Chapter Text
The kettle has just barely started to whistle when the sound dies with a sort of strangled yelp. Then a series of muted clinking and tapping noises, and bare feet on the hardwood floor move past the bedroom door, away into the other side of the apartment. Jace wakes up slowly, feeling strangely content, as the small, safe sounds of early morning domesticity ease him into consciousness. He shifts in his cocoon of blankets and doesn’t open his eyes, relishing the warmth and holding on to this last moment of sleep as long as he can. He can’t remember the last time he woke up in a bed this comfortable. He can’t remember the last time he woke up in a new place without a new set of bruises and a sense of dread.
He pushes his face deeper into the softness of the pillow and breathes in sandalwood and citrus. Of course the sheets in Magnus Bane’s guest room wouldn’t smell like anything so pedestrian as laundry detergent. At home- at the Institute- the sheets smell like “clean breeze,” which is what they’ve smelled like as long as Jace has lived there.
He remembers the first night he spent in New York with the Lightwoods. A new city, a new continent, a new family, but all he could really wrap his head around was the way the bed was too narrow, the way it smelled different and wrong. He remembers lying awake for a long time, afraid of the dark in an unfamiliar room, but more afraid to move and turn on the light. In the morning, he remembers sitting at the table across from Izzy and a two year old Max, exhausted but wary of these strangers, watching Alec move around the kitchen making breakfast for the three of them. He thinks now that another child, one less isolated, might have been confused at the absence of parents under those circumstances. For Jace, though, scared and tired and looking for stability in the wake of disaster, Alec’s matter-of-fact acceptance of responsibility for all of them was no stranger than anything else that day.
And it’s been that way ever since, really. Alec is, against all odds, fantastic at taking care of people. He makes great scrambled eggs, he knows first aid, and he notices if you’re feeling sad or under the weather. Maryse and Robert weren’t uncaring parents, and Jace is never going to be anything but grateful to them, but they were raising their children to be soldiers. Jace, Izzy, and Max all figured out pretty quickly that Alec was the one to look for if they needed a bandage, or a battle fought on their behalf. Maryse was the engine of the Lightwood family, but Alec was the rock.
Isabelle calls Alec a buzzkill, but then Isabelle has always specialized in evasion and defiance when it comes to her parents, whereas Alec just keeps beating his head against that brick wall. His ability to push aside his own wants and needs for the sake of his family is either admirable or downright alarming, depending on the context.
Jace rolls over, pulling the blankets up over his shoulder and letting his thoughts drift. He wonders who Alec would have been, if he’d been able to be the perfect soldier and political asset Robert and Maryse wanted. Of all their children, Alec was the one who had come the closest to meeting their impossible standards. He’d done everything they’d asked of him, followed every rule, and accepted every punishment. His adherence to the Clave’s edicts had been absolute. Six months ago, Jace would have said that his brother’s prejudice against Downworlders ran deeper than his own. No clandestine dates with Seelies or stolen vamp motorcycles for the perfect eldest son. Since the wedding, though, Jace is beginning to realize how hard Alec was working to stay under the radar. It’s like Isabelle says; he doesn’t have a dial, he has a switch. The switch is flipped, so he’s not playing by those rules anymore. Not any of them.
Now that he isn’t hiding anymore, it’s actually pretty fun to watch Alec turn his sharp tongue and considerable determination to the dual purposes of pissing off the Clave and radically adjusting Maryse and Robert’s expectations. The only reason he succeeded in concealing so much of himself for as long as he did, Jace thinks, was because he was so devoted to keeping his family safe from the censure of the Clave. In trying Isabelle for treason and locking Jace up in the City of Bones, the Clave had unlocked Alec’s self-made prison for him, handed him the keys and let him wander away. As soon as he’d learned that his silence couldn’t buy his siblings’ safety, he’d been free to go.
Alec could have been the Clave’s sharpest weapon, a pitiless blade of white light without compassion or regret, and he would have done it all for his family, out of love. Jace feels sick at the thought. He doesn’t want to imagine Alec like that, lonely and bitter and trapped in a cage of duty and tradition. He reaches for their bond, needing to ground himself, and finds the familiar steadiness he seeks, but beyond that there’s a sleepy warmth that makes him withdraw carefully, unwilling to intrude. Still, the reality of Alec close by, safe, and loved has banished the spectre of the might-have-been, and Jace feels better for it, relaxed enough to realize he’s still tired. He lets the clinging drowsiness overtake him and pull him back to sleep.
