#cddl

Every time the sun hits his skin, Raphael jerks a little before growing still again and leaning a fraction further into the light. The sun’s rays play across his skin, but don’t sizzle and burn. Raphael’s eyes are closed, and air is passing his parted lips in shallow, unneeded breaths. There are tears running quietly from the corners of his eyes; Magnus hasn’t seen him cry in almost two decades.

“My dearest Raphael...”

He sits down on the bench and reaches out. Raphael follows his lead without protest, letting himself be pulled into a tight hug.

“There, there, my boy,” Magnus murmurs into his hair, “It’ll be alright.”

Raphael doesn’t reply, but his arms around Magnus’ back are gripping him hard enough that breathing is becoming increasingly difficult. Magnus runs a hand in slow, even circles between Raphael’s shoulder blades, keeping up a soothing stream of words, even as his own mind is reeling.

A Daylighter.

Magnus has heard the legends, of course, same as anyone who’s spent any greater amount of time around vampires. There have been occasional rumours in his own lifetime, and even though they never turned out anything real, that didn’t stop some vampires from chasing the illusion.

It shouldn’t be possible. And yet—

He watches the way the sun falls through the leaves again—almost half of Raphael’s body more or less out of the shade now—and even as he wracks his brain, he can’t think of another explanation.

“What happened?” he asks softly, once they finally pull apart. “When did it happen?”

“Not completely sure,” Raphael replies, his voice coming out hoarse and affected as he runs the back of his hand beneath each eye. “But it has to have been during the battle. Not like a vamp just wakes up one day, and suddenly the sun doesn’t burn anymore for no reason.”

Magnus nods, his mind running back: Valentine’s army and the twisted magic he’d laced it with; dozens of warlocks pouring out their magic to stop them—to protect the Labyrinth and everything inside of it. Perhaps something went wrong in the middle of the chaos that ensued? Some kind of combination of magic that had completely unforeseen effects?

“Do you remember getting hit by a spell?

“No. But I guess it’s possible?” He looks up at Magnus with a sharp look in his eyes. “You think that’s what happened?”

Magnus sighs. “No. But it’s the only explanation I can think of. Unless...”

“Unless what?”

“Did you drink from any of them? The warlock-laced Forsaken, in particular?”

“No, we were all extremely careful about that,” Raphael replies. “Not a drop. Well, except for Clary, but—”

Magnus feels himself grow very still. His mind takes him back to the child Jocelyn first brought to his doorstep—a supposedly average Shadowhunter child, who nevertheless proved remarkably resilient to the magic her mother wanted him to perform on her.

“What if—?”

Raphael chuckles, shaking his head. “Come on, you’re grasping at straws. Vamps drink from Shadowhunters all the time. More than a few of them visit the bleeder dens to get their rocks off after running around town, slaying demons. If their blood had the power to give a vamp permanent sunblock, word would have spread; we’d all be tanning on a beach out in the Hamptons by now.”

Magnus sighs. “You’re right, I’m being silly.”

“Understandable. I don’t quite know what to make of this, myself.”

Magnus puts a hand back on his shoulder, and they sit in silence for a while, both of them lost in thought. On the other side of the street, the bells on the Visitation of the Blessed Virgin Mary ring out, loud and clear in the crisp morning air.

Magnus takes in the way the muscles in Raphael’s neck pull tight in effort to keep him from turning his head towards the sound, and moves a few inches closer.

“Have you tried to—?”

Raphael shakes his head empathically.

“You might be able to, you know. No one really knows what other abilities comes with what just happened to you.”

Raphael doesn’t reply. The hand he has gripping the edge of the bench is trembling slightly.

“I’ll come with you, if you want,” Magnus offers. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

Raphael shakes his head again, a small smile curving the side of his mouth. “Mass doesn’t start for several hours yet.”

It’s Magnus’ turn to smile. “We’re both immortal; if there’s one thing we have, it’s time.”

“I don’t—I’ve sat here, on this bench, looking across the street, for years. What if I still can’t cross it? What if I burn as soon as I step through the doors?”

Magnus reaches out, takes his hand. “Then I’m right here. Either way, I have your back. And I’m great at conjuring water.”

Raphael laughs at that, short and broken off, as though the sound is almost punched from his lungs. “Good to know.”

“Come on,” Magnus says. “Let’s do it step by step, yes? Cross the street, walk up the steps, and then we’ll take it from there.”

He stands up, straightening his jacket and then holding out his hand.

He can see the hesitation in Raphael’s eyes—the fear shining through even as a small glimmer of hope appears as well. Magnus waits, keeps his hand held out between them.