Chapter Text
The summons from Victor Aldertree finds Magnus and Raphael already in the same room, discussing how to strengthen relationships between the Brooklyn Clan and the Brooklyn Warlocks - a possibility that no longer seems hopeless, now that Camille is finally gone.
If Magnus is being honest, they're also using the opportunity to catch up; it's the only way they can do so, these days. They can no longer extricate their personal lives from the looming threat to their people, much less leave behind their responsibilities long enough to be able to just be Magnus and Raphael again.
In the rare instances where they get to meet, they are High Warlock and Clan Leader.
Magnus does his best to crush the pain that threatens to take over his ever-needy heart. It could be worse, he reminds himself. It was worse, when Camille still had Raphael under her heel and they could barely see each other, lest she get suspicious of their relationship and… Do something neither of them ever dared to say out loud.
At least his boy is free. He is… Happy. And he is doing as good a job as a leader as anyone could if they took over the hot mess that was the Brooklyn Vampire Clan after Camille was done with them. His vampires respect him - more marvelous still, they trust him, a feat no less than miraculous so soon after her. The reminder of how far his boy has come is enough to make Magnus able to replace the longing in his heart with pride again.
Until the summons arrives, that is.
It blazes into the sanctuary of his home in a burning haze of light, so sudden that Magnus believes, for a second, that they lost track of time and sunlight has found its way from a window Magnus forgot to close. But the light doesn't harm his Raphael, instead crashing into his hands with pointed finality as the fire message finds its recipient. Raphael reads it, his face hardening the longer his eyes scan over its contents. Magnus misses the ease that previously warmed his boy's face, but he can feel his own spine straightening, and a similar coldness settling into his gut. Whatever this is about, he knows that the previous easiness of their meeting is gone.
"What is it, my boy?" Magnus asks, unable to keep nervousness from bleeding into his tone. Raphael's eyes soften just slightly as they meet his, as if to tell Magnus that everything will be fine. He flicks his wrist so that the message rests kindly over Magnus' own extended palm, and something in the smoothness and delicacy of the gesture reminds Magnus so much of himself that he feels his heart soar with love.
Before it drops again at the contents of the message.
Mr. Bane and Mr. Santiago,
You are hereby invited to the New York Institute for an audience with its Head.
It begins one hour after the arrival of this summons, and no later.
Failure to attend will lead to steep consequences for both you and your people.
Cordially,
Victor Aldertree, Head of the New York Institute.
"In an hour?" Is the first thing that comes out of Magnus' mouth, indignation plain in his tone. It's 6am. "There's only twenty-two minutes until sunrise." Usually, they wouldn't have met so close to sunrise to begin with, but just the previous night Alexander had gone and gotten his soul lost in an attempt to track his parabatai, and Magnus had had to pull an all-nighter to keep him alive long enough for Jace to bring it back. The exhaustion had caught up to him, so he had asked to move the meeting to the end of the night instead of the beginning for this reason, so he could catch about 18 hours of sleep and hopefully replenish his dangerously low magic. It was not the most convenient time, as it risked the meeting going over sunrise time, but his boy was accommodating as ever, and besides, Magnus always planned to portal Raphael straight back to the DuMort, safe from any incoming daylight. Aldertree, on the other hand…
Raphael seems to be following his train of thought, because he placates him with much the same reminder. "It's fine, Magnus. We can portal in and out; I'll let the Clan know that I'll be back late."
Magnus grimaces. Obviously, Magnus will portal him, but that's beside the point. If Magnus hadn't been there, Raphael would have had to drop everything to rush in a mad dash through the city just to get to the Institute on time, the looming threat of death accompanying him with each passing second until he was where Aldertree wanted him. It's the kind of casual humiliation the Clave excels at, and Magnus hates it. Especially when it's directed at his family. "Of course we will, my boy, but Aldertree couldn't have known…" He pauses as he looks back at the paper in his hands. One message for the both of them. "Except he did," he realizes, stomach sinking. The shadowhunters had no reason to know of their meeting; neither the Clan nor the Warlocks had alerted them.
And yet, they knew that Raphael was in Magnus' home.
"Yes," Raphael confirms, trying to sound unaffected, but the way he squares his shoulders might as well be advertising his uneasiness straight to Magnus - who already has his own to add to the mix.
Which of them have they been spying on?
And what for?
Magnus' mind kicks into gear. They're a step behind. Not much they can do about that at the moment, so Magnus sticks to what he can control. "Well, then. We should change."
He's gone into the Institute in less formal clothes than his silk blue blouse with rose patterns - usually to make a statement. But not once has he been there with his face bare and hair unstyled as it is now. Knowing this visit was just his Raphael, Magnus had felt he was allowed to let his hair down, so to speak.
A feeling he knows is mutual, because Raphael isn't even wearing a full suit; just his favorite blue shirt and a vest. There's even a pop of yellow in the pin he was wearing over the vest - a small rose over his heart that Magnus knows is an homage to his sister.
For the two of them, going into the Institute as they are now would be equivalent to heading to battle in a bikini.
Raphael seems to notice this at exactly the same time as he does, because the suggestion has him flying off his seat. "Yes," he agrees, probably disconcerted at the idea of letting Aldertree anywhere near his Rosa pin. Then he looks sheepish. "Could you, uh-"
Magnus claps, and Raphael's closet appears before them. Mirth returns briefly to Raphael's eyes, the softness of his face contrasting with the sharpness of his nervous movements. "Thank you," he says, heartfelt as always.
"Of course," Magnus replies, just as heartfelt. "I can magic my own clothes on, so let's focus on finding something suitable for you, hm?" He says breezily as he begins browsing the contents of Raphael's closet. He knows the short-sleeved shirts and sweaters he used to prefer before becoming an important representative of the Clan are in the back, hidden by a wall of his frankly excessive leather jacket collection, where he leaves them, because a summons from the Head of the Institute requires a suit at minimum, unless their goal is to offend him. Which Magnus won't allow Raphael to do, not when he knows how harsh the consequences could be. He doesn't know Victor Aldertree well, but he knows the Aldertrees aren't shadowhunter royalty - they're no Lightwoods - which means that the newly appointed Head has something to prove. Magnus will not allow him to prove it at the cost of his boy.
Thankfully, Raphael doesn't seem to want to offend them, either. His eyes nervously scan over his suits. "What," he clears his throat, "what do you think they want to talk to us about?" He asks.
Magnus takes a deep breath and does his best not to dwell on Raphael's uncharacteristic stuttering.
You will be punished, but the form of punishment is yet to be decided, Aldertree had said.
He wouldn't… Would he?
Bile rises to Magnus' mouth. Of course he would. He works for the Clave.
In fact, it'd be perfectly fitting for shadowhunter creed. An eye for an eye. Magnus hurt one of their own, so they might…
No! his brain yells, raging against the thought.
Raj means nothing to Aldertree. Another soldier at best.
And Magnus only knocked him out to save another shadowhunter - a Lightwood, no less.
They even got to arrest Jace out of the deal!
Still, he realizes with a chilling shudder, the fact remains. Magnus, a downworlder, attacked a shadowhunter.
That will never go unpunished, no matter the circumstances. He had known that. He had accepted it. Whatever they did to him in retaliation would be worth it to keep Alexander alive, he had thought.
But if they're doing it to his boy…
No, no, no, no.
What has he done?
"Magnus?" Raphael asks, gentle in its fright, and Magnus realizes that he has been staring at the same navy suit without replying for too long. He swallows.
"Sorry," is all he can think to say while he wracks his brain for an excuse for his lapse. Looking at his boy's face does not help matters - all it does is assault his imagination with images of what it might look like at the end of the day. Beaten? Bruised? Bloodied? All because of him. It renders Magnus unable to think of anything else, much less something appropriate to say. "I… I don't know," he admits, the uncharacteristic stuttering of his own betraying his despair. "Why would they summon us now?" He asks, turning to face his Rapha, realizing too late that he forgot to school the vulnerability away from his face. God, what is he doing? He can't show fear in front of his boy; he must be strong, reliable, especially if his fears turn out to be founded. Magnus must think straight if he wants to protect Raphael.
It's too late for that realization, though, because Raphael notices, immediately moving to put his hand on Magnus' shoulder, rubbing it comfortingly. His sweet boy. How can Magnus live with himself if he causes anything to happen to him?
Raphael continues to try to console him. "They won't kill us," he reasons, nodding weakly to himself. "You're High Warlock and I'm Clan Leader. That would be grounds for war, and that's the last thing they need, now that Valentine is back and threatening them. Whatever happens, we'll come back alive, p- Magnus," it's solid reasoning, but the aborted word shows Magnus what he's really feeling, the realization burning cold as ice in Magnus' stomach. Raphael hasn't called him "papá" in years - not since he decided to join Camille, and Magnus supposes this is just one more thing she took from them - but sometimes… Sometimes, he almost slips up.
If he's terrified.
Terrified enough to fail to rein the endearment in.
Raphael averts his eyes, as aware of how much he's just revealed as Magnus is, and Magnus can only smile at him sadly. "You're right, mijo," he says, because that word never fails to make Raphael's eyes soften. "Whatever happens, we'll survive, and deal with the aftermath," he says with as much strengthening conviction as he can manage. Then he nods, taking the opportunity the movement affords him to no longer face his boy and his fears, and goes back to browsing Raphael's suits. "Just let me take point on this, and we'll be fine." Especially if this meeting is about what he thinks it is.
"No," Raphael says.
Magnus stops browsing. Lets his hand hover where it was for just a second. Turns to look at Raphael. "What do you mean, 'no'?"
"It means 'no'," Raphael repeats, smiling his most insufferable smile. Magnus pretends not to see the way it trembles before his face turns serious again. "I know you, Magnus. I know you'll try to take the brunt of this. I won't let you. No matter what happens, I'll never let you suffer to protect me."
"I have more experience," Magnus argues, "you were only just made Clan Leader. It will be your first meeting alone with the Clave. They're dangerous. Following my lead will be better for both of us."
To Magnus, it's solid reasoning, but apparently, to Raphael, it's only worth rolling his eyes at. "I was Camille's second-in-command for years, Magnus," he reminds him, in that soft, yet no-nonsense way Magnus has never been able to emulate, "you think she bothered to attend Clave meetings? I was the one who did everything. These last few years, the summons weren't even addressed to her anymore. None of this is new to me."
"Well," Magnus hesitates. That… Sounds like Camille. "I'm afraid I still have quite a few centuries on you, my boy."
Raphael huffs, grimacing. "You can't use being older to get everything your way."
"Fairly certain that I can," Magnus corrects breezily, holding up a black suit. Elegant, respectable, yet easy to miss. He won't call for much attention in this. Perfect. "How about this one?" He swiftly changes the subject.
Raphael assesses it for too short a moment before nodding. "As good as any, I suppose," he says as he takes it from Magnus' hands. "I'm still not letting you take the fall for whatever happens there. If he accuses either of us of anything, we blame Camille."
"…I suppose whatever problem they have being Camille's fault is not likely to be untrue," Magnus acquiesces.
Raphael, of course, is not fooled by his lack of confirmation. "I mean it, Magnus," he warns. "If you try to take all the blame to protect me, I'll jump on Aldertree's throat."
Bile, bitter and corrosive, finds its way to Magnus' mouth again. "They'll kill you," he whispers, the weight of the words too heavy for his tongue to bear.
"Yes. So don't make me do it."
"You wouldn't," Magnus insists, halfway between trying to convince Raphael and himself. "You wouldn't abandon your Clan."
Raphael acknowledges the statement with a head tilt and an eyebrow raise. "Would I abandon you?"
At Magnus' dry-tongued silence, he goes into the bathroom to change.
Magnus dresses himself in a military-inspired emerald coat with spikes on his shoulder blades, black skinny slacks, and similarly green makeup and highlights on his hair. He appraises himself in the mirror, satisfied with the results. In the outfit, he looks strong, ready for anything. He wishes he could feel it.
Raphael takes one look at him and says, "no."
"Criticizing my fashion sense? I'm hurt."
"You're not wearing spikes to this meeting, p- Magnus," this time, he doesn't avert his eyes after the slip-up, glaring up at Magnus with the same stubbornness that had once convinced Magnus that that scared little boy would pull through, after all. "They'll take it as a threat."
Raphael is right, of course, but Magnus can't acknowledge that without revealing what he's trying to do. He knows his boy will not stand for it, which just makes it all the more necessary. "Shadowhunters wouldn't know a fashion statement if it hit them in the face," Magnus dismisses with nothing but a movement of his hand.
"In that case, I'm wearing my leather jacket with crimson embroidery."
That's far too bold. "No!" His mouth exclaims of its own accord as he reaches out to his boy. Who is smirking. Shit.
"Then no spikes, either." He raises his eyebrows pointedly, smiling that same smug smile, although Magnus can see worry straightening its edges. Magnus has always thought that he was too smart for his own good. Rarely does that tip over into becoming too smart for Magnus' good - they are so rarely on different sides, after all - but, when it does, he can't say he cares for it.
He purses his lips, offering the most dramatic of his eye rolls. "Fiiine," he sighs, dragging out the word and flicking his wrist to magic the offending spikes away. Raphael doesn't look fooled by his antics, but at least he doesn't protest anything else, which… Surprises Magnus, but he's not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. The military-inspired cut and the more colorful choice should still be enough to make the shadowhunters pay more attention to him than to his Rapha, Magnus hopes. He adds some more sparkle to his eyeshadow just to be sure.
"Well then," he says breezily, "are we ready?"
"No," Raphael replies curtly, "I'm changing."
Magnus' stomach drops. "Why?"
Raphael looks at him. Through him. "Because I'm not wearing a plain black suit if you're wearing emerald."
Magnus swallows. He should have known. "Raphael…"
"We should present an united front," he interrupts, unbothered by - or unwilling to hear - his incipient protest, "it will send them a message. And, hopefully, make them think twice before targeting us. They want us both at the same time, let them have it."
Magnus opens his mouth, but finds no room in it to fit an argument. He closes it again, then sighs. "Fine," he says again, the clear defeat making the word a lot more honest than last time. "What did you have in mind?"
"Jewel tones. That way we match," Raphael hums, going through his clothes at almost super-speed. It still takes him quite a while of digging before he finally stops with a satisfied sound. "There it is," he says, presenting Magnus his choice, "ruby undershirt."
"Ruby," Magnus repeats drily. The vivid tone is even more eye-catching than Magnus' emerald. That won't do. "I think garnet is more your style," he tries, desperately looking for a strategy he can use.
"That is true," Raphael shrugs, and the acknowledgement tells him that he chose the wrong one already. Shit. "But ruby goes better with emerald, and my personal taste is not what matters most right now." He smiles, too innocently, and Magnus' frustration builds along with his fear. He has no time to divert course, however, because Raphael is eyeing his jacket again. "And this is too plain for the amount of details you've got. How about…"
"The embroidered jacket I gave you for your birthday!" Magnus exclaims, barely keeping the notes of panic from reaching his voice. He summons the piece into his hands, already shoving it in Raphael's direction with the hopes that a surprise attack will keep him from finding a way to pick something more threatening. The piece is embroidered, sure; but it's also entirely black, making it easier to miss than Magnus' jacket; the black embroidery is for those who are already paying attention, not for catching the eye of the unaware. It's subtle in its elegance - which is why he picked it for his boy in the first place - and that makes it perfect for Magnus' intentions. If he plays his cards right, he can even neutralize some of the undershirt's brightness.