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Jace is 13. He’s hungry and late for morning training with Hodge and Izzy, but the kitchen is the last place he wants to be. He can hear Maryse and Alec through the door. Or at least, he can hear Maryse, and the way she’s talking, he can tell she’s talking to Alec.
“Give me your other hand,” she says. She sounds tired; her voice is thin and quieter than normal. Jace peers through the hinges of the door. Maryse is bandaging Alec’s hands. It’s been three days since the seraph blade incident, which means it’s three days into Alec’s punishment. He’s grounded, and worse, he’s banned from blade practice for a month, and he’s had to triple his archery hours to compensate. Calluses don’t develop overnight. Jace takes one look at the first aid kit and the bloody wads of gauze on the table and turns away, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor in the hall, his stomach churning. The blood isn’t what’s making him ill; it’s the guilt.
“I still can’t fathom why on earth you took that blade, Alec. And out of the Institute, all the way down to the river, of all places? That’s two Clave edicts broken at once, and I know you’re well aware of the importance of our laws,” Maryse says, sharp in that way she gets when she’s short on time or patience, which is often enough that Jace is familiar with the tone after 3 years with the Lightwood family. She sighs, and then continues a little more softly, “It’s not like you to be so reckless.”
There’s an expectant pause. Jace waits, sick with apprehension. Alec promised he would cover for them, but that was before the punishment was determined. It’s humiliating to be banned from bladework at this stage in their training. The seraph blades are more valuable than other weapons; they’re special, light-touched, sacred. It’s only been this year that they’ve been allowed to start practicing with them at all, and it’s important. It’s one of the most important things about being a Shadowhunter, along with the runes. And now Alec is banned, demoted to the bow again, a less prestigious weapon for a fighter who can’t face a demon close up. That’s not what Hodge says of course, but they all know it. The legendary Shadowhunters, the ones in all the stories, they fight with seraph blades, not long range weapons. The names of those blades are in the histories. Jace wouldn’t blame Alec if he did tell Maryse what really happened. He hopes Alec won’t, though. He doesn’t want to be sent away, and he’s terrified that if Maryse and Robert found out he’d screwed up this badly, they wouldn’t hesitate. He’s not their real son.
Jace takes a deep, shuddering breath and closes his eyes, hoping. He can trust Alec. Alec will take care of it. He always does.
Finally Alec answers his mother, his tone impassive. “Does it matter? I’ve accepted the consequences.”
Maryse sighs. “Well, it won’t change your punishment, no. But I’d like you to tell me what happened, Alec. Is there something going on? I know we expect a lot of you, but lately you’ve seemed…different. Unhappy. I’m worried about you, darling.” The last part is strained, like it’s being dragged out of her. Jace winces. If anything is going to get Alec to give in, it’s this unprecedented vulnerability from his mother. Maryse is tough as nails, but she relies on her eldest son a great deal, and she can’t always hide it as well as she thinks. And Alec knows it, and he never fails her. If Maryse finds out…Jace presses his fist to his mouth, tries to steady his breathing. Where will he go if he can’t stay here?
It’s not such a big lie, really. Alec can tell Maryse exactly what happened. He just has to say it was him that ran into the kelpie down by the river. That he thought it was just a faerie horse, that he got too close before he noticed its mane dripping wet with river water. That the teeth were like needles when it opened its wide, black mouth, and the seraph blade sang, a high, bell-like note, when he drew it and stepped forward to drive the thing back into the river. And how his feet slipped on the wet stone at the water’s edge, and he barely scrambled out in time, hauled himself up the bank drenched and gasping, as the white blade slipped down into the dark water, and the kelpie’s tail and hooves disappeared into the depths.
Alec knows the whole story, because he found dry clothes for Jace and Izzy when they slipped back into the Institute after curfew, soaked and stinking of the East River. He bandaged Jace’s leg where it was bitten, and he wrapped Izzy up in his arms and told her it wasn’t her fault for wanting to see a faerie horse close up, and later that night, when he found Jace crying for the first time in years, sure he’d be sent away, that this would be the last straw, he reassured him. He promised that Maryse and Robert wouldn’t find out; he promised that Jace could stay.
