gold medal Olympian, but social innuendos flew by him as fast as thoroughbreds on a racetrack.

"I have a theory." Isabelle reached for her tablet back, and swiped to the next page – an online news article she had been reading earlier. "A few months ago, a temporary exhibit opened at the museum called 'Historical Catastrophes: Journey of the Black Death'. There were artifacts from several archeological digs throughout Europe. And since our escaped mundane worked there ..."

"That may explain where this spell book came from," Magnus finished as he tapped the item in question, which had been tucked under his arm. "Nice work, my dear."

"Yes, great work, Izzy." Alec handed the table back. "It's a good start."

"And it gives me a direction to go in for our mysterious warlock." Magnus turned to her, the white light of the room reflecting off the pearlescent sheen of his cosmetic glitter. "I'm assuming he's currently in your morgue? I was hoping to take a look. Perhaps provide some insight on his identity, or cause of death."

Isabelle nodded. Having her brother in a relationship with a powerful warlock definitely had some professional perks. "Yeah, of course. My morgue is your morgue. I took a look this morning, but couldn't find anything out of the ordinary. You might have better luck. Want me to come with?"

Magnus waved a dismissive hand with his usual flourish. "Not to worry, my dear. I know my way around. I would think that your help is more needed in tracking down those humans."

Despite the fact that he likely had seen and experienced countless more supernatural mysteries than all the people in the room combined, Magnus still waited for Alec's approval on the proposed action, and in that silent way that lovers communicated, he got it. Isabelle watched the subtle interchange with interest, and a little bit of envy.

"If you're sure," she said.

"Yes, I can amuse myself with the spell book, and a dead warlock." Magnus turned and started his way out of the room at a leisurely pace. But before he was out of sight entirely, Isabelle caught the departing glance the man threw at her brother, and her heart clenched for him. There was such adoration and warmth in that glance that she could only dream of someone looking at her in the same way. And Alec – well, Alec, much to her exasperation, seemed completely oblivious to it all.

(***)

The onslaught of power that surged through him was indescribable. His eyes opened in wonder, and his lips pulled back into an amazed, teeth-baring grin. Fuck, this – this was unlike anything he'd ever felt. Master. It had to be Master. It was all his doing.

The sheets of old paper fluttered in his hands, confirming his conclusion.

'Is everything ready, John?'

He looked at the others, standing in a circle around him. Believers, all of them, like him.

"Yes. Yes, Master."

'Good. Because they are coming.'

He didn't question who 'they' were. He knew: those creatures from last night. But they would be too late this time.

"What about a warlock?"

There was a pause, but Master answered.

'He will be here.'

He let out a relieved breath. It was almost over.

(***)

"Magnus?"

At the sound of his name, Magnus looked up from the grimoire he'd been studying, and smiled in welcome when he saw Alec stride purposefully into the Institute's archives room. The Shadowhunter's presence never failed to uplift his mood and make him a bit bubbly inside. Oh, how he'd forgotten these first blissful phases of courtship.

"Alexander," he greeted evenly, betraying none of his innermost thoughts. "Done for the day? I was thinking we could grab some dinner on the way home, if you were."

A familiar crease formed on the younger man's forehead as regret overtook his features. Magnus knew the answer before Alec said anything. "Sorry, I can't right now. We managed to tap into a CCTV feed that pinpointed our rogue mundane from last night. Seems like he's hiding in an old cannery by the East River. We're gearing up to head out, but I just wanted to let you know first."

A few centuries of living had taught Magnus the meaning of patience, and although he didn't like playing second fiddle to a job – and to a Shadowhunter's job at that – he accepted it. At least, for Alec, he would. Taking quick note of how empty the room was, he allowed himself the luxury of putting his arms around the younger man, and pulling him in for a chaste kiss on the lips. He knew Alec would've been uncomfortable with the affectionate display had other Shadowhunters been around – and he respected that – so he relished the contact even more, especially in one of the Nephilim's inner sanctums.

"Okay, I'll see you tonight then, back at the loft?"

Alec made a sound of agreement, and leaned forward to touch their foreheads together, seemingly enjoying their private moment as much as Magnus was. "Thanks for being so understanding. I owe you."

"You owe me a lot, darling. And make no mistake, I will collect."

A low chuckle rumbled deep in Alec's throat as a response. "You going to stick around here, or head home?"

Magnus pulled away reluctantly, and flipped through a few pages of the spell book he'd been immersed in the last hour. "I might spend just a few more minutes here. I couldn't learn anything from the warlock's body, but I did discover that the spells in this book are dark. As in, the very depths of Hell dark, and the resources here are extensive enough to help with my investigation. One thing I must say is that you Nephilim do keep a good database of us Downworlders."

Alec stared at him for a few heartbeats, expression unreadable. And then, "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For helping me out."

Magnus affected his quizzical look, knowing what the other man was implying, but choosing to brush it off. "What? No, I'm doing this because it's part of my job as high warlock."

Those piercing eyes easily saw through him, much to Magnus' delight. "Well, thank you, nonetheless."

"You're welcome, but don't let it get around. I have a reputation to maintain," he returned. "Now, off with you. Go catch the bad human, and I'll see you back at the loft afterwards."

After a quick goodbye, Magnus sat back down to reapply himself to his task. He did feel lighter now though, as if the short visit from his lover had given purpose to what he was doing. And as his mind soaked in that fact, a thread of trepidation formed in his gut. It was dangerous, he realized, to place so much of his trust and future happiness in one person. He had done it before, only to have everything crumble down around him. And yet – yet, here he was, doing it again, like an idiot who never learned his lesson.

"One insane idiot," he muttered to himself as he flipped a page, and glanced over the medieval reference book he'd found. His attention was half on the mystery in front of him while the other half still lingered on the irresistibly sexy smile of one tall, dark, and handsome Shadowhunter.

"Who am I kidding?" he asked rhetorically. There was no way he could concentrate now. Alec had pretty much destroyed that with his visit. With a resigned sigh, he closed the grimoire, and leaned back in his chair. He eyed the reference book for a minute, and debated whether to just snap it back to its shelf with magic, or do it the old-fashioned way. If there was one thing Shadowhunters valued above the Law, it was order. Everything had its place, even a little obscure reference book buried deep in their archives.

Deciding to call it a day – and a rather unproductive one at that – he stood and grabbed the borrowed book, intent on returning it to its proper spot. He glanced down at the catalogue number, and froze. He didn't know why exactly, but there was an odd sense of déjà vu that passed through him.

There was something he was forgetting, something he'd seen but something he'd missed. Yet ... yet, he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Then, it occurred to him. Struck with new insight, he put the book down, and headed back toward the Institute's morgue. He'd examined the dead warlock earlier, and hadn't uncovered anything that Isabelle hadn't already noted. Even on the magic front, he'd found nothing. The body had simply been devoid of any residual energy, but that wasn't out of the ordinary if the warlock had been dead for a while. Still ...

He entered the empty morgue in a rush, and headed straight for the body on the metal examining table. Thankfully, the corpse hadn't been put away yet. Eager to confirm his suspicions, he gently grabbed the dead warlock's left wrist, and turned the arm for a better view of the inner skin.

There.

It was easy to miss because of the iridescent scales, and the subtle flower tattoo inked over it, but when he peered closely, he could definitely make out a defined set of numbers and letters.

B43483.

