Archive of Our Own

In any other circumstance, the sight of Alec smashing through a door, sword blazing, eyes locked on Magnus as he cuts through Shadowhunter after Shadowhunter like they’re mere shadows instead of physical beings would have sent Magnus off the deep end.

Well. He does feel rather off the deep end, but not in the pleasant hauling Alec down into a searing kiss, letting their surroundings fade out so he can ravish his boyfriend way. More in the Alec’s taken off the cuffs and is speaking desperately to him and Magnus can’t even fucking hear him way.

Yep, it’s deep for sure. Magnus has no idea if there’s a bottom.

He refuses to look at his hands-that-aren’t-his, or any part of his body-that-isn’t-his, but he does manage to suck in a breath that rings loud enough through his skull that it pierces static.

“—nus. Magnus, can you hear me?”

Magnus nods shakily. “I— I can.” Alec cups his face in his hands, looking in his eyes—trying to see if he has a concussion, or maybe just if Magnus is all there. Magnus doesn’t know how Alec can even stand to touch him like this. When he’s in the body of a monster.

That first moment, when Alec thought he was Valentine, before Magnus had gotten through to him, the searing hatred and disgust in his eyes—it was straight out of Magnus’s nightmares. It was what flashed through him, like a phantom blow, every time he showed Alec his real eyes. And he knows that it wasn’t directed at him, not really. But it also was.

“You came for me,” he says quietly. His voice is too sharp, too shallow. He wants his own damn voice back.

“Of course I did. I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner. The Clave wouldn’t hear reason, they were convinced you were really Valentine. I had to, um…” Alec looks back at the Shadowhunters scattered through the cell block. Magnus realizes that none of them actually appear dead, just injured or unconscious. He’s loosely grateful for it, both because he doesn’t want Alec imprisoned at the Gard and because he doesn’t want all that blood on their joined hands. None of these guards were the ones who tortured him. They were just trying to guard Valentine. What Magnus would have wanted them to do, if it were actually Valentine in the cell.

“You’ll get in trouble,” Magnus says. His throat is hoarse from screaming, he wishes he had some water.

“So will Imogen Herondale when the Council finds out she broke the Accords by planning to execute a Downworlder without trial. I’ll take my chances.”

“She didn’t know,” Magnus says. He doesn’t know why he’s defending the woman who almost killed him. Maybe because it’s the less horrifying option.

“I think she did,” Alec says quietly, and Magnus shivers. He realizes he’s clutching Alec’s arm. He doesn’t know how long he’s been doing that. “Or she just didn’t care enough to find out for sure. Either way, she wasn’t willing to wait for us to track down Valentine—and I wasn’t going to let you get executed.”

Magnus hasn’t had a chance to process his almost-death. He had plenty of time to think about it, sitting alone in his cell, shaking from the aftershocks of the agony rune. He remembers being so resigned at one point that he thought, I don’t care if I die, just let it be in my own body. But processing? That hasn’t happened.

And he doesn’t get a chance now, either. A portal spins to life outside the glass wall of Magnus’s cell, and Alec raises his seraph blade, pushing Magnus behind him.

It’s so weird to see his own body in the third person, but that’s exactly what steps out of the portal. Magnus is shocked—and weirdly grateful—that Valentine was able to figure out portal magic quickly enough to not get Magnus’s body torn apart in limbo. Then again, Magnus invented the portal. It’s as second-nature to his magic as breathing at this point.

A magic that apparently holds little loyalty for its original wielder.

Magnus is thinking about that so hard, swallowing around the sharp pain in his throat, that he almost doesn’t hear what Valentine says.

“How about a temporary truce?” the not-quite-Magnus figure says. “I’m sure you want your body back. I’m sure you—” he turns to Alec— “want your— your lover’s body back. I surely do not want to be in this disgusting creature anymore.”

Alec stiffens, grip tightening around the hilt of his blade, but doesn’t interrupt. Magnus’s ears ring to hear his own voice spitting back the words he’s so often heard from others. That cruel smirk doesn’t sit right on his face. Magnus has done a lot of wrong in his life, but he doesn’t think he’s ever been cruel.

“We’ll switch back,” Valentine continues. “I’m sure Bane knows some kind of spell for it. In return, you’ll let me walk out of this Institute. I’ll glamour myself and leave.” He pulls a stele from his pocket. Magnus briefly wonders where he got it, then realizes—it’s Alec’s spare, which he keeps in his nightstand drawer at the loft. The idea of Valentine rooting around in his bedroom makes Magnus want to vomit. “I’ll even promise not to hurt anyone while I’m here. How’s that for a deal?”

Valentine must really want out of Magnus’s body to be making so many concessions. He could have done so much damage with Magnus’s magic if he could have only stomached being a warlock. But for once in his life, Magnus has to be grateful for the man’s prejudice.