“It’s okay, Mom. I was struggling a bit with the blade training. I just wanted… It was stupid to take a blade out of the Institute. I know that doesn’t reflect well on you. I’m sorry. I promise it won’t happen again,” Alec says quietly. He hasn’t lied. Alec is awful at lying, if he has to be direct about it. His voice shakes, and he stutters. He can’t meet your eyes. But he’s pretty good at misdirection, and this time the guilt in his voice is even real. He probably believes he’s partially responsible for the way Izzy and Jace screwed up, just because he’s the oldest and he should have stopped them somehow. Jace is too relieved, for a moment, to feel bad about that. He lets himself relax fractionally as he waits for Maryse’s response.
“Well. I’m disappointed. I thought you knew better. I hope this month gives you time to reflect on your priorities and remember who you are,” Maryse replies severely. “You are a Lightwood, Alec. That name comes with great responsibility. You must always be true to your name and your family in all things. I know you won’t disappoint me again.” There’s a strange kind of tenderness in her voice.
“I won’t disappoint you,” Alec echoes. His voice is suddenly, inexplicably shaky. There’s a long silence, broken only by the small noises of Maryse packing away the first aid kit.
“There. That’s done,” she says, and pauses. When she speaks again her voice is cautious, and much softer, as though she has stepped closer to Alec. Jace can barely hear her. “And…you’re sure there’s nothing else? Nothing wrong?”
“N…nothing, Mom. I’m okay. I promise.”
Now, Alec is lying, Jace thinks. He’s lying, but Maryse is going to believe him anyway, because she wants to.
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When Jace wakes up again, the apartment seems quiet. He grabs his toothbrush and the towel left on the top of the dresser- seriously, the warlock thinks of everything, what is this, a B & B?- and cracks the door open, hoping to make it to the bathroom for a quick shower before anyone else is up. He freezes, though, when he glances into the kitchen and sees Alec and Magnus there. His parabatai is leaning back against the counter, his posture open and relaxed as he watches Magnus making tea in a series of delicate, measured movements. Jace thinks fleetingly that he should make some noise, announce his presence, but he’s curious, held back for a moment by the unfamiliar, easy set of Alec’s shoulders. As he watches, Magnus sets down his mug and steps into Alec’s space, leaning one hip against the counter and tilting his head to meet Alec’s eyes.
“I’m not worried about this,” he says, seeming to pick up on an earlier conversation. “Not about any of it. I don’t mean to dismiss your concerns, but I need you to know I’m not going to give up on this- on us- over temporary inconvenience or awkwardness. I meant what I said last night, about effort.” Alec’s expression softens momentarily at that, one corner of his mouth pulling into a smile before his features settle into a more familiar look of guilt.
“I still don’t…You shouldn’t have to do all this. For me, I mean,” Alec stutters. “I’m just, I know it’s too early, between us, for everything that’s happening. The Institute, my parents, my brother staying in your spare room, dammit. I wish I knew how to do this right. I want…I don’t want to screw things up, with you.I’m sorry.” He turns to face Magnus, eyes serious, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously.
“Alec. As admirable and sexy as I find the whole strong-arms-with-a-heart-of-gold thing you have going on-” here Magnus sways forward even closer, teasing, to adjust the collar of Alec’s shirt, and Alec ducks his head and grins despite himself- “you’re not responsible for the situation at the Institute right now. It is not your fault. Though I’ve known you long enough by now not to think I can stop you taking on the responsibility of fixing what others have broken.”
He pauses and takes a deep breath before continuing, “And as for my side of things…well, yes. Why else would I be letting myself get so tangled up with a bunch of impetuous, self-righteous Shadowhunters? Of course it’s for you. All of it. That’s not a problem for me. You’re a damn good reason, Alexander.” He lifts his hand almost imperceptibly towards Alec, but stops before touching him, lets it fall away again, flexing his fingers in an involuntary gesture of restraint. Alec is looking at Magnus like he can’t look away, like he’s been waiting his whole life for this, like he can’t quite believe his luck. The space between them is suddenly electric, and Jace has the impression the whole building could come crashing down right now and Alec would barely notice. Magnus’ voice is low and earnest when he speaks again.