He'd seen this before. He'd seen this series of alpha-numeric tattoos once, complete with a triangle right below it. He'd met a survivor of the Auschwitz concentration camp back in the early 1950s who had had something eerily similar. Even he, with his love of decadence and frivolities, had sobered up enough at the time to condemn the atrocities he'd heard of during that gruesome war. He had thought that Downworlders were bad. It was nothing compared to the depths of cruelty that humans were capable of inflicting on each other.

But why would a warlock have such a tattoo? Any creature with a little power would've done anything to avoid the possibility of imprisonment in a concentration camp. Unless ... unless said creature was too young to have developed powers to defend himself. He didn't even want to consider what those Nazi SS officers might've done to the poor soul when they'd seen his warlock mark.

This whole time, he'd been working under the assumption that the dead warlock was centuries old, when in fact, he hadn't been. And that meant the grimoire didn't belong to him either.

With a purpose in mind, Magnus left the morgue, and headed back to the Ops center. He passed several Shadowhunters along the way, but his relationship with Alec had given him enough leeway to move about the Institute freely. When he arrived at the control room, he found an empty console, and accessed the Downworlder database he'd been browsing earlier. His search hadn't been successful before, but he'd had the wrong parameters. Now, removing the dead warlock from the equation ...

He tapped his foot as he waited for the results to return. And when they did, his gaze locked onto one name in particular, one name he'd only heard of in whispers of condemnation. A cold sense of dread clawed up his belly and into his throat.

Shit!

Moving as quickly as he could, he logged off the console, and ran out of the room. As he sped through the corridors, he pulled his phone out, and tapped Alec's number, but got no answer. He cursed. Various Shadowhunters turned to watch his abrupt departure, but he didn't have time to catch them up on his discovery.

He had to get to Alec. He had to get to Alec now!

(***)

"So, do crazy bad guys get a discounted rate on abandoned old buildings?" Jace asked in a loud whisper as they approached the darkened structure. "Because it's always where we end up when we fight them. For once, I'd like to sneak into a five-star hotel, or a Michelin-ranked restaurant."

Alec didn't bother responding. It was a stupid question to begin with, and Jace likely wasn't expecting an answer anyways. However, he did agree with the old building sentiment. The boarded up cannery had certainly seen better days: the humid, dockside air had done a number on the rusted metal doors, and the dingy paint barely masked the structural frame that was starting to sag. The lingering scent of rotting fish fought valiantly against the pervasive odor of the river. Alec just hoped they could get in and out of there before they all gagged to death on the smell, or before the whole thing fell down on their heads.

"You guys know the plan?" he asked instead.

"Yeah, same as always, right?" Isabelle slid her whip into her hands, eyes focused and expression serious.

Clary activated her blade, and nodded in confirmation. "We flank, and Alec is covering from above," she said lowly, more to remind herself of the usual plan than to inform the company at large.

Alec silently signaled their advance, and slung his bow across his body as he looked for the best roof access point. The team scattered, and he let the calm of battle settle over him. He'd trained for this, been born for it, and yet, even as these missions became routine for him, there was always this heady mix of anxiousness and anticipation that made his heart rate speed up and his stomach flutter. Strangely enough, that pre-battle feeling had become a little more pronounced since he'd started his relationship with Magnus. Because, as much as he tried to deny it, he had someone to return to, someone who cared for him waiting for him, at the end of the night. And that thought sometimes froze the breath in his lungs, and tapped an unknown pool of fear in his chest.

Nevertheless, there was a job to complete tonight. Alec tempered his errant feelings, and easily leapt onto the roof with the help of his rune. He lightly padded his way toward the ventilation skylight in the middle of the structure, his enhanced vision locating the latched panel. Working quickly, he managed to pry open the window and slip in without a sound. He unslung his bow the moment his feet touched the service catwalk, but he'd barely had a chance to orient his position before he heard a loud shout echo from below, and was blinded by an encompassing burst of white light.

Instantly, he moved. An arrow was nocked before he even looked over the rail at the scene below. It was chaos down there. His aim shifted from the scattering mundanes to Jace, Izzy, and Clary trying to coral the mass. Damn it, his arrows wouldn't make a lick of difference with the situation the way it was.

Then, the overwhelming scent of sulphur and an ear-splitting roar assaulted his senses. He looked over to where the earlier column of light had come from – now just a shimmering portal – and froze. No matter how many times he had been in the presence of a greater demon, or how long he'd trained to fight them, he always experienced that debilitating sliver of fear that snuck its way through his blood.

He shook off his paralysis, and re-assessed quickly. "Jace!" he shouted as he prepared the jump down into the fray. He didn't need any more words for his parabatai to know his exact course of action. A greater demon would always take precedence over mundanes, and one quick glance between them was enough for Alec to pull Jace away from the fleeing humans.

They approached from opposite sites, a two-pronged attack that had Alec loosing his arrow before activating his blade the same time Jace engaged their horned opponent. The demon was large, towering over Alec by over half his body's height, but the size difference worked to his advantage. He moved much more swiftly, ducking and rolling over his left shoulder to avoid the swipe of a dangerous looking claw. He rose gracefully onto his feet, and blocked a back-swipe from the same claw just as he noticed Jace's weapon connecting on the other side. They both continued the fight, falling into a well-concerted rhythm of attack and withdrawal, until he saw an opening. Tightening the grip on his weapon, he lunged. As if reading his mind, Jace mirrored his movement. They both plunged their blades into the demon's heart at the same time, the beast's flesh smoothly giving way to their finely honed edges. The cry that accompanied the death strike was almost enough to make Alec cover his ears, but it was the sudden backlash of demonic energy that came from the beast that caught him off guard. The pulse was so great that before he knew it, he and Jace had been flung halfway across the factory floor. He landed heavily on his side, and barely had enough time to get his bearings before the power generated by the disintegrating demon caused his eyes to widen.

There was a shift in the air. He couldn't describe it; he simply felt it in his chest – a buildup of something explosive and destructive that crackled in all the molecules around them. And just when it felt like the metaphysical dam was about to burst, it stopped.

Nothing. Stillness. A void.

That was when he noticed the familiar blue energy signature coming from the portal by the dying demon.

"Magnus," he whispered.

"Get everyone out of here, Alec!" the warlock shouted, his attention fully focused on the task at hand. The blue light emitted from his hands brightened. "Now! I need to close this portal. But I don't know how long I can keep the energy neutralized."

Alec didn't have to be told twice. His instincts took over, and he quickly signaled for the group to retreat. What few mundanes were still around began fleeing as well, likely sensing the impending danger. He headed toward Magnus, fulling intending to leave together with the man, when Magnus shot him a warning look.

"Go," the warlock commanded in a tone Alec had rarely heard. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of that immaculately put-together face, betraying the effort he was putting into closing the portal. Still, Magnus smiled a reassuring smile. "I'll be right behind you, darling."

Alec hesitated. He knew how powerful and capable the man was, but leaving without Magnus went against every fiber of his being.

"You can't help me with this, Alexander," the other man said, as if reading his mind. He even had the audacity to throw in a wink. "You'll just be distracting me, and I need all my wits if I'm going to fix this."

Alec couldn't refute the logic. After another moment of watching Magnus concentrate on closing the portal, he nodded. "You better be right behind me," he threw back before he turned and darted out of the building.

The cool night air hit him with a sobering slap the moment he stepped outside, and now, out of range from the oppressive energy, he took a cleansing breath. He found Jace, Isabelle, and Clary on the west side of the building several feet away.

"Where's Magnus?" Clary asked as he neared.

