This dragon’s shriek is worse. 

It shoots up into the night sky like a bullet fired from a gun then flies towards the piers. Alec hears the slap of his combat boots against the pavement before he registers that he’s chasing after it, grateful that his instincts are always one step ahead of his consciousness. 

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, sending off a quick text to the Institute for backup. He wants to send this bastard back to edom before it hurts anyone—praying to the Angel that it hasn’t already. But he also doesn’t want a repeat of that patrol night.

The dragon swoops upwards and perches itself on top of an old furniture warehouse. Alec grabs for his bow (another ingrained instinct he’ll never overcome) and quiver. 

The metal string of his bow digs into Alec’s long since calloused fingers as he draws back. He sucks in a breath and holds it, biding his time as he aims for the perfect shot on his target. The arrow flies as he exhales, releasing his breath and his weapon into the crisp night air in perfect harmony. 

The arrow soars towards a soft spot on the demon’s underbelly, but it’s quickly shot off course when the demon flaps one of its aging leather wings. 

Alec has to jump and roll, just narrowly missing being speared at his own hand. “Dammit,” he curses, already digging into his quiver to set up another shot. 

His second and third arrows meet the same fate. Panting and breathless, Alec takes cover behind a tree. “Where the hell are they?” he asks, staring down at his phone. His backup is taking too long, and it’s only a matter of time before the dragon gets bored of him and finds a helpless group of mundanes to terrorize.

Alec heads southside, zigzagging towards the building so the dragon can’t track his movements, figuring there must be some kind of fire escape he can take up to the roof for a better vantage point. The rusty metal creaks as Alec hangs onto the bottom rung of the ladder like a mundane school child playing at recess. He tugs and the rickety old ladder slides down, so he can climb up to the next landing with expert precision. 

Another terrible shriek pierces the sky, and suddenly Alec feels sweat beading on the back of his neck. Running headfirst into the storm, Alec rolls up his sleeves, and climbs to the next landing. 

The roof is an ocean of flames. Waves of fire ebb and flow towards him, only fizzling out when they reach brick shore. Alec wades through the heat, trying to find cover on this desolate terrain. The dragon huffs out another burst of fire, shooting off flames into the night air as if they were fireworks on the Fourth of July. 

Alec hopes that’s what any passersby mistake the scene for. A bunch of drunk kids and some Roman candles. He prays to the Angel none of them try and investigate. 

Alec finds refuge behind a glass skylight, a moment to catch his breath and regroup. He fumbles for his arrows to fire off another shot before it gets too hot for him to focus. The scent of burnt sugar swirls through the air, mixing with the stink of burnt ichor, and Alec knows that his distress signal has been answered. 

“Sorry I told you dragons were extinct,” Jace shouts up to him as he steps through the portal with Clary. 

“Extinct?” Magnus questions, the portal closing behind him. “Where do you think I source the scales for my vitality elixirs?” 

“You never told me,” Alec huffs. He ducks and rolls to dodge the dragon’s lunging talons. He hesitates a moment too long, and the dragon’s claws graze his side. “Fuck.”

“Alexander,” Magnus calls out, his voice unsteady and wavering. It twists the knife deeper into Alec’s bleeding side. But before Alec can get the chance to lie and tell Magnus that he’s fine, the demon charges towards him and swoops up into the air. With Alec hanging in its clutches. 

The world below grows smaller. His family’s voices grow softer. And all of his senses are filled with the crushing pain of the dragon’s grip tightening around his torso and the burning desire to be free. 

He tries to reach for the dagger strapped to his thigh, but the demon’s hold on him is to rigid. His arms are practically immobile. Cracks and pops fill the air, and Alec’s vision goes hazy. He tries desperately to suck in a breath, but his lungs don’t have the space to expand. 

The dragon glides downwards with Alec on the verge of passing out. “Drop him,” Jace commands, Seraph blade drawn and ready. And so the demon does. 

Alec has never minded heights. In his line of work, high up places offer cover, safety. “The view is always better from a rooftop,” Hodge used to say. One of the reasons Alec chose a bow and arrow as a child was the draw of tall, dark places during a battle. 

He had always found comfort high above the city, but falling was completely different. 

“Alec!” he hears Clary’s voice call out. She sounds distant, far away as wind rushes by his ears. 