Raphael's jaw clicks, and it's Magnus' turn to smile innocently. "It's very rich in details, and adds an air of elegance that increases our professionalism. And matches the black details of my own jacket," he says, gesturing at himself with a practiced flourish.
"…Can't argue with that," Raphael admits, displeased, but resigned, and Magnus swallows his sigh of relief. Raphael holds the jacket in his arm along with the shirt as he tries to complete the outfit.
He seems satisfied enough with Magnus' slacks to pick a simple black plaited straight leg for himself, which Magnus is grateful for. Then he spends too long staring at Magnus' snakeskin Chelsea boots, which Magnus wills himself not to say anything about, with considerable effort. He knows his boy owns nothing but Oxfords, but the intensity of his stare is enough to make Magnus nervous. He can't own a pair of red combat boots Magnus knows nothing about, can he?
After too long a moment, Raphael bites the inside of his lip and pulls out black Oxford Louboutins. The relief that crashes into Magnus is almost enough to punch a sigh out of him, but he reins it in with practiced control, keeping his shoulders from dropping as well. Plain black bottoms would be preferable, of course; but unless he sits with his feet up, the color will be hardly noticeable, and Magnus knows he won't be able to convince Raphael to switch to even plainer shoes. All in all, Raphael is still more muted when compared to Magnus, and Magnus has his height and fame working in his favor, too.
He still makes his hair slightly spikier, just to be sure.
"Well then," he says casually, before Raphael can pull another trick from up his sleeve, "It's almost time. Shall we?"
They portal to the Institute with exactly one minute to spare, and Victor Aldertree greets them with his most polite smile. It's cold enough to give Magnus chills. "Mr. Bane, Mr. Santiago," he says, "how nice of you to arrive in time. Follow me."
Magnus does so, trying to stay a step ahead of Raphael, but all his efforts earn him are a look that reminds him exactly which one of them has super-speed. "United front," Raphael whispers, and Magnus bites the inside of his cheek, but acquiesces. It will harm them both if they seem easy to divide, and that's the opposite of what Magnus wants.
He taught Raphael too well for his own good, he thinks bitterly as they walk side-by-side, his boy's spine straight and imposing.
Their steps synchronize with effortless ease as Aldertree leads them into an office that's as dry as any other in the Institute. At its center sits a perfectly organized and larger-than-necessary wooden desk that doesn't look like it actually sees any work done. In front of it there are two sleek and uncomfortable looking leather chairs that face the stained glass painting of the Angel Raziel that stands behind the one who sits on the better side of the desk - which has a taller and more comfortable looking chair, Magnus can't help but notice. There is a fake fireplace with holographic fire that burns cold and still, and the walls are decorated with shelves upon shelves of books - all neatly matching in color and size, just clean enough to not be dusty, and written by shadowhunters.
Once they've made their way inside, the door closes with a final click. Magnus pretends to be interested in the books on the shelf nearest to him while he checks the magical properties of the room. Soundproof. Blocks the creation of portals in and out. Warded against demons and Forsaken. Fairly standard for a shadowhunter meeting room, although the faint hum of something decidedly technological draws his attention. He doesn't see any screen or other typical shadowhunter devices, save for the "fireplace", but that does not require so much energy as to create such a constant hum; besides, he's seen those glorified display screens before, but has never heard that particular sound.
He turns to Raphael, who raises his eyebrows at him ever so slightly, and gives him his most subtle nod, bringing his eyebrows together just faintly enough that it couldn't be called a frown. Whatever it is - and Raphael certainly can hear it too - it's not magical, and that means Magnus can't check what it does without blatantly scanning the room. They have no reason to fear yet, but should still be careful. Raphael rolls an almost imperceptible part of his inner lip between his teeth, and Magnus knows his message is understood. In unison, they both turn back to Aldertree, who's doing the same to face them as he leans against the edge of his desk.
"Thank you for coming in," Aldertree says, as if they were given a choice.
"Oh, but of course. We couldn't possibly refuse a summons from the Head of the Institute himself," Magnus says, the politeness of his tone making it seem as if that 'couldn't' means 'wouldn't'.
"To what do we owe the pleasure?" His boy asks in much the same tone, and Magnus makes sure that the straightness of his spine reads as "helpful and ready for action" to Aldertree while also making sure he occupies more space.
Aldertree smiles at the two of them, pleasant and chilling. "Straight to business. I like it," he says. "Unfortunately, Mr. Santiago, this is no pleasant matter. Our team has found a vampire den in Ocean Hill," he gives Raphael a pointed look, "another vampire den. Fourteen mundanes were drained. Three of them children."
Raphael's jaw tenses for a millisecond before he smooths it over, the tip of his finger curling slightly as he fights the urge to clench his fist. To Magnus, the grief at the news is plain to see; to Aldertree, he must simply look uninterested. Magnus rushes to his defense.
"Surely you don't think Mr. Santiago could possibly be behind that?" He asks, trying to keep the incredulity out of his voice - appearing emotional will not help them. Raphael's jaw tenses regardless, and his fingers twitch as if motioning for him to wait; Magnus doesn't continue, but still raises his chin slightly. This is ludicrous, and Magnus won't listen to it, even as the instinctive voice in his mind screams trap trap trap trap. Better he falls into it than his boy.
He takes the time to stop his hands from shaking with a practiced press of his thumb into his palm. If this is vampire business, why did Aldertree summon Magnus as well?
The nature of the punishment-
No!
"Unfortunately, Mr. Bane, I have every reason to think Mr. Santiago is 'behind that'," Aldertree counters, "given what Mr. Lewis told me the last time I talked to him."
"I'm certain there was some kind of misunderstanding," Magnus says, keeping an iron grip on his tone so it comes off as polite and not scornful. Releasing Camille from under Raphael's nose was bad enough, but accusing him of breaking the Accords before the Clave? That's too diabolical a plot for Simon. He couldn't have meant to do that.
Could he?
Seems Magnus has misjudged people a lot recently.
"Oh, certainly," Aldertree says, not bothering to hide the scorn in his tone, "like it was a misunderstanding when Mr. Santiago helped Ms. Belcourt abduct and forcibly Turn a mundane?"
"I'm certain you'll recall that, in that incident, Mr. Santiago saved Mr. Lewis' life," Magnus says, widening the space between his teeth so the words don't leave through them. He relaxes the fists he made without meaning to, focusing on keeping his breaths calm, measured, and not deep enough to be noticeable. He can't possibly think Raphael would do this. He cannot.
At his reminder, Aldertree nods, and Magnus feels himself relax, although he does not allow it to show in the slope of his shoulders. At least Simon didn't omit that detail of the story. "And yet, when asked about the recent spike in vampire activity, Mr. Lewis told me in no uncertain terms that I should ask Mr. Santiago about it."
With considerable effort, Magnus manages not to gape. Beside him, Raphael looks remarkably calm, even to Magnus' attuned eyes. He should be seething that Simon did this on top of his previous betrayal, but his hands are no closer to clenching than they already were, he isn't biting the inside of his lip, and his eyes show no surprise. Magnus looks at him in question, but Raphael stares straight at Aldertree, unmoved by the accusations that could end his life.
Well then. Seems Magnus will have to be the one to contest this.
"'Mr. Lewis' is an 18-year-old boy who was still a mundane two weeks ago. I'm certain he didn't mean to imply-"
"This is Camille's work," Raphael interrupts, somehow clipped and pleasant at the same time. Magnus stares at him, still internally bristling at Aldertree's accusation, but the arch of his boy's eyebrow say trust me, and Magnus does, always will.
Remarkable, how Raphael had known she would come into this.
Then again, it's not hard to guess. She was just released, and she always had a tendency to cause a ruckus, wherever she went.
Once, that drew Magnus to her. But this is not the kind of ruckus that he can find himself attracted to.
"She's always had a thing for kids," Raphael continues, the flick of his eyes an apology to Magnus, who presses two of his fingers together. He knows Raphael is right, of course, but it still hurts to realize that he remains unable to reconcile the Camilles in his head - the one he knows she is, and the one he desperately tried to see in her for so many years it's become inextricable from her very presence. Magnus bites back a pained noise, and Raphael's jaw tenses further.
He wishes he was stronger for his boy.
"It has nothing," Raphael finishes pointedly, "to do with my Clan." As the words leave his lips, he widens his stance just slightly, as if putting himself between Aldertree and his people. Magnus mirrors him, shifting subtly so his shoulder covers the tip of Raphael's. Raphael looks displeased.
Aldertree insists. "And yet, Mr. Lewis-"
Magnus makes an executive decision. He needs to be more emphatic about this, even if it risks being read as aggressive. In fact, maybe it's a good thing if it does; it will certainly redirect Aldertree's animosity. "We cannot afford to forget the source of that testimony," he says, curtly, "it was Mr. Lewis himself, along with two of your shadowhunters, who released Ms. Belcourt. Mr. Santiago, on the other hand, was the one to not only imprison her, but also compile evidence of her crimes in a dossier that was handed over to the Clave." He pauses. "Evidence that the Clave itself had failed to find." He can hear Raphael's teeth gnashing at that last sentence, but that isn't going to stop him, not this time.
Aldertree's jaw clenches, and Magnus relaxes his posture just a fraction. He does not want to escalate the meeting, not with Raphael there to be subjected to the consequences. "Finding evidence is easy when you're an accomplice," he says, finally dropping that infuriatingly pleasant smile.
"I'm sure you're familiar with the concept of an inside job-"
"The Brooklyn Clan has been on the lookout for Ms. Belcourt ever since she escaped our prison," Raphael interrupts, fingers curling for a fraction of a second around Magnus'. Calm down. Magnus tries, and as he breathes, Raphael takes the opportunity to step between him and Aldertree. Damn it. "As soon as we find her, she will be brought to justice. For what she did to these mundanes, and to our people."
"Unfortunately, Mr. Santiago, we've reached the limit of kicking the can down the road," Aldertree says, "not to mention, your prison's security has already proven to be thoroughly lacking. If you want to prove your innocence, deliver Ms. Belcourt to the Clave."
If Raphael, as Magnus would expect, is angry at the prospect of handing Camille over to shadowhunters instead of having the vampires handle their own business, he is remarkably good at hiding it. All Magnus can see is the tiniest point of tension between his brows. Was he already anticipating that?
"We will," Raphael nods, "as soon as we have her. You have my word."
"Unfortunately, Mr. Santiago, I'm afraid your word is not good enough," Aldertree says, moving so he stands behind his desk, hands over the backrest of his chair. "You barely had Ms. Belcourt for a week before she escaped, and have failed time and time and again to recapture her. Not to mention your… Colorful prior history," he raises an eyebrow at Magnus' boy, his smile openly mocking. "Your file has quite the list attached to it, you know. Seems you have a hard time controlling your urges."
"Those were when he was a fledgling," Magnus finds himself hissing. Raphael grabs his arm in warning, but Magnus pulls it out of his grasp with a practiced flourish; he will not allow Aldertree to use that against his boy. "Barely Turned and Clanless. R- Mr. Santiago would-" he focuses on his breath and relaxes his fists, trying to keep himself under control. He cannot stand to remember how his boy would starve himself in those first days, desperate to keep himself from feeding, only to fall into despair again when his hunger got the best of him. Most importantly, he is not willing to share this information with a shadowhunter, nor can he afford to lose control and slip. "As per your law, a recently Turned fledgling's cravings are the responsibility of their sire, not their own. Do you question the judgment the Clave has passed on him?"
"Magnus," Raphael hisses lowly, this time gripping his wrist tight enough to bruise. He looks down at it, the gesture in itself an apology, but the fierceness in his eyes doesn't recede. It lasts only a moment before he turns back to Aldertree, his most polite smile in place. "I apologize for the High Warlock's words," he says, equanimously, "as my guardian at the time, he feels protective of his work. Please forgive him." It's unlike Raphael to grovel or even cower before shadowhunters, and the gesture makes Magnus feel sick, but all Raphael does is take a small breath, "but Mr. Bane is correct in that these… Unfortunate encounters have already been judged and found to be the fault of my sire. I was considered apt to continue my existence, and have been law-abiding ever since. Whatever happened may now be judged only by God."
"Certainly a period longer than your lifetime obeying the Accords is enough to account for his character. R- Mr. Santiago has been clean for over half a century."
"As far as we know," Aldertree argues.
"Do you question the Clave's intel?"
"Magnus!" Raphael looks furious, but Magnus would rather work for his forgiveness than his release.
Magnus opens his mouth to push further against this ludicrous notion, knowing his control of the situation is slipping, but if Aldertree is already dead-set on blaming Raphael, maintaining civility is no longer an option. Magnus can only pull him out or go down in his place.
Raphael interrupts before Magnus can even begin to speak. "I had nothing to do with these feedings, and neither did the Brooklyn Clan," he says. "Making sure the real culprit is brought to justice is in our best interest as well as the Clave's. If we combine our resources, we can find her and stop the killings."
Aldertree smiles, pleasant and sharp. "You are a very bright man, Mr. Santiago. That is precisely what I wanted to discuss." He gestures to the two chairs in front of his desk. "Please, sit."
Raphael shoots Magnus a look, so Magnus makes a show of sitting politely on his chair; legs crossed, hands on the armrest, back straight. If Aldertree is extending them an olive branch and offering to work together, they should take it.
Raphael nods and sits down as well, clearly relieved that Magnus didn't plan to antagonize Aldertree further. The barest exhale leaves his lips, but he doesn't dare let his shoulders drop as he sits in much the same position as Magnus.
"You insist the culprit was Camille Belcourt, your former Clan Leader," Aldertree says, opening a box and retrieving from it some sort of remote control. Magnus resists the urge to roll his eyes. As if anything the Clave could have on her file would be news to either of them. "And, you know," he purses his lips, shaking the control slightly in Raphael's direction, "I'm inclined to believe you. Ms. Belcourt has a long history of evading the law, and plenty of witnesses to her many, many mishaps. But what I don't understand…" he turns the remote over in his hands, staring at it intently, "is how it's taking you so long to find her. Really, Mr. Santiago, it's been weeks, and all you have to show for yourself are more dens and dead mundanes with each passing day. And that…" He tuts, "that is a problem the Clave is no longer willing to put up with." With that, he presses a button, and Magnus hears a click and feels the constricting throb that tells him his magic has been annulled. Raphael is hissing, and it's only when he makes it to get closer to him that his brain catches up - his wrists are now tied to the chair by magic-suppressing cuffs. It makes his magic hum disconcertingly under his skin, like snaps of electricity trying to cause a fire. Magnus shudders.