"Inside. He's closing the portal, and should be – "

The explosion cut off his words and knocked them all off their feet. The air left Alec's lungs, and he felt the whole world tilt. When he regained his senses - after what seemed like an eternity – he pushed up onto his knees and looked on at the demolished factory, stunned.

Reality took a moment to register. For several seconds, his mind soaked in the scene with clinical detachment. And then, with growing horror, the truth of what he was witnessing began to sink in. His chest constricted. His throat closed up.

"Magnus," he choked out. He stood. Half-stumbling, half-running, he headed toward the collapsed building, just as another partially standing piece fell. Someone grabbed him from behind. Jace? He shook him off. Or he tried to.

"Alec, stop. It's not safe! There's still residual demonic energy."

The arms around him tightened.

"But Magnus... he's ..."

He tried to pull away. He couldn't. Wouldn't ... why wouldn't his legs work?

"Alec, stop! Wait!"

He fell again, giving into the added weight of his parabatai.

Fuck Jace. He had to get to ...

"MAGNUS!"

The cry that rang through the air was broken, soaked with panic and despair. And belatedly, Alec realized it was his own.

Chapter Text

A Bedtime Prayer
Chapter 2: I Pray the Lord My Soul to Keep

(***)

Jace considered himself many things – strong, skilled, reckless, hot – but steady and rational had never been among them. And that was likely why everything seemed so out of focus when he and Alec burst through the Institute's doors with an unconscious warlock supported between them. The shouts and orders that came from his parabatai were hurried and almost incoherent, which only added to the chaos their arrival had caused, and Jace felt like he was the only one who noticed how Alec wasn't helping the situation.

Strange indeed.

"Alec, stop," he finally said, surprised at how uncharacteristically reasonable he sounded. He shifted Magnus' dead weight against his side as he inclined his head toward the other doorway. "This isn't helping. Let's get him to the infirmary first."

"I'll contact the Silent Brothers," Isabelle added soothingly from behind them.

"And I'll see if I can get a hold of Catarina." Clary already had her phone out as she spoke. She gave him a knowing look, as if silently confirming their roles: He needed to handle Alec, while she and Izzy handled everything else.

He concentrated on the task at hand. "Come on, Alec. Let's go."

The visible signs of panic slowly left Alec at his words, the man collecting himself to what he was before the building had exploded. He thankfully kept quiet, and moved with Jace as they carried Magnus toward the infirmary.

The warlock was still warm and breathing – barely – pressed heavily against Jace's left side, and as they moved quickly into medical wing, Jace couldn't imagine what his parabatai was feeling or what was going through his mind. Their bond only gave him a fraction of insight, not the whole, unadulterated experience.

Fortunately, there were beds aplenty when they arrived in the infirmary, and he hazarded a look at his older sibling before lowering the unconscious man down. Alec's face was unreadable, his jaw set and his gaze sharp with steely focus. It was a far cry from a couple of hours ago when he'd had to physically restrain him from charging headlong into a collapsing building.

"Catarina's on her way," Clary said as she came up beside him. She watched Alec with concern while she tucked her phone back in her jeans pocket. "Isabelle contacted the Silent Brothers, just in case, but we can let whoever shows up first take a look at him."

Alec didn't respond. In fact, Jace wasn't sure his parabatai heard anything at all, especially with how intently he was staring down at Magnus. Then, after almost a minute of tense silence, he nodded. "Thanks, Clary."

There was a marked straightening of his spine, and a deadly calm settled into his bearing. It was as if a closed door in the man's mind had unlocked, and a completely different Alec had entered the body. Jace had seen this countless times in the past: this was the Alec he saw before they went into battle, before they risked life and limb on missions with the possibility of never coming back. This was the Alec who checked all emotions upon entry, who knew nothing but the fight at hand and completing objectives. In fact, Jace had to temper down a subconscious tightening of his own muscles because something in him, some fighting spirit that hovered just below the surface of his skin, wanted to follow suit.

"Alec," he said in warning. He understood they all handled stress in different ways, and far be it for him to tell his brother how to cope, but he couldn't risk Alec doing something he'd regret. Doing things and regretting it later was his job.

"I'm fine, Jace." Alec anticipated his concern. "We need to get to work. I want to start tracking down those mundanes. We also have to find out what they were doing and how they managed to do it." He moved toward the exit. "Where's Izzy? We should get started right now."

Jace turned to Clary, and met her worried gaze with one of his own. Clary reached out and squeezed his hand. They shared a silent moment of agreement. Alec hadn't acknowledged the warlock since they'd settled Magnus down on the bed, and that was a little – odd.

"You coming?" Alec glanced back at them.

"Go," Clary said quietly. "I'll stay with Magnus."

He nodded in agreement, and gave her a quick kiss. "Thanks," he returned under his breath.

He followed Alec out, and walked just a half-step behind as they made their way purposefully toward to the main Ops center. He wanted to say something, maybe hold the older man back at least until they found out Magnus' condition, but for once, he held his tongue. This wasn't his strong suit – this comforting, nurturing thing. But what Alec wanted to do, well, that he understood. As long as he didn't have to relive the frantic past two hours, he was good.

(***)

"MAGNUS!"

The shout startled Jace. Even with all he'd seen and done in his relatively short life, he couldn't recall anything to compare to the desperation he heard in his parabatai's voice. It caused him to loosen his hold. He was lucky Alec didn't notice the momentary lapse because he didn't doubt his sibling would've bolted into the collapsed building given the chance.

Instead, they remained where they were for several minutes, Alec seemingly devoid of any will to move, and him simply watching the scene with a critical eye as the rest of the structure fell. He noticed Izzy and Clary approach them slowly, cautiously, and what relief he experienced at seeing them unharmed was replaced by worry for the immobile man he held restrained in his arms.

They all eventually felt a shift in the air. That distinctive metallic tang of demonic energy dissipated, and he could finally breathe easier. How much time had passed, Jace didn't know, but it had been enough for him to let go of Alec and stand.

"I think it's gone now," Izzy stated, as if more to tell herself it was safe than everyone else.

Jace grunted in agreement. He glanced down at Alec, still on his knees, but before he had a chance to say anything, the man was off, sprinting like a madman toward the rubble. The rest of them followed suit, their purpose never in question. They fanned out, trying to cover the approximate area of where they'd seen Magnus last. Alec flung debris around carelessly and definitely with enhanced strength, his singular mission evident in how quickly he moved. Jace stayed as close to him as possible; to be honest, he'd never seen Alec pushed to his emotional limits before, and this new scenario had him on edge.

"Over here!"

Jace had been moving a particularly sharp piece of sheet metal when he heard Clary's shout. Instantly, they all dropped what they were doing, and darted over, Alec the quickest of them all. Jace arrived close behind, and only paused for a millisecond before joining his parabatai in moving a bent beam off a dust-covered distinctive purple shirt.

Alec checked for a pulse the moment he was able. "You're okay, Magnus," Jace heard his older sibling say under his breath, over and over, as if reciting a mantra. "You're okay."

Jace didn't comment. He didn't know what would be appropriate at a time like this. Certainly, it wasn't one of his sarcastic remarks. It was enough to know that Magnus was still alive, covered in dust and blood as he was. Instead, he worked at removing the rest of the broken pieces of plaster and metal off the warlock, all the while, keeping the concerns he had to himself when he noticed the dried blood coating the side of Magnus' head, and the complete lack of response when they cleared off all the debris.

When Magnus was free, Alec maneuvered himself to pull the unconscious man out.

"Should we be moving him?" Clary asked, her tone soft.

