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It’s an ordinary Tuesday, right up until Alec bursts into flame.
Jace is aware he’s being dramatic with that description. He’s not the only one being dramatic here, though. They’d been closing out another long day of negotiations to open Idris to Downworlders - this is his life now, thanks to Alec, treaty negotiations - when someone had said some fucking thing about Downworlders that Jace hadn’t caught the end of, and Alec had gone up like a vengeful torch.
This is more of the magical shit that Alec can’t control and no one else is supposed to know about, although based on the gape-mouthed expressions of everyone around them, Jace has a feeling that cat’s out of the bag.
Fanned out behind Alec are massive fiery wings. Privately, Jace can admit he’s impressed. The orange and gold streaks radiating out from Alec’s shoulders are stunning even without the ripples of heat distorting the edges. He looks like a painting made of light. Clary would…
Jace shuts down that line of thought.
Once he’s established that Alec isn’t actively burning alive, he hustles them both up to the roof, where there’s unlikely to be anything especially flammable. He doesn’t know how this works or what to do, but neither does Alec, and the wings aren’t going away.
They’re not staying put, either; every time Alec moves his arms or shoulders, they flex with him. He’s a walking flamethrower. Thank the angel there aren’t any vampires in Idris yet.
Jace doesn’t know how to put out magical flames. The only experience he has is with heavenly fire, and he’s not the expert on that one.
Luckily, Jace has the expert on speed-dial.
He leaves a message on Izzy’s voicemail telling her where to meet them, and sends a text that says pick up your phone just in case he’s pissed her off somehow and she’s ignoring him. Then he dials the next emergency contact in line.
“Yes?” Magnus says when he picks up. There’s a wary quality to his voice, like he’s worried it won’t be Jace on the other end, but even more worried it will be.
Jace supposes that’s fair. He generally only calls Magnus when he needs something, and it’s usually something big. Case in point.
“Where are you?” Jace doesn’t wait for an answer; it doesn’t really matter. “You need to get to Alicante. Alec’s got wings.”
It’s not the best description, but it is the most concise. There’s really no good way to explain the sunset of reds and golds beating anxiously behind Alec as he paces the roof. He’s on his phone now too, speaking in rapid-fire Spanish, which means it’s probably Izzy.
Magnus is quiet for a moment. Then he asks, guarded, “What kind of wings, exactly?”
Based on prior experience, Jace had expected Magnus to portal in through Alicante’s supposedly-unbreachable wards before he was halfway through his explanation. This unusual calm in the face of Alec developing yet another unexpected magical ability is unsettling. He can’t even hear the background rustling of Magnus compulsively scribbling notes in one of his ‘Alec + weird shit’ journals.
It takes him a second to realize what might have Magnus worried. “Not demon wings,” Jace says quickly. “It’s not like a warlock mark, either. These are, uh. Burning. I’m pretty sure they’re just made of fire.”
Alec has paused beside a maintenance room, and behind him, one of his wings is melting through a drainpipe. “No, I didn’t spontaneously sprout wings so I could fly, Izzy,” he says, sounding more irritated than Jace thinks is strictly fair. If he’d been able to grow wings so he could fly, he probably would.
He squats to avoid the flare of Alec’s wingspan and tugs on a belt loop until Alec starts moving again, away from the drainpipe and anything electrical. Addressing the continued silence from the phone line, he emphasizes, “Really hot fire, Magnus.”
Finally Magnus asks, “Is he hurt?” He sounds strained, like he’s torn over something. Jace doesn’t know what the fuck could be keeping him away right now that’s more important than Alec. He’s pretty sure there’s nothing more important to Magnus than Alec.
“No,” Jace says, frowning. “No burns. His shirt caught fire, but we got it off him.” It’s currently smoldering in charred scraps on the stone where Jace had thrown it a few paces away.
