#moonylady

The walkie-talkie crackles at his side, as he moves past black and jagged rocks, climbs higher, scans all of the surrounding ground. The red sky overhead grumbles with angry thunder, a storm just waiting to unleash its wrath on this barren land, full of charred remains of beings that have existed ages ago. Here, day and night look the same, always murky and ominous.

Somehow, it feels calmer tonight. The gothic ruins of a castle far off in the distance still remind Alec of a desert-like mirage, nothing more than a ploy to pull unsuspecting souls into a deadly trap. But he can’t hear the strange, twisted creatures roaring, neither has he stumbled upon any demons this time around, so maybe it’s his lucky day.

Immediately after realizing Magnus was gone, Alec has launched himself into planning a rescue mission to keep his mind from going off the rails. At first, it was all the places he could think of, but those brought nothing important to light - towns and secret spots all over Earth, a couple of pocket realms that all turned up empty. That’s when the fire message appeared.

After another arduous day of chasing leads, Alec trudged into his office to see a small piece of charred paper sitting in the middle of his desk. It had two words hastily scribbled on it - ‘find me’ - in Magnus’ recognizable handwriting. Alec remembers sinking to the carpet and thinking: he’s alive.

But it wasn’t the paper that was the most important, but the dark, rough granules covering the edges of it; it took him about thirty minutes of frantic thumbing through one of Magnus’ books to identify it as Edom soil.

It didn’t take much to convince Cat and other warlocks to work on the makeshift portal gate, all of them wanting their friend and leader back in one piece and as soon as possible. After that, every new day meant an excursion to this damned place, confusing and unrelentingly brutal against them; they have lost people while combing through endless deserts and remnants of buildings, some sort of spell spinning them around until they could no longer know north from south or ally from foe.

With time, a number of volunteers dwindled, people losing faith in ever finding the High Warlock of Brooklyn alive. But Alec never wavered, somehow knew Magnus was still out there, lost somewhere without a name and fighting his own battles.

Alec moves forward, picking a direction he hasn’t walked in before just to keep himself from falling apart. What he feels is comparable to slowly bleeding out - at first he could push the pain and the biting loneliness out of his mind for a couple hours at a time, tell himself it will be okay, but each day waking up in a cold bed made it worse, twisting the knife further into his gut until all of it came spilling out in the darkest hours of the night. He can’t think straight anymore, he can’t sleep or eat, he can’t live without Magnus.

And so, he will find him.

Maybe he’s stupid and reckless for walking all on his own through one of Hell’s kingdoms, armed with only a bow and a seraph blade, but he swears on his own heart and on everything that’s still good in the world, that he will bring Magnus back.

Alec touches the promise ring sitting on the fourth finger of his right hand, a bump beneath the leather of his gloves and the urge to scream, cry, or maybe both wells up inside him, threatening to take all the air from his lungs. He wants to hear Magnus’ laughter again, feel the gentle touch of his fingertips and the press of his lips against his own. He wants so many things - to catch another glimpse of golden cat eyes and to hear his name said with care, Alexander meaning hello, or you’re ridiculous, or I love you so much.

He keeps walking, trying to focus on the task at hand; it’s discouragingly quiet until he catches sounds of scuffle somewhere to his right. Adrenaline skyrocketing through his veins at the prospect of a fight, Alec quickens his pace, crests a small hill and stops dead in his tracks.

It’s Magnus, with teeth bared and his chest heaving, wielding a black wave-patterned blade dripping ichor at his feet. He’s standing over an oil-slick corpse of a demon, the clothes Alec has last seen him in torn in places and dirty, but he’s still victorious, defying Hell itself - a Prince of Hell no matter the circumstances.

It feels unreal and Alec wonders if he’s finally lost it, succumbed to this world so that he’s seeing things that aren’t there, but he lets himself hope. He pulls the scarf from his face and yells as loud as he can. “Magnus!”

The echo carries, Magnus’ head snaps up and when his eyes (all gold, Alec can see even from here) find the source of the voice, the sword drops from his lax fingers. As if on cue, they throw themselves into a run. Alec stumbles, almost falls, but it doesn’t matter; he doesn’t take his eyes off of Magnus, afraid if he blinks, the warlock will be gone again.