“Deal,” Alec says, before Magnus can even try to tell him that he should under no circumstances let Valentine walk out of here. But as soon as Alec speaks, relief rushes through Magnus. He knows Valentine will leave here and do more harm, that they should take any chance to stop him. But pain is making him selfish. He wants his own body back more than he wants to stop Valentine, today at least.

He doesn’t protest as Alec beckons him forward and leads them both out of the cell. Magnus thinks he dissociates a bit as he instructs Valentine on the necessary incantation. He doesn’t remember it even as it’s happening. He finds a brief moment of clarity in the thought that his magic looks crude and strange when Valentine’s wielding it.

Then he’s on the floor, the cell block spinning around him, scattered thoughts hitting him from all directions. –Lilith, this makeup feels old, doesn’t the man know any skincare? –and fuck, my knees hurt, he must have been walking differently. –everything’s so bright, are cat eyes really that much more sensitive?

Loudest of all is his magic, swirling joyfully in every corner of his being. Magnus feels a rush of guilt for feeling betrayed by it before. It’s obvious in the way it leaps and soars within him, in the ways its edges feel bruised, that it had fought against Valentine’s control, missing its true warlock. Magnus lets the warmth of it cradle him against the cold that rushes in after his senses return.

This body is violated. This body is ruined. Magnus wants to throw up, or scrub all his skin off, or tear out his internal organs, he’s not sure which first. He can feel Valentine’s fingerprints all over him.

He only regains awareness when Alec taps his shoulder, helps him sit up. Magnus is shaking so hard he can’t hide or deny it, and he realizes there’s a film of blue magic all over his skin. It’s trying to heal, even though there’s nothing on this body to patch up. Only psychic wounds.

Valentine is nowhere to be seen. Magnus focuses on Alec’s face with difficulty. “You let him get away?” He’d been sure Alec would go after Valentine as soon as their bodies were returned.

“I sent Izzy and Jace after him,” Alec says. “But who knows if they’ll catch him before he sneaks out.”

“You could have caught him,” Magnus says.

“Maybe,” Alec agrees. “But my priority is you.”

Magnus presses his face into Alec’s chest. If he doesn’t hide, he’ll start crying. Or screaming.

Alec’s arms wrap around him, and Magnus shudders and tries not to break.

The only word Magnus gets out, wrenched from a hoarse throat, is, “Shower,” before he’s pulling out of Alec’s arms and stumbling away towards the bedroom. Alec watches him go, unsure if he’s welcome to follow. The guilt is drowning him—for letting Valentine go? For not preventing this in the first place? He’s not entirely sure, but it’s there, heavy in his chest. He can’t imagine Magnus wants to see any Shadowhunters right now.

It's going to haunt Alec’s dreams, the image of Magnus screaming under the agony rune. Of him almost being executed. It’s going to be a thousand times worse for Magnus.

Distantly, he hears the shower turn on. Alec slips off his shoes and jacket—and, very judiciously, his weapons—and heads for the bedroom. He doesn’t want to push in on Magnus in a vulnerable state, but maybe he can at least wait for him in the bedroom, to hopefully talk to, or at least hold him, after he gets out.

He’s grateful he does when, a few minutes later, he hears the thud of what is presumably Magnus’s body hitting the floor of the shower.

Alec bolts to his feet. “Magnus?”

He doesn’t get a response, and rushes over to the bathroom door, throwing it open. “Magnus?”

Magnus is crumpled in the corner of the shower, legs twisted uncomfortably underneath him, one arm held to his chest. Alec turns off the water and crouches carefully beside him, reaching out a tentative hand. “Hey. Magnus?”

“Hurts,” Magnus whispers, barely audible. “I thought— fuck.” A shiver runs through him, from his toes up to his hair. His eyes are shut tight.

“What hurts?” Alec asks, concern shifting to alarm. He hadn’t thought Valentine had hurt Magnus’s body, but maybe—

“Agony rune,” Magnus murmurs, and then Alec understands, even if he hates it. Magic can have a psychic element to it, and magical injuries can ripple from the soul to the body and back. And any lingering effects from the agony rune must be doubly painful now that Magnus is back in a Downworlder body, no longer capable of bearing runes at all.

“Give it to me,” Alec says, holding out his hand.

Magnus finally looks up at him at that. His eyes are hazy and feverish. “Alexander.”

“Give it to me, like I give you my strength. It’ll be less painful in a Nephilim body.” And I’d take it even if it wasn’t.

It says something about how beaten down Magnus is that he places his hand in Alec’s without further protest. “Just take a bit,” he murmurs. “Not all of it.”