Alec threw her such a lethal glare that Jace stepped in front of her for protection. In the distance, the faint blare of sirens echoed. Some mundane must've heard or seen the explosion, and called it in, Jace guessed moodily. Sometimes, humans were so annoying.

Nonetheless, they had work to do. "It'll be fine," he told Clary. "We just need to get him out of here before it's crawling with mundanes. We'll take him back to the Institute."

Clary looked at him with gratitude in her wide eyes, and he couldn't stop from giving her a quick wink, and a small reassuring smile. Then, he moved. He helped Alec pull Magnus from the rubble, and after securing their holds on either side of the unconscious warlock, they were off, moving as quickly as their rune-enhanced speed allowed, with Izzy and Clary following close behind.

(***)

"So when's he waking up?"

Jace looked up from the security footage he'd been scrubbing through for the last two hours at the sound of Alec's no-nonsense voice. He'd been tasked with reviewing the different city cameras to trace the steps of their rogue mundanes, and he hated it. He wasn't built to do work on a computer console. He was supposed to be out there, actually doing something. And Alec had just walked by, his posture and presence simply screaming 'business', and Jace couldn't help but overhear him ask Catarina the question on everyone's mind as if he were requesting a status report.

Jace gave up all pretense of working, and walked casually toward the pair. If Alec noticed him, he didn't make any indication of it. Catarina did though. She gave him an almost imperceptible nod, her long ponytail bouncing slightly at the motion before she turned back to face Alec with a somber expression.

"He's not," she said simply.

Jace wasn't overly perceptive when it came to emotional tells, but even he could see Catarina fight to keep her composure while she delivered the news as the consummate professional she was. A slight wobble of her lip, the unconscious squeezing of her fingers, the distant, haunted quality of her usually warm gaze – they all gave her away. This was not good news.

"What do you mean?" Again, clinical and emotionless, Alec betrayed none of his own thoughts, and that had Jace's attention. He searched his parabatai's face for something, anything.

The wringing of Catarina's hands became more pronounced. "He's not waking up, Alec, because there's no one to wake up." Jace knew this was Catarina, the friend, not the nurse, speaking now because he could hear the waver in her voice, the sadness. "Magnus is not in there," she continued shakily. "If he were human, I would label him as brain dead, but because he's a warlock, his body is continuing to heal even without higher brain activity. There's just no one left inside. It's like his soul, his whole consciousness, everything that made Magnus, Magnus, is gone."

Catarina finished with a shuddering breath. She was trying to restrain her tears, and it was a valiant effort, Jace thought.

Alec made no response. He didn't react much at all. Jace strained and searched to find something to show that his sibling had understood what the blue warlock had said, but he couldn't. His own stomach churned, sadness welling up inside him at the news. He was not close with Magnus, but he still considered the feckless warlock a friend. And he would always be grateful for the smile the man had put on Alec's face.

"So what do we do now?" Alec finally asked. It was a logical question, and needed to be answered, but Jace wished his brother had saved it for another time. Right now, Alec needed to feel, to emote, to rage, not be this – this analytical leader who behaved more robot than flesh and blood. It was beginning to creep Jace out.

"I've put a preservation spell on him for the time being so that his body can continue to heal. It'll keep his lungs breathing, and his heart beating. It'll also prevent the side effects of immobility like atrophy and muscle degradation. We can use the next few days to decide what we want to do."

Catarina's voice broke as she finished, and she wiped away a stray tear that made it through her defenses. Jace heard the unspoken words though: they would need to decide whether to pull the plug, as it were, in the mundane world.

"Understood. Thanks for your help, Catarina." Alec effectively dismissed the warlock, one of Magnus' closest friends, as if he was dismissing a subordinate after receiving a daily report. Jace fought the urge to smack his parabatai upside the head and shake him until things were working right in that brain of his again.

If Catarina was bothered by the curt dismissal, she didn't show it. Instead, she inclined her head in acknowledgement, and turned to leave. But as she walked passed Jace, she paused. "Call me when he's ready," she whispered as she placed a gentle hand on his arm.

Jace gave her a grateful nod. "I will. And thanks."

Catarina stepped away without another word, leaving Jace to watch Alec with an expectant air. Even with the constant buzz and movement of the Ops center around them, the space felt heavy, laden with the weight of unspoken words. Jace decided to break the silence.

"We should go see him," he suggested cautiously. He really sucked at this kind of stuff.

Alex waved the idea off. "No, we've got work to do. I need to follow up a lead at the museum, and you have to – "

"Alec – "

"No, Jace." Alec shot him a deadly look, and the hardness in that gaze stopped him in his tracks. There was an – an emptiness in it that struck Jace to the core. "We have work to do," the older Shadowhunter repeated firmly.

Normally, Jace would've pushed the limits of Alec's patience, flirt with breaking the rules, and disobey orders with a devil-may-care attitude, but this time, he restrained himself. Honestly, he was a little scared to do otherwise.

"Okay. Okay, Alec," he said, even though a sliver of uneasiness slipped into his words. "I'll keep working." And he proceeded to do just that, all the while hoping that he'd made the right decision by humoring his brother.

(***)

"Izzy, you have to talk to Alec."

Isabelle looked up from the tablet she hadn't really been reading, and watched Jace approach. She didn't need to ask what he was referring to. She knew. She'd had the same worries.

Two days. It had been two days since that fateful night they'd pulled Magnus out of the wreckage, and brought him to the Institute, two days since the warlock had been placed into a private room in some form of magical suspended animation, and two days since Alec had last seen his boyfriend.

Isabelle had thought to give him space at first, but at the rate that Alec was going, she wasn't sure if that had been such a good idea now. "I know," she said as she put down her tablet, and stood.

"He's been out tracking down those mundanes non-stop for the last forty-eight hours. I get tired just watching him," Jace continued.

"I know."

"He needs to stop. He needs to visit Magnus. Say goodb—"

"I know!" Isabelle cut her sibling off. She was still emotionally raw herself from the news. Just the idea of never talking to Magnus again, of never hearing his compliments about her style choices and her returning them in kind, it made her want to curl up in a ball and cry. And she had, for a brief time the day before. She'd needed it. But Alec – it must've been a hundred times worse for him. Yet, the idiot was too hardheaded and too bloody stubborn to face it.

"Where's he now?"

Jace blew out an exasperated breath. "He's gearing up to head out again. Asked me to go too, but I've got plans with Clary tonight. He didn't seem too happy."

"Is it about those mundanes from the other night?" Alec had seemed dead set on tracking those humans down, although she wasn't sure what he was planning to do once he caught them. Revenge just seemed so ... so petty, especially for Alec, who she was to be well above such a thing.

"No, just another routine demon sighting that any other Shadowhunter can take care of." Jace rolled his eyes. "But Mr. Go-Getter wants to handle it all by himself."

Isabelle suppressed an exasperated sigh of her own from escaping. "Okay, I'll have a talk with him."

"Thanks, Izzy." Jace threw her a relieved smile as she walked away. "And text if you need backup!"

She waved off his obligatory offer, and went to search for her oldest sibling, mentally formulating her words as she did so. This was new territory for her, and definitely new for Alec. How does one convince a person to let a loved one go? It was not a talk she'd expected to have – ever.

She found Alec in the weapons room, securing a quiver against his body. He glanced at her as she entered, but didn't say anything.

"Where are you going?" she asked rhetorically in the way of a conversation starter.

"Out. Demons in the East Village," he said without looking up from the buckle he was snapping into place. "Want to join me?"