His stomach does backflips as if he were riding a roller coaster at Coney Island, except it’s a thousand times less pleasant. He fights against gravity, desperately trying to angle his head and feeling the weight of a thousand pounds bearing down on him, because if this is it for Alec, he needs Magnus’ face to be the last thing he sees.

His beloved’s face flickers gold in the smoldering fire light, but Alec’s view of him is immediately obscured by Clary running forward, stele in hand and already drawing. She paints the sky the same way she fills a canvas, using her stele to reify the secrets whispered to her by the Angels themselves. Her swirling script produces a rune unlike Alec has ever seen before.

He braces for impact, trying to find peace in the reality that his life is ending the way he was always taught it would, but the crash never comes. Instead, Clary launches her rune and it collides directly with his chest, knocking him another twenty feet into the air. 

He starts to fall once again, but then he just stops. Suspended in air. Unmoving. For a moment, Alec thinks he’s hallucinating or that maybe he did pass on, because whatever this is, is just insane. A piercing pain shoots from his shoulder blade, and Alec realizes that he’s very much alive. 

A second pain mirrors the first, and his back feels like it’s on fire. He hears a popping sound and feels his bones rearranging beneath his skin. He claws at his back, trying to do something, anything to stop or soothe or heal whatever the hell is going on, but there’s nothing he can do. 

Two sweeping white wings sprout from his shoulder blades, and Alec understands Clary’s message from the angels. He flaps his new wings a few times, testing them out. They seem sturdy, able to hold his weight, and completely absurd. They’re exactly what he needs to take this bastard down.  

The dragon shoots up into the air and pirouettes towards Magnus, bearing its razor sharp teeth dripping with ichor, and Alec charges after it, blade unsheathed and ready to kill. Magnus leans back, charging up his power and unleashes an orange blast of energy. 

His magic connects with the dragon’s open mouth, and electricity sizzles throughout its demonic form, charring it alive. The demon shrieks and plummets to the ground, where it turns to ash in the night wind.  

Alec flutters to the ground. His wings sag, the weight of them throwing him off center. They’re going to take some getting used to. “Well done.”

“More like medium rare,” Magnus shrugs.

“Are these…” Alec turns to Clary. “Permanent?”

“I don’t actually know.”

“Well, I rather like them.” Magnus steps towards him and leans in close so only Alec can hear. “I have always thought of you as an angel.”

He takes Alec’s hand in his and gives it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. Alec’s wings wrap around him reflexively, drawing Magnus in closer so Alec can hear his heartbeat. It sounds steady, content even, a much welcome contrast to the erratic pounding Alec put him through earlier.   

“What is happening?” Alec said, breathless with fear as he crouched in the middle of his office, runes and eyes glowing whiter than gold. Magnus had easily cleared away everything in his path and doused the fire in the hearth, likely to keep him from setting his large wingspan aflame. “Magnus, there has to be an explanation!”

There was a softness to Magnus’ voice when he replied, “You really should view more classic cinema, my dear.” His hands were cool on Alec’s face, and Alec lifted his head, glowing eyes widened with fear because he didn’t understand. Magnus put a finger to his lips before he could speak. “Every time a bell rings an angel gets his wings.”

Alec was appalled at the words, unable to understand how an old movie quote applied to his life. “That isn’t real,” he spat. How could it be? How could a simple line from an old movie be real?

“The bell in the tower, my dear,” Magnus noted as he traced a rune beneath Alec’s tattered shirt. “Is it new?”

Blinking, Alec wanted to shake Magnus for not telling him everything immediately. “Yes! It was christened just this afternoon after being hung following midday mass.”

Magnus nodded. “Well, it would be the first time I’ve seen this in person.”

“Seen what?” Alec demanded, nearly shouting despite his desire to be discreet.

Magnus gave him a warm, loving smile. “An angel gets his wings.”

Alec was even more confused. “How can I be an angel?” He was still on his hands and knees with only Magnus to hold him up as he blustered. “I’m a sinner!”

“Oh?” Magnus said in a coy way that made Alec angry. “According to who?”

Alec scowled. “The Bible!”

Magnus scoffed. “A book that was written by men,” he pointed out. “And who says angels can’t sin?”

Alec was confused enough that he was livid. He wanted to shove Magnus away and try to make sense of this, but the wings were so bulky and unwieldy. He couldn’t lift his hands from the floor without swinging a big flapping wing at his boyfriend.

