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Chapter Text

The first time Rafael saw a Phoenix he was walking through the shadow market holding his bapak hand.

Going to the market had always been one of his favorite activities and, given his good behavior and the fact that he had been in charge of washing the dishes all week, he asked for a night stroll through the witch shops in the New York market as a reward, although his favorite in the whole world was still the one in Cairo.

He greatly regretted having to grow up on nights like this. In less than a year he would turn twelve and would have to receive his first mark, being officially recognizable as a shadowhunter and, therefore, marking a dividing line between himself and that wonderful world that the downworlders had built far from the eyes of the Clave.

He had planned to make marks only where they could not be seen, and to cover the vision rune he had bought in advance some black gloves that he had been using uncomfortably for the last four months so as not to raise suspicions by using them since the day of the ceremony of his first rune. However, his tutor, and aunt, Isabell Lovelace had recently taught him that where the mark was placed also had to do with how effective it would be on him, so his plan was going a little overboard.

Would it be suicide to wear a swaeater in the summer?

Of course it was. His bapak would never allow him to wear a turtleneck in the middle of 2018. He had to keep considering options.

Rafa was in the midst of his creative process when they came across Leo's pet stand, a big, fat guy with a lion's mane that accentuated the irony of his name, although when the boy met him he assured him flatly that his choice was a coincidence.

The counter that separated the shop from the street was full of all kinds of interesting trinkets, Komodo dragon teeth, bottled and labeled snake venom, rattlesnake tails, deer skin, feathers from different birds of all sizes and colors. Rafa couldn't help but take a small souvenir for himself with a quick movement of his hand while the adults were too busy talking about rumors about the war.

In the cages at the top of the stand he saw some pixies that tried to knock their iron cages to the ground with the movement of their wings, flying back and forth at full speed, and although he was tempted to free them, the incident from last time had taught him his lesson. Except for them, the rest of the animals were unmoored, probably tied to the spot by a spell that didn’t seem to bother them.

A Cerberus cub was playing tug at what he hoped was a toy leg of some tall herbivore, perhaps a satyr with very bad luck at worst. Next to him a shadow cat was asleep, rare and expensive, his brother had asked for one for Christmas for three Christmases in a row; he quickly took out his phone and sent him a picture. Rafael still didn’t understand how it was possible that Max didn’t enjoy accompanying them to the market.

Finally, among the snakes that frolicked in the branches of some shrunken trees, there was a sleeping orange bird, with a bright reddish crest and a long quetzal-like tail resting like a blaze of yellow feathers.

“Bapak,” Rafael tried to whisper so as not to wake the daytime creatures. And so as not to be the next toy for the three-headed dog, who in his first six months was already the size of a large bull. “What kind of bird is that?” 

“It’s a phoenix.” Magnus said calmly. “And no, you can’t have a phoenix.”

Then he turned on his heels after bidding his friend a polite farewell and began walking towards a werewolf’s stand that sold gold jewelry supposedly consecrated to the moon, as if he hadn’t just broken the boy’s heart into a thousand pieces. Rafa hurried to catch up his bapak.

Magnus was a great father, the best ever, but he usually forgot that his legs were long for an eleven-year-old boy and Rafael had to jog behind him to keep up. And, by the looks of things, it would have to be that way for the rest of his life, he was losing hope that his teenage growth spurt would be anything impressive. As long as it wasn’t sadly disappointing, that was enough.

“Why not?” He croaked. His voice had started to change a few weeks ago, he hated it. His arguments were losing seriousness.

“Because: One, you are incapable of taking care of even yourself. Two, we don’t have room for two cats, a dog, a lizard, and now a bird with a wingspan of almost three meters…”

“Three meters? Wow, it didn’t look that big, now I want it more.” Rafael’s eyes sparkled with excitement.

“That’s still a chick, but it will grow. And third, those things set themselves on fire as soon as they reach adulthood because yes, because no, and because maybe.” Magnus tried not to say it in a scolding tone, it didn’t come out well at all. “So, you can’t have the bird.”

“What if we move to a bigger house? Can I have it?”

“We’re not moving just because you want a phoenix, Rafa.” His bapak spoke between laughs, even though he was quite serious. It bothered him how often people laughed at things he said seriously, he would have to keep practicing his authoritative tone. But not with Magnus, definitely not with him.

“What if I have it somewhere else?”

“So, what do you want it for?” The warlock was somewhat disinterestedly trying on some rings at the werewolf girl’s stand, not paying much attention to her, used to saying no to his children without hesitation. It was his hobby. “You wouldn’t see it or play with it. The poor animal would spend all its time alone.”

“That’s what you said about Julian, and now he’s very happy!” He protested.

“Julian is now Ty’s, visiting him once a year doesn’t make the boa yours. And you named it after his brother. You’re lucky he has a good sense of humor.” Although he tried to be serious, his father couldn’t hide the laughter that the name of his former pet snake caused him.

“It reminded me of him. They had the same eye color. And both scared me a little at first…”

Magnus simply bought all the rings he had tried on, because apparently adults can make impulse purchases, but children can’t, and he kept walking without checking if Rafa was following him.

He knew what that meant, end of topic. If he insisted any longer, he would end up being sent straight to his room in a portal and banned from the shadow market for at least the next six months, and he couldn’t afford that luxury. He had to get the bird.

That night Rafael didn’t sleep a wink, thinking of a way to get to the Phoenix. According to the sign in the store it was priced at three thousand dollars, and he had the impression that in the Darth Vader piggy bank his Uncle Simon had given him he wouldn’t have even a fifth of everything he needed to get the bird. Not to mention the truly complicated factors of the plan: Going to the shadow market and convincing Leo not to call his parents, which would probably cost him some extra dollars, and then hiding the bird in a spacious, little-frequented place, but one that he could go to regularly enough to visit and feed it. What did Phoenixes eat?

Well, that was a problem for Rafa in the future.

Surrendering to the call of his heart, Rafael jumped out of bed and snuck into his younger brother’s room. They were at most two years apart in age and most of the time they got along especially well, more when it came to getting into trouble together.

“Max,” Rafa grabbed his brother by the shoulder and shook him just enough to wake him up. The light from his bearded dragon, Abi’s, greenhouse illuminated the entire room, his cat Mila was half asleep on a chair next to the bed looking at him with judgmental eyes, as if she knew what they were about to do. “Wake up, I have a plan. Do you want a phoenix? If you don’t wake up, you can’t help me choose the name.”

“Female or male?” His voice sounded sleepy, and his eyes were half closed, but he was already returning to the world of the living.

“What does it matter? Don’t be a misogynist.”

Max roared as a dragon lightly before taking a deep breath and answering, “Females lay an egg every six months, even if it’s not fertilized, which you can use in some pretty interesting potions. If you’re going to get me in trouble I want eggs, otherwise let me sleep.” And with that he curled up in his cars blankets again.

“And how am I supposed to know if it’s male or female? I didn’t ask for its birth certificate, it’s a bird.” I tried not to sound desperate; I was honestly failing at it.

“Did you see it?” Max was losing the battle against sleep.

“Yes… Today, at the market. With bapak.”

“Did it have a yellow or red tail?” He was sounding awake again, though still not awake enough. Little manipulator.

“Yellow… Unless that makes it male, in which case it’s red.”

“Yellow is female, what can I do for you?”

Max sat up in his bed with an agility strange for a warlock, he had dedicated himself to training as much as a shadowhunter, even Rafael could risk saying that much more than most of the nephilim, and the older he got the more recognizable the results of his perseverance were.

Rafael, for his part, was much more interested in doing things like having a phoenix, and that was reflected in his battle style and qualifications. The price of being incredible.

“They don't accept enchanted money in the market, and the bird costs three thousand greens, so it occurs to me that perhaps a certain talented warlock I know could make some potions and enchantments and a certain trickster nephilim could sell them to some fairies who are quite interested in changing shape.” The plan was solid.

Alec had received reports of fairies taking the form of servants, bears and swans recently, and although he was not very clear about what it meant for them to do so during mating season and why they were not allowed, Rafael saw a business opportunity that was without competition in sight.