It's Raphael's desperation that really gives him chills, though. "Leave Magnus out of this!" He growls, struggling against his own binds, to no use. "It's me you want. I'm the one responsible for vampire business!" He thrashes violently enough that Magnus expects him to topple the chair over, but it must be very tightly secured to the floor, because it barely budges. The display has Aldertree looking thoroughly unimpressed, and Magnus swallowing bile.
"You see, that is where you're wrong, Mr. Santiago," Aldertree replies, now turning directly to Magnus, and Magnus tries not to show his relief at being the one under scrutiny show. Raphael struggles harder against his binds, and Magnus does not look at him, can't stand to, and can't afford to let his face show what he'll feel seeing him so desperate and helpless. Like Magnus had promised he'd never be again. "You are not the one I want. You had your chance. Now, it's Mr. Bane and I's turn to have a little chat."
"If this is between the two of us, let the Clan Leader go," Magnus says, as calm and collected as he can force himself to be. He can't let Aldertree know how much his boy's distress is affecting him. Not if he doesn't want him to get any ideas. "We can discuss this better without him here. You said it yourself, you don't trust him. He was her second-in-command."
"And you were her lover," Aldertree counters, unfazed, "isn't that right?"
"Centuries ago!" Raphael yells.
"Yes, that is right," Magnus confirms.
"Excellent. I'm glad one of you is willing to cooperate. For your dear Clan Leader's sake, I hope it stays that way," he presses another button, and the hum Magnus had been hearing before gets louder. From that same remote control, a blue stream of light erupts, sharp and glowing.
"What is that?" Magnus asks against his better judgment, unable to look away as the laser darts across the room, never straying far from where Raphael is tied down. Somehow, he finds himself sitting even straighter.
"Something new from the Clave's R&D Department," Aldertree smiles, the same professional demeanor to it that Magnus had seen before. Perfunctory. Polite. Dutiful. "To convince our vampire friends to cooperate," he puts his own hand under the stream, to no effect. Magnus can guess where this is going, and the knowledge makes sweat go down his temple. Oh, god, no. "Concentrated UV rays," he confirms, and Magnus tries his best not to let the sickness show on his face, biting back a scream when Aldertree removes his hand, allowing the laser to reach Raphael's leg - protected, thankfully, by his slacks. Raphael jumps at the sight, grunting, and Magnus struggles to keep his breathing even. "Even more intense than sunlight."
His precious boy is close to hyperventilating as the laser slowly makes its way over to the exposed flesh of his face, and Magnus pours all his willpower into not closing his eyes or screaming at the sight. Instead, he pretends to be unaffected when his boy's screams pierce the air, the sickening smell of burnt flesh and smoke reaching Magnus as a cross is burned into Raphael's cheek, boiling the skin around it faster than hot oil, bubbles surfacing as it melts deeper and deeper, without reprieve, his boy is screaming, there's nothing he can do, his magic wild and locked underneath his skin, his boy screaming, heaving, Magnus can't, but he must, he must save him, and if he can't use his magic…
"Sunlight doesn't scare me," Magnus says with all the bravado he's learned to perfect after his father took him in. He does not shoot Raphael an apologetic look - he knows his boy will understand what he's trying to do. Already does, if his newfound thrashing is any indication. "I'm a warlock, this will do nothing to me. Are we done here?" He says, making to move, only to remember he's still tied to the chair. Right.
"Cocky," Aldertree observes, still carving patterns into Raphael's face with the device, and Magnus' hands can't shake, his voice can't waver. The whole room already stinks of smoke, Raphael's screams turning into hisses as his voice grows hoarse. "You know, I could show you some of the technology we've developed for warlocks, if you like," he says, blissfully turning off the device. Raphael gasps, then immediately begins to scream something Magnus doesn't listen to as he focuses on looking hesitant. He closes his mouth slightly too fast, widens his eyes, makes more obvious attempts to pull himself free… But Aldertree only smiles before turning the device back on without warning, making both of them scream in surprise as he burns Raphael's wrist, right where it meets the cuffs, heating the metal that will keep branding him even when the device is turned off. "Except… That's exactly what you want, isn't it?"
Magnus is struggling to breathe, and his only hope now is to pass it off as fear. "Why would I-" he tries, knowing how slim his chances of being convincing are, considering the display the two of them have made, but he has no option except to try.
Aldertree is quick to interrupt. "You know, Mr. Bane, some of my Clave friends really underestimate Downworlders. Think of you lot as nothing but impulsive killers. They're not wrong, of course," he makes a dismissive gesture with his hand, causing the device to burn all the way across Raphael's wrist and into the back of his hand and earning a pained grunt that has Magnus' heart beating loud enough to stop altogether. "But there's more to you than that. You're resourceful. You're diverse. And, somewhere deep inside… You even have feelings."
He turns the device off again with a clap. Magnus is not fast enough to stop his shoulders from slumping in relief. Fuck. "Take you, for example," he says. "Creator of the Portal, ex-guardian of so many Downworlders, including your Mr. Santiago here." Magnus shuts his eyes. Damn it. Raphael had already hinted at their relationship. "You're intelligent, Magnus, way more than the Clave gives you credit for. And kind! Kind and intelligent enough, in fact, to try to bait me into torturing you so I'd leave another precious Downworlder alone, are you not?"
Magnus clenches his jaw, considering telling him that he's not that selfless, that he was just doing a service for the werewolves and vampires, that he has barely talked to Raphael since he joined Camille's Clan, but his hopes of pulling off the lie are over before he can begin.
"Especially this one. Oh, this one you'd do just about anything for, wouldn't you?" he clicks his tongue. "I know all about your relationship. How you took him under your wing, cared for him like a son for years. In your eyes, this 80-year-old killer is nothing but a child in need of your protection. Some… Misguided attempt at the fatherhood the Angel didn't deem fit to afford your kind. It's touching. Really, it is! But, unfortunately, this is your punishment, so it wouldn't do to do it on your terms. Either of yours."
"If this is my punishment, then leave him out of it," Magnus says through gritted teeth, trying to fight against the cuffs again, to no avail. Aldertree smiles again.
"Well, it's both of yours, really. Because, you see, this little murderer over here," he points to Raphael with the device again, without turning it on, just to see the way they both flinch, "I think he'd also do anything for you. Including risking being tortured by the Clave so he didn't have to force you to go against your old lover."
"I… What?"
For the first time since this began, Magnus looks straight at Raphael.
For the first time since this began, Raphael refuses to look at Magnus.
"Do not play dumb, please. It doesn't suit you," Aldertree says. "Your little project over here has been going mad sending his Clan and his little fledgling after Ms. Belcourt. Yet, he didn't go to you, the one who knows her best and has the better shot at tracking, or summoning, her. And see, we at the Clave find this quite… Inconvenient."
Magnus looks over to Raphael. He already knew what Camille was doing? He knew this was going to happen? "I'm sorry, Magnus," is all Raphael says, but Magnus knows he's apologizing for failing to fix the issue alone, and not for keeping him in the dark.
"How sweet," Aldertree says. "Unfortunately, 'sorry' won't cut it, I'm afraid. You should really save it for those children in your old Leader's dens. Which is why," he turns the device on again, this time pointing straight at Raphael's throat, "this is your punishment as well."
Raphael screams, surprised by the sudden and quickly growing pain, and Magnus thrashes against his binds, unable to control himself now that he knows they've been made, screaming words he himself cannot make out. This time, though, Aldertree does not move the pointer, making sure it burns Raphael slowly, burying itself into his flesh inch by tortuous inch.
"Quite noisy, isn't he? Since he obviously won't talk to me, I'm afraid I'll have to fix that."
"I've… nggghh… Told you everything I know," Raphael gasps, desperately turning his head to try to escape the assault, only managing to spread the damage further as he does. "I… I arrested Camille, and handed over all the evidence - God! - we had. The Clan's on the cusp of," he heaves, even though breath is unnecessary, long gasps that wreck his chest as they rip their way out, "war, because of her. I have- nnngggh, no reason to help her!"
"Unfortunately, Mr. Santiago, I'm not interested in your excuses. And you'd do well to stay still before that laser ends up beheading you. I'm not sure even Mr. Bane here could fix that. Of course, that's a moot point anyway, since he currently can't access his magic."
Raphael glares at him, but Magnus can see the fear in his eyes, and he stops trying to turn his head. Magnus feels sick at the display of helplessness, submission, and doubly so when the unforgiving laser finds its way to the center of his throat again. The hole Aldertree is carving grows bigger and bigger, widening mercilessly the deeper it goes, the charred pieces of flesh on its edges falling off one after the other, leaving behind limp and mushy flesh that seems on the verge of melting off. "That's better," Aldertree says as Raphael struggles to keep himself still, fists shaking with the effort, "if only you were this well behaved without needing this much incentive." The laser is boring deep into Raphael's neck by now, turning his boy's gasps into wet noises as the hole in his throat makes way past skin and into muscle, the red of the tissue quickly turning black as it burns to ashes. A gurgling scream comes out of Raphael, now heaving harder, eyes closed, the thin layer of muscle making way to cartilage, screams getting louder, the edges opening to reveal more hurt, bleeding, throbbing muscle, veins pulled taut, skin reddening, his boy is keening, yelling, choking, and Aldertree still doesn't move, he doesn't-
Magnus shuts his eyes, unable to bear it. He hears the machine turn off, and tries not to weep in relief, even as he can feel the tears running down his face.
"If you close your eyes again, I'll burn his off," Aldertree warns, conversationally, and Magnus' eyes snap open, as if of their own accord. "Good, I'm glad we have an understanding." The laser is turned mercilessly back on, now making way past his cartilage and reaching his vocal cords. First the hissing goes silent as the outer layers burn and grow taut and useless, then the screams, even as Raphael's mouth remains open and straining in agony, tears flowing freely from his widened eyes, trapped in silence.
"Ah, much better," Aldertree says, before finally, finally turning the device off again, leaving the exposed hole that shows the layers of charred muscle right where it was about to reach Raphael's spine. "Although…" with a quick motion, he burns a cross into the exposed hole, causing Raphael to thrash further and Magnus' tears to fall harder. The magic locked within him is tense enough to explode, and Magnus can feel it, can feel that this is going to tear him apart and kill him. Smoke rises from his boy's exposed flesh, and this time, even as the device is turned off, Raphael does not stop flailing, face pulled in the agony of his silent screaming. The tears are soaking his face now, and his grip on the chair is so strong Magnus thinks it's a cruel joke that he hasn't broken it - some sort of vampire-proof Clave technology, no doubt, but god, god, his boy, the smoke won't stop gushing out of his throat, traveling up his esophagus, choking him, and he doesn't need to breathe, but he was already hyperventilating, and now he's suffocating, the only noise coming from him his desperate attempts to get rid of the smoke, but he can barely draw air in with the hole in his throat, and Magnus can't do anything. Useless as ever, he thrashes against his binds, knowing that, if Raphael can't break them off, there's no hope for him, there never is.
"Please," Magnus begs, seeing no other choice, "Please, please, please stop. I'll get you Camille. Just- just let me heal him."
Aldertree positively grins. "I knew you'd cooperate," he says, just as his smile disappears. "Unfortunately, I'm afraid healing is out of the question. At least, while we don't have Ms. Belcourt in our hands."
"Raphael won't be able to find her if he's in that much pain," Magnus tries to argue. His boy's flesh is still boiling, blisters growing and popping with blood and pus and growing again from where the crosses were burned, the smoke that comes from them still choking him, his mouth still silent, Magnus still unable to do anything.
"I think he has already proven himself quite inept at that particular task," Aldertree counters, "no reason to keep burdening him with it. Think of it as one less cross for him to bear." He starts undoing the buttons of Raphael's shirt, and this time, the fear and desperation in Raphael's face are completely naked. He thrashes more, to no avail, mouth opening and closing uselessly, only releasing more smoke with it.
"What are you doing?" Magnus asks where Raphael can't, voice trembling.
"Giving myself more room to work with," Aldertree replies. "That is quite a nice suit. I wonder how you keep it clean of the blood of these poor children."
"Raphael had nothing to do with that!"
"So you keep insisting. But he was her second-in-command for years, was he not? All those carefully documented atrocities… How long was he sitting on them, waiting for a convenient time in his bid for power?"
"It's called gathering evidence!"
"So's this," Aldertree says, clicking that horrible button again, the sound already the worst thing Magnus has ever heard, other than the screams and cries of his boy, and his agonized silence. This time, Aldertree points the laser right at Raphael's heart, and Magnus screams in Raphael's place, thrashing even harder than his boy, because if it goes through his heart - if it pierces it, then…
"Stop!" Magnus bellows, his chair rocking back and forth in his attempts to escape, "Stop, stop, stop, please, please, I'll do whatever you want, just don't-" he knows he shouldn't let himself be desperate like this, knows showing weakness to a shadowhunter can only ever make things worse, but Aldertree already has them figured out, and he can't let him do this, he can't, his sweet boy can't die because of him, because of his stupid attachment to Camille, because he's too weak to help. Tears stream down his face, just like they do Raphael's, and Aldertree turns off the pointer, and Magnus is unable to not sob in relief. "Thank you, thank you," he pleads, covered in snot and tears, disheveled, raw, but his boy is alive, and he'll grovel as much as he has to if it means he gets to keep it that way.
"Oh, don't be so melodramatic. The two of you will have it fixed in no time. Magic makes torture kind of obsolete, don't you agree? A flick of a wrist, and it'll be like none of this even happened." He turns back to the device, staring at it contemplatively, "of course, that won't be the case if I press this button right here." He points to a small red button close to the one he had been pressing. Then, without warning, he turns the device away from Raphael, burning across half his neck, and presses it. The tiny pointed laser then turns into a big square of concentrated sunlight, more than big enough to cover Raphael's entire body. "Yes, I'm afraid this would be quite irreversible. Our little bloodsucker doesn't stand a chance against this much sunlight at once."
"Don't," Magnus begs. "Please don't, please, anything but this," he can't stand to live in a world where he's caused another death, his son, his beautiful boy, he can't…
"I don't plan to," Aldertree shrugs, turning off the device, and Magnus all but crashes down on the couch, overwhelmed by relief. "I have far more use of him alive. Of course, that might change if anything comes to threaten my Institute."
Magnus can barely follow what he's saying anymore. His mind can produce nothing but the endless chorus of 'don't kill my boy, don't kill my boy, don't kill my boy, please, please, anything but Raphael'. "I don't understand," he admits, quieter than usual, and Raphael heaves in a shaky, smoky breath.
"You see, I'm about to let you go free, because we need someone to find Ms. Belcourt. But it wouldn't do to not have your cooperation. So, this is the deal we're making. My soldiers will take you back to your loft and uncuff you. I will stay right here with your little project. So we can get to know each other. And the device, of course," he smiles. "And if my soldiers aren't sent back within a minute, or if anything at all comes to threaten this Institute or its soldiers before Camille Belcourt is handed over to me, I'll press the red button faster than your magic can get you here, before I even reach for my weapons. Portals can't be made into this room, so trust me, you will not have enough time to rescue the leech. Do we have an understanding?" Magnus nods. Aldertree grins. "Excellent. Boys, get Mr. Bane back to his headquarters. He has work to do."