Like Alec’s going to listen to that. He needs to do this, needs to prevent Magnus from hurting any more. Magnus always gets hurt when he’s helping Alec. Well, no more.

He tugs on Magnus’s energy, finding it easier than he’d like to pick up the thread of pain going through it. It’s a red and writhing thing, tangled with his magic, burning at Magnus’s nerve endings. Alec pulls on it, stifling a gasp as the pain floods into him. He knows if he makes a sound, Magnus will pull away. He pulls and pulls, and grits his teeth at the shocks that run through his body. Anything he’s experiencing now is only a fraction of what Magnus has gone through over the past few days.

But Alec finds himself unable to pull anymore after less than half of the pain is gone from Magnus’s body. The rest of it is too deeply entangled with Magnus’s magic—if he pulls too hard, he could hurt him even more.

He’s forced to retreat, but when he does, Magnus is breathing easier, slumped against his shoulder over the edge of the shower. “Thank you,” he says quietly.

It’s not enough. It’s not nearly enough after what Valentine— what Azazel— what Alec’s people did to him. Alec has no idea how to make it right, but he has to start somewhere.

“Let’s get you up.” He ignores the ache in his own muscles to cradle Magnus in his arms and lift him off the floor of the shower. Magnus makes a small hum of protest, but doesn’t try to get down. Alec carries him over to the bed and sits him down, fetching one of his silk robes to wrap about him.

Magnus’s wrists look rubbed raw, and Alec takes them in his hands, brushing his thumbs over the skin. “Didn’t break the skin,” Magnus says. “It’s fine. At least I stopped before I impulsively cut off all my hair.”

It’s definitely not fine, but Magnus is right, there’s nothing to bandage. Alec just kisses one of his wrists instead. He urges Magnus further up the bed, then follows him. “Come on, lay down, you need some rest. Unless you don’t want me here?”

Magnus seems to think about it, which hurts Alec’s heart, but he can’t blame him if he doesn’t want to be touched right now. Especially by a Shadowhunter.

But eventually, Magnus’s face caves in and he says, “Please,” so brokenly that Alec has to gather him in his arms and bring him down to the bed. Magnus flicks a wrist, and a stutter of magic lays their blankets over them. The magic whirls up Magnus’s body after it’s finished, ruffling his hair.

“Seems like it missed you,” Alec murmurs.

Magnus smiles faintly. “And I it.”

He tucks his face against Alec’s shoulder. Alec holds him close, and even closer when shudders of pain continue to wrack his body. I’m sorry, Magnus. He tries to press it into Magnus’s forehead with a kiss.

When Alec wakes, for a brief moment he’s certain the loft is on fire.

Then he sits up, comes back to his senses, realizes there’s no smoke or flame, only heat. And Magnus isn’t in bed.

It’s still dark outside, but Alec slips out of bed and stumbles to the living room, heart thumping in his chest. Magnus is standing in the middle of the room, eyes closed, magic darting out around him in all directions. He’s still only wearing his robe.

“Magnus!” Alec steps closer until he’s right in front of him. One of the bursts of magic grazes his cheek. It feels hot, but it doesn’t burn him. “What are you doing?”

“Cleaning,” Magnus says through gritted teeth. His face is sunk in tense lines, and he’s sweating all over. His hands don’t let up on their bursts of magic. “This place is tainted, Alexander.”

Alec realizes suddenly that Magnus is close to panic. He’s staving it off with whatever actions he can before it unravels him, the way Alec would by pummeling a punching bag. It hurts to see Magnus in that place. “Baby, it’s four in the morning.”

“Is it?” Magnus says faintly, still in his trance.

“Hey.” Alec takes a risk and takes Magnus’s face between his hands. “Hey, Magnus, look at me. It’s clean, okay? I promise it’s clean. The loft is spotless. You’re okay.”

Magnus lets out a ragged breath, eyes finally fluttering open. They’re bloodshot, but surprisingly lucid when he meets Alec’s gaze. “It isn’t,” he insists, but he wraps his hands around Alec’s wrists, and the furious magic dies down. “It never will be again.”

“It will. You just have to breathe. I got you.”

Magnus pants and heaves under Alec’s hands, but he seems to be finding some level of calm as they stand there in the middle of the boiling living room. Alec pushes him down to the couch.

“Will you be okay here for a second? I’m going to get you some water.”

Magnus nods, and Alec heads for the kitchen to get him a glass of cold water, stopping to open the balcony doors and let some cool air in as he does. He tries to settle his own thoughts as he walks back to the couch. He should have done something. He should have— have dragged Valentine out of Magnus’s home. He doesn’t know what he should have done, but it was more than what he did.

Magnus has his face buried in his hands when Alec returns to the couch. He’s shaking, and drenched in sweat. Alec carefully pulls his hands away from his face and places the glass of water into them. “Try to drink some water,” he urges.