“What if they discover us?” Max’s voice was genuinely terrified, which was no small thing, both would be risking a sanction from the Clave, the spiral labyrinth and, worst of all, their parents. But, if everything went according to plan, they could have a beautiful phoenix just for them.

“We die,” Rafa didn’t want to be dramatic, but to be honest it didn’t seem like an exaggeration, whatever the adults decided to do to him would be pretty close to that “but, if we succeed, think of everything you could do. Phoenix eggs, feathers, flames, tears or whatever can be done with what she does. Without hurting her, of course.”

Max stood for a moment looking at his lizard’s terrarium, then at Mila, thinking about his own pros and cons of the plan. “An what do you want her for?”

It was a good question, his brother was right. Rafa want it mostly because it was orange, however, that didn't sound like a good enough answer to say out loud.

“I want to teach her tricks.” He lied, although saying it sounded kind of cool. Maybe he would. A phoenix playing dead? It's a great plan.

“That's stupid,” Max said seriously, “I'm in. How do we sell the potions to the fairies?”

“Make me a potion too, so I look like an adult. I'll sell it to them saying it was me.” If it worked for Huey, Dewey and Louie forming a tower of ducklings to pretend to be an adult duck, he figured it couldn't be that hard. “We can sell them at an absurd price, no one else would dare make potions against dad's official statement.”

“Did dad make a statement...?” Max now looked horrified, his eyes widened and he suddenly paled, as if he had already done everything he had thought of.

“A small one, what does it matter? They won’t catch us.” He didn’t think he was right in the least, he just hoped they would be discovered in time enough to think of a less stupid alibi than buying a pet because it shined pretty.

“Be thankful I’m curious, tomorrow in class I’ll ask uncle Ragnor how to do the positions and I’ll start working on it. If I need materials it will take me longer because I’ll have to steal them gradually so bapak doesn’t notice.” Max was great, warlocks grew twice as fast as nephilim children and most of the time he behaved like a teenager much more than a nine-year-old. If it weren’t for his adorable squirrel cheeks Rafa could swear he was talking to an older boy.

Making the deal to sell the potions was suspiciously easy. Max was good, terrifyingly good and evil, he made him a position to look like a werewolf of about forty years, with several terrifying scars and a deep voice; he even prepared an emergency potion in case he had to take the form of a wolf, although he recommended him not to use it, and he kept the small bottle jealously hidden in his pants pocket. Thanks to the angel the fairies did not ask many questions about why a son of the moon was selling products of the children of Lilith, they wanted their potions, and Rafael would give them to them for twice what was needed to buy the bird.

They had stolen a change of clothes from Aunt Clary's father, Luke, on a quick visit they managed to make to his house under the excuse that Max wanted to eat Jocelyn's famous lasagna recipe, to have a dog scent that apparently Camila's shampoo, his father's border collie, had not managed to give Rafa on its first attempt.

On the agreed date Rafael had sneaked out the window of the guest room down the fire escape to go to Central Park. Magnus usually kept the guards on so no one could enter the house, he didn't imagine that his children would start running away through the window before they turned 16 and Rafa was a little offended that Magnus underestimated him like that. He ordered an Uber there and back, paid in cash with money from both of their piggy banks, and a quick exchange of information with the fairies about their peculiar requests allowed Max to work on the potions over the course of the week.

They turned out to be much simpler than they had thought, Rafa took it upon himself to keep his parents busy getting into every mess he could think of while his little brother brewed potions without resting in his room. All in the name of adventure.

In the end, the boys managed to collect all the money. Was it really that easy to make money? By this moment all what Rafael needs to do was wait patiently for the waters at home to calm down enough for his parents to lower their guard again and trust enough to let them spend the night with his uncles at the institute.

It was the final phase of his plan; he needed to quickly escape to the market, buy the bird, put it in the greenhouse and get into bed as if nothing had happened. He had to remember to ask what she was eating, he couldn't forget to ask what she was eating, otherwise the poor creature would end up eating chocolate cereal for dinner for the rest of its miserable days.

The day finally arrived. The Lightwood-Bane siblings packed their backpacks with a couple of changes of clothes and said goodbye to their parents at the door of the institute, where their red-haired aunt greeted them with a smile. Their parents always seemed happy to leave them at one of their uncles' houses, they didn't understand the excitement of getting rid of them, they almost always behaved well at night. At least that they knew about.

During the afternoon they dedicated themselves to playing cards and some board games, Rafa explained his sudden interest in botany as one of his new special interests, as his psychologist called them, and he talked about the plants in the greenhouse with his uncle for a few hours. Although it was just an excuse to visit the place, the truth is that the subject was not so bad. There was a flower that opened at midnight and in a few months autumn would arrive and the trees in the greenhouse, with non-evergreen leaves, would begin to change color and fall to the ground. That sounded especially interesting.

Apparently, there were also animals in the little Eden on the top floor, to maintain a self-sustaining cycle. Some bats, a wild cat native to Idris that slept most of the day and was especially shy, and a huge number of insects. Could his phoenix hunt insects? That could be a problem.

Around three in the night the only person awake at the institute was probably his uncle Simon, who would soon be out on patrol, so Rafa stayed glued to the window waiting to see him go down the street to grab his things and go down the stairs at full speed and stealth. He didn't want to risk the loud elevator waking his uncles.

The Uber dropped him off right at the east entrance of the market, it was his first time walking alone in a place like this since he had been adopted, but the sound of voices in the distance, the music of the fairies, and the delicious smell of Salvadoran food from Mrs. Rodriguez's stand made him take a breath of air before starting to walk. After all, even if that didn't like him very much, he was the son of the Consul and the great warlock of Brooklyn, no one was stupid enough to hurt him.

He spotted Leo in the distance. The Cerberus cub was not at the entrance and that made him feel a hollow in the middle of his stomach, what if all his effort had been for nothing? Maybe his phoenix was already being the happy bird of another child with excellent ornithological tastes, and he was wasting his time walking fearfully towards the shop.

He hurried to the warlock’s stand, almost skidding through the puddles that still wet the ground after the afternoon rain. Leo looked at him strangely, raised his eyes lazily searching for one of his parents. Then, he looked at the little boy who had sneaked into his shop and looked at the phoenix stupidly. “I'll buy you the bird,” Rafael said as firmly as he could, “and I'll give you the same amount if you don't tell my parents that I came.”

The warlock didn't know what to say, or what to think. It was common knowledge in the shadow world that Bane's little nephilim was a troublemaker, but he never imagined he could disobey his parents like this from such a young age. He had potential, he would make a mental note about it.

“And why would I get in trouble with the Clave, especially with your daddy, just for six thousand dollars?” Leo's voice was amused. Rafael was starting to consider kicking him in the calf, just for the pleasure of the surprise factor. He didn't think he was actually capable of causing the slightest damage.

“There won't be any problems, if they find out I'll say I stole it.” The boy seemed sure of his words.

“The little son of the angel, stealing from me?” Leo's laughter was cut off when Rafael pulled out of his pocket one of the Komodo dragon fangs he had taken on the last visit he made to the market with his bapak. The boy quickly stuffed it into his jacket pocket before I could snatch it from his hand.

“You’ll believe me. I could steal it if I wanted to, but I’m not that kind of person.” There was fierceness and determination in the boy’s eyes, he would have his damn bird no matter what. Even if he had to snatch it from Leo’s ugly and huge hands.

“Okay, angel boy. But if your parents find out, I’ll personally make sure you regret stealing from me and involving me in your stupidities.” He turned around and snapped his fingers, a spacious cage appeared surrounding the bird in the blink of an eye, she seemed unfazed. “Don’t think I’ll stop because you’re a dwarf.”

“Good luck with that.” He said with much more conviction than he had, Rafael learned to do that from his bapak. He pulled out the bills and watched Leo count them methodically, with some poorly concealed surprise, once the accounts were clear he handed him the bird and the shadowhunter headed towards the east entrance.

