A/N: Hi, guys! Here I am with a new Magisterium fic! I'm very proud of how this one turned out, especially so because I've been playing with ideas and meaning to write about Alastair for months but inspiration never seemed to hit.

I also published this fic on AO3 (username: MidnightHalo27)

There are spoilers for those who haven't finished The Copper Gauntlet.

Disclaimer: The Magisterium book series belongs to Cassandra Clare and Holly Black, not me.

I hope you like it! Reviews, kudos, etc are great! Constructive criticism is very welcome, but flames will be used to roast marshmallows.

Found Myself in this Peculiar Place

by: GakuenAlicefan27

After the "Defeat of the Enemy", Alastair finds himself spending more time in the Magisterium than he ever thought he would again.

If it were up to him, he'd just go back to his house and leave the posh celebrations and meetings to the others, but he's "The Man Who Put an End to The War" now, and people just can't seem to leave him alone.

That being said, he's called to his old school quite frequently, and every time he steps inside, his mind begins to wander.

He can't help it. It's involuntary. As much as he has avoided thinking about the Magisterium for more than a decade, the memories remained inside of him, and now that he's walking these halls again, the sense of familiarity is creeping in.

He can't help comparing the then with the now, noticing the things that have switched places, noticing the things that have disappeared altogether.

He gets lost a few times, wandering right into dead ends that used to be corridors and not knowing which way to turn when a previously one-exit passage turns out to have had two more exits added to it.

And, sometimes, Call gets lost too.

They get lost together once, both of them too enraptured in what they are talking about to notice that there is now a stone wall where a shortcut used to be.

The surprise on their faces upon reaching the wall is exactly the same.

He suppresses a sigh and doesn't comment on that. He worries, it's impossible not to, but he tries not to let it show, especially so because he's finally beginning to see that Call worries too.

It's taken a shamefully long time for him, as a father, to see that.

He figures it's better late than never.

~x~

As he walks, scenes from the past come to the surface. At every turn, there seems to be a new one.

The glimpses of another time, a better time, flash inside his brain, reminding him of everything he's lost, everything that was taken away.

He remembers Jericho and Sarah running away from a furious Declan after they had pranked him.

He remembers Constantine and Jericho sneaking off at ungodly hours at least twice a week because Jericho liked to stargaze.

He remembers the scolding Constantine, Declan, and he got from Sarah and Jericho after they'd caught a nasty cold because of being reckless and falling into one of the underground lakes with clothes and all.

He remembers Constantine teasing Sarah and he about how they were so gonna get married someday.

He remembers teasing him back and calling him Little Boy Makar every chance he got because he knew how much he hated that nickname and being reminded that he was the shortest of the group.

He remembers Jericho leaving their chambers to go to his brother's Makar lessons and saying "See you later!"

He remembers how "later" never came.

He remembers the light being gone from Constantine's eyes after that horrible day.

He remembers the day he woke up to hear that Constantine and Master Joseph had vanished during the night.

He remembers Sarah's "Yes!" after he finally got the guts to ask her out.

He remembers Declan pushing him aside to tell him that "I'm really happy for you, guys, but if you break her heart she's going to rip you to shreds and I'm going to destroy the shreds that are left of you after she's finished, do you hear me, Alastair?"

He remembers swallowing dry and answering "Yes, Declan."

He remembers thinking of how strange it felt that Constantine, the one who always said Sarah and Alastair were gonna get together, wasn't there with them to see them together.

He remembers hearing talk of war, of madness, and of chaos magic being used in the worst way imaginable.

He remembers thinking that Jericho must have been so, so sad if he were watching his brother from the Other Side.

He remembers…

He remembers a lot.

These memories bring him pain, but they bring him joy as well, and he doesn't want to let go of them. Recently, he's come to realize that he doesn't have to. It's okay to keep these memories, as long as he doesn't let them keep him from the world.

It's not easy, but he's trying - For himself, for Call, and for those he loved, because they must have been so, so sad if they were watching him from the Other Side.

~x~

The years pass, and Alastair's relationship with Master Rufus is not even close to being the way it was before. It's strained, and filled with awkward silences. It's the result of war, and loss, and time. It's the result of blood, and death, and wrong decisions that seemed right a few years ago. It's the result of ghosts that both of them feel partly responsible for.