Magnus is shoved unceremoniously to the floor of his loft before his cuffs are finally removed. His caged magic bubbles to the surface all at once, and as soon as the shadowhunters have left again through that cursed portal, Magnus sets it free, knocking over just about every expensive, worthless thing he keeps in his apartment. Every glass and ceramic surface shatters, the walls gain dents, even his table breaks in half under the force of his onslaught, but he doesn't care, only cares about screaming and crying and-
His boy.
He needs to get himself together.
Raphael is counting on him.
Magnus grabs his hair and pulls, letting the pain ground him as he tries to get his breathing under control. Every second he wastes in anger is a second his sweet boy is in the hands of that monster. Magnus screams, once, twice, then smacks himself on the head and digs his nails into his own scalp, willing himself to focus, for god's sake, and his cat eyes are out and his magic is still storming inside him, and that's when he realizes the cuffs weren't only suppressing it, they were draining it, and he needs to calm down now or else there won't be any to save his boy with.
He was already weakened because of Alec.
He's always too weak.
He stumbles around whatever's left of his loft, trying to find the portrait he keeps of himself, Ragnor, and Camille, before remembering that he can just summon it. He smacks his own head again. He needs to get himself together. Raphael can't afford for him to waste time like this.
He grabs the picture, trying to siphon his magic into tracking her. Nothing.
He summons another picture, an even older one that he hadn't looked at in decades. Nothing.
The suit she had gifted him, the one he always wore for her and never again after their breakup. Nothing.
The picture book he had made her by hand and that she didn't accept because it was too cheap…
Nothing.
Another wave of magic crashes into his apartment.
Where the fuck is she?
If he can't find her soon…
Focus. Concentrate. Raphael needs you.
Raphael.
Magnus can't go to the Clan; their relationship was too distant when Camille was in charge, and they have no reason to trust him. Besides, he's sure Raphael would hate for them to know what's happening to him. But-
His little fledgling, Aldertree had said, and that can only mean one person.
The one who got them into this mess in the first place.
Magnus' jaw clicks. He has a vampire to find.
Unlike Camille, Simon is remarkably easy to track. Magnus will have to ask why he's in the shed next to Jade Wolf later, but right now, he has more pressing matters to attend to.
"Simon, I'm coming in!" He yells before bursting the door open with his all too eager magic. He doesn't want to accidentally burn Simon, per se, but he's also not willing to be patient for his benefit. Simon certainly didn't extend Raphael the courtesy.
"Wha- hey, Magnus, I- whoa, you're getting, like, reeeally close there, buddy. I can't help but notice that you look angry. Are you angry? Yup, definitely angry, okay. Why are you angry? I didn't do anything, I swear!"
"Oh, you didn't do anything?" he all but growls. He's vaguely aware his glamor is still down and his magic is swirling around him like a hurricane, too attuned to his emotions and imbalanced from the cuffs. He doesn't care. "No, Simon, you didn't do anything. Except tell the Clave that my boy was killing children!" An accusation that would crush him, on top of it all. Magnus has to actively stop his magic from breaking something.
Just convincing himself to bother with it is a chore.
"Whoa, what are you talking about? What boy? Alec? I didn't say anything about him!"
Magnus rolls his eyes. "Not Alec, Simon. My boy. Raphael."
"What? I- Since when is Raphael 'your boy'?"
It takes all of Magnus' willpower not to let his magic throw this stupid, stupid fledgling against the wall. "Since he was just as new to the Shadow World as you," he explains through his teeth, willing Simon to understand so they can get on with it already. "I took him in. I raised him. When neither of us had anything, we had each other. He's like a son to me, Simon, and because of you, I might lose him."
"Whoa, whoa, okay, I know he's under fire from the Clave because of the Camille ordeal, but-"
"Under fire? They have him under a concentrated UV rays machine, Simon, and they're burning his face off as you stand there and stammer at me!"
"I- What? They can't do that! That's, like, torture! It's against the Accords!"
Magnus resists the urge to grab his own hair in a fit of despair, and behind him, he feels more than hears his magic crash into something. Simon winces, but Magnus can only focus on trying to get him to understand already. "Who punishes people for breaking the Accords, Simon?" he asks, somewhere between enraged and exhausted.
"I don't know, the Clave?"
"Correct!" Magnus says with as much fake cheer as possible. "So, if the Clave breaks the Accords, who holds them responsible?"
Simon opens his mouth. Simon closes it again. "I… I…"
"Have you really not seen that already, Simon? How many times have you and Clary barged in, demanding my boy break the Accords for you? You think you would get to do that if the Clave would ever punish breaking the law for their own interests? The Accords are a lie, Simon. They're a rigged game, and the Downworlders always lose. That's what they're for. And the only reason they still stand is that the other option is complete subjugation, or civil war."
"I- I didn't know! I swear! I thought they would, I don't know, give Raphael the Soul Sword and see that he had nothing to do with it, or something!"
"Give a Downworlder the Soul Sword?" He scoffs. "You really thought they would… Wait." Just like that, all movement ceases. Even the whirlpool of magic around him quiets, but in the same way the sea is quiet before a tsunami. "Did you know they were accusing him?"
Simon, somehow, grows even paler. "I…"
"Simon," the words leave through his teeth in such a tight gap Magnus is afraid he might break his jaw. "Did you know that Aldertree was accusing Raphael of breaking the Accords because of your big mouth, and did you stand there and do nothing?"
"I… I… You're looking really scary right now."
"Oh, you have no idea how scary I can be," the hurricane around him picks up, hissing loudly even to Magnus' own ears. "Especially when you threaten those I love." A wave of magic goes through the room, knocking Simon's canoe over. It breaks when it crashes on the floor, and Simon gasps. "Tell me one thing, Simon Lewis. Did you plan this? Was that your plan all along, releasing Camille and then telling Aldertree her crimes were Raphael's, to get the Clave off your back?"
"Wha- no! No, I swear, I never thought they'd go after Raphael because of what I said! I just meant to say, you know, I'm a fledgling, I don't really understand vampire politics, so they should go for someone more in the scene if they want more intel! I mean, Raphael arrested her, I never thought they'd think he was in some sort of Camille-loving murder cult-"
"Then why didn't you do anything to correct your mistake?"
"I- Look, Raphael came here and said that vampire traitors get nailed to crosses and have their junk burnt off or whatever, which like, weird threat, but pretty effective-"
Magnus gapes at him. Raphael told Simon about vampire executions? "That's not what vampires do to traitors," he says, very quiet, "it's what the Clave does to vampires. What they will do to him if they find him guilty. Because of what you said."
Simon is starting to look green. "Oh."
"Oh? That's it? That's all you have to say after learning that you got my boy-"
"Look, he threatened my mom, okay?"
Magnus pauses. Threatening his mom? That's going to be a week of atoning with holy water, minimum. "Was that before or after he told you he'd get nailed to a cross and killed, and you still didn't do anything?"
Simon swallows. "I… Look, I didn't know-"
"You didn't know, because you didn't listen!" Magnus yells. "Raphael told you! You think he was exaggerating? Trying to scare you? They do nail vampires to crosses and leave them to burn, Simon! And they make their whole Clan watch! And that's if they don't kill the rest of the Clan before their eyes first! Do you have any idea-" he takes a deep breath, pressing his fingers against his unglamored eyes in an attempt to calm himself. "They made me watch as they all but ripped apart his throat. They made me watch as they burned crosses into my boy's face!" Behind his eyelids, he can still see it. The necrosed scars on his precious Rapha… And another, much older cross. One that he saw from underwater.
"I- Crosses? Don't shadowhunters, like, worship Raziel or something?"
"For the love of god, who cares?"
"Sorry! Sorry! I just, I don't know, crosses sound very, like, Christian to me, and shadowhunters kind of have their own religion going on, so I thought-"
"Shadowhunters aren't Christian," Magnus explains in a tired sigh, wondering why he's still bothering with this conversation, "Raphael is."
Simon stares at him, confusion written all over his face.
Magnus takes a deep breath. Around him, the hurricane is softening into a breeze - not because he feels calmer, but because it's too tired to keep going. It seems to mock him as it fails to even ruffle his hair. "Can you say 'god', Simon?"
The question makes him distinctly uncomfortable. "Hm. No, not yet. Raphael said it would 'take a while to regain the ability'."
"You need to train if you want to be able to do that," Magnus explains. "I suppose he was planning to help you with it."
"Okay. I still don't, like… Get it."
"Faith is harmful to vampires," Magnus presses two fingers into his temple. He can tell that his cat eyes are still out, but when he tries to summon the energy to glamor them again, he finds that his magic is too scattered, too fickle, after all the outbursts. He focuses on his words instead. "No one is sure why, but the current theory is that faith has magic, and that magic is harmful to demon blood, and since vampires are extra sensitive to blood…" He trails off, "it doesn't matter. The point is, you can't say 'god' because you believe in him. An atheist vampire wouldn't have a problem with that. A Buddhist vampire wouldn't either, but they wouldn't be able to talk of Buddha or Nirvana. Holy water burns Raphael, but wouldn't do anything to you. Raphael can light as many menorahs as he wants, but you would burn yourself along with every candle. And so on and so forth. If they brand signs of Raphael's faith into him, it will boil his very blood. I watched," he takes a deep, shaky breath, "I watched as smoke came out of his skin with every new cross they made him bear. It's complete agony for a vampire, and it will keep on torturing him even if they don't move another inch after that. That's why they make sure to always have a vampire's religion on file."
Simon swallows. "So you're saying…" He seems to be looking far away, and Magnus would shake him if he didn't think Simon is finally about to get it, "So you're saying, if they had me instead…"
Magnus nods. "They'd burn the Star of David into your skin." He still remembers treating Miriam after one such session, still remembers her cries that she had asked to be Turned so she could escape the camps and live, only to be subjected to this again. It's one of the many memories he wishes he could do away with. The resignation that eventually bled into her pain was almost worse than Raphael's desperate screaming.
Upon hearing those words, Simon looks as sick as Magnus feels. "Oh, G-" he whispers, choking on the word. "They, they can't…"
"But they will," Magnus warns, gathering strength to pour into the words, to make sure they're able to carry the gravity they must, "They will if they feel it's the only way to get information, or that you have done something to break the Accords, or their pride, or even just for the hell of it if you're particularly unlucky. That's what Raphael's been trying to warn you, Simon - what we've all been trying to warn you! Everything the Germans did to your grandma, the shadowhunters will do to you if you don't learn to be careful." He gives him a pointed look. "No matter who your friends are."
"No," Simon shakes his head, "Clary wouldn't let them do this."
"That may be true," Magnus shrugs, unwilling to waste his time arguing that point, "but they don't need her permission. I know you want things to stay the same, Simon. Trust me, I know how much you want things to go back to the way they used to be, but they won't, and they can't. Clary is a shadowhunter and will never understand the risk she puts you in, just like you didn't understand the risk you were putting Raphael in. Take this story as your warning, because there might not be another one. And if you truly believe things like this shouldn't happen, then help me. Fix. What you did."
Simon swallows. "Of course. Of course, anything, I swear," he still looks haunted, his hands slightly shaky, "I never wanted this to happen." He sounds defeated, and that won't do, because the battle is yet to start.
"Then do something about it."
"Right, right, of course. The thing is, uh, I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do? Raphael said something about us having a special bond because she's my sire, but I don't know how, to, like, use that bond to find her. Can't you, I don't know, use your warlock powers to track her?"
Shame floods Magnus at the reminder. So powerful, yet so useless. His father was right. "No," he admits quietly, the word itchy in his throat, "I… Back when we were together, I gave her a ring that prevents any kind of unwanted tracking. She must still be wearing it." Even centuries ago, he was already to blame for what's happening to his boy. He made sure Raphael was doomed before he was even born. The sickness he feels at the thought is the least he deserves.
"Wha- you and Camille were together?"
His fists clench at the question, but he knows they itch to hit his own face more than they do Simon's. "Yes," he admits, the shame bitter and all-consuming on his tongue.
"But… Why? I mean, Camille is the worst, and you're so…"
Magnus can't stand to hear the rest of that sentence. "I'll admit she's gotten more reckless over the last 200 years, and I can't defend anything she's done…" he feels his nails pressing harder into his palms at the reminder of how much he wishes he could do just that, despite everything, "but she isn't pure evil."
"Not to doubt your word, but I'll need proof of concept on that one." Simon sounds uncharacteristically quiet, and Magnus wants to shake him back to life, because he's too exhausted to let Simon tire himself out, too.
Instead, he looks away, letting Simon stare at him expectantly. Accepting the pain and shame that threaten to wreck his insides.
"Not too many people know this," he begins. Matter of fact, Magnus reminds himself, other than the people who were already there at the time, the only one he's ever told is Raphael. Raphael, who's suffering because of his weakness for her. "But when I was living in London, in the early 1870s, I was in a bad place." He keeps his eyes wide open against his own wishes, knowing that, if he gives in to closing them, he will see too many memories he cannot stand to. He shakes his head slightly to try to dispel them, "No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't see my way out. Then, on one particular stormy night…" He doesn't look for Simon's reaction. He can't. "…I got as far as the ledge on Blackfriars Bridge. And if… If it wasn't for Camille…" He blinks away the moisture trying to gather in his eyes. Always so weak and soft, helpless despite all his power. "I wouldn't be here right now. She was the only one who cared enough to stop me. She saved me. And that's why I… I could never do anything to… To cut her off," he confesses, "no matter how bad our relationship got, no matter how awful her deeds were, I just… I just couldn't…" He takes a deep breath, "I couldn't stand to betray her. So Raphael endeavored to do it for me." His wonderful boy, so caring, so brave, burning under Aldertree's machine, screaming, smoke coming out of his flesh, "and now, I must do it for him."
"…Because I ruined all of his hard work."
Magnus' jaw clicks. It's the only sound that comes out of him.
"Magnus… I'm sorry."
His teeth gnash. "Save it," he says, more of a warning than a demand. He can't fall apart. Not when his boy needs him. He's wasted enough time already.
"I'll fix it. If you, if you can't hand her over, I'll do it for you. I'll, I don't know, put her in a coffin and carry her to the Institute on my back. I'll find a way. I promise."
"No," Magnus says. As much as he wants to blame Simon, what's happening to his boy is as much Magnus' fault as his. "I should've done this decades ago. I need to face her. I need to make it up to him," he takes a deep breath, "but I'll need your help to do it."
"Of course, anything! Do you need, like, to do a ritual with my blood, or…?"
"No, nothing like that." Truth be told, Magnus doesn't know what he needs. All he knows is that he's lost, but he can't afford to stay still and keep chatting with Simon about his past, and Simon was the only one he could think of to ask for help. Ragnor is gone, and Magnus won't pull Catarina out of hiding. He's risked enough of the people he loves. "We'll need to search for her the traditional way," the slow way, "and if- when we find her, I'll need your speed and strength to make sure she doesn't escape."