The boy's Uber was two minutes away and he was about a mile from the entrance when he realized his mistake, turned on his own axis and started walking back on his steps. He sighed loudly as he did so, he didn't even bother anymore, he was used to it.

Leo's face was a poem when he saw his little black eyes peeking over the counter again. "What do you want?" He said in a feline growl, Rafael was also used to that kind of hissing.

"What do you feed her?" Rafa said in a pitiful sigh, while he wrote a message to the driver asking him to wait for him a few minutes.

"It's a bird, bird food." Leo spoke as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. How the hell would he know what a bird eats?

Without saying anything else he nodded and started walking back to school, he imagined that with some internet photos for reference Max could conjure up some bird food to feed his new pet. Now he just wanted to get into bed.

Two months had passed without any major problems. The fairies who bought the potions had been arrested on charges that his dad wouldn't explain to him and that, honestly, he didn't care about. He felt a little guilty, but when he went to play with his bird after classes with Aunt Isabelle, it went away.

She hadn't laid a single egg yet, but Max was sure she was a female, and from what he'd seen in her nest she hadn't tried to eat anything other than some apples from the trees, so the critters in the place were safe. The wild cat, for his part, did try to hunt Felicia, the horrible name Max chose for his poor bird, but she fought back fiercely and had narrowly won. Since then, they had been in a cold war, each in a different corner of the greenhouse.

She was growing quickly, disturbingly fast, four inches a week and her feathers were scattered all over the place because she was molting. Fortunately, autumn was coming, and they were blending in with the fallen leaves on the ground.

The plan, in his opinion, had been a sure victory. He had never executed a project with such a level of detail and perfection, and he felt proud to think that it was due to the experience he was gaining over the years. He was looking forward to being an adult and being able to tell his parents about this great feat, if it weren't for the fact that his fatherly duty was to prevent him from breaking laws, he was sure they would find it a great story.

That was how one afternoon Rafael found himself ignoring his aunt in math class while praising himself when he heard the explosion. He had never wanted to be under demonic attack so much as that afternoon.

All the adults immediately took their weapons and their uniforms, his aunt took him by the arm and ran with him to the library, the safe area for children, where she met a pale Maxwell holding Magnus' hand. They both knew what, or rather, who had caused the explosion.

“We are under attack; I can’t believe they would do something as low as bomb an institute with children inside.” Magnus’ voice was firm, there were people running through the halls, some going upstairs to put out the fire and others evacuating the children to the library or rushing with their weapons to the main entrance to prepare for battle.

His bapak was conjuring a portal for the children to cross into a safe zone. This was getting out of hand.

Rafael exchanged a look with his brother, both knowing they should confess before a war started on the part of their parents. It would look very bad if the New York Institute faked a bombing to start a war that had been brewing for months. Goodbye to his Xbox, and not to mention the possibility of going to see the premiere of Bohemian Rhapsody with his uncle Simon. He would be lucky if he wasn’t even forbidden to sleep in his own room unsupervised for the next ten years.

“Boys, everything will be okay,” Magnus said in a voice as self-assured as he could. “I’ll see you at home. I love you.”

“It was us.” Max said in a whisper. Nothing to do, if the ship sinks it will sink with the crew.

“Yes, it was us.” Rafa said, immediately regretting it.

“You bombed the institute?” His bapak was between surprised and incredulous, however, coming from the two of them anything was possible. “Why?”

“It’s not a bomb, it was Felicia.” Max, always the bravest of the two when it came to confronting the warlock, said it loud and clear without looking up from the ground. He was sweating. “She’s our phoenix.”

Magnus’ face changed from disbelief to complete fury. He closed the portal of applause without even turning to look at it, probably for the dramatic effect of the scene, and stared at them waiting for an explanation without having to ask for it.

“It’s just that…” Rafael ventured. “She’s very pretty. I taught her some tricks… We didn’t think she was going to blow up the whole top floor…”

Without saying a word, Magnus ran at full speed to the top floor to help the shadow hunters. A few days later, the children would discover that, unfortunately for them, the phoenix fire can only be extinguished with water from Lake Lyn, Ness and Atitlan.

The punishment was not as bad as they expected. Max was sure that they had surpassed their parents’ capacity for surprise and despite their attempts to make them confess, neither of them explained where they had gotten the money or the bird. Leo denied knowing anything about it and cleverly said that a few weeks before Rafael began visiting the greenhouse, a thief had broken into his shop and stolen some animals. In the end, the Consul and the warlock assumed that they had gotten the bird from a smuggler who sold it at a bargain price, not suspecting that the children had collected the full amount to buy the bird themselves and the seller’s silence.

Fortunately, the cat, the bats, and the other animals in the greenhouse were protected by an ancient enchantment placed on them by a Scottish wizard several centuries ago, so, apart from the fright of their lives, no one was hurt. Except for Felicia, who, turned to ashes, ended up being reborn as a teenage bird in Uncle Ragnor Fell's house. Max's tutor happily agreed to take the phoenix to Idris, apparently it was Felicia's homeland, and now there was an ocean of distance between the children and their precious bird that laid eggs with astonishing frequency.

Both of them lost the right to video games for almost six months, neither of them objected, they had to take boring classes about the magical world and its exotic animals that Uncle Ragnor personally made torturously long, slow, and uncomfortable by explaining something about mating and the creation of babies. Rafael didn't want to think about that anymore. Magnus placed strict guards at the entrances and exits of the apartment, he could detect even the smallest attempt at magic on Max's part and they checked both their backpacks when entering and leaving each place.

They decided not to tell the council of witches anything, fortunately for Max, since buying a smuggled bird is not illegal and blowing up an institute, if it is your own house and your family's, apparently neither. But both he and his brother dedicated the afternoons of the entire following year in the greenhouse, taking care of the plants, feeding the animals that waited for their home to grow again and being challenged by their uncles in turns.

The only treasure he had from that whole fruitless odyssey was the komodo dragon fang that had never returned to Leo's shop, so he made sure to always carry it in his pocket on behalf of Felicia. His beautiful phoenix that was now doing tricks in another man's house.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Tavvy would officially move to New York next year, and considering there were only two weeks of summer left, it didn't seem like that long. Both Rafael and Max received a long lecture about the dangers of dealing with arms dealers, a detailed tour of the City of bones, and a night in a cell, together with their favorite stuffed animals, to reflect on whether they truly wanted to pursue a criminal path.

Their dad seemed genuinely concerned about the situation; Alec was seeing his psychologist twice a week, which was a bad sign considering Rafael was currently the only trigger for his anxiety.

The atmosphere in the house was tense, more than usual. Although Max spoke calmly with his parents, shared videos and memes on the family group, and sent each other photos of their pets in different positions, Rafael felt suffocated in his own home. His parents seemed stupidly overprotective and distrustful, but it was his own fault for being as impulsive as he'd always been.

He drowned in words he didn't say, in questions he didn't know how to ask. The mirror in his room became so uncomfortable to look at that he had to give it to Max so Mila could admire herself in it.

Besides, Rafa had destroyed the trust of everyone he cared about, and for the first time in his life, this was something that worried him. It seemed that adolescence was indeed wreaking havoc on his mind, and he didn't know how to feel about it.

When he was a child, most adults laughed at his antics, recounted with joy how he would sneak into the kitchen to steal coffee, and his mythomaniac actions were seen as a legacy of the past that would disappear. He had invested dozens of hours in appointments with psychologists, taking medication, seeing psychiatrists, and doing exercises at home to reduce the symptoms of his ADHD. But it was impossible; his mind alone wouldn't work. He was infinitely happy doing meaningless things, and what was truly important was insignificant to him.

Added to this, his body felt strange, life felt different. Hair was growing in awkward places, and his voice trilled like a little bird's while roaring like a lion's. He hated being a lion, also a bird, he hated everything lately. He hated having hair on his face and adults referring to him as "a little man." He hated every second of school, where girls hung around each other and he had no choice but to eat with the boys, always talking about someone else's ass.

He was tired of doing endless homework and screwing up every single thing he tried. It seemed like no matter what he did or said, his parents were always disappointed in him.