Magnus sips at it, then soon enough is downing the entire glass. “Did I boil you in bed?” he asks when he’s done, a trace of humor back in his tone.

“Just a bit,” Alec says. “What’s with all the heat, anyway?”

“It kills infections,” Magnus says quietly, and Alec swallows hard. “I know it’s mostly in my head,” he continues before Alec can respond. “But I just couldn’t breathe thinking about him in our home.”

Alec’s never heard him call the loft their home before, but he doesn’t remark on it now. “It’s upsetting,” he agrees. “But we banished Azazel. We’ll get Valentine too, I promise.”

Magnus nods. “We have to.”

Alec runs a hand through his hair, and Magnus leans into the touch. “Do you want to take a second stab at that shower? I’ll go in with you, if you want.”

“Okay.” Magnus seems to steel himself, then stands up, holding onto Alec’s arm. He looks sort of chagrined about it, like he doesn’t like being so clingy, but he doesn’t let go.

Before they leave the living room, he waves his hand and shuts the balcony door. The wards will work regardless of whether the door is open, but Alec doesn’t blame him for wanting everything locked up tight. Not when everything already feels so broken open.

Magnus feels so humiliated letting Alec wash his hair. It’s not because they haven’t showered together before. He’s perfectly comfortable letting Alec wash his hair—when he’s not fucking losing his mind.

Bad enough he had to lose control of his body. Now his sanity’s slipping away, too.

His skin is still crawling. Even after steam-cleaning his entire apartment he feels like there’s places he missed, blood congealed in the corners. The fact that his cleaning efforts have made everything smell wrong now, have washed out incense and chai and candle smoke in favor of antiseptics and clean steam, is not helping. The apartment feels cleaner, but even less like his own.

Alec’s hands are nice, though. He seems content to let Magnus stay silent, not pushing him to talk about it. And it’s nice to shower with his own shampoo. He hadn’t gotten that far earlier before the lingering agony had taken him to the floor, and it banishes a little of the cold clean smell.

He shivers at the memory of that rune. He shivers at the idea of the Nephilim using to torture their own people, too, even ones as horrible as Valentine. Valentine probably deserves it, if no one else, but it doesn’t sit right with Magnus regardless.

Alec catches him shivering and turns off the water, wrapping Magnus in a towel.

“Do you have things you need to clear up at the Institute?” Magnus asks as he’s bundled within an inch of his life. “I don’t want Imogen Herondale breaking down my door trying to take you away from me. I may do something unwise.”

“I think Jace used his Herondale Influence to convince her not to do that,” Alec says. “Though there still may be some amount of trouble.”

Magnus doesn’t feel very capable of dealing with trouble right now.

After they’ve both managed to get into pajamas, and are lingering in the spotless kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil, Alec tentatively asks, “Did you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t know what to talk about,” Magnus says tiredly. “I just feel off-balance. I wasn’t sleeping well, before. Probably won’t sleep well now, either.”

“Is there something you want to do about it?”

“Flay myself alive?” Magnus suggests, and Alec flinches.

“You know,” he says softly, moments later, when his back is turned and he’s pouring their tea, “you almost died. I think it’s natural to feel this way.”

Nothing about the way Magnus is feeling feels natural. Not because he hasn’t been in similar mental states before, but because they never feel natural. They feel like the world is twisting and shifting around him.

“When, um,” Alec continues, tone more hesitant now, as he spoons sugar into their tea, “when I got possessed by that demon, I think I was feeling kind of similar to how you are now. I mean, it was kind of the opposite experience, but still kind of similar, I think.”

They had talked about that then, but somehow Magnus hadn’t made the connection.

“So I kind of— I kind of get it. It’s okay if you feel all over the place for a while. And I mean, you helped me then. I want to help you now.”

Magnus swallows hard, leaning back against the edge of the counter. “What about me helped you then?”

Alec finally turns back around and hands him his tea. “Just… being with you. Having you hold me, making me feel like I was in my body again.”

Magnus lets out a breath. “Okay,” is all he can manage.

Alec comes to stand beside him, leaning against the counter, close enough that his shoulder brushes Magnus’s. Magnus leans against his side, closing the remaining distance. They stay like that, sipping their tea, as the first rays of sun trickle up over the horizon. Magnus lets Alec’s warmth bleed into him, and eventually, Alec entwines their fingers, squeezing Magnus’s hand hard. Holding on.

I’m here, Magnus reminds himself. His hands are his own. The heat of the ceramic is touching his skin. The heat of the sun is touching his face. He got out of that horrible place. He got out.

Eventually, he puts down his mug with shaky hands and folds himself into Alec’s arms. Alec holds him tight until Magnus’s skin reattaches to his body. And then after, too.