“I don’t understand,” Alec said softly with tears of confusion from his now simmering gold eyes and a little bit of rage in his chest. “Why me?”

Before Magnus could answer, the door burst open and people poured in. Alec’s mother and siblings, Clary and Aline, and so many others.

“We should alert the Silent Brothers,” someone said.

That caused an uproar of chatter and Alec collapsed against Magnus. He glanced up and saw through the heat of his vision that Magnus was tearing up, too. Alec didn’t understand why Magnus should be so happy that this was happening, but perhaps they could discuss his wings elsewhere.

“Home?” was all Alec had to whisper before Magnus made a portal, which caused a lurch of people but Magnus had pulled the portal to them before they someone could stop the act.

There was a smashing of many instruments and containers when they landed in Magnus’ penthouse. The wings were a great deal larger than any space Alec had ever needed to inhabit. He cringed and muttered, “Sorry,” as he tried to catch his breath. He didn’t get the chance because Magnus was kissing him before he could breathe out.

“Why would you--?” Alec asked in confusion before his vision cleared and he realized that his runes had stopped glowing, but Magnus was still crying. “Magnus, what is going on,” he firmly commanded.

“You’re immortal,” Magnus said before laughing softly, seemingly beside himself with glee.

Stunned, Alec took a moment to process that he, Alexander Lightwood, was an angel and he was immortal and could be with his warlock lover forever, in spite of everything about his life that he’d been led to believe, was contradictory to being like -- well -- an angel.

Alec then dragged himself to his feet and carefully flexed his shoulders and made his wings move, which made his eyes and runes flash gold again. “I suppose it’s not all bad,” he offered, still bewildered that this was happening to him, to them.

Magnus came forward and touched Alec’s face, which made him smile sheepishly, but Magnus tapped his nose with a finger, which made him smirk as Magnus whispered, “My beautiful angel got his wings.”

“Look at my shirt, though,” Alec lamented for the ripped, tattered, and ruined solid red shirt that he’d picked explicitly for the midnight mass.

Magnus lifted a torn piece against Alec’s chest and wrinkled his nose. “You would do much better with robes from now on, my darling.” He let the tatter fall. “Or no shirt at all.”

Alec wanted to protest but found himself met with a kiss and he couldn’t control the excited flutter his wings gave, which was a surreal feeling. “I’m like a puppy with a hot spot,” he complained with a pout.

Magnus took the curve of his face into a hand. “More like a cockatoo fluffing himself for his mate,” he offered with a facetiously innocent smile.

Magnus forces a smile onto his face.  “We’re working on it,” he says, which both is and isn’t a lie.  They’re working on the choreography right now, yes, but that isn’t the reason they’re having such a hard time with it.  That owes more to the fact that they haven’t said more than two words to each other since the day began.

Izzy drags her hands down her face.  “We don’t have time for this.  We only have so much time before the ceremony—”

And there she goes, off ranting about the state of the preparations and the dancers and all the effort she’s put in to make this work and are you two even listening to me?

Magnus shakes himself.  “Of course, dear,” he says.  “Why don’t Alex—”  He cuts himself off.  He can’t call Alec by his full name right now, they’re fighting.  Which is fine, a fight isn’t the end of the world, but Alec had asked for space yesterday and now Magnus is all on the wrong foot.  He corrects, saying instead, “Why don’t your brother and I just… try again, hm?”

Izzy scrutinizes them for a long moment.  “Alec?” she says.  “Are you willing to try again?”

Alec doesn’t say anything for a long moment.  Magnus’s heart, despite his attempts not to let it, sinks down to his knees.  They’re fighting, yes—over some petty squabble that turned realer in the heat of the moment than either of them meant it to—but Alec is as stubborn as they come.  If even he can’t push through this to learn the choreography for the ceremony, then maybe they shouldn’t be here at all.

Then Alec sighs, a heavy sound, and says, “One more time.”

So they go one more time.  They start on the ground, standing opposite each other—they’ll take off at a run and meet in the middle and, if all goes well, Alec will lift Magnus with two hands on his waist and Magnus will spread his wings and get off the ground and lift Alec in turn and they’ll begin the aerial part of the dance and—

—and—

—Magnus stops at the last second, wings flaring out at his sides, flapping in agitation.  “What is it?” he asks, frowning at Alec.

Alec frowns back at him.  “What do you mean?  You’re the one who stopped,” he says.