Plus, he smelled awful, it does not care how much stuff he put on to avoid it. He was dizzy with himself, and his classmates stank even more.

The final straw came in that night. Ty uploaded a beautiful photo of Irene, his lynx, being pet by his left hand, adorned with a beautiful mundane-style engagement ring, but with the Herondale family herons engraved on it. He was getting married, any day now. Rafa knew his chances with the dark-haired man were nil. He saw Ty once or twice a year, they talked about irrelevant topics, and Ty was easily ten years older than he is.

But nothing has been going right lately. He was going to fail English, he had a nasty pimple on his left cheek, he'd spilled his coffee that morning, and now his crush was getting married. It seemed like the end of the world. It was the end of his world.

He got out of bed without thinking too much about what he was doing. Most of the decisions he made in his life were a domino effect of impulses anyway. He didn't see why he shouldn't follow this one. He ran to his parents' room and stared at the door for a few minutes. He could hear their deep breathing as they slept on the other side of the wall.

He knocked on the door. It took his dad less time to open it than it took Rafa to lower his hand back. Dad was disheveled, dressed only in his underwear, the way he usually slept. Dark marks decorated his skin, striking. Every line looked like home, he smelled like home, and he couldn't help but feel that the only thing that made sense in this life was for his father to jump out of bed to make sure he was okay.

He wasn't okay.

Rafael couldn't hold back the tears any longer. Slowly, his father tucked him into bed. He didn't need to turn on any of the lights because they always slept with one on to avoid complete darkness. Without being able to do much else, Rafael wept profusely until he lost the strength to do so, his bapak stroking his hair while his dad hugged him.

“Bebé, ¿Qué pasa?” Magnus's voice was tender. He had waited until Rafael's hiccups had ended and he had blown his nose before asking.

"It's stupid."

"That doesn't matter. You can tell us." His father's ocean-blue eyes were fixed on Rafa; it felt genuine. He wasn't upset, or like the face he made while thinking about how to respond before Rafael even began to speak. It was the face he made when someone in trouble came knocking on his apartment door, and the Consul answered the call of those most in need, the guardian of the unprotected.

"Ty's getting married." Rafa held the handkerchief in his hands without taking his eyes off the sheets. Usually, he doesn't talk about his feelings with them, much less his feelings for other people. To start with his resentment for a guy who didn't even have his number saved in his phone was pathetic.

"Tiberius Blackthorn?" Magnus was genuinely surprised. “I didn't know you cared about him like that... Or at all, actually.

“Well, yes, and he's going to marry the blond charlatan.” Warm tears heated his cheeks. Rafa’s eyes hurt from crying so much. “He'll be happy. Infinitely happy. And I'm a horrible person who can't enjoy other people's happiness.”

Again, he burst into tears, this time a little more bitter, with a broader meaning. Rafael couldn't stop the words, though he tried. His wails were like howls in his worried parents' arms. “Because I can't be happy. You don't trust me, and you're right not to. I'm bad. I don't know how to do things right. I have one stupid idea after the next, and I'll end up in a stone prison if something doesn't kill me first. I make you worry for me, and my friends too. Max is afraid of having to take care of me forever, he didn’t say it but I can see it in his face. Younger siblings shouldn't take care of older ones, but that's the way it works in us. Because I can't. I don't know how to do it any differently.” He gasped for air. Rafael had to admit he didn't know what he thought of himself before he said it, but the more he processed it, the more his words made sense, at least for his heart. He took a deep breath before continuing. “I just want to be normal. I want to be able to be in class without being bored. Well, not without being bored, but without thinking that setting off the fire alarm is a phenomenal idea to stop the algebra teacher from monologuing. I want to go out and have friends, like some guy in my class, and cry because he has a girlfriend, not because he's marrying a goddamn Herondale! Who can fight that? No one can fight a Herondale!”

His dad tried to take a breath to interrupt him, but his bapak stopped him with a not-so-subtle wave of his hand. The rant continued.

“This is awful. I don't like growing up. I feel sick, my legs hurt. My voice changes. Some days I don't care and I'm comfortable with the other boys doing the same things, but other days, when I'm with my girl-friends, I really want to be one of them and never look in the mirror again. I hate the mirror. I hate that mirrors exist.” It was true. I hadn't put it into words out loud before, but it was true. "I want to be good. But I can't even be a good man; I don't know how to be one. I don't know how to be a student, a man, a son, a brother, a friend. I don't even know if I'm gay or bisexual or some strange mix that goes with the wind. I might never feel anything for anyone other than Ty, and he's getting married."

Rafael doesn't remember crying so much, but at some point during the night his bapak must have put a calming spell on him because he didn't know when he fell asleep. He only remembered seeing the sun peeking through the window, more and more words getting out of his mouth, and shivering as if it were the cruelest winter night.

He woke up late in the morning, next to both of them, his face swollen and his hands cracked from digging his nails in too hard. He hadn't had a meltdown like that since he was five, and he didn't miss it.

"Good morning starshine," his bapak arranged the pillows behind him so he could sit up. "How was that power nap?"

"You knocked me out," he exclaimed indignantly.

Magnus was clearly offended. "Of course not, you fell asleep on your own. Right, Alec?"

"Yeah, you cried for like three hours and then passed out." His dad was casually scrolling through his Instagram feed. “We took it as a sign it was time to sleep.”

“Oh, sorry.” Rafa sat up in bed, still a little disoriented. He was dizzy and very tired, as if he'd been running all night.

“Hey, none of that.” Magnus cupped his face tightly to kiss the top of his head. “Thanks for trusting us with how you felt. We had no idea you were going through so much on your own.”
With the early morning light, the terrible post-crying migraine, and the anxiety of having said a little too much in the unremembered hours of the previous night, he had no desire to continue that conversation. “Thanks, but it's not that bad. I think I'm fine now.”

“We don't want to force you to talk about something you're not comfortable with, Rafa, but Magnus and I have some ideas that might make you feel better.” His dad put the phone on the nightstand and handed him the mug that was on it. Ever since he was a kid, Rafael liked to drink the last sips of Alec's coffee when it was cold. He always remembered to save it for him.

"Desembuchen"

"We can't stop Ty from, well, going through with his marriage to Kit." His bapak sounded genuinely sad as he said it, as if he'd spent many hours in vain trying to find a solution. "The first broken heart is a part of life. There's not much we can do except support you and promise to be here."

"And of course we won't go to the wedding," the blue-eyed man said quickly, "even if we're invited. We'll come up with some excuse. We're sympathetic to you and what you're feeling."

A smile spread across Rafael's lips. While it didn't change anything, it was nice not to be alone. His parents were genuinely concerned about him and how he felt. They never mentioned his emotions as being childish or immature, as he had hoped they would. Rafa was grateful that they took him seriously.

“About trust, you’re right, honey. We’ve become very strict. It’s not fair to you guys that you can’t use your own magic or leave the house without us immediately questioning your actions.” A sigh escaped Alec’s mouth. “But we’re genuinely concerned about your potential for getting into trouble. I don’t think you’re bad kids; on the contrary, I think you’re too good. You just don’t know how to use all that goodness in the right way yet.”

“Maybe if you let us support your ideas,” Magnus seconded, “instead of jumping into the void with the first thing that comes to mind, we could help you to think of a slightly less illegal way of doing it.”

“Or create new laws.” His father's voice was filled with—was it pride? “You guys can come up with good ideas. Max told me what you did with the weapons money. I think it's incredible. It's something I'd like to see implemented in the future in all countries that have similar foundations and still have silver weapons.”

“Don't you think I'm a communist?” Rafael was genuinely confused.

“More of an anarchist, but you're much more complex than that, Rafael. You're a revolutionary.” The warlock took his hand. “Since we met you, you've broken every existing rule; you decided to do things differently before you even were born. The world needs more minds like yours willing to have the courage to think out loud. Please don't deprive us of the privilege of listening to you.”

“I thought you were sick of me.” The tears were there again; his face would never go down at this rate. “I figured I was talking too much, taking up too much space, too much energy… Just… I know I'm too much. Honestly, I want—I don't want to be that much.” And he doesn’t want to be a nepobaby, but it was a talk for a different crisis topic.