"Alec," she paused, not wanting to say the wrong thing. "You need to slow down."

"Why? The demons won't slow down."

"Then let another team take care of it. We've been going non-stop for two days now. Jace and I are exhausted."

With one last click, Alec finished his task and straightened. "Then take a break. I can handle this."

Isabelle summoned all her resolve and stood her ground. She knew how to fight – growing up with two brothers had taught her that much, at least – so there was no way she would retreat now. "No. No, you can't. You've been going non-stop too, which means you're prone to make a mistake. And all it'll take is one moment, one slip before something bad happens, and you get yourself hurt or killed."

Alec glared at her as if to say that something bad had already happened, and if she had been a lesser person, she might've backed off. But she wasn't. And this was her brother's physical and mental well-being at stake here. She had to do this, especially because he was being so stupid.

"You should go see him, Alec," she said more softly.

"Why?"

Isabelle stopped. She hadn't expected that. "Why see him?" she asked, clueless.

"Yeah, Izzy, why? It's not going to change anything." He watched her intently, but oddly enough, she felt as if he were looking right through her. "I'm not going to change anything, so why bother. At least out there, I have the control and the power to do something."

"Alec – "

"Look, Izzy, I understand you're only looking out for me, but I know what I'm doing. I'm – "

"No, Alec, you don't! You have no fucking clue what you're doing because you've never been in this situation before. You're ignoring him. You're ignoring everything that has happened, and brushing it under the rug like it's some ... some unwanted thing. But it's not! That's Magnus in there. Not some stranger, or a random Downworlder, but Magnus Bane. Your boyfriend!"

"He's not my boyfriend."

For some reason, the denial didn't shock Isabelle, likely because she knew Alec better than he knew himself. "No, he's not," she quietly conceded. "He's so much more to you."

He didn't refute her statement this time. He didn't say anything really. The only indication that he'd heard her was in the clenching and unclenching of his fists.

"Go see him. It'll help," she said again. "If not for yourself, then for me. And for Magnus. He wouldn't want you acting like this."

She saw a muscle twitch in the side of his jaw, and for the first time in two days, vulnerability flickered across his face. But it came and went so fast, she might've imagined it.

Then, without another word, he walked right by her, and out of the room. She didn't stop him. She didn't think it would've made a difference. She didn't even know if she'd gotten through to him. All she could hope for was that her words had been enough to help him start the process of healing.

(***)

The room was stuffy. Or at least, it felt that way: stuffy and silent and solemn.

Alec stood, unmoving in its entryway, unwilling to turn around, but reluctant to go in. Isabelle's voice still rang in his head, accusations he tried to ignore, yet it dogged him like an incessant insect. He shifted his weight from side to side, uncertain. His leather gear creaked. He lifted a hand, and clutched the strap of his quiver, digging it into his fingers until it hurt.

Magnus' quiver technically. His now, he supposed.

Passing voices in the corridor reminded him of where he was, and spurred him to close the door. He probably looked like an idiot standing in the entryway, decked out in full hunting gear. Magnus would've laughed and mocked him for that.

Magnus.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting. The last time he'd seen the man, he'd been covered in blood and dust, unconscious. But now ...

Alec walked into the private room, and pulled a chair up to the side of the bed. Magnus looked like he was just sleeping, all peaceful and serene, he thought as he sat down. His face was make-up and glitter free, and his dark hair fell every which way, a stark contrast to the clean white sheets. He wondered if Izzy or Clary had been responsible for cleaning the warlock up, or if it was Catarina's preservation spell at work.

Now what? He'd come, like Isabelle had asked. What was he supposed to do now?

"Don’t think you can tell me?" he asked Magnus.

Nothing, as expected.

He sat back in the chair, stretched his legs out in front of him, and sighed. "Oh, hey, we're supposed to go on a date next week, aren't we? I should still be okay for that. I was thinking we could try that Persian restaurant you mentioned last month. You know, the one with the yellow awning outside."

Silence.

He couldn't even hear Magnus breathe. He would've doubted that fact if he didn't catch the very slow – and likely, magically-assisted – rise of the warlock's chest.

"So, work's been a bit busy lately, as you know. We're still tracking down those mundane from the other day. Haven't gotten very far. We did find the grimoire you left in the library, so we'll take a closer look at that. Don't suppose you want to share what you've found earlier?"

No response.

He didn't know why he was talking anyways. He certainly wasn't talkative by nature. He just needed something to fill the oppressive silence, he guessed. Because that silence meant someone wasn't holding up their end of the conversation, and he didn't particularly like that much.

"You know, you look different without make-up. Not bad, just different. I like it. I know you prefer to have it on – and don't get me wrong, you always look hot – but I like you like this too. I suppose I feel privileged that I'm not one of the regular people who only get to see the glitter. I get to see the other you, the real you that only a select few know."

He smiled, though it felt bittersweet.

Then, it occurred to him what he had to do. He needed to go back to the loft, and get Magnus' make-up. He just knew that Magnus would bring down the wrath of a thousand demons if he was caught in public without his make-up and Alec could've done something about it. It was an absurd thought really, a fanciful notion at best, but he felt compelled to do it.

So deciding, he rose, scraping the chair against the polished floor. "I'll be right back," he said, and ran out of the room.

He covered the distance between the Institute and the loft before he could second guess himself. It wasn't until his key clicked in the lock that he realized what he was doing. He had literally just ran halfway across the city to get make-up for a man who would likely never use it.

He wanted to laugh.

His hand shook as he pulled his key out. His key. The one Magnus had given him.

Something welled up in the back of his throat, and he had to take a few deep breaths before swallowing it down. Then, he stepped in, and slowly closed the door. He paused, letting the stillness of the space surround him. Everything, from the tasteful furniture pieces to the expensive art of unknown origins, appeared so familiar, and yet, so ... so foreign. It was as if he'd lived here once, and had not been back for years and years. It simply felt neglected and empty, all the life and color gone.

He took a step forward, and absently let his fingers trace over the metal spiral staircase that led up to the rooftop patio. Images of their six month anniversary flickered through his mind, and he chuckled mutedly at the memory. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

(***)

"Do you dream, Alexander?"

Alec looked down at Magnus, puzzled. They had just returned from their anniversary date – or 'Magnus' Meticulously-Planned and Perfectly-Executed Celebration of All that Was Wonderful and Sparkly', as a certain warlock had put it earlier – and were both lazily sprawled on two patio chaises they'd pushed together. Alec had sat first, wanting to selfishly claim the softer looking chaise, and Magnus, always one to thumb his nose at convention, had thrown himself down perpendicular to everything and plopped his head on Alec's chest. Alec didn't object though. Truthfully, he was quite comfortable – and content.

"Dream? Like metaphorically? Or literally? Because – "

"Literally." Magnus found his hand and interlaced their fingers together. He directed his attention up at the autumn night sky, waiting for an answer.

Alec smiled goofily at the whimsical question, and gazed upward too. A few brave stars had fought through the city's light pollution and blinked back from a sea of black velvet. "That sounds like a trick question, but uhh ... yes, I do dream."

Magnus made a contemplative sound. "Do you ever get those dreams where you're floating or flying? You know, the ones where you feel like you can go anywhere, see anything, be as free and as uninhibited as your imagination allows? Then, just when you feel like you can conquer the world, you fall. And before you know it, you jolt awake in bed with your heart beating so fast, you think for sure that it'll give out?"

Sometimes, Magnus did say the oddest things, but over the last several months, Alec had learned to take it all in stride. So this time, he just went with it. "No, can't say as I have."