And of course, there's this one thing that hangs in the air between them. The secret that Alastair has been keeping from him, the reason why he was so adamant in not letting Call anywhere near the Magisterium.

He notices the way Master Rufus looks at him sometimes, like he wants to ask if Alastair's somewhat psychotic behavior towards magicians had really been solely due to grief and the need to find something to direct the pain and bitterness at.

He doesn't ask, though, and for that Alastair is glad, because he wouldn't tell the truth if he did.

Still, things between them are better than they were during Call's Iron Year, and he'll take what progress he can.

Their talks are short, but they happen, and they are never about the past, but at least there's no shouting.

"Call is looking more and more like you by the day." Master Rufus says one day.

He nods because it's true. Call had always looked a lot like Alastair, even when he was just twelve, and now that he's sixteen he's looking very much like Alastair did when he was that age.

Except for his eyes, that is. Their eyes may look similar, but Call's are a shade lighter and have a distinctiveness to them that reminds Alastair of a storm, even though not many people seem to notice.

Like when people used to assume that Alastair and the Madden brothers were all siblings because the three had gray eyes.

Sarah always said that these people just didn't pay enough attention; that the differences were there for those who looked for them.

"Gee, Sarah, are you really comparing shades of gray? That's ridiculous!" Is what Constantine would retort.

Perhaps it was ridiculous, perhaps it wasn't.

Perhaps it was how she knew, in La Rinconada.

Master Rufus gives him a pointed look, and Alastair thinks of how he always comments on Call's physical appearance but never on Call's personality. How he never says "Call is becoming more and more like you by the day".

Call does have traces of Alastair in his personality, ticks and habits he got from being raised by him, but those are far and few in between. In general, Call doesn't act much like Alastair; not the Alastair from now, and certainly not sixteen-year old Alastair.

He wonders if Master Rufus has realized that Call acts like another boy, a boy he used to know a long time ago - In a way, Constantine, but at the same time not. Constantine, before the Enemy of Death, if Jericho hadn't died and their little group of apprentices had gotten to remain united until graduation.

Alastair thinks that Call resembles who Constantine could have been, if things had turned out alright, if Constantine's smile hadn't faded before he even turned sixteen. If the Constantine he knew hadn't faded along with that smile.

He wonders if Master Rufus has thought about that as well, if he does understand a little more than he lets on – Not everything, he can't possibly understand everything without being given a decent explanation; but perhaps he understands more than people give him credit for.

Judging by the glint in his eyes, Alastair thinks he does.

But that's not something any of them says aloud.

~x~

Alastair passes through the halls in silence, and the halls are silent as well. That's how he prefers; he doesn't walk around the Magisterium much, but when he does, he opts to do it when most of the students are in class.

It's just too much attention, and attention is something he's never wanted or needed. It's a pain to walk by students and know that they are all looking at him, eyes full of awe and admiration as they whisper things like: "Oh my God, that Call's father!", and "He killed the Enemy of Death!", or "I want to be like him!"

Don't, he wants to say. Don't be like me. Don't be scarred and weary and jaded. Don't be tired and broken in places. Don't be veterans of war.

Grow up and grow old, like so many of my friends couldn't. Keep on living and not only existing, like for so many years I couldn't.

~x~

Alastair is happy that Call has friends now; they seem to make him comfortable in a way he himself has failed to.

He bumps into Call and Aaron one of these days. They are talking animatedly in one of the corridors near the Gate of Missions, and he notices them before they notice him.

He takes in the way they are standing close to one another, the way their gazes are locked as if there is only them in the world, the way their hands are almost touching, and he wonders, not for the first time, if they are dating and keeping it a secret from him, or if they are just that slow.

He's leaning towards the latter.

Aaron says something to Call and he smiles, cheeks flushed, and it looks like the eyes aren't the only physical trait Call hasn't gotten from Alastair.

When Call smiles, he looks like Little Boy Makar.

Alastair feels his own lips twitch up ever so slightly.

This time, he doesn't think this smile and its boy will fade.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading it!

I always love to discuss anything Magisterium related! Here's my tumblr: agarotado27dejunho