“We could never get tired of you.” Alec held his son's forehead against his own. Their relationship had always been strained, but Rafael had never doubted that dad loved him with all his soul. “You're enough for me. You've never seemed too much, nor too little.”
Rafael let his dad hug him, even though he wasn't sure what to do with his hands or how to avoid getting snot on his shoulder. The boy let time pass until the lump in his throat subsided and he returned to his place between them.

“There's one more thing.” Magnus got out of bed to go look for a large box in his closet. It was shaped like a medium-sized, square handbag made of purple leather, Rafael’s favorite color. Bapak opened it with masterful skill; inside were dozens of cosmetics. “Makeup doesn’t change who we are, nor does it define in the slightest whether we’re male or female. But sometimes it gives us a little push toward what makes us feel most comfortable. If you want, I can teach you how to use it. We can also find clothes that are more neutral or feminine, and you can wear it whenever you feel the day is right for a little extra sparkle.”

“I don’t know if I really want to be THAT feminine… Not always.” Rafa was genuinely confused. He knew there were men who wore makeup, like his bapak, and trans women who, regardless of makeup, were girls. But jumping from one place to another depending on the day and the moment was as new as almost everything he was feeling. If you were one thing, that was it, right? 
And he wasn’t ready to be nothing and everything at the same time.

“There’s not just one way to express gender, honey.” Alec was standing up, probably ready to start his day with some incredible physical routine that tragically involved Rafa.

“There are gender fluid people, who move across the gender spectrum over time. Sometimes throughout the day or over years.” Magnus said this, holding out one of the lipsticks for him to see. It was truly beautiful, but he hadn’t tried to wear makeup in over seven years, roughly since he stopped playing with his bapak’s stuff. “The important thing is to be happy, not to choose. Whatever makes you feel comfortable is the right answer. We’ll figure out everything else along the way.”

Rafael decided the most mature way to deal with all this new information, and overwhelming parental love, was to keep crying.

Chapter Text

The pandemic sucked. Classes were virtual and incredibly boring, everything was closed, and most of his time was spent staring at the wall, seriously considering running into it for something to entertain himself with. He'd tried every hobby, from teaching Max's lizard how to use costumes to record TikToks to learning how to dance and do drag queen makeup (which he was also terrible at, but kept him entertained enough). Rafael had spent some time reflecting on his identity and who he wanted to be in the present and future. But he'd decided it was a thought he wanted to reserve for when people weren't dying around him.

All of that was before he had to be part of the hell that was happening outside.

He understood it was a difficult time for ordinary humans, but Shadowhunters have immune systems strengthened by angel blood, warlocks used every spell and potion in their possession to avoid the hassle of getting sick, werewolves don't even realize a disease is in their bodies most of the time as long as they were healthy beforehand, and vampires... Well, they were dead anyway. The fairies, on the other hand, were extremely sensitive to deadly viruses and bacteria due to their contact with nature, so they decided to close the entrances to the magical world while things cleared up on this side. This made their June afternoons even more boring without any magical gossip to snoop around in their father's office.

However, the Shadowhunters were having an absurd influx of demons to attend to, all problematically trusting and well-fed. They were finding every vulnerable sick person, every house with poor locks and dying patients, taking advantage of every unfortunate person who didn't find shelter in time before nightfall. With no other humans, civilian or military, human bodies and souls were exposed to be devoured, used, and discarded. With so many losses, people didn't have time to search for the missing, didn't wonder why a body was gnawing, or performed autopsies to notice all the missing organs or the eggs accumulating in their throats and kidneys.

The bodies were discarded, cremated, dumped in mass graves… In the best-case scenario. Rafael had seen cases in Guatemala, Costa Rica, and Nicaragua where bodies lay in the streets, wrapped in sheets, with children crying from the windows and other adult humans too busy trying to save the sick who still had hope of breathing. 

Elias and his family were covered by the bapak's spells, as were all the other mortals who wished to take precautions and had approached the healer warlocks. It was a great time for the Lightwood-Bane family economy; his father worked double time and was in demand all over the world. His bapak made potions and rebuilt dying immune systems, even if only in exchange for a soup or a grateful smile, but it felt bitter that something like this was what put food on the table. Most of their money was being donated to causes focused on saving lives. Rafael decided to donate his part to a cat shelter in Peru that was taking in abandoned animals whose families could no longer financially support them.

“It’s a cycle,” Magnus had told him as he placed cold washcloths on the forehead of one of his patients, no more than seven years old. “Humans grow, get sick, die. Others are born, until they too get sick and die.” Rafael looked at the child intently, thinking that that orphan could very well have been him if his father hadn’t found him that afternoon years ago.

“It’s a cruel cycle,” was all he could manage to say in a sad croak. What good was angel blood if not everyone could have it? How can you live when death seems so real, and so unfair?

“It is…” His bapak spoke in a whisper, “but it’s also full of beautiful moments. We are more than our end, Rafa.” His eyes were full of love, tiredness, and a touch of nostalgia. “Don't let one bad season define who you will be for the rest of your life. Never allow death to take you before it has you.”

That night, Rafael didn't sleep. He monitored the boy's temperature and other signs until he passed away the next morning. His bapak disagreed with him being so close to dead, but his father insisted that keeping a Shadowhunter away from the wounded and sick was defeating the purpose of the Nephilim. That night, no one argued, even though the angel was often a source of constant debate in their home. There were only silent hugs and a few tears, a high fever and nighttime shivering. An anticipated mourning, a lost battle.

For several weeks, the living room and dining room of their apartment had become a first-line emergency room, where the youngest, most vulnerable, and poorest spent the night. For its part, the institute had used the money raised from the sale of all the building's silver to adapt the basements they'd previously used to host Downworlders for their meetings (they weren't necessary since Zoom existed anyway). Now they were highly trained clinics, with several Silent Brothers diligently training students of the Scalomancer and some volunteers from the Shadowhunter Academy in the healing arts in record time. Warlocks came and went to heal the sick. Vampires prepared the bodies of the dead in the morgue and delivered them to their families, ready for a holy burial. Some sick people, on their last breath, decided to rise from the earth as one of them on occasion. Uncle Jace often pretended he had to attend to something urgent upstairs so he could deny having seen a bite on his shift.

His aunt Isabel held the hands of the sick during the nights, and Clary taught watercolor painting techniques to those in the mood. Even Chairman Meow had been assigned to the pediatric ward to purr over the sad children.

Max and Rafael spent most of their time with Uncle Simon; being around sick humans and vampires biting necks gave him anxiety attacks. Rebecca, his sister, had bravely fought the virus but hadn't survived. She had been diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis a few years ago, and despite her bapak using all his magic to try to save her, she had died by the third month of the pandemic. Sometimes bodies just don't heal; magic isn't enough. Time isn't enough.

The silence was overwhelming, ever-present, even though there was never a pause in the day or night. Max and Rafael were assigned to the kitchen and were in charge of preparing all the sick people's meals during the day, along with their uncle and the occasional adult who joined them when there weren't many demons to hunt anywhere in the world. In a few weeks, Tavvy would join the army of cooks, and they would officially have a functional brain cell between the three of them. But until then, Blackthorn were dealing with a horde of slimy sea demons that, for the first time in centuries, were surfacing their tentacles.

Both he and his brother were too tired most of the time to think of any mischief. Their energy was spent in the kitchen or taking Greek lessons next to half-peeled potatoes. If he had to use his ingenuity, it was usually to care for the sick with the minimum amount of resources or to translate ancient documents in record time to recover knowledge that humanity thought had been lost since ancient Greece.

He was tired, defeated, but for the first time in his life, he didn't need medication to function, and he felt that life had meaning. He felt sad almost every night, but hope made him happy when some of the recovered patients were brought home to those who loved them. Maybe all his brain needed was to work full-time on something complicated. Maybe his mind was made for solving bigger problems than a few lines of Greek writing waiting to be translated.

