Title: Burn

Character(s): Young Magnus, Magnus's Father (who, in my head, I call UABND. Unfortunately and Accidentally Burning Nameless Dude.)

Rating: PG, for dark mood, implications of abuse and, for those with a vivid imagination, possibly disturbing mental images of poor UABND.

Word Count: 389

Disclaimer: I have my own mental version of Magnus's past in my head, but Cassandra Clare owns his character and all parts of his past told in The Mortal Instruments books.

Summary: When I was ten, my father tried to drown me in the creek. I lashed out at him with everything I had – burned him where he stood.

A/N: First of all, much luff and gratitude to Gema for the beta-ing. Next, I wrote this when I was… well, God only knows. I was in a really stunningly weird mood. Hence the weird style and the run on sentences and metaphors that make no sense. xD Here's the second part of my series of elaborations on "Freeze and Burn." I may keep writing – one more drabble, maybe. I've kind of used each sentence Magnus said in that paragraph as inspiration. One drabble per sentence, eh? Might be a fun little project-let. Enough of me rambling now…

As weird as it sounds, I listened to Flyleaf's "I'm So Sick" while writing this. The live version, from their tour on Family Values in '05 or '06. –shrugs- I was looking for something angry, soooo…

"When I was ten, my father tried to drown me in the creek. I lashed out at him with everything I had – burned him where he stood."

-Magnus Bane, City of Bones page 231

He doesn't know why this is happening but it is and all he knows is he can't give up.

Not then.

Not now.

Not ever.

He feels the thick fingers around his neck, and they seem to be stronger, so much more threatening than before, as they close in on his throat. On his life.

A memory creeps into his mind, ephemeral, but coming back stronger, at about the same speed his strength is draining, which is fastquickrapid. It's more of a feeling than a thought, the recognition as a cold taste, a choking smell, forces its way to his senses, but this time it's not coming from someone else but it's coming from him, starting inside his chest and spreading until it chokes him even more than the water, even more than the fact that his own father is killing him. He knows the death-stench.

It was there then.

Now.

And hopefully not but probably later.

For a moment he thinks it's over as his heartbeat, pounding in his ears and throbbing through the water around him, jumps erratically. He's done for, floating off to a room where he won't be able to see his breath but he'll burn instead. But there's still something left in him, left inside, curled up against his heart and warming it, telling him to fight back.

And it's not over, not at all, not for him anyway as he takes hold of the determination he has throws out his hands and thin fingers close around huge wrists almost like he's trying to choke Father right back through his arms. He can feel the strength coursing through his entire body, making him feel as big and strong as his father, maybe even stronger.

He finds that he can lift his head then. It's heavy, the water from the creek soaking his hair and plastering it to his forehead. By the time he manages to clear it out of the way of his eyes, his father is gone.

As he kneels down with a choke to look at the smoldering carcass, he feels the burn of his father's body on his skin and knows he'll never forgive himself for it, no matter what happens.

Not back then.

Not now.

Not ever.

The warmth in his heart screaming fightbackfightback suddenly turns into a cutting

burn.