The hold on his hand tightened slightly. "Well, to me, being in love feels a bit like that," Magnus said in a low tone. "You're floating at first, all carefree and laughter. Then, when you think you can't get any happier, you fall. Your stomach somehow jumps into your throat, your insides feel like they're being squeezed out of existence, and everything's so beyond your control, you want to scream." Magnus stopped for a moment, as if contemplating what he should say next, or perhaps, if he should say it. And then, "Right now, I feel like I'm floating, Alexander, floating and flying and happy. I'm ... I'm just afraid it'll end abruptly, like so many times before. And it's going to hurt."

Alec didn't know what to say to that exactly. Magnus was always so sure, so confident, it never occurred to him that a man so experienced still harbored the same doubts and insecurities as everyone else. Then, it dawned on him how precious a confession that was. Magnus Bane, the High Warlock of Brooklyn, one of the most powerful beings around, had just confessed to him a fear, a weakness. He was taken aback by it, but also, a little bit moved.

So, he gave their interlaced hand another squeeze, and said, "It won't happen. I promise."

(***)

Alec strode into the loft, intent on heading to the bedroom, rounding up Magnus' cosmetics, and then running back to the Institute. But for some reason, he slowed when he passed the dining area.

The table was still set. The candles and the centerpieces and the silverware were all sitting on the table, innocently waiting for their owners to come back and enjoy a cozy, romantic meal. He could almost picture Magnus fussing over it, constantly snapping his fingers to change the color scheme, or the placement , or the design. Not a single detail slipped by the warlock.

Alec's vision blurred just then, and when blinking didn't fix it, he rubbed a frustrated hand over his eyes. It came away wet.

He stared at the back of his hand for a second, not fully registering the sensation.

Was he crying? He did not cry. He hadn't cried since he was six years old, and his mother had berated him for stealing her stele.

And yet ... yet, that lump in the back of his throat returned, and he had to take a stuttered breath. His legs weakened, and he stumbled to the nearest wall for support before his traitorous body collapsed to the floor. He tossed his gear, bow and quiver, to the hardwood with a clatter. So constricting. He couldn't get them off fast enough. His chest heaved. He'd given up on his vision. The tears fell.

Fucking weak body!

It was pathetic and useless, just as pathetic and useless as he'd been when he'd brought Magnus with him to the Institute, when he'd taken and taken and never given back ... when he'd left Magnus in the building to die. He cursed. He cursed everyone and everything. But most importantly, he cursed himself. His pathetic and useless self.

He crumpled then. No matter how much he fought it, how much his mind willed himself to stay strong and pretend like everything was fine, his muscles didn't listen. He crumpled to the ground, and lost to the involuntary sobs that wracked his body. He couldn't breathe, not when his throat was closed up like this, not when a pain so soul-deep lanced through his body, he would probably be forever scarred.

So fucking weak! And it hurt. It hurt so fucking much.

He gave up at that point. Whatever strength he had left, fled. And he surrendered to it. He was tired, so damned tired, and frankly, he didn't care anymore. The grief, the pain, the emptiness, the guilt – he let them all in, let them consume him, and seize everything he was. Because they were the only things he had left now – his only true constant companions.

End Chapter 2

Chapter Text

A Bedtime Prayer
Chapter 3: If I Should Die Before I Wake

(***)

The room came into focus slowly – agonizingly so. Not that he could see much anyways, just the grainy outline of unfamiliar shapes. He was fairly certain the lights were dimmed, wherever he was. That was when it hit – the biggest hangover to have ever come into creation. He tried to groan – partly from pain, but mostly for pity – yet something was definitely off with his throat because all he heard was a labored exhalation of air.

Shit! Everything hurt, his sluggish brain realized, which only meant that he wasn't dead. He supposed that was a good thing. Or was it? He was beginning to think that death might've been more preferable to the jackhammer pounding away inside his head.

What had happened? And where was he?

This wasn't home, that much he could process. So where did that leave him?

He remained still for a few seconds, simply breathing and coming to terms with his throbbing head. That was when he noticed the steady electronic beeping, and the distinct antiseptic smell in the air.

Hospital.

Why was he in the hospital?

He was pretty sure his magic could fix whatever was wrong –

His eyes widened, and the high pitched beeping quickened.

His magic! He couldn't feel his magic. It was usually there, sitting below the surface, a constant comforting thrum of power he called upon in his times of need, like a reliable steadfast friend. It was absent, gone. And he, he was empty.

Panic tightened his chest, and the heart monitor became more of an annoyance. Despite his body's protest, he sat up and tried to call up his magic. Something simple, like the lights perhaps. He could brighten the lights. His hands moved through simple, familiar motions, his eyes expecting more than the dismal failure that resulted.

Something was very wrong.

He looked down at his hands, confused. This ... this wasn't right. In fact, his hands didn't look right. He felt odd, like he was living in someone else's ill-fitting skin.

"Hey, Kyle?"

He looked up at the unfamiliar voice. A silhouette, shadowed by the brightly lit hallway, peeked in through a partially opened door.

"Holy fuck, you're awake!" The mysterious figure burst in just then, and placed a steaming coffee cup on the over-bed table. "You scared the shit out of us, dude," the stranger said as he walked up to the head of the bed, and pressed something against the wall. Suddenly, there was light.

He took a moment to look around at the bland, white walls, and eventually, came to rest on the eager brown eyes of the blond man standing next to him. "K-Kyle? That's me?" he asked.

The man's brows furrowed at the question. "Yeah, that's your name, last I checked. Kyle Brantford-Lee, from Pasadena," he said with a hint of uncertainty. "Man, if you can't remember your own name, I should probably get the doctor."

"No, wait!" He reached out, and grabbed the stranger's arm. "I need answers. What happened? And who are you again?"

The blond stood unmoving for a few seconds, as if trying to make sense of the simple questions. "I'm Shaun," he finally replied. "We've been friends since high school. You don't remember?"

He shook his head. None of this sounded familiar at all. "Sorry, Shaun, I don't. What happened to me? And why am I here?"

Shaun let out what sounded like a long, disappointed breath as his shoulders slumped a little. "I think you ended up with a bad batch at the Kappa Sig party we went to a few days ago," he said quietly.

"Bad batch?"

"Fentanyl. Lucky for you, there was a guy there who had a Naloxone kit, and who was sober enough to use it. You were totally out of it, so we called an ambulance, and brought you here. The doctors said your heart actually stopped. You're at the UCLA med center, by the way, so some of the best docs around."

He sat, slouching somewhat, and stared blankly at his self-proclaimed friend. Everything he'd been told sounded strange, disconnected, like he'd seen it on some television show. Headache aside, he certainly didn't feel like some college kid who'd just overdosed at some crazy party. He must've stayed silent for too long because Shaun shifted uncomfortably on the spot.

"Hey, look, I think I'd better get the doctor, just to be safe," the blond said. He turned to leave, but paused briefly. "Oh, and sorry in advance, but I called your parents."

"My parents?"

"Yeah, I know you wouldn't have wanted them to know about this, but you know, it was a life and death thing, and I didn't think I was the best person for the job. They were still on their cruise, but they should be here later tomorrow." Shaun seemed to take the following silence as his chance to escape, which was perfectly fine.

Kyle – the name just didn't feel right – wanted to be alone to simply process everything. He closed his eyes and lay back down, absently rubbing his forehead in hopes of alleviating the constant pounding in his brain.

What was happening? Why did it feel like something was crawling all over his skin when he knew there wasn't anything there?