Weeks turned into months, and before Rafael realized the passage of time, the hours were seeping off the walls like melted paint. It had been six months since the lockdown began, and Tavvy had joined the team as if he'd always been a Lightwood-Bane. Officially, he was under Uncle Jace's guardianship, but he spent so much time with the Dynamite brothers (as his family called them) that almost every night he slept in a bed of the boys' apartment.

The pandemic didn't lessen its intensity; when things were stable in New York, they would spiral out of control in Brazil; if everything was fine in Brazil, Thailand would suddenly plunge into crisis. Magnus would open portals through which he would pass for weeks on end; his father would come to sleep in the morning and disappear through the door before he could finish breakfast.

"Children in war must grow up fast," Tavvy said on one of those hot afternoons when his shirt stuck to the skin on his back. Rafael was making some drawings in his notebook to perfect his design for a motorless mobile bed. "But we're not in a war," Max answered rightly.

"We are, and we're losing." Rafael didn't consider the war a source of pride, as his father and all the men before him had. Wars were the failures of systems, the inability to realize in time that they were doing everything wrong. Without them realizing it, demons were slithering around every corner, found in every forest, thicket, and stream by the dozens and hundreds. Many Shadowhunters had died in the jaws of giant alligators, ten-meter-long spiders, and squids on the surface. Mark Blackthorn was seriously wounded in bed after the last attack on Los Angeles Institute.

They were being invaded from all fronts, attacked in their strengths and weaknesses. This was a war because they hadn't verified how many portals were open; we weren't ready for a world of locked-up humans and loose demons.

“And how do we stop the war?” Max sounded genuinely disturbed. Despite his parents keeping them asleep with spells at night to ensure they wouldn’t be deprived of sleep under any circumstances, his little brother looked tired. It was unusual for the warlock, always so full of life and energy, usually radiating maturity and confidence. Lately, he looked more like a child than ever.

“By healing mundanes, maybe…” Tavs had a point, but it was nearly impossible to stop the virus. They were Shadowhunters, they heal broken bones and absurdly high fevers to survive them; they didn’t have labs or epidemiologists. Besides, their medical knowledge was nonexistent between the ages of twelve and sixteen, and Rafael was faced with a world of tall people returning home bloodied and silent, or in white beds covered in wires or surrounded by ventilators. How could he stop a disease if he didn’t even understand why his growth hadn’t fully grown? “We don’t even know how to heal ourselves from measles without runes, so how can we heal the mundanes?”

“Humans.” Max regained his firmness and the adultness that characterized his character. “They’re not mundane, they’re human. Like us. And they have the same problems we do.”

“Global warming and morning boners?” Rafael completely forgot Tavs was with them until the older boy burst out laughing, still not used to filtering his thoughts around him.

“Damn, Rafa.” Max said it with such certainty that the Nephilim had to turn and look at each other for answers. Seeing their questioning expression, or perhaps their clear expression of stupidity, Max continued, “If we don’t have demons eating the healthy and the sick left and right, maybe humans will have time to invent a cure.”

“We’ve been in a pandemic for months, people are dying by the fists. Do you really think humans can get through this?” Tavs sounded insulted just thinking about it.

“Yes, like they did with smallpox, measles…” Rafael waited silently. If he knew his brother well enough, he'd be in for a major sermon, and he didn't want to be the target audience. “You see humans as an inferior species just because they don't use knives to kill demons or jump off rooftops, but they have just as much magic as we do. They've built entire societies and complex languages, and they've destroyed them too, because their emotions are immense and their ideas intertwine across the centuries. Unlike warlocks, they don't need to live forever to learn; they teach their children, and those children teach their children. They don't hide their knowledge in underground libraries protected by the dead; they build libraries, translate them, and adapt them. They know how to tell the same story over and over again without fear of change.” Max's eyes flash with fury and justice. "Humanity creates, thinks, and weaves as an intergenerational project. They don't need to do it all while they're alive because they trust that, in a thousand or three thousand years, a human different from them will be able to continue their legacy. Never dare look down on those the angel chose to protect the world from demons. If he created nephilim, it's because he trusted that humanity, with a little help, could fight the demons. And that's what we will do."

"Fight?" Rafe was genuinely horrified. "Max, arrows fall off my feet when I shoot archery. To demons, we're not even dessert!"

"Then let's be smarter..."

Max was interrupted by an equally agitated Tavs. "Than Who? The princes of Hell?"

"Yes!" If Octavian dared to speak one more time, he would find out for himself that the Lightwood-Banes had a very heavy right hand. Rafael clasped his hands in his lap, listening intently. He didn't want to miss any details of the confrontation. "What's our biggest problem right now?"

"The oven's broken," Tavs was trying seriously.

"¿¡Vos sos idiota!?" Rafael choked on a laugh. His brother's Spanish was fluent but unusual. "The portals, our problem is the portals."

"And what do we do with them?" Poor Blackthorn was about to fume from thinking so much.

"Close them." The young man said it simply, as if he knew what he was talking about, and in his brother's eyes, he found the glimmer that always appeared before they sent everything to hell because of a bad idea. Their parents didn't have time to punish them anyway.

The boys had tossed around a few ideas for closing the portals, almost all of which involved an angel descending into their aunt's dreams out of nowhere, or somehow shattering them into fragments small enough to prevent even an ant from passing through. Despite the group's good nature, their father was reluctant to embrace the trio's idea; with each proposal, he found a thousand ways it could go wrong, and although he was right, they didn't want to give in so easily.

The idea that held the strongest sway was, as always, the most suicidal.

Talking to the angel was forbidden, especially since the boys had nothing to give him in exchange for what they wanted, and they seriously doubted Bapak would take kindly to being given one of his ancient books. However, it seemed the most logical course of action, considering that the last time a horde of demons of that size attacked, the angel created the Shadowhunters. Max thought about it day and night. He had asked Uncle Ragnor so many questions that he had alerted his parents to the boy's curiosity, so parental measures were reinforced and the brothers' alone time was reduced to zero. Even so, the idea continued to take shape in the depths of the brothers' consciousness, and even Octavian had joined the invocative train of thought the younger ones were plotting.

Everything exploded that night. His bapak knocked on the boys' door. Was a Saturday in December. Winter made the afternoons feel slower, and Rafael was easily dizzy with the cold. That night, Max had sneaked into his bedroom to sleep together, as they often did when they were afraid. Fear has been a recurring emotion over the past few months.

The man at the door looked like a stranger, his hair disheveled and his eyes bloodshot with terror. It took Rafael a few seconds to understand what was happening, the language his bapak spoke, the panic in his voice. "Alexander" was one of the words he recited in Old Malay; all the others were lost in a language none of the children, or anyone alive for that matter, spoke. Magnus fell to his knees, taking short, rapid breaths.

Max jumped out of bed and began applying calming spells to his back. Rafael's mind raced with more thoughts than he could process. Was his father hurt? Was he dead? Nothing would have his bapak on his knees in front of his children if dad weren't dead. Or worse, was he nearly dead? Would they get there in time?

Only the sound of the front door splintering beneath the opening brought Rafael out of his shock. His brother continued reciting soft spells over his bapak, who was on the floor, vomiting. The gold and silver face peeked through the same door where his bapak had appeared, assessing the scene for a few seconds before deciding that the most important thing was to get Magnus out of the children's way. With a quick nod, he instructed Rafael to put on his shoes and Max to go to his room to get his things. He looked sane, quite a lot for someone who had just lost half his soul. How could he be so calm when his father was dead? Did he have so little respect for his name and memory?

With a swift movement of his legs in perfect coordination with his arms, his uncle placed the fragile, trembling warlock on his chest, whispering something the boy couldn't hear. Rafael was unaware that he was fully dressed and his brother was waiting for him on the other side of the threshold. The smell of vomit on the floor in the heat of the night made him nauseous. "Guys, Clary is outside waiting for you to go through the portal. We'll be with you in a second."

“¿Papá se murió?” Rafael didn't recognize his own voice when he spoke. His hands were shaking so fast he could only shove them in his pockets to keep them from flying away. "I don't understand you," was all the Nephilim managed to say before Magnus let out a long groan and burst into tears again.