"Okay," Simon agrees readily. "Okay, yeah. Is there anywhere in particular she could be? I think… I think, when we freed her," he swallows, but is quick to continue, "she said something about getting out of here, too many people on her heels or something. Maybe she's not in New York."
Magnus considers this. He's not sure how old the activity in the bleeding dens Aldertree mentioned was, and it does sound like her to sire a bunch of vampires, let them wreak havoc to get the Clave's attention, and take the opportunity to escape. Camille is hedonistic and imprudent, but even she wouldn't be so obvious as to leave children's corpses lying around in the city she was staying at when she was already a wanted woman.
But where would she go?
Suddenly, it clicks. "Her safe house in Agra!" Magnus remembers. "It's where she always goes when she needs to regroup. Come, come, let's not waste time." He opens a portal as fast as he can, concentrating his scattered magic into what looks like a black hole with unstable, cracking edges. Magnus shudders. His magic must hold on until they have Raphael back. It must.
Simon eyes the portal warily, but doesn't open his mouth as he squares his shoulders and steps into it.
Magnus follows.
It's nighttime in India, which is probably good news for Simon, but awful for Magnus. Camille could be anywhere - if she's even in Agra in the first place. Magnus has no way of quickly confirming it.
Or at least, he didn't, until he saw her favorite pair of Louboutin heels by the door.
She wouldn't have left those there if she were anywhere else.
"She's here," he informs Simon as he scans the room with his magic, hoping to get a trace of her. "…But not in the house," he admits. Frustration bubbles inside of him. She could be anywhere in Agra by now. "Damn it!" He yells out of his own accord, a sudden burst of magic causing one of Camille's vases to explode, and leaving a lingering emptiness where that power once resided.
"Whoa, deep breath," Simon says, and for Raphael's sake, Magnus does as he's told. His magic is too wild. Whatever new technology they used for those handcuffs, it's leaving longer lasting effects than anything he's encountered before. His magic is draining fast, as if being locked in his body made it eager to break out; as if it wasn't low enough after a full night trying to keep Alexander alive. "We'll find her, Magnus. I mean, worst case scenario, we wait until sunrise so she'll come back here, right?"
"It's 7pm." His magic tells him sunset was nineteen minutes ago. "Sunrise won't be for another 11 hours. We can't wait that long." And they're in the second most populated country in the world, hunting down a woman with super-speed who could be basically anywhere in the city by now. Behind his eyelids, he sees Raphael's ruined voice box, exposed by the hole Aldertree was carving into him. Another vase explodes in their vicinity, and Simon jumps.
"Whoa!" He yells. "Okay, listen, not that I'm not enjoying your Darth Vader moment-"
"Simon," Magnus says tightly, "I don't want to hear jokes right now."
"Sorry! Sorry, it's just, it's how I deal with-"
"I understand, but at this moment, I don't care," he interrupts. "My boy is suffering, so if you can't be useful, at least have the decency to not make fun of the situation."
Simon swallows. "I didn't mean to…" Magnus stares at him. He nods. "Got it. Finding Camille," he looks around the room, and Magnus does the same. It's tidy and impersonal, just how Camille likes it, but the lights she forgot to turn off and the jewelry left over the vanity show that it's currently occupied. "Maybe something in here will help us narrow down where she is? We should split up and search."
Magnus nods. As good a plan as any. "Okay. I'll take the east wing, you take west. If you see anything out of the ordinary, yell for me."
Simon is already in another room by the time Magnus finishes talking.
Camille has always been tasteful but detached, and walking around her house feels remarkably similar to visiting a museum. Agra is the home of Camille's memories and antiques; it's where she keeps her most precious and expensive mementos. It's not an uncommon kind of immortal emergency fund; some things get more expensive as they age, and Camille has always had a good eye for what will be considered tastefully antique a few centuries in the future. If she's in Agra, it's probably because she's looking to sell something - she just lost access to the Clan's funds, after all, and being on the run has a tendency to be expensive.
Magnus pushes past the ever-present mental block that keeps his memories of her in check, trying to figure out what could be missing since the last time he was here. If he can at least tell what kind of object she's trying to sell, he'll be able to narrow down the search of shops around the city. If he's really lucky, he might even find a pamphlet.
He scans the place with eyes and magic alike, unwilling to miss even a spot of dust in case it indicates something has been recently moved. Some of the things he sees he recognizes; one of the displayed vases belongs to him. As does some of the jewelry on her vanity, as does the painting on the northern wall, as does the copy of the Kakawin Ramayana, as does…
The keris.
Magnus' vision suddenly gets sharper, then blurrier, and he knows that his glamor has dropped again. The gathering water on his eyes burns, just like his lungs did as he was held underwater, just like his stepfather did when Magnus lashed out. The blade is spotless, but he still sees red when he looks at it, red like the blood on his boy's face, like the exposed muscles of his throat, his heart as unbeating as hers was now, his fault, his fault, god, he got his mother killed, he got his stepfather killed, and now he is going to get his son killed, there is nothing he won't destroy, there won't be anyone left to love him, he's poison, and Raphael is suffering because of him, his own mother couldn't stand the thought of his existence-
Magnus takes a deep breath.
He needs… He needs to stay focused.
History will repeat itself if he can't control his feelings.
God. When Camille told him, voice coated in sweetness and concern, that he shouldn't keep that kind of memento around, that it wasn't good for him, he thought she had thrown it away.
Why is it on display here?
Doesn't matter.
Magnus takes a deep breath.
He got his mother killed.
He can still save Raphael.
He needs to keep it together.
You're an abomination.
His boy needs him.
Some twisted version of fatherhood, Aldertree had said.
Then again, he also called his boy a killer, didn't he?
Child of the Devil.
Magnus' magic lashes out and topples over the Ming dynasty vase that was his before Camille decided to keep it for profit.
Magnus' magic lashes out and his stepfather burns to death. He screams in pure agony, until death silences him.
Raphael screams in pure agony, until the laser on his throat silences him.
Magnus is too weak. He can't protect anyone.
Magnus is too dangerous. He gets everyone around him killed.
He runs his nails over his own face, trying to will his mind to just stop it already.
Raphael needs him.
Raphael needs him.
Raphael needs him.
He can't be weak.
He can't waste his time on this.
He needs to find Camille.
Simon has been screaming for him.
"Magnus! Magnus, over here!"
He runs out of that terrible room, but not before sending the keris back to his own loft.
He bursts into the room, magic fizzling around his fingertips in a desperate attempt to gather power, and Simon is smiling at him, breathing heavily as if he still needs air in his lungs.
Like Raphael had when the laser started inching towards him.
Stop it!
"Magnus! What took you so long? There was a fucking cobra here, man, I could've really used your help."
Magnus looks around. No cobras in sight. "You seem to have dealt with it just fine on your own."
"Uh, yeah, I'm not gonna lie, I'm pretty proud of myself. I encanto-ed the hell out of that thing. And I'm terrified of snakes! But I was like, I'm a real vampire and I can prove it, and bam! It just went away, exactly like I told it to. Not even my sister ever did that."
"Right," Magnus interrupts. He cannot allow Simon to keep with his nervous rambling any more than he can allow himself to break down. They have no time for it. "Did the cobra tell you anything about Camille's whereabouts, or should we get back to our search?"
"Uh, if vampires can talk to snakes, I definitely haven't… Sorry, sorry, not important. I'm not sure if this will help, but the snake seemed to be guarding this box?" He holds up a small wooden box, giving it a little shake. It doesn't rattle, as Magnus expected; instead, the contents produce a pleasant swoosh that sounds a lot like…
Dirt.
Magnus is touching the box before he breaks through the intoxicating fog of hope long enough to think of rushing in its direction, blinking away tears and fighting to keep his legs steady under the crushing weight of his relief. "Simon," he says, barely breathing, already halfway into a sob, "you did it."
Simon's eyes widen, and so does his smile. "Really? You know where Camille is?"
"No," Magnus waves away the thought. He could cry, if only he had the time. They don't need to find her. "But this is better. This is Camille's grave dirt." At Simon's confused look, he elaborates, "you can use a vampire's grave dirt to summon them. It's standard practice for a vampire to go back to their grave and take the outmost layer, so the Clave or anyone else who wishes them harm can't use it to trap them. There's no other reason why Camille would keep a box full of dirt here. This has to be her grave box."
"Oh," Simon says, looking a little sick. "Is that… Is that what Raphael tried to hand me when I first Turned? Before I…" he swallows, letting the thought linger in the air. Magnus decides he's probably better off not knowing what Simon did in response.
"Probably," he replies, doing his best to keep his tone neutral. "This is very important to Raphael. He considers it sacred." Ashes to ashes, Magnus. This is the earth that killed me and that brought me back to life. It can keep me safe or destroy me. "I know he's not your sire, but he still helped Turn you. He would want to do it right, make sure he can keep you safe." Like Magnus has failed to keep him safe.
"Right. Right. Of course. I… Of course. Does that mean he's had it this whole time? Because he's never… Right." Simon worries at his lip, staring at the box like it's giving him more revelations than he ever thought possible, and Magnus wants to shake him, tell him that of course he didn't, he wouldn't, not if he had another choice, and doesn't Simon understand, as much as he doesn't want to, that he's his people, and Raphael would do anything for his people? "So, how do we open it?" He asks, not looking at Magnus' eyes and not seeing his inner turmoil now that his magic is too exhausted to manifest it.
Magnus pauses, turning it around. There's no opening that he can see. He closes his eyes and lets his magic scan it. There are enough wards on it to make a less experienced warlock dizzy, and no opening that he can find, but there is the faintest hum of searching emanating from it. Like it yearns for a match.
"I think… This is a blood box."
"A what now?"
"A blood box. Enchanted so it can only open when in contact with the owner's blood. Hard to lose that kind of key. Or to make a copy." He tries not to throw it against the wall in frustration, nor to cry or scream or do anything else decidedly unhelpful in his impotence. Raphael is counting on him, and yet there he is, running into dead ends right when he thought he might do something right. "Unfortunately, this means we'd need to already have Camille here to open it, so that's a moot point." He blinks away the humiliating, disgusting tears that threaten to spill. Not now. "Back to searching," he sounds terse as he moves to put the box back in its place, but Simon takes it from his hands.
"Camille is my sire," Simon says, carefully. "Doesn't that mean…?"
Magnus' eyes widen, his heart singing with hope again. "Your blood would open it."
He blinks, and Simon is pressing a huge kitchen knife into his palm, forcing blood to gush into the box even without a heartbeat to pump it out, and "my god, Simon, it doesn't need that much blood."
Simon shoots him an embarrassed look. "Better safe than sorry," he says, pressing his other hand against the open wound, and is that bone peeking through?
"Give me that," Magnus says, carefully, siphoning his magic into Simon's wound.
"Ouch," he says as the wound knits itself back together slowly, muscle rebuilding itself in sudden spasms. "You know, that never looked like it hurt when I saw it before."
"Usually, it doesn't. But I'm afraid I've used up quite a lot of my magic. It's not as potent as it should be, so the healing is taking longer. That means you feel pain as it closes, too," he explains, doing his best not to think about what this will mean for Raphael if- when they get him back. "Apologies," he adds, always struggling to hold onto anger for long, especially when Simon is willing to cut himself to the bone for his boy.
"It's okay," Simon says easily, "I just, uh, got some blood on the grave dirt. I hope that's not a problem."
"It's her own blood, so it should be fine. We need to get back to my loft and prepare a good trap for her. Wouldn't do to summon her only for her to escape."
Setting up a trap for Camille is not too difficult, in spite of the shaking of his hands that Magnus can't tell whether is due to the lowered magic resources or to fear. Summoning a vampire cage isn't too difficult; not on his magic, at least. And, thankfully, the grave dirt allows him to summon her without having to spend even more of it.
Magnus takes a deep breath.
Simon fidgets. "Everything ready?"
Magnus opens his mouth, and "yes" comes out of it before he's fully decided on what to say. In normal circumstances, he wouldn't want Simon - or anyone, for that matter - to be there for this confrontation; but he's too tired to try to find an excuse to send him away, and, frankly, he doesn't have the time. Whatever humiliation the future has in store for him, he'll just have to endure it in front of Simon.
He throws Camille's grave dirt into the circle that will summon the cage, and just like that, she's there.
The angry look in her eyes has Magnus fighting off a shudder. "What the hell?" she hisses, before her eyes meet his and widen, posture changing in the blink of an eye. The tilt of her head is half curiosity, half invitation, and she stalks towards him slowly, every curve of her body involved in the movement. "Magnus," she purrs, and it sounds like a tiger's; dangerous in its contentment.
"Camille," he replies, tone so clipped it's almost unrecognizable; except, of course, he's had plenty of time to get acquainted with who he becomes when she's around.
She continues to saunter in his direction with deliberately slow movements that scream hunt as much as they do allure. He can't look at her; he knows she can smell weaknesses like a shark, and something about her will always make him vulnerable, no encanto necessary.
Once she's standing right in front of him, she turns to Simon, smile widening to expose her sheathed fangs. "And what do we have here?" she licks her lips, "it's nice to see you, my little caramel." The effect of her words are instantaneous; Simon shudders and takes a step back, fear written all over his face for even Magnus to see. But then his eyes meet Magnus', and he swallows, squares his shoulders, and takes two forward, standing between him and Camille.
The gesture is… Foreign.
"I wish I could say the same, but I've actually been praying I'd never have to see you again, so," Simon forces out, eyes darting around and hands shaking, but posture holding.
"Aw, and after everything you did for me? I thought what we had was special," she mocks, and Simon's shudder is, once again, too visible, as is the way his fists clench. "If you meant to bring him to me as a present, Magnus, I'm afraid Raphael," she snarls the name out, "has already spoiled that particular sweet. Such a shame," she tuts, "there's nothing quite like the taste of young, innocent mundane. Now he just tastes like me."
"So sorry to disappoint," Simon says in too quiet a voice.
"Is that really all you have to say?" Magnus asks, unable to stop the disbelief in his tone. He should know better by now. "You sired him."
Camille scoffs, like Magnus is being childish. "So?"
"So?" He repeats, indignant, taking a step forward so he stands side by side with Simon and gesturing towards him, "you made him. He's your child."
The comment makes Simon distinctly uncomfortable, and Camille bored. "The whole 'children' thing was always more your shtick than mine, sweetheart," she says, looking at her perfect nails before sighing, "always wanting to drop everything to help this and that. Trust me, if it was just about that, I wouldn't have sired anyone. But mundane blood is just so tasty… And sometimes their loyalty can be useful," she spares a look to Simon then, and this time, her sigh has a dreamy quality to it. "Sometimes we have to take risks, don't you think, Magnus, darling?"
This time, when she steps towards him, Magnus finally activates the cage. As soon as it's secure, she drops the saccharine tone like it was never there. "What the hell? Magnus, get me out of here."
He's not strong enough to look at her. "I'm afraid I can't do that, Camille. You crossed the line."
"And that's your problem how?" She all but hisses, and he all but flinches.
