A/N: Hello, I just wanted to give a heads up that there is some language (swearing) in this chapter!
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My stomach turns and my heart drops at the sight before me.
I'm on patrol tonight, and I'm driving by a gas station on University Avenue when I see him. His hair covers his face as his head hangs, smoke curling up before vanishing. He sits on the roof of a sleek car, alone.
Those blue eyes of his look up and meet mine as I stand outside my car, watching him, not knowing what else to do. I'm at a loss. How did things get like this? He lifts his hand and I spot a cigarette between his index and middle finger. His eyes don't leave mine as he takes a long drag before removing it from his mouth and letting out another curtain of smoke. He studies me under the lights of the gas station, and it's clear that he's not happy to see me. His unwavering gaze is a silent challenge.
It's been almost three months since he left and since all of us, except Rose, have seen him. I thought that there would be a change-I thought that there was a change, and there has been. But it's for the worse. His heart somehow hardened after his drunk visit to Grace's. He's only talking to Rose at this point, and even she's treading carefully, as their friendship is much more delicate now.
According to her, he stopped engaging in his activities for a while, but since he was still surrounded by the crowd he was with, he had trouble quitting the things he was doing. And then, after some time, he seemed to go back to the mindset that there was nothing bad in what he was doing. He was just living his life, he told her.
But knowing how we feel about his current endeavors, he felt guilty, and that brought up anger. Did we not understand that he was just doing what he wanted? He wondered. He felt like he was being stifled, and that caused greater frustration, driving him deeper into the crowd, and he got worse instead of better. I don't think any of us expected such an outcome.
I approach him and he watches me wearily, taking another drag of his cigarette. I notice he has his nose pierced with a ring.
"Austin," I say once I reach him.
"Yes?" His response irks me, but I don't say a word about it.
"You're out here all alone," I note.
"What do you want, Uncle Joe? I don't want to play your games tonight." Uncle Joe. He hasn't called me that in a while. I take a good look at him, noting the bitter expression he wears and the anger in his eyes. I genuinely feel my heart crack. It's a physical pain that takes me a moment to work past. I won't lie-in this moment I don't feel that there's any hope for Austin, and that bothers me greatly. I've never felt like that until now.
"Austin." That's all I can say. I'm at a loss. He snorts and looks away.
"Whatever," he mutters. Silence descends, and neither of us makes a move to talk as he continues smoking.
"Yo, Austin-you get in trouble or something?" someone calls, and we both turn to look as a small crowd comes out from the store in the station. Austin swears under his breath.
"Yeah man, what's with the cop? Is he bothering you or some shit?" The group of six come to a stop close to the car, staring at me with hard eyes. It's not unusual to see the hatred; not everyone is a fan of law enforcement.
"No, he was just going actually," Austin says calmly.
"'Hey, wait, isn't that the Joe guy?" One with gauges asks, his eyes narrowing on me.
"The kiss-ass everyone around here loves?" Another tosses out, a piercing in his eyebrow.
"Yeah, that's him. Bitch-ass, Joe."
I don't say anything to that, knowing they're trying to rile me up.
"I'm not here to do anything. Like Austin said, I'm just going."
"You know Austin or something?" a third with tattoos running up his neck questions, ignoring what I just said.
"Doesn't he seem to know everyone? He kisses ass so everyone can like him. It's that shit cops do." The guy with the neck tattoos offers unhelpfully.
I stop my mouth from turning down at the words. Naturally forming friendships over the decades I've been in this town is seen as kissing people's rear end? I see.
"Shut up you guys, he said he's leaving," Austin says, then he sighs, putting out his cigarette before flicking it away. They've formed a semicircle by the car Austin sits on, purposefully encircling me and making it impossible to leave without going past one of them.
"But hold on, didn't his wife die a few years ago? That's the same guy, right?" My blood runs cold at the words and I don't even catch who says it.
"Right. Y'all think she actually died like that?" A fifth guy with a buzz cut snickers, his eyes looking right into mine. "Cops are fucking powerhungry. Maybe she did something he didn't like, and he killed her. He's probably trigger happy." There's a round of laughter and someone says something else, but I don't hear them as I see red.
My heart twists in my chest at the sickening joke, and anger roars through me. But before I can even open my mouth, Austin jumps down from the car and rushes the guy, delivering precise blows to his body. The sounds of his fists connecting with flesh seems to echo in the otherwise silent gas station. It's so unexpected, and his movements are so quick, that the guy has no time to defend himself. I see Austin throw punches I taught him, and he continues as the guy falls to the ground. It's not until the guy begins to beg that Austin stops, towering over him.
"What the fuck did I say? I told you he was fucking leaving. Yet you decided to run your damn mouth." The guy holds up a hand, flinching.
"I was joking," he says with wide eyes. His lip is busted and starting to bleed.
"Yo, Austin, what the hell man? Chill, it's fine," comes the one with the eyebrow piercing and Austin goes still for a moment before turning to look at the speaker. The guy suddenly decides it's best to shut up, as Austin has a murderous look in his eyes.
"Say that to my face, Torres, and I'll fuck you up like the little bitch you are."
No one says a word, and the guy on the ground cowers as Austin looks back at him. I had heard that he got into mixed martial arts and underground fighting, but I didn't think it was true. Looking at him now and how everyone fails to speak, even as they outnumber him, I think there might be some truth to it. No one dares to challenge him, and he straightens up, looking around.
"If y'all fuck with him, I'll come after each and every one of you," he promises, surprising me. "Alright?" he asks and there are nods all around. He then turns to me.
"It's time for you to get going."
I look around and then to the guy on the ground before nodding. I hate to leave him here in this mess, but I can't do anything more. Austin isn't willing to leave this scene. But my opinion has changed: he's not beyond hope. Not at all.
"You're always welcome home," I remind him. His expression wavers but he doesn't say anything to that.
"Get going, Pops." Pops. My heart warms.
"Alright." I head back to my squad car and take one last look at him standing there, in the middle of the mess he's in, with his head down. But then he lifts it and looks at me, raising his hand in a small wave before turning away.
I think Austin will be okay. I know he will. But fornow, he's in the situation he put himself in, and he has to want out of it. I don't know what will cause that to happen, but I pray it happens soon, for his sake.