Max stood pale, standing in the middle of the hallway, waiting for Rafael's signal. He had to do something; his little brother looked at him in terror. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and sweat trickled down his back. He couldn't just become a statue until the end of the earth.

Rafa took a deep breath before striding out of the room, passing by the two men without looking down, and dragging his brother without looking back. Max needed someone to protect him, and that was going to be him.

As he went down the stairs, he felt like he was floating. His aunt was waiting in the doorway of the building, her curls arranged in a high bun and the green eyes full of tears. "Papi..." Rafael didn't need to say more; he didn't want to think about everything else. He couldn't let his brother notice that his voice was breaking.

"He's delicate, but he's still alive." A sigh of relief escaped his little brother's mouth, but Rafael was consumed by rage. "Then why is everyone crying as if he were dead?" Perhaps he had shouted a little too loudly. He hadn't realized his aunt was already a little smaller than him until she jumped back at the sound of him so loud and so close. Rafael didn't flinch an inch.

"Rafa, it's unlikely he'll make it to morning…" Clary's voice broke, and she began to cry. "Please, let's go to the institute."

They were gathering so they would have time to say goodbye. It was the end of their father's life, and everyone acted as if they were doing the best they could, how could it be the best if he would be dead in a few hours. His uncle didn't even look like someone who had cried. His parabatai's wife had shed more tears for her father than the blond man.

No, simply no. He refused to accept that he had to hold his father's hand and watch him die. This year he had seen too many dead people, and prayed to the angel so many times. He had hoped for a miracle.

This wasn't going to be the night Rafael sat and prayed and waited for nothing.

He pushed his aunt aside with a lump in his throat. Out of the corner of the eye, he saw her fly unaware to the ground, and the reflection of the shadows of men coming down the stairs.

Rafa crossed the doorway faster than he had ever jumped before, holding his brother's hand, and calmly waited for the safe fall into the water. And as soon as he was there, they began to swim.

It took his brother a few seconds to understand what was happening. The water enveloped them both in a flurry of bubbles, with a few glimpses of the sun rising in the east. Lake Lyn was vast, filled with different species of aquatic animals and plants that curiously approached the swimmers in the deep water. Rafael didn't mind. Max managed to keep up; he was used to improvising once he jumped into a porthole aimlessly.

By the time they reached the shore, the boys were tired, soaked, and, with any luck, Rafael wasn't poisoned. Max broke the silence with a sad murmur, "Aren't we saying goodbye?"

Their relationship was clear: wherever one stood, the other would be there. If Max decided they hated tuna, they would both detest it, and if Rafael jumped through a porthole, they would both swim in Lake Lyn and watch the sunrise with wet hair and broken hearts.

"No," his voice was firm. He was too filled with rage and panic to feel sadness. “Let's save him.”

Max glanced at him. For the first time, his brother saw him without respect in his gaze. Rafael's heart sank. “What?” The blue one said.

“We'll take Raziel by the balls, and make him finish this shit once and for all.” Rafael stood up and offered a hand to his brother. He accepted it hesitantly. “I'll get the cup, and you get the sword?”

“I'll meet you back here in twenty minutes.”

Max opened the portal long enough for Rafael to step through. The Shadowhunter Academy wasn't completely unfamiliar to him, but it took him a few minutes to realize where he was. The ceremony hall was more of a small shed set up to celebrate the graduations of humans ready to ascend as Shadowhunters, rarely guarded, and he confidently hid the cup in a safe in the hall. The property was within the borders of the City of Crystal, and the academy itself was surrounded and filled with fierce, armed warriors. No one expected a child of the angel to appear from behind a tree in the garden and steal the mortal cup.

Rafael entered through one of the side windows after enchanting it with some spell-reversing powder he always carried in one of his rings. He jumped up and stealthily walked toward the altar, searching for any sign of the cup.

He found it in a wooden box, decorated with the story of the angel and Jonathan the Shadowhunter on each edge of the box. The lid only bore the typical illustration of the angel handing over the instruments in a stately and powerful image. However, the box had been attacked over the years, and the Shadowhunters' neglect weighed heavily on the wood. The angel's face looked like a potato. Raphael swore to himself that he would remember that image whenever he saw him.

He took the cup in one hand and poured some of his blood into it with a quick cut across his palm. It quickly turned into divine ichor.

No doubt after this, they were going to hire a good alarm system. The boy left through the same window he'd entered and untied one of the first horses he found on his way back to the forest. Less than thirty minutes into his gallop, he found his brother, covered in dust and holding the deadly sword in his left hand.

On the ground, he was drawing some runes and markings in the middle of circles. He'd also found a table to set things up, and a couple of half-drunk bottles of water were on the floor.

"How did you get it?" Rafa jumped off the horse.

"I told them Dad authorized me to use it for homework. I just forged his signature on this." In the boy's free hand, a sheet of paper with something scribbled on it materialized before turning to ash. "You?"

“I came in through the window, it was child's play.” He tried to hide his panic, but without much success. “Are we ready?”

“In a moment. I brought you some water. Bebe.” Rafael sat in the sand, watching his brother draw those ancient symbols in the ground. If they weren't lucky or careless, he'd end up burying two members of his family on the same day, and he knew Max was as aware of that as he was. However, they both remained silent, sipping water, perhaps its last drops, and, at least in Rafael's case, praying in their hearts that his bapak would find enough love within himself to forgive him.

“τετέλεσται,” Max finished the last curve and handed Rafael the instruments with a firm hand. A warlock couldn't be the one to summon the angel of the Nephilim; Rafael would have to stand up for the team. “Good luck, brother.”

Rafael was grateful that this idea had been floating around in their heads for several weeks. He knew the right words to say, and they had even rehearsed everything he would have to say if he were facing Raziel. But at that moment, with his father dying and his little brother hiding with an extranger’s horse behind some simple trees, God's toothpicks at the best of times, he felt small and terrified as he invoked the angel from memory.

Raziel rose from the lake, his skin shining and his beautiful face searching the sand for the wretch calling him. He had visited this land three times in a decade, and Rafael was sure he must be sick of always seeing water, sand, and a tiny idiot peeping in fear.

"Oh, sir... Angel?" The angel looked at him attentively without saying anything. Rafa took that as his cue to continue. “Um… Well, we need your help because… We’re in really bad shape, there are demons and…” Okay, he was used to looking like an idiot, but doing it in front of a cosmic and sacred being? This was definitely a new experience. “We don’t want to upset you, but…”

In a whirlwind of water and wind, the angel disappeared before Rafael’s eyes. His legs trembled, and the roar of the gusts of wet air threatened on more than one occasion to tear him off the ground. Only the weight of the cup and the sword kept him anchored to the ground while the angel was a tornado of water and cold. After a few seconds of chaos, a man with long, golden hair, dressed in a traditional ancient Shadowhunter outfit, stood before him, walking right in the direction of the circle drawn in the sand. If he hadn’t seen the giant angel in front of him and the water tornado, Raphael would have sworn that some distant relative of Uncle Jace’s was walking on the water in his direction.

He considered running, but panic wouldn't let him move. So he stood rooted to the spot, his chest puffed out with false courage and his head held firm.

"What do you want from me, son of the angel?" Raziel's voice was like honey; it seeped into his consciousness with the warmth and care that grandpas use with grandchildren. Rafa swallowed hard before answering. "My dad, his name is Alec, has been a great warrior in your service, but he's hurt. We're not enough anymore... He's the best, and he's hurt, and he's going to die, and... En serio quiero que papi esté bien. I want there to be no more demons. I want this nightmare to end and for humans to heal." 

He was aware that he sounded like a little boy, perhaps because he was largely just that. A poor child with too much internet access and an inordinate amount of video game time that disconnected him from reality making him think that it is okay to summon an angel. Perhaps he should be holding his father's hand instead of trying to play hero.

Raziel looked at him before answering. "Aren't you enough?" There was no hatred or resentment in his question. Even though he was quite certain that if anyone called his divine creation insufficient, he would kick them in the face himself. Still, the boy simply nodded and said, "Warlocks help us, but they can't fight demons. They do that anyway, we all do, but we're not enough... Not anymore."