"It's not my problem. It's Raphael's. He's being accused of bleeding mundanes because of you. I won't let him suffer because of your bad deeds."
"So this is about one little insubordinate vamp?" She scoffs, the derision in her tone as clear as when she had first said his name - Raphael, like it was a curse you spit at someone, and not the most precious thing Magnus has ever had. But Camille doesn't know that, does she?
And even if she did…
He swallows. He doesn't like to believe that she wouldn't care, but he's seen the way she talked about Simon. He remembers the way she treated that werewolf girl he tried to help in 1881.
Yet his tone is still full of disbelief, "you've sired hundreds of vampires," he says, and the eyebrow she raises at him is a perfect display of boredom. "Your children," he tries to will her to understand, and she tilts her head like she does, but he knows it's not in the way he wants. "But as a warlock, I can have none. The Downworlders I take under my wing, they're my children. My family. I'm sorry, Camille," he says, because, despite it all, he is. But if this is a choice between Raphael and her, then it's no choice at all. "I'll do whatever it takes to protect him."
Camille stares at him for a moment, calculating and cold, before edging closer to him, something new in the deliberateness of her movements, something like a snake poising to strike. "The fear of loneliness…" she takes another slow step, whole body turned towards him, "has always been your Achilles' heel."
"Don't," he warns, but he was never the one who instilled fear in her.
"You don't do well, losing those you love, do you?" She continues, undeterred by his pain. "I'm the only one you can count on to be here for you forever."
"I mean, technically, Raphael is also immortal," Simon points out, shrugging awkwardly, and Camille turns towards him so sharply Magnus almost expects her to attack; but he knows, from the carefully concealed roundness of her eyes, that she had simply forgotten he was there. "And I get that the two of you have history and all, but I feel like he has been here for Magnus much more than you, at least for these past few years. What with you being busy with all those murder sprees and stuff."
Camille stares at him, then turns to Magnus. "Remind me why the fledgling is here?"
"He owes Raphael a few favors."
"Is that so?" She purrs, tilting her head, and Magnus knows he has said too much again. "Well, immortal though he may be, fledgling, Raphael can't give Magnus what I can," she gives her lower lip a feather-light touch, then leans forward slightly, that blood-red smirk of hers calling almost as much attention as her cleavage. "I would know," she adds with a sigh, "no one else resisted me quite like he did. Really, what a bore."
Magnus can feel his fists starting to clench, and does his best to relax his whole body into perfect, impenetrable neutrality. Letting Camille know she's getting to him is the worst thing he could do; he's had plenty of time to learn that. "What did you do to him?" He asks, surprised by the coldness in his own voice. Camille only laughs.
"Nothing I haven't done to you, darling. I'm sure you'll recall it was far from bad," his memories of their worst nights together beg to differ, but regardless…
"I wanted it. I wanted you. Raphael couldn't-"
"Raphael has something wrong with him, and I'm more than happy to try to help him fix it."
Magnus stares at her. "You're a monster," are the only words he can find, and he already knew that - really, he did - but the truth of it finally seeps into his bones and settles, like an electric shock. He looks at her - beautiful smirk, red-painted lips, and attentive eyes - and doesn't see the person who took him off the edge of that bridge so long ago. He sees only a predator.
He already knew that's what she was.
His knees buckle at the realization.
"I'm no more of a monster than your precious little traitor," she counters. "It's in our nature, Magnus. We're immortal. We're strong. We get bored, and rules… They aren't strong enough to hold us back."
"No," Magnus agrees. "But maybe this is."
He opens a portal, like he should've done several minutes ago, instead of wasting his time - his boy's time - listening to her. Trying to find something salvageable in the wretched creature that is Camille Belcourt. How his heart has misguided him.
"Magnus," Camille hisses, "Magnus, you don't want to do this."
"Oh, but I do," he says, "especially after what you just said you did to my boy."
"Is that jealousy?" She asks, incredulous. "You were the one who broke up with me!"
"No. This is justice. Enjoy Idris." And with a last heaving push of the crackling portal, she's finally gone forever.
Magnus is breathing heavily, the effort inexplicably heavy on his body.
Simon, for his part, looks decidedly sick. "Why did Raphael put up with her? Aren't there other Clans in New York?"
"Joining Camille's Clan was always supposed to be an inside job," Magnus forces himself to explain, fighting off the exhaustion that threatens to settle in him; sending a portal to another continent definitely didn't help his situation. He can only hope he has enough magic to heal Raphael properly, but he can already feel how fickle it is under his skin, as if it's struggling to hold on to him. "Raphael was convinced the only way to prove her crimes was to gain her trust and expose her. I tried to convince him not to, but I'm sure you must have seen by now how stubborn my boy can be."
Simon swallows. "He… Went through all that just so he could arrest her?"
Magnus nods, unable to speak through the knot in his own throat.
"And then I…"
He doesn't have the time to finish that sentence, because finally a new portal opens, and through it comes Aldertree, Raphael in tow. He smiles pleasantly as he throws Magnus' boy unceremoniously to the floor. "Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Bane," Magnus hears him say, then pause before adding, "Mr. Lewis," with barely concealed surprise. "I must say, you have proven yourself quite the ally to the Clave. Your loyalty is appreciated," Magnus can hear the polite smile on his face, and it's all he can do not to lounge at him and rip it off, instead running in the direction of Raphael's lax body. "And I'll make sure it's known, too. You'll be welcomed at our Institute. Any time," with that, there's the sound of a portal closing, thank god, because Magnus has just reached Raphael and he is still lying motionless, soundless, even with his burnt face pressing directly into the unforgiving ground, and-
There's blood on the back of his slacks.
Magnus rushes to turn him over, to keep as much of his boy's dignity as he can, to keep his burnt face away from the cold and hard ground. Raphael goes without a fight, which is so unlike him, and Magnus is trying to murmur reassurances, and his face is finally off the floor, and-
It's all Magnus can do to keep breathing.
"Oh my G-," Simon chokes, "h-, he-," he continues to choke, even as holy words no longer try to get past his lips. "Raphael! Raphael, what happened to you?" He begs, and it goes unanswered. Unacknowledged.
In Raphael's silence, Magnus gets to look at him - no matter how much he wishes he wasn't seeing it. The cross patterns on his face have multiplied, forming constantly erupting blisters, so much so that there's barely any unmarred skin left. The biggest ones, however, are the ones right over where once were Raphael's eyes, and now stand only blackened and bloodied tissue and exposed sockets. His ruined vocal cords are still visible through the hole on his throat, smoke coming out of it and into Raphael's airways, even as he, at this point, is no longer trying to breathe. His ears are all but gone, gaping holes boring deep into them - Magnus can see muscle and blood, and, god, he thinks that might be Raphael's skull underneath. He doesn't need to check to know that his eardrums have been shattered, but he does anyway, and the scan earns him the knowledge that there are more wounds hidden by Raphael's now ruined dress shirt. Some of them cross patterns, burning into his wrists where the handcuffs still bite, but also words - Magnus can see "leech" near his collarbone - as well as some internal damage in his…
No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.
Magnus can't see anymore, and he wipes at his face.
Simon is still talking.
"Raphael- Raphael, amigo, can you hear me? I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I never meant for this to happen, please. Please just move a finger or something if you can hear me. Is he moving? He's not moving, oh no, Magnus, is he-"
"He's alive," Magnus says, the knowledge like a balm to his broken, bleeding heart. "But he can't hear you. They- I- his eardrums," he gestures, unable to taste the words on his tongue, "they're gone."
"Oh G-," Simon's choke sounds almost like a sob now, accompanied by a frustrated noise, "I'm so-"
Magnus raises a hand to interrupt another apology. "Save it for when Raphael can hear it," he says, clipped, "help me move him to the couch. I need to heal him."
"Of course, of course, sorry," Simon says anyway, moving anxiously towards Raphael's legs while Magnus grabs the back of his shoulders, trying not to pay any mind to the squelch that follows the contact, or to the way his hands are soaked almost immediately. The flesh underneath feels much, much too soft. Raphael doesn't react, though, and Magnus hopes that, at least, shock has been merciful enough to numb him to the pain and his surroundings.
Those hopes are squashed the minute Simon touches Raphael's legs.
The reaction is instantaneous, thrashing and kicking and baring his fangs in what would have been a warning hiss if his precious boy was still capable of making sounds. It's terrifying in its silence, and Simon's eyes widen. He drops his legs, and they bump heavily on the ground, but Raphael barely seems to notice.
"Sorry! Sorry, I- Magnus, I-"
Magnus swallows bile, shame, revulsion, agony, at the words he's about to say. "Simon, I need you to grab his legs again."
"But he- I-"
"We need to move him to the couch," he says, as matter-of-factly as possible, because if his voice breaks, so will he, "and my magic is too low to use it instead," I'm too weak to do it myself, "I need to save it for healing. It- it will already be much slower than normal, it- it's going to hurt him," he confesses, wiping away furiously at the tears that insist on clouding his vision. He needs to see what he's doing. "I can't waste more to carry him, just- just help me move him to the couch," Magnus hates pleading, but there's no denying that's what he's doing now; please, Simon, just let me get this over with. Please, Simon, help me fix my mistake. Please, Simon, don't make me say any more. "He'll know it's us soon."
"I-"
He can't keep doing this. "Simon."
Finally, the fledgling nods, steeling himself. "Okay."
"We'll make it quick."
"Okay."
"Try- try to keep your hands closer to his feet than to his-"
"Of course, I-"
"Let's do this. 1, 2, 3."
They haul him over, Raphael kicking and thrashing, but they make quick work of reaching the couch, thanks to Simon's speed - and Magnus' desperation. Before they know it, Raphael is, if nothing else, somewhere soft and warm.
It doesn't seem to be a comfort for his boy. As soon as his back hits the comfortable swede, he starts fighting back harder, nearly knocking Simon over with his desperate flailing.
"Hush, my boy, it's okay, we're just-" Magnus starts, before realizing how useless his words are. Right. He has magic. He can fix this. He just needs to stop wasting time and focus.
He hovers his hands carefully over Raphael's face, deciding to start on his eardrums. It's where there's most internal damage, and if Raphael can hear him, he can at least tell him that he's safe.
As safe as can be in the circumstances, at least.
It's the best Magnus can provide.
Resolute, Magnus pushes his magic out, and the moment the cold tendrils of his magic start caressing Raphael's face, his boy stills. Magnus blinks away his useless tears well enough to see his soft exhale of unnecessary breath - and the attempt at a cough as it brings more smoke to his nostrils. Raphael's burnt lips start moving, and he reaches out to touch Magnus' hand - not desperate, not trying to stop him, just- touching, and his body finally relaxes. Magnus would cry, but he can't, not yet.
Raphael's mouth doesn't stop moving, however, the exposed muscles on his throat working against nothing, and Magnus worries he has something important to tell him, so he moves his magic briefly to Raphael's wrecked voice box instead. The tissue knits itself back together with wet, sickening noises, raw and throbbing as it regains its red over the black of necrosis, but soon the damage is fixed enough for him to say…
"…agnus, Magnus, Magnus, Magnus, Magnus," he repeats, deliriously, like a prayer, and Magnus is no god, just a man with more mistakes than he can count and too little magic to fix this without hurting his boy. Without thinking, Magnus grabs Raphael's hand, making soothing circles with his thumb, trying to respond when he knows Raphael can't hear him yet. Raphael chokes on a breath, even now that, blissfully, there is no longer smoke coming up his lungs. "Magnus," he says, this time a call, not a plea, even as his voice sounds so horribly wet, "it hurts so much," he chokes, on the words or the truth of them, Magnus can't be sure.
"I'm going as fast as I can, I promise," Magnus responds, uselessly, not good enough, and Raphael can't even hear it. He squeezes his hand instead, trying to provide some comfort in whatever inadequate way he can.
"Papá," he sobs, the word interlaced with relief and pain. Something inside Magnus shatters; this is not how he had hoped to hear it again, but maybe it's how he deserves it.
"I'm here," he says, slowly taking his hand from Raphael's so he can work faster.
Thankfully, Raphael lets him, still rambling, now that he can finally speak. Some of it is grunts and hisses of pain, but above all, he repeats Magnus' name - and that it hurts. "I can't hear you, papá, I'm sorry, papá, papá, papá, Magnus, Dios, it hurts so much, Magnus-"
Magnus wills himself not to dwell on his screams; he'll have time for that later. Instead, he pours his whole being into healing him: incus, malleus, eardrum, then the canal, until finally, finally it's all back where it should be and-
"Papá," he gasps, "I can hear you."
"My beautiful boy," he tries not to sob, but it's pointless, because Raphael does it in his stead. "Don't you worry about a thing. I'll fix everything, I swear."
"God, I- M- papá," he keens, "I missed you."
"I'm so sorry," Magnus tries not to sob, "I came as soon as I could, Camille was just, hard to find, I'm so sorry-"
"Not your fault," his wonderful boy rasps, "not your fault, I'm just glad you're here, p- M- pa- I-"
"Hush, mijo, it's alright, hush, of course I'm here." He reassures, moving his magic to Raphael's eyes, intent on getting them back next. Raphael gasps.
"Can you- can you-" his boy can barely breathe, the sounds from his newly regenerated throat somewhere between wailing and heaving, his body thrashing as if of its own accord.
"Anything, my dear boy, anything, just ask."
"First, could you heal-" he points down at himself, choking and sobbing, and it's all Magnus can do to not do the same.
"Of course, my boy, of course," he replies, doing his best to sound strong like he should, and not think about what he's doing as he focuses his magic downwards. Rectum, columns, sphincter, anus. It's far from the worst of the physical damage and it's done in moments, but as soon as it is, the tension in Raphael's body diminishes significantly, even as another sob wrecks it.
"Could you- later, could you take my memories? Please. Not everything, I know I'll need to know, just the- the-"
"If it's what you want," Magnus agrees, unwilling and unable to deny him anything, "but I need to finish healing you first."
"Okay, okay, I'm sorry, okay-"
"Don't apologize," Magnus begs, finally getting to work on the crosses over Raphael's eyes. Raphael exhales and grunts, pain and relief together in a horrible mix that only serves to remind him of all his failures. "I wish I could make this work faster, but I was already weak from yesterday, and then the cuffs, and summoning Camille and the portals-"
"It's okay, papá," Raphael soothes, and Magnus wants to scream because it's all wrong, it's not how it's supposed to go, "you got to me. It's okay."
He tries not to cry; he will not make Raphael comfort him further. "Let me just-" he heals the center of every cross, undoing the patterns, and Raphael jerks off the bed with a shout.
"Fuck!" He yells, trying to hold onto the backrest, only to break it like tissue paper. "Oh, God!"
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I thought it'd be best to get rid of the crosses, that way they would-"
Raphael breaks into a coughing fit.
"I'm sorry! Oh, god, I'm so sorry-"
"Magnus," Raphael wails, and it's too much; the wet, desperate, and pained noise, when he doesn't even have tears to shed, not with his eyes burned beyond recognition. "It's okay, it, it stopped burning, it's just, I wasn't ready," the gasps continue, "Pa- Magnus, I can't do this."