“I stopped because you looked off.”

“I was concentrating on doing my part.  What do you want from me, a prince charming smile?”

“No, but I would like to know that I’m not going to get thrown to the ground.”

“Hey, I’m doing my part, it’s you who isn’t doing yours—”

Magnus puffs up, his feathers fluffing outward as he steps forward to lean into Alec’s space.  Before he can get there, however, Izzy is between them, a hand planted on each of their chests.

“Okay, okay, jesus.  Cool down, guys,” she says.

Alec grunts, pushing away from her.  He doesn’t say anything else, just goes to pick up his jacket and walks away from the courtyard, his strides long and his gaze deadly, shadowhunters and downworlders alike stepping quickly out of his way.

“Great,” Izzy mutters.  Then she turns on Magnus, her gaze piercing.  “You wanna tell me what all of that was about?”

Magnus snorts, contemplating summoning up a martini.  “Nothing you need to worry about,” he says, closing his eyes for a long moment.

Izzy snorts.  “Apparently it is.  You two are going to ruin the whole shindig at this rate.  All that work both of you have put in to get the shadowhunters and the downworlders to work together and suddenly you two are on the outs?”

“So it would seem,” Magnus says, and normally he doesn’t feel his age but suddenly he’s weighed down by all the many centuries he’s been alive.  He gives Izzy a weak smile and wanders away, heading toward home with his shoulders slumped and his wings all but dragging on the ground.

“Hey!  We’ll pick it up again early tomorrow, okay?” Izzy calls after him.  He raises one bejeweled hand in acknowledgment before gesturing a portal into existence.  Tomorrow… ugh.  Tomorrow is a problem for Future Magnus.  Right Now Magnus, in the meantime, is going to go home and get spectacularly drunk and wallow in self-pity for a good long while.

Or at least he intends to.  When he arrives at the loft and spies a pair of Alec’s spare gloves sitting on the coffee table, however, all the energy goes out of him.  He groans, suddenly exhausted, and goes to plant himself face-down in bed instead, closing his eyes against the light of the setting sun.  He just… this fight.  It’s not all his fault, really—maybe twenty percent of it is his fault—but he still feels bad about it.  Even twenty percent is too damn much, and he knows that he said a few things that hurt Alec.  He just… he doesn’t know how to bridge the gap now that it’s here.  Now that Alec has pulled back.

It was never going to last, says a snipped little voice in his head.  He grunts, rolling over and planting a pillow over his face.  It doesn’t stop the voice, which sounds like a bastardized version of Ragnor, from then saying, he’s a shadowhunter—what did you really expect?

He doesn’t know.  All he knows is that Alec… Alec has always been different.  Or so he thought.  But maybe… god, could it be wishful thinking?  He doesn’t want it to be, but fuck, what if it is?  What if this is just Camille all over again, and he’s deluded himself into thinking that something is different about Alec when it isn’t?  What if—?

He twitches, shaken from the spiral of his thoughts by his wards pinging to let him know that Alec is on his way up.

Magnus frowns.  That… can’t be right.  Alec shouldn’t be here—they’re fighting, after all.  He said it himself not two days ago, he was going to stay at the Institute for a few days to get some space.

Someone clearly hasn’t gotten the memo.  With a grunt, Magnus pries himself up off his bed and heads to the door.  He’s half tempted to make Alec stand outside for a few minutes just to be petty, but he doesn’t want to do that, he finds.  For as off as they’ve been lately, he misses Alec.  And whatever Alec is here for, it must be important.  Right?

Magnus bites the inside of his cheek, schooling his face into neutrality as he buzzes Alec up before Alec can even touch the buzzer.  He waits until he can feel Alec on the other side of the door, brushing up against his inner wards, before he opens it in one swift motion.

“How can I help you?” he asks, not quite in his High Warlock voice but close.

Alec, standing on the other side of the door with his fists shoved in the pockets of his jacket, doesn’t meet his eyes.  “I was just… I thought…”  He takes a deep breath, raising his eyes.  “I wanted to know if you would take a walk with me.”

Magnus blinks.  That’s… not what he expected.  But Alec seems sincere, if a little awkward.  This is an olive branch—he’s trying.  Honestly trying.  Magnus can’t deny him something as simple as a walk—he nods, snapping a jacket of his own onto his shoulders.  He gestures for Alec to lead the way.