"Michael Lightwood, come here." The angel's voice echoed through the forest, and Raphael was certain that even in the City of Glass and Berlin that voice had been heard. Max timidly walked from behind a tree to the angel without entering the circle. Raziel took the sword in one hand, slashing his other with a warrior's firmness. He then grabbed the cup and poured a few drops of ichor into the hollow metal. Then, the angel took one of the river stones, apparently the first one he came to hand, placed it in his wounded hand, and let it soak in blood before placing it inside the cup. “Drink, Michael Lightwood…”

Max looked at him perplexed before answering, without letting him finish: “I can’t, sir.”

“What’s stopping you? I’m the one who told you to.” Raziel was starting to lose his patience. This was probably the first time he’d had to deal with a “no” in his infinite existence, although it wasn’t a surprise that it came from a blue boy. Well, maybe the “blue” thing was a bit of a surprise.

“My name is Max Michael Lightwood-Bane, sir. Not Michael Lightwood.” His brother spoke with a little too much certainty, despite the fact that his parents had explained to him many times that people tended to overlook information they didn’t consider important, even if it was true. “Good,” Raziel’s voice was once again a soft trill. Apparently, his brother had won the angel’s favor. “Drink, Max Michael Lightwood-Bane, and may your seed be enough.”

Max’s hands tremblingly took the cup. Warlocks were strictly forbidden to even think about touching or using the mortal cup, much less drink from it. The blood of demons couldn't stand contact with the blood of angels, and Rafa didn't know what would become of his brother if he drank from the cup containing Raziel's own blood.

But they had the angel in front of them, and there was no way he'd be stupid enough to not notice the boy was a warlock. Besides, how do you tell an angel no when you've just summoned him from heaven itself?

Max took a long drink before looking at Raziel intently. Nothing changed in him other than the fact that the corners of his mouth were dripping with golden angel ichor. Raziel smiled pleased, took a few steps back in the water, and left as quickly as he'd come. They both looked at each other in bewilderment, unsure whether the more surprising thing was the fact that they weren't dead or the fact that their father could be, and they were playing kitchenette with the angel Raziel.

Inside the cup, the blood dissolved into smoke, a mixture of cinnamon and bread filled the space, and in the middle of the metal, a stone with a rune marking it poked out, unlike any they'd seen before. Max carefully removed it before showing it to Rafael up close. "What do we do with this?"

The boy had no idea. He had a headache, his heart was in knots, and the world was collapsing around his shoulders. Rafael felt the passing of time growing increasingly distressing and couldn't stop blaming himself for the loss. "Go home," was all he could manage to whisper.

When the children crossed the portal, they were carrying a cup the size of Rafa's forearm and a sword that weighed almost as much as half a Max. Despite that, their uncle ran to hug them as soon as he saw the brothers, a strong, almost paternal hug, like the one strangers give orphans in the hopes of making them feel less alone. Rafael knew those hugs well.

In New York, the night was still deep, dogs barked in the distance, and the city lights obliterated the stars. On the stairs, for who knows how long, a distraught Simon waited patiently for the children to appear. Magnus didn't want to leave Alec's side, hoping they would return in time so the boys wouldn't regret it, and the others couldn't track him down despite their efforts. The demonic activity was driving the censors crazy. "Where the hell were you?" the eldest croaked.

"Summoning Raziel." Simon paled at Rafa's response, only then did he seem to realize that the brothers had two of the three deadly instruments with them. "And how did that go?" He tried to sound impartial, but failed.

"Well, he gave us a rock." Max simply handed it to him; it was no bigger than a walnut. His uncle examined it carefully before deciding it was time to move on and go inside, he put the stone back into Max hand.

"Alec's in the infirmary. Do you want to come see him?" His voice was empathetic; he knew exactly what those words meant. He knew it better than anyone lately. Max took a step back. Rafael jumped in to answer, "Will this be the last time?"

"We never know when the last time is..." A tear rolled down the boy's cheek in silence. Rafael heard the city fall asleep in the distance, dulled by its grief, and decided to go inside and tell his father that Raziel was an idiot with an obsession with stones. He hoped that would at least give him one last smile.

Alec lay in the infirmary bed, surrounded by a few other patients, unconscious, pale, and gasping for air. Inside his bare chest, he could see his heart beating faster and harder than he'd ever seen it. The place stank of excrement, bleach, and despair. His bapak sat crying, his head on the mattress, his gaze lost, his hand clutching Alec's. Magnus didn't dare look at the children when they entered. Beside him, Jace watched the scene in silence, his marble-polished face grave, his fists clenched over his chest. Clary wept silently beside him, representing their pain. At the other end of the bed, Isabell's hair was scattered over her brother's lap; her eyes were swollen, her face twisted into a grimace as she dozed, half-conscious, half-awake, sometimes sobs escaping her lips. Rafa had never seen them so human, so broken. No one, except Clary, turned to look at them at that moment, probably because they thought they were too rebellious or too young to be worth the effort. Rafael decided to circle around his bapak and lean close to his father's left ear. "Daddy, we screwed up. We summoned Raziel, and he ended up giving us a strange stone… Lamento mucho que llegaramos tan tarde..." A moan of pain stopped everyone in their tracks. Bapak shot blue sparks from his hands before crying again followed by Alec’s silence, curled up in his husband's hand. Max passed the stone to Rafa to show it to him; he knew the blue boy wouldn't be able to say anything that night, or in the days to come.

"Look, this is it." The eldest son inspected the scene, and, unable to find a better spot to place the stone due to the lack of available hands, brought it to his face with a gentle touch. Magnus jumped from his seat as if springing into his seat and stared at Rafael, still with tears in his eyes.

"Where did you get that?" Rafa briefly considered throwing the rock out the window, putting it in his right pocket, or eating it. Anything to avoid saying anything.

"The angel gave it to us," Max replied, very seriously, from the foot of the bed; he was as impressed as Bapak. They both noticed something the others were missing. "To be enough... Creo."

Magnus extended his free hand toward his eldest son, who without a second thought placed the rock in his hand. It was suddenly starting to get hot. With a yank, he ripped off the blanket covering dad's stomach, throwing his aunt to the floor and leaving everyone speechless. A horizontal wound was exposed, revealing the exposed organs, bruised and bleeding, poorly covered by bloody bandages, and a series of poison and bite marks marring the little healthy flesh. Max recoiled with a stifled cry, Rafael pressed himself against the wall like a bristling cat, and Magnus, without hesitation, continued to tear at the dead tissue with his bare hands to force the stone inside his father's body.

Alec opened his eyes with a scream more animal than human, his heart pounding even faster inside his ribs, if that was still possible, beads of thick sweat running down his forehead and soaking his neck. "Let him go!" Jace had moved for the first time since the boys had arrived and was pointing a dagger directly at the back of Magnus's neck. Bapak didn't stop. His uncle was the first to react, pushing Jace away thanks to the element of surprise and the fact that both aunty Clary and Izzy jumped on him like wild beasts to pin him to the floor. Never in his short years had Rafael seen such a scene. A grown man on the ground, fighting three Shadowhunters, his own family, with punches and kicks to free himself.

But before him lay the most shocking sight.

Rafael watched the severed organ parts gently reassemble like a reverse video. He could see the muscles healing, the veins throbbing, the contents of the bowels and bladder returning to their proper place as if nothing had cut his father almost in half. The stone burned white-hot inside his bapak's hand, as if his life depended on it. Perhaps it did.

Alexander screamed, screaming in pain and despair. Jace cursed on the ground as if his insides were on fire too, and Max looked horrified, pale and slightly greenish, close to collapse. 

When the screaming session ended, after what seemed like an eternity, his father opened his blue eyes as quickly as one wakes from a bad dream, sweating and tormented. Bapak smiled before collapsing unconscious on the ground while Max slowly fell to the ground crying . Rafael approached his father, placing his small, delicate hand on the soldier's chest. With a sob, he managed to say, "Holi, papi..."