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alexanderlightweight · 9 months

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Greetings and loves, for writing Wednesday: maybe something about possessive and protective magnus and the reaction of the shadowhunters?

here we go! i hope you enjoy it

<3 lumine

The summon isn’t one Magnus is expecting and he reaches out to snatch the message from the air with a frown.

“Have they not given up, yet?” Valois asks him wearily, one of five elders who Magnus is unofficially meeting with.

Instead of a meal, there is nothing but research spread out on the long table. Piles of books and scrolls and rare pages barely held together with magic.

“Nephilim will never truly give up.” Ragnor interjects with a melancholy sigh. “That would require them to be capable of change.”

If this was an official meeting, his dear cabbage would have never shown up. However, not even in self-imposed isolation will Ragnor allow himself to miss out on such obscure and frankly obscene research. “That would require them to be capable of change.”

It’s revolting in the most intriguing of ways and Ragnor is old enough that it is rare he finds things older that he’s yet to see.

Magnus can’t help the snort he lets out, but he doesn’t care and neither do the rest of their group. All letting out weary or exasperated and angry laughs of their own.

The first thing that catches Magnus’ attention is the seal. It’s similar t a seal that Magnus once banned from his very presence. Magnus knew the seal had been changed when leadership of the Institute had been summarily switched, but he’s never had cause to see it in person.

He shouldn’t be seeing it now.

Magnus’ fingers tremble as he reads the message, his face blank and he’s unsure whether it is his magic or his emotions that betray his hands so.

His answer is his magic hungrily — furiously — devouring the message without even a conscious thought.

“I must go to the New York Institute.” Magnus finally says and while Valois and others all raise their voices in confused protest, it is Ragnor who meets his gaze with trepidation.

“Be quiet before Bane loses his temper!” Daseul — one of the only Elder’s older than Ragnor — snaps, the dark feathers that blend into her hair bristle with her annoyance. “Acting like mortal children—” she mutters and then gives him a short nod. “We will undoubtedly still be here when you are finished.”

Magnus nodded in return to her, understanding her chastisement of the others. It is not their right to have an opinion on his choice and especially not until after it’s been made and completed.

New York is his territory and while Magnus has refused to step foot in the Institute for two decades now, he’s also never been sent an absolutely rambling list of threats and bribes that make no sense.

It’s an open-ended proposal that reeks of desperation.

A portal takes him to the Institute and magic slams the doors open, announcing him before the alarms can.

It is worse than Pandemonium inside.

Truly, Magnus has never seen so many shadowhunters panicking and running around, others staying out of the way, as if no one is quite sure what to do.

His arrival is a mess of noise and faces and hands on weapons before he’s clearly recognized.

“Warlock Bane?” He’s asked tiredly and Magnus raises a brow in agreement, not even insisting on his proper title. Magnus is too curious to stall this and there is a sharp edge to his magick, his power and eyes greedily looking around the Institute. “Thank the angel.”

The last bit is murmured by the man who greets him but also by the other hunters around.

“Andrew Underhill, Head of Security.” He’s told as he’s escorted, alarms still blaring but seemingly being ignored.

“And why isn’t your Commander coming to see me himself, or at least his second?” Magnus asks, voice cold with his displeasure.

Something is very wrong here.

Not dangerous — or at least not for Magnus — but something has happened and Magnus hates the lack of information he has.

Underhill nearly stumbles and when he glances at Magnus — never breaking his stride — Magnus sees the pure exhaustion and desperation on his face.

“They can’t. It’s why we need you. We tried to get help from the healers who still offer us their services, but no one was available. Our second will recover with time and the Silent Brother’s but—” Underhill shakes his head and quickens his steps. “The Commander was poisoned. We’ve been trying to form an antidote but everything we’ve tried has made it worse.”

“Are you telling me that the Head of your Institute is dying?”

Underhill blinks at him, stopping in front of what is clearly an isolated medical ward, one complete with four shadowhunters guarding it.

“Yes, it’s why we messaged you. We don’t know how much longer he’ll hold on.”

The door disintegrates before Underhill can even think of opening it and Magnus is hardly aware of the hunters who are pressed away from him with a wave of furious magick. There is a young woman standing over a bed, limp hair and darkly shadowed eyes marking her as exhausted.

“Do not touch him.” Magnus bites out, fury coating his voice as his magic shatters the syringe.

“It could have been an antidote!” She cries, pain in her voice and Magnus wants to put her through a wall.

Instead, his magic shoves her out of the room.

“And if not, it would have only caused him more agony and stolen more time.” Magnus bites back and then magic entombs him and the young Commander on the bed.

His skin is pale and drenched with sweat, lines of pain creasing his brow and his lips cracked and bleeding.

Magnus stares at him for only a moment, devastating tenderness crossing his face as he bends over the bed.

“Alexander, my darling.” Magnus murmurs quietly as he bends and presses his brow to Alec’s fevered one. “I have you now.”

—

Andrew isn’t really sure what he’s supposed to do.