Alec does, after hesitating a moment more on Magnus’s doorstep.  Then he heads back down the stairs, walking briskly out the door and taking off down the street.

He seems to have a destination in mind, as he doesn’t say a word as they walk.  Magnus matches his long strides, willing to wait him out.  Alec isn’t the greatest with words at the best of times, really.  He’s honest, blunt—it’s one of the things that Magnus generally finds charming about him.  Right now, however, it’s just serving to make him feel more distant from the man he loves.

They walk for nearly twenty minutes before Alec comes to a stop at a construction site of all things.  He nods to Magnus before he steps inside the bare bones of the building, beginning to climb up half-finished stairs.  Magnus frowns and follows, his uncertainty growing.

They are fifteen stories up before Alec comes to a stop, walking out across a bare floor toward the side of the room, where holes for floor-to-ceiling windows wait for glass.  The sun has fully set and the moon is out by the time they settle, side by side, on the ledge.  Alec pauses there for a long moment, fiddling with the edge of his jacket as he collects his thoughts.  The jacket conceals no fewer than three weapons and a stele, Magnus knows—another part of Alec that he’s become familiar with.  Always and forever a shadowhunter, guarded body and mind.  Magnus had thought they were making progress with Alec’s need to protect himself, protect his heart, but then the fight and… well.

He clears his throat, looking at Alec and waiting for him to speak.  Finally he does, his voice low in the night.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” he says.  Straight to the point, to the heart of the issue between them.  “If that’s what you thought.”

“I was beginning to wonder, yes,” Magnus says, biting his lip.  Then, making up his mind, he asks, “Would you like to tell me what’s on your mind?”

“I trust you,” Alec says, and the certainty in his voice is a balm to Magnus’s troubled soul.  “I do.  It’s… I just…”

“I hurt you,” Magnus says.  He knows he did.  That isn’t up for debate.

Alec, however, only shrugs.  “Not before I hurt you, first,” he says.  He stares up at the moon, worrying his lip between his teeth.  “I wanted to apologize for that.  I was out of line.”

Oh.  Magnus blinks, hard, and turns out toward the sky as well.  There aren’t many stars, not with the lights of the city so strong around them, but the view is nice all the same.  “You weren’t the only one,” he says.  He breathes slowly out.  “This ceremony… it’s been putting pressure on all of us.”

“Yeah,” Alec says, and snorts a little.  “Izzy’s been a nightmare.”

Magnus smiles.  “But you love her anyway.”

“I do.  And I…”

He pauses again, bunching his fist around the seam of his jacket.  Then he blows out between his teeth, and releases it to scrub a hand over his face.  “There’s just so much riding on this ceremony,” he says.  “For the downworld in particular.  If we can’t… if I can’t… I just feel like I keep screwing everything up.”

Oh.  This whole space thing wasn’t Alec needing distance.  It was Alec feeling like he messed up and pulling back.  Magnus nearly laughs when he realizes that Alec, who has never had a romantic relationship before Magnus, has probably never had a fight like this before, either.  He’s fumbling in the dark, not sure how to fix things, frustrated with himself more than anything.

Well, that won’t do.  Magnus hums, pushing himself to his feet and holding out his hand.

“Here… take my hand,” he says.  Alec does.  Slowly, tentatively.  Magnus can feel tension in Alec’s muscles, the tightness in his shoulders thrumming all the way down to his fingertips.  Still, he doesn’t pull back.

Magnus nods, pleased.  “You trust me,” he says.

“I do,” Alec says, and frowns.  “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that it’s okay.  There’s no one watching us right now.  There’s nothing riding on it.  If you trust me, and I trust you… then let’s do this.  Right here and right now.”

Alec’s eyes flick up from their entwined fingers to meet Magnus’s gaze.  And Magnus… god.  He can see the determination, the strength, that made him fall in love with Alec in the first place.  He’s got fire in his eyes, blazing and brilliant.

“You want to jump from a building together?” he asks, and there’s a laugh on his tongue.

Magnus grins.  “Why not?” he asks.

And Alec… when he grins back, he does it with his entire body, relief at knowing that he’s been forgiven for his part in their fight clear in his eyes.  He was scared, that was all—and Magnus wants him to know that he never has anything to be scared of.  He takes Alec’s hand and raises his knuckles to his own lips, pressing a kiss there.  Then, as Alec laughs, he turns toward the ledge and they both step off in sync.