Only the steady beeping of the heart monitor answered back.

'You better be right behind me.'

In the corner of his mind, there was a remnant of something: a voice, deep and calming. A dream, maybe? He breathed out.

'I'll be right behind you, darling.'

Alec.

His eyes shot open, and he sat right back up. With frantic fingers, he pulled the sensors and IV line off of himself, and scrambled out of bed. Images, rough and disjointed, began tumbling through his head.

A worried look, a trusting smile –

An exploding building.

His bare feet touched the floor, and when he stood, his legs tripped over each other, stumbling. The now incessant flat line sound of the monitor didn't help matters much. He wanted to zap the thing out of existence, but no, no, he had to get to Alec. And see for himself that he was alright.

Magnus. That was his name: Magnus Bane, the High Warlock of Brooklyn. It all came rushing back in one overwhelming wave. It battered his defenses, and left him slightly disoriented, but he didn't want to sort through the rubble. He just had a driving need to get out of here. Back to New York. Back to Alec.

He ran over to the door, and stepped out. An unexpected bout of vertigo hit him as a flood of fluorescent lighting assaulted his vision. He wobbled, and grabbed the doorframe for support.

Damn it, why wasn't his body cooperating? And why did it feel like his head was about to explode?

There were voices around him. There were footsteps too, rapid ones. Nurses, talking loudly. Were they talking to him?

He had to get out of here, away from the brightness, away from the commotion – away from all the humans. He pushed off of the frame, and took a few steps. Then, he watched through a narrowing band of consciousness as the floor came up to meet him.

(***)

"So, I saved Jace's ass again last night," Alec said conversationally as he leaned back in his chair, and straightened his legs out in front of him. "He says he was covering Clary, and had it under control, but whatever. If that's what he wants to believe, I'm fine with that."

He watched Magnus' still form in comfortable silence, not expecting any response from the man on the bed. This had become his new routine the past couple of days, this quiet time when he could just talk about his day and express his thoughts with Magnus. Of course, on an intellectual level, he knew the man wouldn't answer back, but he didn't mind this, primarily because he didn't want to entertain the other possibility. At least, not yet.

After his trip to the loft two days ago, he had found it easier to visit Magnus in his current state, although he could've done it without the pity he saw in everyone else's eyes. They may have given up on Magnus, but he hadn't. He refused to accept that the larger-than-life warlock, with his glittery flair and overabundant personality, was simply gone. They'd been through too much – had done too much – for it to end like this, and as long as there was still a pulse and breath, Alec wanted to believe that Magnus would come back to him. If that labeled him as deluded, then so be it.

"We gave that old spell book to Catarina to research. She's the only other warlock I trust, and she has access to more warlock resources than we do," he went on. "I'm hoping she'll give us a lead, but in the meantime, Izzy and I have been tracking down the mundanes we encountered when the building ... you know."

Alec closed his eyes briefly and paused. He'd tried to reflect back on that night with a more rational frame of mind, to pinpoint how he could've handled it better, how he could've prevented all this from happening, but he seemed to fail miserably every time. It was as if that night was clouded in a haze, only to be watched from afar, with him as the powerless observer.

"We've found most of them, and had a warlock remove their memories. Their leader is still out there though, but we're close to finding him." That set goal, and their regular patrols, had played a part in keeping him somewhat sane, contrary to what those around him were thinking. He was just uncertain of what would happen to him when this was all over, when he didn't have that one shining motivator to drive him forward, and he had to deal with the reality of the situation.

"I've brought you make-up from the loft," he continued, deciding to change the subject. "I have no idea how it all works, so I just packed a box full of stuff from your dresser. Izzy organized it on the table over there." He gave the side table behind him a quick glance. He didn't know when, but his sister must've arranged everything the last time she'd come to visit. Something constricted in Alec's chest when he realized she'd set all the cosmetics up like Magnus would wake any minute and make use of everything. She'd even placed a little mirror and a picture of them from happier times in the middle of the little colorful puddle of bottles and cases. He didn't care if she was just humoring him with the gesture; he just loved her even more for it.

A gentle knock interrupted his musings before the door opened, and the woman in question poked her head in. "Alec?"

He pushed himself up from his relaxed position, and walked out of the room to join her. "What's up?" he asked as he shut the door behind him with a click.

Her wide, inquiring eyes watched him closely for a split second, as if making sure he wasn't going to fall apart, and he forgave her for it. If their roles had been reversed, and someone she'd cared for deeply was laying in there, he'd be watching her just as closely too.

"I think I found him, Alec," she finally said as she handed him a printout of a New York driver's license. The picture printed on the side resembled the image Alec had in his memory perfectly. This was him. This was John Dorsett. He perked up instantly, a familiar rush of adrenalin surging through his bloodstream.

"That's him, Izzy. How'd you find him?"

"It was luck, really. Remember how we tracked down his home address a couple of days ago, and found the apartment empty?"

Alec nodded, recalling how that outing had re-stabilized and re-focused him when he'd come back from Magnus' loft.

"Well, I figure he had to be staying somewhere, so I put a few feelers out. We just got a ping from a police database just now. There was a complaint filed by a landlord against a tenant by the name of John Kracher for non-payment and verbal assault."

Alec shrugged. "So, how do you know that's our mundane?"

"Kracher was our mundane's dead wife's maiden name. It was one of the parameters I put out there. It's too much of a coincidence to not follow up on."

"Nice work, Izzy." Even after all this time, Isabelle still managed to amaze him with her skills, and he felt a rush of sibling pride. And she was right. He couldn't just let this lead slide without giving it his due attention, and already, he was formulating their plan of action. "Where's Jace and Clary?" He started walking, Isabelle naturally falling into step beside him.

"They're handling a routine demon sighting. It's just you and me, big brother. Genuine sibling bonding time." She gave him her teasing, confident smile that Alec always took comfort in.

"We can't underestimate this mundane," he noted as he fought down the responding upward tilt of his own lips. Isabelle had always managed to subversively change his mood somehow. One day, he would have to figure out how she did it.

"But nothing we can't handle together," she threw back with a twinkle in her eyes.

Alec made a sound of agreement, and despite his efforts, he returned her smile with a small one of his own. He tried not to dwell on how unfamiliar the expression felt on his face, given the events of the past few days. Instead, he focused on gearing up for their mission, choosing to act in the here and now rather than think about what it would mean afterwards for Magnus and him if they managed to catch this mundane.

(***)

He was the only one left.

All the others, all of those who had followed Master, had been caught and brainwashed into forgetting their purpose. But that was alright. He still remained. And he played the most vital role.

He considered himself a practical man. He understood that there was an order and a process to everything, that actions had consequences, and that a man got out of life what he put into it. He'd followed that philosophy for most of his existence. So, when Carla and Ellie had been killed by that drunk, he'd expected the universe to dole out the punishment. But it hadn't, not when humans and their administrative technicalities got in the way of true justice. He knew his concept of order had been thrown into disarray then. He'd wandered, lost. But then, he'd found Master.

Master, who'd called to him when he'd thought about ending it all. Master, who'd put everything right side up again, who'd made sense of this chaotic existence.

It was then he'd realized that there was indeed a grand plan to everything, that he was but a small cog at the bottom of a very big machine. Yes, he was just a tiny piece that would set the larger ones moving, and would be obsolete thereafter. He understood – and accepted –that now.

They are coming for you, John.

"Yes, Master," he acknowledged dutifully as he finished setting his dinner table. He straightened his plate, and placed the napkin on his lap. "I am ready."