This is Mirai’s area of expertise.

Or literally anyone else.

Andrew is security.

Not this strange roll of quasi-commander he’s been thrust into.

When Alec pulls through — Andrew can’t let himself think he won’t, not when there is an angry warlock hopefully healing him — things will go back to how they’re supposed to be.

“Underhill—” Bane yells and Andrew heads towards the command without thinking. It’s only when he’s stepped through two walls of magic that he realizes what he did and what he’s been allowed to do.

Two golden eyes gleam at him maliciously and Andrew swallows at the look of possessive rage on the High Warlock’s face.

A glance is all it takes after that to confirm his fears — a hand dripping with powerful magic tangled gently in his Commander’s sweaty hair and the way Alec has relaxed, even while in agony.

“How many of these so-called antidotes was he given and when?”

“Six across the last twelve hours. Izzy spent twelve hours before that researching with her teams and prepping them.”

“And when the first two didn’t work, why did they continue without more extensive testing?”

Andrew pauses, unsure and then he winces.

“I assume it’s because no one left in the chain of command realized we were in charge of that.” He admits, “iratzes didn’t help after the first two hours. The Commander has only had Headship for a little bit, not all his positions are filled.”

“The young Miss Lightwood, while undoubtedly talented and well-meaning was only aiding the poisons path. Perhaps you can ensure she sticks to bodies already dead in the future.”

Andrew doesn’t question how Bane knows who Izzy is, or what her job is.

He knows how.

All he can do is nod his understanding and compliance.

Andrew doesn’t dare do anything else.

He stands there for two hours.

Mostly he stays still and watches in silence but sometimes he’s asked questions he won’t risk leaving unanswered.

Bane is methodical and precise and he’s furious.

Oh he touches Alec with nothing but gentleness.

Bane’s hands and magic are a covetous embrace and while nephilim are hardly shy, Andrew feels like he’s intruding on something sacred between the two.

But Bane’s also angry.

Andrew can feel it in the air.

It’s in the magic around him, that Bane is wielding to effortlessly heal Andrew’s Commander.

Andrew knows for a fact that if anyone tried to interrupt Bane right now, the warlock would kill them and damn the consequences.

It’s what keeps his back so that he can keep an eye on both Bane and the shattered door but warded doorway.

This is something he can do.

So Andrew makes sure that he will be the first to intercept any shadowhunters who might possibly be able to come through the door.

Just to be safe.

—

Magnus works with a fervor that he knows has him wasting magic, but he doesn’t care.

Why would he care when he can replenish his magic with rest but nothing will return Alexander to him should his shadowhunter slip beyond the veil.

It’s with urgency that his magic heals and restores and cleanses where the poison has ravaged Alexander’s body. His internal organs are a mess and Magnus knows that even with all the healing he’s doing, that Magnus is going to want Catarina to look over his work.

Alexander makes a soft noise.

A hoarse whimper of pain and it breaks Magnus heart even as he soothes magick across Alexander’s raw lips and soothes his sore throat with a summoned potion.

This should never have happened.

It’s the only consistently coherent thought currently going through Magnus’ head.

Magnus shouldn’t have found out through a rambling, incoherent letter. Especially not an entire day after the fact.

“As head of security, I’m sure you’ll need verification from your Commander.” He tells Underhill absently, “however once you have it—” because he will. Alexander will give it to him instantly, “from now on, anytime your Commander is hurt. I am to be informed first.”

There’s silence and Magnus wonders if he’ll have to make himself clear and then Underhill speaks.

“After verification from the Commander that it’s what he wants, I’ll make sure that every single medic and hunter of rank understands.”

Magnus allows the hesitation, it demonstrates loyalty to his heart after all.

“Then leave. You can tell them all that he’s out of danger now.” Magnus can’t help how his fingers trail over Alexander’s cheek adoringly.

“Izzy will want to see him.”

Magnus blinks, honestly surprised and he can’t help the casually cruel smile that crosses his lips.

“No one will be coming into this room without my permission until he wakes.” Magnus doesn’t care if it seems unreasonable.

Alexander is his.

While the proof of that is circumspect at the moment, Magnus also knows he has the upper hand.

“And with his condition as delicate as it was, visitors aren’t recommended.” Magnus smirks, something dangerous in the corners of his mouth and the gleam of his eyes.

Magnus paramour lay dying for over a day before Magnus even knew.

Hours of agony made worse by antidotes Magnus would have known couldn’t work. Thousands of moments slipping away, the precious life of Alexander’s fading to almost nothing before Magnus could come to his aid.

Magnus has barely managed to tolerate Underhill’s presence and even that was only out of necessity.

The moment Alexander can open his eyes, can speak and agree and give his hunters no reason to wage a war they won’t win, Magnus is taking him away.

Somewhere he can safely heal.

Not here, where Magnus can’t leave the heart of himself unprotected.

#lumine writes #writing wednesday #writing wednesdays #magnus bane #alec lightwood #malec #shadowhunters #pandora's box

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