"I need to heal you, my boy, please-"
"Just… Just…" He's hyperventilating now, the effort to stay still turning his grip on the ruined backrest white knuckled. The couch is all but falling apart under Raphael's out of control strength, and that won't do, because if it breaks and he falls, that'll hurt him- "Just get it over with, please."
"Okay, okay, I'll do my best, just-" he tries to magically produce some morphine, something to numb the pain, which he obviously should have done sooner, god, he's ruining this. "Try to stay still, beautiful boy, everything will be alright." Raphael nods, even as his arms shake with the effort to follow Magnus' instructions, his tear-streaked face turning wildly from one place to the next, like- like it had when Aldertree pointed the laser at his throat.
The comparison makes Magnus sick.
The tendrils of his magic are beginning to stutter as they work, and Magnus knows he can't afford to use any more on numbing his boy's pain - not if he wants to be able to undo all the damage that Aldertree did. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, mijo, it'll be over soon, okay, I'm sorry, I'm here for you, I'm so sorry, it's almost over," he keeps repeating, a broken record that can't do its job, as his fizzling magic reconstructs his eyes in painful, pulsing bursts, first recovering the sockets, then the nerve, retina, and the vitreous liquid swims untamed, Magnus needing to hold Raphael's face with his other hand so his turning and tossing won't spill it as he reconstructs the lens, iris, and finally cornea and eyelids, and Raphael gasps again when he can see Magnus, but the first thing his new eyes do is flood with tears.
The sobs are wrecking his body now, making him press his abused back further into the couch, panting. "God, papá-"
"It's okay, my darling, I'm here," he says, unable to stop himself from pausing the healing to grab Raphael's hand. It shakes in Magnus', and the backrest breaks further down, making Magnus realize Raphael is making an effort not to break his hand. His wonderful boy, always so worried about him, even when he least deserves it.
He means to take it off, not wanting to burden his boy further with more effort, but Raphael is struggling to focus on Magnus' eyes with his newly regained vision - his eyes dart deliriously around the room, as if unable to handle the recently regained sense. Until they still. Until they widen.
Raphael sits up fast enough that it almost knocks Magnus over, wiping furiously at his tears, even as his hand presses on the still raw and blistering wounds that litter his face, tearing out wet grunts from his abused throat. The pain only serves to force more tears out of his eyes, running into his wounds and creating a trail of blood that runs down his cheeks. Despite that, Raphael keeps wiping, even as it does nothing but spread the blood everywhere and open the wounds further. "S- S-," he chokes, confusion and pain blocking his throat like the burning cross branded into his muscle, "Simon?" he manages to gasp, incredulous, and Magnus inhales sharply. He had forgotten he was here.
"I… Yeah, Raphael, it's me," Simon replies, rising from the spot where he had been sitting on the floor ever-so-slowly, hand extended in front of him as if trying to calm a wild animal. His face is also wet with tears, paler than Magnus has ever seen before, and his throat keeps working around something as if he's trying to swallow bile, or his own nausea. He approaches slowly, but as soon as he takes the first step, Raphael jumps, burying his face in his knees. This time, his sobs are silent due to his own efforts, blood and tears alike running into his slacks along with chunks of necrosed flesh that he pressed too hard against his knees. It brings more muffled grunts out of him, but Raphael stays in that position, even as Magnus' very magic can attune to the pain he's feeling, even as it makes his suit jacket ride down, exposing the raw flesh on Raphael's back. "Raphael, I'm- I'm so sorry," Simon keeps saying, blind to the way every step he takes makes Raphael curl further into himself, exposing a back that's more muscle than skin. Good god. "I'm really… I'm really sorry, I-" he tries to put his hand on Raphael's shoulder comfortingly, but Raphael jumps again, and Magnus knows it's not because of the pain it elicits in his abused flesh.
"Don't touch me!" Raphael exclaims, loud enough to be a yell if the breaking of his voice didn't turn it into a plea. He whines. "Don't… Don't touch me," he repeats, miserable, defeated, once again at Simon's mercy.
For the first time since they met, Simon does as he asks.
"Okay! I'm sorry, I didn't realize your back-"
"Simon," Raphael starts rocking back and forth, the grip on his slacks on the edge of tearing them up, his arms shaking with the effort to stop the self-soothing movement, to no avail. He buries his face further into his knees, biting back grunts of pain with such vigor Magnus can see his fangs draw blood. "Simon, just, please…"
"Yeah, anything, buddy, anything, just ask."
"Please…" he sobs, shaking his head, unable to form the words. The one time he actually means it, it seems he can't bring himself to say "leave me alone".
So Magnus does it for him.
"Simon, be a dear and get some blood for Raphael. It's in the fridge. He'll need it to regain his strength," three bags of blood appear in Magnus' hand. He blinks. "Right. Well, we'll need some more than that, so could you fetch some extra ones? Slowly."
"Oh," Simon says, the sound more miserable than anything Magnus has ever heard from him. "Of course."
Simon closes the door to the kitchen with a very pointed click, and Raphael stops rocking quite so fast. "Why… Why…"
"Simon helped me find Camille," Magnus explains, hoping that the knowledge that Simon wanted to make it up to him is enough to end some of his inner turmoil.
It isn't. "Magnus, I- I can't," he whines. "I can't, with him here, I- I can't, Magnus, I can't, please."
"Hush, my darling," Magnus coos, "I'll tell him to go back to the Jade Wolf when he's back. He won't see a thing. You'll be alright," he insists, even as Raphael grabs his shirt with a shaky fist and sobs into it, hissing in pain when its rough surface rubs on his wounds. "You'll be alright," he promises, intent on keeping it this time.
He looks up, and there Simon is, shuffling his feet from the kitchen as he opens the door again, making way more noise than necessary. If he were capable of it, Magnus might smile. At least the boy is trying.
"Ah, Simon," he says, moving away from the couch in a fluid motion so he can stand between him and his boy. He makes sure his smile is kind as he takes the bags from Simon's hand. "Thank you. I think I can take it from here, so you can go back to your doubtlessly important responsibilities. We appreciate you letting go of them to help."
Never one to get a hint, Simon strains to look behind Magnus' shoulder. "Raphael, is he-"
"He needs rest," Magnus says, balancing his tone between pointed and breezy as best as he can. Simon's eyes widen in understanding, and he nods.
"Okay. I'm- I'm sorry. Again."
"There will be time for that later," Magnus says, more tired than anything, even as he tries not to let it show.
"Yeah. Yeah," Simon nods, then makes it to the door. Then he pauses. "It's day outside."
Fuck. Magnus really shouldn't waste his energy on a portal right now.
He resists the urge to groan, press the heels of his hands into his eyes, and scream. Fuck! Can't he even give Raphael that?
"Okay, uh, how about this, I'll just go to the furthest room and turn on my headphones and not hear anything, okay? I won't come out unless you call me. You have my word."
Magnus has no choice but to nod. It's better than further depleting his magic. "The rooms are soundproof, so long as you close the door," he says.
Simon licks his lips. "Okay. Okay. I'll go to the furthest room, and won't leave, I promise," he speeds down the hallway, but just as his hand is on the doorknob, he pauses. Then he speaks out, "I just… Raphael, I know you don't want to hear it, but I just want you to know. You don't have to forgive me, but I promise, I'll find a way to make it up to you."
"You can't," Raphael replies, tired. It's not unkind, not purposefully hurtful. Just a statement of fact.
"Then I promise to die trying."
The smile that graces Raphael's bloodied lips is the saddest thing Magnus has ever seen, but it's also a miracle in and of itself.
The door closes, and Raphael breathes.
"Right," Magnus says, as soothing as he can manage, "with that out of the way, please lie back down. There's still a lot I need to heal." He points hesitantly to Raphael's ruined shirt. "May I?"
Raphael nods, unable to meet his eyes, and Magnus does his best to be reassuring and slow as he removes his suit jacket and undershirt. He can't help the sharp intake of breath as he assesses the damage.
His beautiful boy.
Magnus can see parts of his intestine.
He can't throw up. He has work to do.
"It hurt so much when they made me put it back on," Raphael admits, his voice empty, and Magnus wishes he could scream in his stead.
"It will stop hurting in a minute," he promises, moving to work on the damage on his back first, so he can lie down again soon. The offending words on his torso hurt more to see, but they'll have to wait. Magnus' pain is not the one that matters.
Raphael hisses and gasps as Magnus' magic works on his raw flesh, restoring muscle and nerves one excruciating inch at a time, each bringing with it more pain as they come into contact with the elements, and Magnus has never seen his boy cry this much, has never heard more pitiful sobs, even muffled as they are by Raphael's desperate attempts to keep his mouth shut. Magnus knows it's for his benefit, and all he can do is blink away his own tears and allow his boy this attempt at dignity, even as the sounds he's making burn their way into Magnus' brain, settling right next to the screams of his stepfather and the rush of water in his ears. He knows he deserves to have the memories haunt him.
Despite his promise, his magic's stuttering worsens, its last reserves draining fast and causing the healing to grow even more clipped, chunks of muscle suddenly appearing with raw exposed nerves, and soon Raphael can no longer hold back his screams, wails of pain that stab Magnus with the reminder of his own inadequacy, and soon Raphael is shaking, long nails biting into his palm and drawing out more blood from his already drained body, his voice unrecognizable in its hoarseness and drowned by tears. The jerking of his body causes him to press his flesh against the couch, then flinch, contracting the muscles on his torso and pressing into the wounds there. "Oh, God!" he screams, "it hurts so much!"
Magnus deserves to hear it, but that doesn't make it any easier to bear. "I'm so sorry, my boy," he tries, but Raphael isn't listening, as he shouldn't, because Magnus' words won't do a damn thing for him, only his magic can, and he barely has any of it left.
"Dios, God, oh my God, Magnus, I've never felt pain like this," he wails, and if Raphael's god is anywhere close to being as good as they say he is, he never will again, Magnus thinks. But there's a reason Magnus has never believed in him, despite knowing for a fact about the wretched creatures that call themselves Angels as they roam this Earth. It's right there - on the knowledge that his boy is going through this. Raphael continues to shake, heave, jerking away from every point of contact and only causing more pain for himself as he does so.
"I'm sorry," is all he can say, "I'm sorry, my boy," he keeps repeating, uselessly, trying to will his magic to just work already, to at least make this smooth and fast, but all he accomplishes is making his vision swim and drawing another scream from his precious boy's lips.
"Papá," he shakes, hard enough Magnus wonders how the whole Earth doesn't shake with him, how could the world not fall apart when something this important does, "please, papá, hold me down."
Absolutely not. "I can't do that," he says, in as clipped a tone as he's ever been able to manage when it comes to his boy. It sounds an awful lot like a plea.
He's always known he was selfish.
"Please," Raphael wails, "please, I can't, I can't keep it together anymore," he confesses, making Magnus taste blood on his tongue, "I can't, I can't, papá, I can't, please, I'm going to break your couch-"
"I can fix that in no time," Magnus dismisses. Of course he can; the couch means nothing to him, and he's only useful when it's pointless.
"Please," he tries again, "I don't know how much, God!- Longer I can-" he screams, then heaves, eyes wild and desperate, "hold it back, please, Magnus, I can't do this, I can't, I can't, I can't, please, please, please, please, please-"
He can't stand denying his boy - not when he's begging like this. He hasn't heard Raphael beg since the day he asked Magnus to teach him encanto so he could say goodbye to Rosa. If Magnus' own conscience hadn't made him stop the healing, that memory certainly would, and as soon as he does, Raphael lets out another gasp, this time one of relief, and Magnus hates it, hates Aldertree, hates himself. "I don't have anything strong enough to hold down a vampire," he admits, "I'd have to restrain you with magic. It'll make the healing even slower."
Raphael grits his teeth at the news, but he nods. "Okay. Okay. Okay. I'll- I'll take it. Do it," he pleads.
Magnus' vision is swimming, and no amount of blinking back tears seems to be helping it. "Are you certain?"
"Please," his boy sobs again, and Magnus slowly, way too slowly, curls his fingers into the gentlest binding spell he can manage. It still locks into place with undeniable finality, and, for a second, his boy's eyes widen in fear. Magnus suddenly understands the appeal Raphael sees in penance. Burning himself could never compare to this agony. Nor would it come close to what he deserves.
"I'll be done soon, precious boy," he lies. He can no longer pretend his dizziness is only because of his own turmoil at this point. The effort to keep the binding spell in place is making his magic all but fizzle out under his skin, and there's still so much damage. Magnus holds onto the couch for support, determined to see this through, and tries not to stumble as he focuses on the new layers of muscle. He's so close to the skin he could almost feel proud - except not having to physically hold himself back seems to have unlocked something in Raphael, his screams now even more bloodcurdling, sobs and grunts almost as raw as the flesh on his back. Magnus braves through them, he himself shaking with the effort, until his vision starts to blacken and he worries he'll pass out and leave his boy stuck like this, agonizing and bound. He has no choice but to stop the healing and let go of the spell, causing Raphael to nearly fall off the couch.
"Raphael," he gasps, breathing heavily, "I'm running out of magic," he confesses, the truth of it worse than poison on his tongue. You couldn't save your mother and you won't save your son, his head accuses, the ring of truth undeniable to his ears. He's used all of his magic-replenishing potions healing Alec yesterday, and now there is nothing left for the one who always trusted Magnus to take care of him. Stupid, weak, worthless. His father was right.
Raphael's tears flow faster, but he nods, always so brave, always so willing, "okay, of course, you need your rest, I, we can finish tomorrow-" he tries, before being torn apart by a sob, his now-freed hands rushing to cover his face as he falls apart again, and Magnus can't stand it, can't live with knowing he's caused so much pain to the one he swore to protect (so many broken promises, you'd think he'd have learned by now), so he tentatively says, "I could call Alec." He's lent him his strength once, surely he'd be willing to do it again?
The idea of letting a shadowhunter, even his Alexander, near Raphael right now burns wrongness into the pit of his stomach, but if Magnus was able to do better, they wouldn't be in this predicament.
"No!" Raphael replies, too fast, too vulnerable, too inelegant, too unlike himself, and Magnus can see a shame that almost mirrors his own make its home in his boy's face. "No shadowhunters," he gasps, "take my own strength."
Magnus gapes at him. "You're already so weak," he says, without meaning to, and gets to watch the shame on Raphael's face intensify.
"It's not like my strength will heal this," Raphael admits, defeat visible in the furrow of his brow, in the tears in his eyes, "please, p- M-," he sobs, "I just want it to be over."
It should never have even started, but it's too late for that now. "Okay," Magnus says, running a hand through his hair, not knowing what else to do. He can't leave his boy like this, and he can't pass out on him, either. "Drink some blood. It'll help," he says, holding out one of Simon's bags to him. If he weren't already so weak, Magnus would offer his own; blood from a human is far better than the goat blood the vampires keep themselves fed with; but he's already struggling to keep himself upright, so he can't bleed for his boy, no matter how much he wants to.