He'd hidden the pages like Master had requested, and had prepared everything as he'd been asked. There was nothing left for him now but to wait. With short, efficient motions, he cut into his steak and chewed his usual twenty times before swallowing. He ate silently for several minutes, staring blankly at the crack in the gray wall across from him as he carefully tasted the blandness of his last supper.

(***)

He was dying.

The second time Magnus woke up, he was calmer and more aware of his surroundings. He knew who he was. And he was dying. The damned migraine notwithstanding, he could feel every cell within him slowly giving way, living out their lifespan and never coming back. He was mortal.

They had come in and removed all the monitoring equipment when he'd regained consciousness earlier. The doctor and nurses had said that he was out of danger, and all he needed was rest. He'd gotten the message: no more running around and causing fainting spells. He'd listened quietly and obediently as they'd talked to him, nodding and making non-committal comments like a good little patient. After they'd left, when quiet had resettled over the room, he'd counted to twenty, and left his bed. He'd walked over to the window and stared out into the night.

A reflection he did not recognize had stared back from the paned glass.

Now, as he tentatively traced the shock of black hair and sunken eyes set within a gaunt-looking face, a face that wasn't his own, he tempered down the rising panic that bubbled in the pit of his stomach.

Transference, or body swapping, he'd concluded. He'd never seen it firsthand, but he'd read about it. There was no other explanation. And this only meant that something had happened – some powerful magic – had transferred him into a mortal body that could barely contain his consciousness. He remembered heading to the cannery to warn Alec –

But there had been that portal, and he'd almost been too late. Or perhaps he had been too late!

Because if he was here, then where was his own body?

The panic simmered up again because his mind was beginning to piece together what had happened. The ancient spell book, the missing pages, the portal, the explosion – it all led him to one conclusion: he had to get back to New York ... and Alec. He had to make sure Alec was okay.

He cursed. Of all the bodies to get thrown into, it had to be some drug-experimenting college kid on the other side of the country. He took a deep breath, and glared at the reflection that did not belong to him. Step one was to get out of here, step two, New York and Alec, he reiterated to himself. After that, he wasn't sure what he would do just yet, but he was sure he would come up with something, given that he would have the resources then to at least deal with the new threat.

Giving the stranger's face in the window one last look, he turned away, and padded over to the tiny closet on the other side of the room. The clothes hanging inside must've been his – or Kyle's, rather – since the jeans and t-shirt fit him fairly well when he tugged them on. He wrinkled his nose at the smell, and ignored the rips in the shirt though. Even in their current state, having the clothes was better than traipsing around in a hospital gown.

Once dressed, he walked over to the door, and peeked outside. The hour was late, and by the sounds – or lack thereof – he guessed that the night shift had taken over, which worked in his favor. The hall was quiet, save for the muted voices from the nurses' station at the end. He headed in the opposite direction.

The rooms passed by him in carbon copy fashion before he finally came to the back exit of the wing. Without hesitation, he pushed through the double swinging doors, and half-ran, half-walked through the connecting corridor until he hit a bank of elevators. By the time he made it to the main reception area, he'd slowed his pace. If several centuries of living had taught him anything, it was confidence. He walked past the nurses and security guards like he owned the place, like he had every right to be there, and no one gave him a second glance.

He didn't take a real breath until he was safely outside. The cool, late autumn air put his body at ease, but it did nothing for the raging headache that still plagued him. Nevertheless, he was out, and more importantly, free.

Looking around at the surrounding buildings and streetlamps, he tried to get his bearings. He needed help, if not to find a way back to New York, then at the very least, to get some money and a change of clothes. Then, a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. If memory served, he was in the Westwood area. And if that was the case, then he might have a lead on someone who could help.

(***)

They got into the small apartment through the fire escape. The ease with which they entered – from the unlocked window to the lack of security in the apartment itself – had Alec on high alert. But the grip he had on his blade loosened slightly when all he saw in the dimly-lit room was their mundane sitting silently and alone at a tiny fold-out table.

"You've finally come," the man said slowly as he wiped his mouth with a napkin. He carefully folded the thing up, and placed it back down beside an empty dinner plate. His eyes, shadowed and unreadable under the incandescent light bulb, stared at Alec for several seconds before moving over to Isabelle. "I'm ready," he added.

"Ready? Ready for what?" Izzy flicked her wrist and repositioned her whip.

The mundane, John, stood with a loud screech of his chair against the vinyl floor. "For you to take me in. I assume you'll want to question me."

The man's delivery was flat, not panicked, as if he had already practiced everything from the dialogue to the actions in his head. Alec looked over briefly at his sister, who returned his feeling of puzzlement. Then, he made a decision. He walked over, and restrained the man with the cuffs he'd brought along in case they'd captured their target alive. They'd come this far, so he was not going to avoid taking the last step now because there was a proverbial red bow on their enemy.

Once the mundane was secured, Alec pushed him forward, directing him toward the door. He tried to hold back, tried to rein in his strength, but a part of him wanted to hurt the man, to inflict pain in retribution for what had happened to Magnus. John stumbled a few steps from the push, but if he'd been hurt or angry at the action, he made no indication of it.

"Wait." Izzy stepped over and pressed the handle of her whip against the man's throat. Alec held their captive still for her as she narrowed her gaze and glared straight into the mundane's eyes. "Why? Why are you surrendering so easily?"

If one could feel a self-satisfied grin, Alec did in the muscles that moved within his grip. He couldn't see their prisoner's face directly, but there was a shift in the man's posture, an inexplicable tensing and slackening at the same time, that caused an ominous shiver to run down Alec's spine.

"Because he has arrived. Master is finally here."

(***)

The world was brighter than he remembered. That, and it certainly smelled less foul.

He blinked, and waited patiently for his body – every single, corporeal fiber of it – to wake up. Once he could feel each of his senses alive again, from the amazingly smooth sensation of the material against his fingertips to that gratifying buzz of magic beneath his skin, he sat up.

The room was clean and functional, he concluded: a bed, a chair, and a side table against paneled wall. What caught his attention, however, was the array of knick-knacks on said table. He rose, marveling at the ease and pleasure of working limbs, and made his way over to the focus of his curiosity. He picked up and put down several colorful bottles before his fingers clasped the mirror.

He looked at his reflection.

His appearance was ... different. Exotic, he supposed, was a word for it.

His gaze fell on a picture, a marvelously clear and vivid picture. He processed the people in the drawing – their appearance, their smiles, the sparkle in their eyes – and then, he glanced back and forth between the face in the mirror and the palette of bottles.

Suddenly, it made sense.

With a quick snap of his fingers and a delicious surge of magic, his appearance changed. He assessed the face in the mirror again, and approved of the result. It was a fair approximation of the man depicted in the picture, he thought. And the magic inherent in the body was a pleasant surprise too. He had acquired a greater demon's spawn, if he had to guess.

Satisfied with how everything had worked out, he exited the room at a leisurely pace. It took him only a few seconds to realize that he was inside a church.

A shuffling came from behind him, and he turned around to confront a couple of unfortunate souls with stunned expressions. He noted the markings visible on their skin immediately.

So, not only a church, but an Institute at that. And Shadowhunters. They were still around?

But that was neither here nor there.

With a quick, nonchalant gesture of his hand, the two interlopers who'd come upon him were thrown against the wall with near deadly force. He then waved his index finger to the left, and was rewarded with the gratifying crack of two fragile necks.

He smiled, pleased.

Indeed, this body would do. This body would do quite nicely.