“You said last night that for a long time you knew you couldn’t have what you wanted. You can, now. You won’t hurt me, because I want the same thing.Believe me when I tell you, Alexander, that your brother occupying my guest room during his hopefully temporary exile from the hallowed halls of your Institute isn’t going to make me change my mind about you. Neither is Valentine, or your parents’ politics, or any of the many, many other things I find less interesting than finding out exactly what you’ve been wanting, and giving it to you,” Magnus finishes, a little breathless. His whole body is poised, waiting, but he doesn’t move, just fixes Alec with the same look Jace remembers from the wedding, eyes defiant and patient all at once, chin raised, mouth set in a determined line.
Alec watches him carefully for a long moment. He twitches minutely forward, then catches himself, and then he takes a long, shaky breath, and his shoulders square and take on a charged stillness that Jace recognizes from the moment before he looses an arrow. His voice, when he speaks, is choked and very deep.
“Okay. Yeah, okay, I believe you.” And then, all at once resolved, he presses Magnus back against the counter hungrily, chest to chest, hands curving around his hips to gather him closer. Magnus’ back curves into a graceful bow as Alec crowds in close, so close that when he speaks again their lips brush.
“This is what I want. You, Magnus.” Alec closes the last small distance between them then, kissing him fiercely, and Magnus just melts into it, ardent and unhesitating, his arms flying up to wrap around Alec’s neck. The mug of tea explodes in a shower of blue sparks.
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Later, when Jace finally, cautiously, opens the door again, he finds Magnus and Alec on the couch together, empty mugs and breakfast plates abandoned on the coffee table in front of them. Magnus is nearly sitting in Alec’s lap, and Alec has one arm looped around his back, supporting him as he leans forward to look at something on Alec’s phone. Magnus’ hair is falling in his eyes, and he’s wearing yoga pants and a too-large T-shirt Jace recognizes as Alec’s. One of Magnus’ cats is actually draped over Alec’s shoulder, purring. It’s definitely the least imposing Jace has seen Magnus look, and the most openly affectionate he has ever known Alec to be with anyone. Jace is a little stunned at the trust in him they’re both showing, just by letting him see this. It’s a striking contrast to the way Jace feels at the Institute these days, faced with suspicion and barely-suppressed hostility even from people he thought of as friends, as family.
Alec looks up when Jace comes in, but he doesn’t startle or move away from Magnus, just gestures with his free hand in the direction of the kitchen island.
“Hey, I put some coffee on for you- the pot is over there, and there’s cream in the fridge. Because some of us prefer not to corrupt our coffee with stolen goods from the Starbucks down the street,” he adds, the disapproving look he directs at Magnus slightly at odds with the way he tightens his arm around his boyfriend’s waist. Magnus just raises one elegant eyebrow at Alec in silent reproach and lets himself be pulled closer. As Jace rounds the corner of the island, heading for the fridge, Magnus looks up and offers a lazy wave.
“Good morning. Welcome to the Bane Shelter for Stray Cats and Shadowhunters. The guest room is yours as long as you need it, and there’s a spare key on the table in the front hall. I don’t have many house rules, but I do have to insist that you don’t introduce Chairman Meow to anyone you bring home unless you’re planning to have them stick around a while; he’s very sensitive and he doesn’t handle upheaval well. He needs a stable home life in order to thrive.” Magnus lifts the tabby-striped cat off of Alec’s shoulder and cradles it in his arms tenderly. “Isn’t that right, baby?” he coos. Alec rolls his eyes, but Jace isn’t buying it for an instant. He can see Alec’s free hand reaching over to tickle the cat’s fuzzy white belly.
“Well aren’t the three of you just an adorable sight?” Jace thinks he intended to be sarcastic, but it comes out weirdly sincere, and he finds to his surprise that he means it. They are pretty adorable, after all, and it’s not like Alec has so many people in his life who are going to be kind to him about this, let alone protect him from all the unkindness coming his way because of it. It looks like Alec is willing to let Jace be one of those people, though.
Jace is glad of that- not just glad, but fiercely grateful, because despite everything else that’s changed in their lives lately, he and Alec still have this. They’re on the same side, and Alec’s people are his people. He doesn’t know how to say that, though, so he tries to put a little of it into the way he smiles at them. He thinks he must be successful somehow, because when Alec looks up at him over Magnus’ shoulder, he smiles back, pleased and a little embarrassed, hiding nothing.