So he does the next best thing instead (useless, so useless), which is holding the bag to his lips as Raphael takes tentative, hesitant gulps, clearly unused to swallowing with his newly reconstructed throat, already raw again from all the screaming. But at least Magnus can see the cuts his nails bit into his palm healing over, some color returning to his cheeks, some of the smaller blisters on his face receding. He gives him another bag, then another, and Raphael alternates between sobbing and swallowing, always so brave, so strong, stronger than anyone should have to be. Magnus plays with his boy's hair lightly as he holds the bags to his dry and burnt lips, thankful that his scalp was unmarred at least. The motions on his hair have always soothed him, the comfort of his touch all Magnus could offer when he had to say goodbye to his sister and mother.
Once the bags are as drained as Magnus feels, Raphael nods, opening his bloodshot eyes. "Okay," is all he says, holding out his hand to Magnus, the kind of offering that hurts to take, but he does, placing his hand as delicately as possible in Raphael's and tentatively pulling. His Rapha hisses, even as he nods, the flow of strength between them nowhere near as effortless as it usually is; not because Raphael's body is finally recognizing Magnus as a parasite, but because he's simply too weak to keep it flowing.
Magnus tries not to focus on the way he needs to pull energy out of his boy, instead paying attention to… The way the newly regained color on his boy's cheeks vanishes, regaining its sickly tones of green, all so Magnus' magic can stutter and fizzle its way into healing his beloved son's back, so god damn slowly; the way Raphael's fingers twitch and squeeze in pain, even as he's once again locked in place. Magnus can see the way his squeezed eyes insist on leaking tears, hear his grunts and keens, smell the all-encompassing scent of burnt meat that has overtaken his loft, feel the strength he steals pulse weaker and weaker with every second, taste the despair on his tongue. The flow of magic into his body is too slow, even as he can tell Raphael is pushing, but there's barely anything left for him to give and Magnus knows he'll run dry if he keeps this up. Whatever little he's managed so far was barely enough to knit back an inch of muscle, and that was already enough for Magnus to feel Raphael's strength wane and lower, the accompanying gasps of pain growing quieter in much the same way they did when his vocal cords were burning off.
"This isn't working," Magnus admits, trying to keep his voice strong for his boy. Rapha's eyes flood with tears again. "I'm so sorry, mijo." The words are nowhere near enough to make up for his inadequacy, or express the depths of the regret he feels, but they're all he can offer. Raphael, ever understanding, ever forgiving, ever kind, only nods tiredly, even as he cries. Magnus desperately wishes he could let him doze off, pass out and be spared from enduring Magnus' failures, but it's too dangerous to let him sleep in this state, and the pain of Magnus' pathetic version of 'healing' would wake him up anyway. "I… We'll need to call someone. Your second-in-command… Fuck, it's still daytime," he realizes. He doesn't think he has enough strength for a portal, even one to the DuMort.
It's a moot point anyway, because Raphael is shaking his head. "No, they can't see me like this," he says, and Magnus knows it'd sound like a plea if he had the strength for it. Defeat almost chokes his voice out as he says, "call the fledgling."
Magnus hesitates. "Are you sure?" Just looking at Simon almost wrecked him.
Raphael looks away, not wasting time with bravado when they both know this is surrender. "He's already seen," is all he says, closing his eyes in shame. "Maybe…" he shakes his head, eyes watering again, and doesn't finish the thought. Maybe he'll understand now, Magnus assumes he would say, and he thinks maybe Simon already does, but he won't begrudge his boy his anger. He himself still holds plenty.
"Are you sure?" Magnus repeats, hating that he can't offer him another option. He can't offer him anything.
"Just get it over with," Raphael begs.
Magnus nods, stumbling to the guest room as fast as he can, his knocks inelegant as he holds onto the wall for support. "Simon," he says, "I think we need your help, after all."
The door opens so fast Magnus almost falls into the fledgling's arms. "What do you need?" he asks anxiously, "where's Raphael?"
"Still on the couch," Magnus says, trying his hardest not to gasp. "We're going to need your strength. I'm- I'm almost out of magic," he admits.
"Okay! Okay, do I have to, like, do a ritual, or…?"
"Just hold my hand and let me take some of your vital force to strengthen my magic. It'll probably feel… Invasive," Magnus warns, but Simon waves it away, already heading into the hallway.
"That sounds easy enough, let's go, I'll just-" he takes a look at Magnus, still holding onto the wall for support, doing his best to follow him. "Sorry," he says, before the world topples over and wind rushes in his ears and he's suddenly blinking up at Raphael. Simon puts him back in a standing position sheepishly. "Sorry," he repeats, "just, thought that'd be faster, and better for you, you know, since you seem a little weak… Actually, that's exactly what I'm here for, right? Here, come on, take my hand," he all but shoves it into Magnus', and Magnus has to hold up a finger to him.
"One moment," he says, sitting down on the armrest so he doesn't have to worry about standing upright and can focus on his boy. He extends his hand to Simon again, but Simon only stares at Raphael, who curls his arms around his torso to try and hide the writing on his body. Magnus had done his best to ignore it, focusing instead on the raw flesh of his back, but the attempt at hiding it only serves to make it more noticeable. Aldertree branded so many words into his skin, some cutting deep enough that Magnus can see Raphael's guts underneath. Leech, bloodsucker, animal, corpse, even soulless, repeated again and again among other words Magnus feels too sick to try to read. So he clears his throat instead, pulling Simon out of his reverie and pointedly looking at the wall.
"Right," Simon says, turning around so his back is facing Raphael, hand extended towards Magnus in offering. Magnus takes it.
And gasps.
When Alexander first lent him his strength, he had thought that no one else had ever been as willing - at least not without knowing Magnus extensively and trusting him fully. There had been no resistance, no hesitation, just the continuous, trusting flow of warm magic into him. Take what you need, he had said, a sentiment that Magnus had never seen directed at him before. It was enough to make his head spin, the trust and care evident enough to shatter something inside of him - something that had needed to go for a long time.
It was nothing compared to what Simon is doing now.
"Resistance" is a meaningless word - Simon is pushing life force directly into him, not with the weak desperation of someone with too little to give like Raphael had, but with the heaving effort of one who doesn't care about leaving anything to spare. The energy that crashes into Magnus comes like an electric shock, and the weak, sickly blue strands of his magic ignite to life with a snap that almost sends Magnus stumbling back; except Simon's grip on him is strong enough to keep him steady as his magic all but leaps out of him, eager to work after being reinvigorated with all the energy of an 18-years-old fledgling, and with a sudden gasp from Raphael, his back is healed again. This time, when a tear falls from his eyes, it's not pushed by a sob, but by the quiet release of unexpected relief. The muscle and fat of his torso reknit themselves smoothly, the horrible words that had tainted his boy gone in seconds, covered by thick, protective new skin that promises cover and safety.
Once the words are gone, Magnus focuses on the internal damage, closing over the big wound that exposed Raphael's intestine and stomach, and Raphael's short gasp as it heals over is entirely covered by Simon's, for once, welcome babbling.
"You're gonna be okay, buddy. I'm… Magnus is here. He's gonna take care of you, and I'll take care of him so he can take care of you, okay? I mean, everyone's always complained that I have, like, lots of energy, and hey, now it's finally a good thing! Not that this is about me, but… I promise, ami- Raphael, that you're going to be fine. Should be almost over by now, right, I mean, you have this awesome powerful warlock with fledgling juice to work with, soon it won't hurt at all. I promise. I- we'll make it stop. It's almost over. You'll be okay. I'm- Magnus- we're here. For as long as you want. Or, well, I know you don't want me here, but for as long as you both need me, and then I'll fuck off, okay? You won't even remember that I'm here. I'll just bring you blood and make sure that Magnus is alright. I… I guess you're gonna worry about that, won't you? You don't have to. I'll do it. You just heal. You're both going to be fine. I promise. Not that that's… Still. I promise," he says, not once turning around, not seeing the way Raphael relaxes further with every wound that closes, not seeing his face finally rid itself of the horrible marks Aldertree had left on him, not seeing his breathing going back to normal, not seeing his fists unclench and Magnus being able to finally stop holding his boy down, not seeing him sag against the broken backrest of the couch, finally able to rest without making his back hurt even worse. He can't even see the way Raphael's eyes flutter closed with relief, the last physical remnants of what he went through gone, the last sob of relief that allows him to finally settle and wipe his tears without hurting himself.
But Magnus sees it, and, as angry as he still is, he's also never been more grateful. He allows his magic to continue caressing Raphael's face, warming him, slowly inching closer until his fingers finally touch Raphael's hair, tucking it away from his face. Raphael nuzzles into the touch, and this time it's Magnus who holds back a sob of relief, seeing that the love and trust between them somehow isn't lost. With a curl of his fingers, he covers Raphael up, sending that horrible suit neither of them will ever want to see again away and putting his boy's favorite blue turtleneck and boot-cut silk pants in its place. The soft and comforting fabric visibly makes him relax, while also not being too vulnerable for Simon's eyes. Raphael looks at him with a softness he doesn't deserve, but must accept nevertheless, because Raphael rests his face against Magnus' fingers and that's when both of their breathing finally goes back to normal.
"…Is it done?" Simon asks, fidgeting. His life force is still being shoved into Magnus. "Can I turn around?"
Magnus looks at Rapha. His boy blinks slowly, pressing his lips into something that couldn't be called a smile, but couldn't be called anything else, either. Magnus nods. "It's over. You can turn around."
Simon does as he's told, slowly, then blinks a few times when the movement almost makes him stumble. "Whoa," he says, unsteadily, but Magnus doesn't need to move to help him before his eyes go back into focus, landing on Raphael's face with a sharp intake of breath. Magnus can see that the relief makes Simon's knees buckle more than the strength depletion did. "Raphael," he all but whispers, then clears his throat, "you look better."
"I feel better," Raphael replies, voice rough, face exhausted, eyes avoiding him.
"Once again, I am so sorry for everything I did. I didn't… It doesn't matter. I am just so, so sorry."
Raphael purses his lips, turning his face further away from Simon. "Okay," is all he manages to say, hands clenching and unclenching and clenching and unclenching and- "I… Okay."
"It's not…" Simon's mouth closes with a click and he swallows, before nodding. "Okay. I'll, I'll just go. If you need anything, just scream. Or, well, I guess the rooms are soundproof, so send me a text or something, and I'll be there. Promise. Good, uh… Good sleep. Yeah. Bye," he makes to leave, but, to everyone's surprise, he's interrupted by Raphael's (too hoarse, too small, too sad) voice.
"Fledg- Simon," Raphael sighs, his gaze still fixed on the opposite corner of the room. "Thank you."
Simon's responding smile is a sad, hopeful thing. "Anytime," he says, pursing his lips and waving awkwardly, and then he's gone, exactly as promised. Raphael sags even further in relief, and Magnus rushes to hold his hand, rubbing soothing circles with his thumb.
"Well," Magnus says, tentatively. Raphael doesn't open his eyes, but Magnus still knows he's listening. "This has been exhausting. I know this is a silly question, but… How do you feel?"
"Grateful," Raphael replies earnestly. "…Tired," he adds after a bit, just as earnest, and a million times as brave. Magnus nods.
"That's normal," he says, trying his best to be soothing, but only managing to sound miserable.
This is - unless the unthinkable has already happened and Magnus somehow didn't know - the first time Raphael's been tortured by the Clave. It likely won't be the last, especially with the kind of attention he gets as the leader of such an important Clan. Magnus looks for the pride that had once warmed his chest and finds nothing but ice-cold dread.
He failed to protect his boy.
But at least he has- experience, and he can try to make amends for the immediate future. If he's lucky.
"Physically, nothing should hurt anymore, but you're likely to feel phantom pain for a few weeks. That's- not something magic can fix," he confesses. "I'm sorry."
"Not your fault," Raphael rasps, as if his voice box is still damaged. Magnus double checks. It isn't.
"Of course," he easily agrees. The last thing Raphael needs is to be forced to comfort him and coddle his guilt. Magnus can take it up with the tequila, who is more likely to give him the hard truth to face. "But there is something I can do about it, for a while. Sleeping potion, extra strong. Guaranteed to knock you out for, oh, about 20 hours or so," he says, shaking the vial he's just magicked into his hand and trying not to stumble from the effort. He's learned long ago to always have that one at the ready. "By the time you wake up, you will feel… Not better, exactly, but less raw. And don't worry, it's warded against nightmares. The last thing you need is to relive all this for 20 hours and not be able to wake up," he says, trying to sound cheerful and hearing the way his voice loses strength with every word.
"The Clan-"
"Will be warned that you're fine and recovering, and has a second-in-command for this kind of situation."
"But they need-"
"Their leader to be healed and strong," he says, before softening his voice and posture, "as much as possible."
Raphael looks up at him, teary-eyed and trembling.
"Please," Magnus tries.
The relief that hits him when Raphael nods is almost enough to knock him over. "Please," Raphael echoes, downing the potion before Magnus is even done handing it over.
"It'll take a few minutes to take effect," he warns. "Why don't we go to your room? I have the enchanted blanket you like, and your silk robe. Much more comfortable to sleep in."
Raphael nods, leaning his weight on Magnus as they make their way down the hallway - if Magnus still had enough magic, he could have Raphael comfortable and ready with a snap of his fingers, but he supposes helping Raphael carry the burden of his own exhaustion is fair. Raphael changes and Magnus drapes the blanket over him the old fashioned way, not missing his boy's melting posture and running tears when he feels its warmth. "Stay with me?" He asks, voice small, and Magnus can barely put in words how relieved he is to hear these words. It's enough to have his eyes mirror Raphael's.
"Of course, my boy," he agrees, sitting by his side and playing with his hair. "It'll just be a few more minutes, I promise."
Raphael grabs his hand with such force Magnus is afraid he already managed to fuck this up. At Magnus' startled look, Raphael gives him one of guilt. "Sorry," he rasps, "I just… Will you get closer? Stay longer?" he pleads, not looking at him. "I don't want to wake up alone."
"Oh, my darling boy," Magnus says, already lying down beside him, even as he tries to keep his movements slow so he doesn't startle Rapha. His boy is reaching for him, though, lifting the blanket to make room for him like he's afraid something will push Magnus away. "Of course. I could also use some sleep, after all of this. Matter of fact," he says, putting all his strength together to conjure up another vial, "I might just follow your lead tonight."
Magnus' potion is not exactly the same - it allows him to be woken up if needed and won't last as long, just in case Raphael needs him - but should be enough to keep him from tossing and turning and bothering Raphael's sleep. He drinks it, exhaling obnoxiously, and Raphael's guard is down enough that he actually smiles at his antics.
"Sleep," he says, letting his fingers hover carefully over his boy's eyelids, "I'll be here in the morning."
Raphael nods very slowly, pressing his back to Magnus' chest and keeping his hand held tightly for however long it takes for his body to go blissfully lax. For the first time in longer than Magnus cares to admit, he sees no tension in his boy's face.
Magnus squeezes his hand lightly and presses a kiss to his head, holding him as he slumbers.
Raphael is finally safe.
And, eventually, he might even be okay again.