Magnus makes a thoughtful noise. Long exposure to Magnus tells Jace it’s a ‘picturing Alec shirtless’ sound rather than a problem-solving one. Jace wants to tell him this isn’t the time, but maybe Magnus just needs a minute to process.
“I’m okay,” Alec insists to Izzy as he paces back to Jace. His wings pulse behind him, in time with the heartbeat echoed in Jace’s chest. “I think I’m getting the hang of them.”
He’s absolutely not getting the fucking hang of them. Jace ducks under a wing as Alec turns abruptly, a wave of hot air rolling over the back of his neck from its passing.
“Magnus,” Jace says sharply into the phone.
“I don’t know what you expect me to do,” Magnus says. There’s a tense, false-breezy note in his voice that Jace doesn’t like one bit. It’s the tone Magnus uses to get rid of demons, rival warlocks, and members of the Clave when he’s hiding something. Jace has had it directed at him more than once.
Oblivious to the way Jace is standing open-mouthed and speechless, Magnus reassures him, “I’m sure you can handle it.”
“He has giant flaming wings, Magnus,” Jace snaps. “How exactly am I handling that?”
He tunes in to Alec just in time to hear him say irritably to Izzy, “How am I supposed to know if they’re functional?”
He’s too close to the edge of the roof when he says it, though, and eyeing the drop, so Jace gropes after him with his free hand and interjects, “If you jump off this roof, so help me, Alec…”
Wrong thing to say, Jace thinks a beat later, when he registers the complete silence on the phone line. He’s about to reassure Magnus that nothing will happen to Alec on Jace’s watch - though if backup could get here soon, that would be great - when Magnus suddenly speaks again.
“Tell Alec…” Magnus hesitates, then finishes in a rush, “Tell him it’s his turn. Call me if anything changes.”
“If anything...” Jace begins, and then on a hunch, he pulls the phone away from his ear. The call is disconnected. “Are you kidding me?”
Jace dodges another sweep of Alec’s restless wings. They’re flapping with more vigor as he works himself up, so Jace ducks inside his guard and takes his phone. He says, “Just get here, Izzy,” before he hangs up and pitches the phone across the roof.
Alec gives him a weird look. “What was that about?”
It’s uncomfortably warm this close to Alec, so Jace takes a few steps back, out of blistering range. “Your husband just hung up on me. He says it’s your turn, whatever that means.”
“Wait, he’s not coming?” Alec looks just as baffled as Jace feels for a moment, and then his expression clears. “Oh.”
“What ‘oh’?” Jace demands. “What the fuck, Alec?”
Alec has the decency to look sheepish. “We made a deal, after the whole demonic royalty thing. It’s my turn to freak out.” One hand comes up to cover the silver-white wedded union rune glowing over his heart. Jace is pretty sure that hadn’t been there earlier, but he can only deal with one magical mystery crisis at a time.
“I’m the one freaking out right now,” Jace says, voice raised. “You’re on fucking fire.”
Alec fans hot air in his direction and grimaces. “Yeah, but Magnus is probably having a complete meltdown right now, and as long as he’s not here, we can pretend he isn’t so I can have one instead.”
Jace stares at him. And at his wings, which is unavoidable, because they’re spread out behind him in a flaming halo. Jace wishes he could scrub away that thought. “I swear by Raziel, Alec, if you’re turning into a fucking angel…”
It sounds stupid as soon as he says it, and Alec’s expression is appropriately unimpressed. That’s just Alec’s face, though; Jace has a direct line to his emotions, and those are decidedly more…
Guilty.
Jace continues to stare. That dipshit downstairs had gone after the people Alec has devoted his life to protecting, and it’s no mystery what Alec pictures as a righteous protector. There are statues, paintings, and stained glass windows depicting them all over the fucking place, and there have been since Alec was born. He’d grown up in the New York Institute, watched over by the patrons of the Nephilim.
“Motherfucker,” Jace says, and stomps off to find a bucket of water to throw over Alec.