Chapter Text
Who lives
Who dies
Who tells your story
...
For all the years Magnus has been preparing himself for it, losing Alec, his Alexander, still hits him hard. Part of him wants to scold himself for crying. Alec had a good, long life. A happy life. He knows Alec was happy, despite everything.
Knowing that doesn’t stop the tears. The only reason he stops crying at all by the time the funeral rolls around is because he’s run out of tears. They hold the pyre in the cemetery for all the Downworlders in Alec’s life. Magnus would laugh at the absurd amount of them if he could find it in him to laugh. All he feels now is hollow. Both his sons are at his side, and holding his hands. They’ve long grown up and left home, but it fills a bit of the yawning chasm to have them here. Rafael tried to hold back his tears at first. Tried to be the strong Shadowhunter he was raised to be, but as soon as the fire started, Max had started crying, and then the flood works passed on to his older brother.
Really, other than his own and the Silent Brothers’, Magnus observes there isn’t a dry eye to be seen. Alec’s siblings are holding each other up, and all their children are falling apart around them. What must all these crying Shadowhunters think of him? Such a proud people that barely cry, even at funerals, and here they all are crying their hearts out. Yet here he stands, unable to cry, only able to hold and support the family Alexander gave him as the Silent Brothers speak their Latin, and take Alec’s ashes down into the City of Bones to enforce the magic that protects them all.
He’s barely aware of Jace, Isabelle, and all their children and grandchildren, and everyone else coming to hug him. It’s a miracle any of them made it to this age. There’s no doubt in his mind that Alexander was no small part of that miracle. If anyone says anything to him, Magnus doesn’t hear it. He doesn’t hear much of anything until he’s shuffled into a car heading home.
Max sits beside him in the back, and rests his head on his Papa’s shoulder. They bypass the reception altogether. “Are you going to put Dad in your box Papa?” Max asks quietly.
Magnus swallows, and he thought there were no more tears, but his own body threatens to prove him wrong. His voice cracks when he finally finds the answer. “No. Not yet Blueberry. The box is for memories and-“ he pauses, tears running down his face. And here he thought he might get one day this week where his makeup wasn’t ruined. “And Alexander isn’t a memory yet.” He knows Rafael is watching them through the driver’s mirror. “He’s still here,” Magnus gasps, clutching his chest. “I’m not ready to say goodbye yet.” His voice cracks on the confession, and he feels warm tears on his shoulder, and the car they’re in pulls to the side of the road, and the next thing he knows, Rafael is climbing into the back seat with them, and they must make quite the ridiculous crying mess. Neither of his sons seems to remember that they’re adults in that moment, because they’re both climbing into his lap like they always did when they were younger, and all he can do is hold them close, crying until the sky turns dark.
Max portals them home in the end, and they all fall asleep together, exhausted, and hurting.