“Why did you let him kick your ass like that?” Richard asks, floating through bookshelves as he leads Austin towards the library’s cellar door. “I know you know how to hold your own in a fight. You’ve got training -”
“It wasn’t a fair fight,” Austin says curtly. The more he’s on his feet and walking, the more he’s starting to feel like he’s been run over by a truck. His ribs hurt from being knocked around and held down on the floor. Better get Otter to check if they’re bruised later. And to see about where that table slammed me in the spine.
“Still, you shouldn’t have had trouble -”
“He had powers.” Austin stops walking and turns to look at Richard. His eyes are wide and despondent, a little watery. “Like, move-shit-around-with-his-mind powers. I can’t compete with that, okay?”
Richard pauses, his body halfway through a shelf of encyclopedias, and frowns. “Powers? Is he -”
“He said Jacob sent him.” Austin spits out his brother’s name like it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.
“What, to bring you home?”
“To look after me.”
“Oh,” Richard says. His body visibly deflates as the tension starts to escape it. “Well, that’s fine, then. I’d be worried if Jacob hadn’t sent anyone to look after you, honestly, but it seems like he knows what he’s doing.”
“If you were really so worried about Jacob,” Austin snaps, “you could have stayed in Havenwood.”
Richard narrows his eyes and opens his mouth to retort, but closes it again after a second and folds his arms over his chest, hugging himself. He looks upset, and for the first time, Austin can see his father as he must have been at Jacob’s age - young, frazzled, running the Department with only half an idea of how to do it. Dealing with the unexpected deaths of two parents. With being the last surviving member of the Jones family.
“Dad,” Austin says, but can’t think of anything to follow it up with. He can’t even bring himself to look straight at Richard. Instead, he shoves his hands in his pockets and stares at the spines of the encyclopedias, bowing his head.
“That was kind of a low blow,” Richard says, finally, “don’t you think?”
“Yeah,” Austin mutters. His cheeks are hot - he can only hope his hair is in his face enough to hide it. As much as he tries not to acknowledge it, Richard is still his dad, and Austin knows he doesn’t deserve to be talked to like that. But he’s still tense and angry from fighting Walker, like some coil inside of him is being wound tighter and tighter, about to snap. “Yeah, okay. I’m sorry. That…wasn’t fair.”
Richard sighs, letting his arms drop back down to his sides and pulling himself the rest of the way out of the bookshelf, so that he’s floating in front of it, in Austin’s way. “It’s okay. I - you know I’m not mad at you, right, Aust?”
“I know.” Austin shifts uncomfortably. And he does, but he also knows that he shouldn’t have deliberately said something that would strike a nerve with Richard. He wishes that the ground would open up and swallow him, or maybe that Walker would come back and start throwing him into shelves again.
“I worry about you and Jacob,” Richard goes on. “I know you don’t want to hear it, especially from me, but your brother isn’t out to get you. He cares about you, Aust - you heard how he was on the phone -”
“He manipulated me!” The reminder of his phone call with Jacob is enough to snap the coil inside of him, and the words burst out of Austin’s throat. “He told me he was too short-handed to put an agent in Antlers, and that he had to reactivate me - and - and - and now this - th-this Walker bullshit -”
“Austin,” Richard interjects.
“What,” Austin says, louder than he means to. His face is even hotter, and it isn’t until he feels something dripping off his cheeks and chin that he realizes he’s crying. It feels hard to breathe suddenly - the air feels stuck in his throat, and he makes a hiccuping sound with every inhale, like he’s starting to choke. The weight that was on his chest, when Walker was holding him down on the ground, is back. Only this time it’s not because of anyone’s powers.
“Oh, Aust. Okay.” Richard’s voice is gentle. He drifts a little closer to Austin, anxiously hovering his hands around Austin’s body, but not quite touching him. “Take a second and breathe.”
Austin shakes his head. He runs his fingers through his hair, tugging on it hard and letting the pain that radiates from the roots stop him from floating outside of his body. A rattling noise comes out of his throat every time he breathes in. He can’t tell if it’s in his head or not. He squeezes his eyes shut so he doesn’t have to look at Richard, doesn’t have to think about what he’s doing here, or do anything besides focus on the way his body aches and let the pain ground him. His stomach wound, where Landis stabbed him, feels like it’s open again, soaking his shirt with blood, but Austin knows that’s impossible. His stitches came out weeks ago, and it’s nothing but a scar now.
“You’re okay,” Richard murmurs to him. “I’m right here, Aust. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
There’s a sudden, cold pressure against Austin’s face, and he doesn’t have to open his eyes to know that Richard’s forehead is leaning against his own.
“Jacob just worries, is all,” Richard says, his voice quiet and wavering. “He knows you can take care of yourself, but that isn’t going to stop him from wanting to check up on you. And I can’t hardly tell him how well you’re holding your own out here, as much as I’d like to.”
Austin nods, not trusting his ability to form words. He wipes his eyes with the heel of one hand without opening them, his throat still rattling as he opens his mouth wide and takes long, deep gulps of air. His chest aches, but at least his lungs are inflating all the way.
“He loves you, Aust,” Richard says. “I love you, too.”
Austin wants to reciprocate, but the sentence is stuck in the back of his mouth, and he can’t push it out with his tongue. He keeps nodding, hoping Richard will understand what he means, and opens his eyes again after what feels like hours. Richard backs off, hovering back near the encyclopedia shelf and watching him carefully.
Austin coughs, rubbing his face with his hands. He feels horribly drained. After this whole ordeal, he’s going to call in sick to work and stay in bed for a week. If he can get to the bottom of the library ghost thing - which, Christ, he still hasn’t done, even after all this drama - Channery will probably agree to it in a heartbeat.
“What did you want to show me?” he asks Richard, once he’s sure he can trust himself to speak again. His voice is even, but hoarse and nasal from crying.
Richard eyes him. “Are you sure you’re okay to, you know -”
“I promised Channery,” Austin says. He’s not sure, but a promise is a promise. “And we’re all already here, so, might as well follow through.”
“Okay,” Richard says uncertainly. “As long as you’re sure.”
Austin makes a noncommittal noise, his hands straying back to his pockets as he starts walking again, hoping Richard follows suit. Richard does, and they walk the rest of the way to the cellar door in silence, each sneaking glances at the other when he thinks he’s not being watched.
austin being emotionally vulnerable 🥺🥺🥺