They crash and fall into each other’s arms like drowning men finding land - Magnus wraps his arms tight around Alec’s neck and he holds him back, buries his face in Magnus’ shoulder, breathes easy. Despite his heart hammering in his ears, he can hear Magnus whisper, “You found me.”

They pull apart but don’t let go, barely half an arm’s length. Alec cups Magnus’ face in his hands, takes in the gaunt cheeks and the tired eyes and the spatters of different colored blood all over his skin, but Magnus is smiling weakly and that’s all that matters right then.

He grins back. “I’ve never lost faith. I searched for you for-”

“Eighty-seven days, I know. I never doubted you,” Magnus finishes and when his hands touch at Alec’s cheeks, he realizes he’s crying.

He’s happy, so happy it hurts deep in his chest. The realization that what he’s been dreaming of finally came true - he’s found his lost love, his soulmate, his best friend - makes him sob. 

Magnus wipes gently at the tears with his knuckles, letting them linger against Alec’s cheeks.

“Hey, don’t cry or I will as well,” He chastises; it would pass as a joke if Magnus’ voice hasn’t cracked and wavered over the words, two drops already sliding down his sooty cheeks.

“I’m sorry. I just love you so much.” His heart bursting with love and relief, Alec gives a watery laugh, presses a kiss to Magnus’ forehead, right over the little beauty mark. “I hated not knowing if you were alive or dead or if I’d ever see you again.” He adds like a confession, swallowing down the lump in his throat.

Magnus chuckles too, lets it peter off into a heavy sigh, then sinks back into Alec’s embrace. “I love you too, Alexander. I wish we never had to endure this, but in the end, it had to happen.”

Alec ends up holding up most of Magnus’ weight, realizing with a start how tired he must be, fighting and surviving out here on his own, magic at the brink of depletion and only his quick thinking and sharp edges as weaponry. Magnus’ hands shake where they hold onto the back of Alec’s jacket so he brushes a hand through the disheveled strands of Magnus’ hair, lets it linger over the back of his neck.

“Was this your father’s idea? Did he do this?” Alec inquires softly, tightening his embrace. He can feel his tear tracks dry on his face in the gusts of wind; while the initial elation has faded, he feels full and light-limbed, he feels like himself again; something was missing and now everything is back in its place.

Magnus nods against Alec’s shoulder sluggishly. “He’s always enjoyed playing cruel tricks, putting people through trials. But not anymore.” The stony edge of Magnus’ voice accompanies another weary sigh as he stands up straighter, patting his side where a gold-tipped thorny crown swings at his hip on a makeshift strap. “I killed him, Alexander.”

The words are reminiscent of a different time Alec has heard them, but then Magnus was defeated and broken open by the cruelty of all that happened to him. This time, he almost seems proud, at peace with what he has done. 

Asmodeus has never been anything but a reminder of a painful childhood, of the darkness people wanted to see in Magnus’ soul, of all the trouble he’s caused over the years; Edom’s king wanted Magnus for his power, but it was either with him or against him. When Magnus declined to rule along Asmodeus’ side, it made them enemies.

Alec doesn’t say anything, just shakes his head. Asmodeus is gone and he won’t hurt them again, he won’t hurt Magnus ever again; it’s a good thing.

“This is my empire now.” Magnus announces grimly and pauses, eyes locking with Alec’s. That gentle smile slips back onto his face as he threads their fingers together, squeezing tightly. “But I don’t want it. I belong somewhere else.”

Alec thinks about a homey loft in Brooklyn, about their bed with golden sheets and a kitchen with matching coffee mugs. The tears threaten to spill again as he captures Magnus’ lips in a kiss that tastes like a reunion. They drink each other in, calm and desperate at once, then Magnus leans their foreheads together, eyes fluttering closed.

“Let’s go home, baby. New York missed you.” Alec says quietly, lips brushing against Magnus’, feather-light; the ‘i missed you more’ is obvious in his voice.

Magnus hums softly, pecking Alec’s mouth again before he steps back.