Chapter Text
Austin knows where he is as soon as he’s up. It’s not hard to guess, given Alaska’s still the only person that can squish him the way he does, and he’s also (Austin is pretty sure of that, at least) the only one among the States who has so many fur blankets.
Ah. Wait. That isn’t fur.
Austin blearily opens his eyes, struggling to get his hands under him. Unfortunately, in the process, he elbows California, who lets out an undignified squeak.
“Shhhhhhh,” Alaska groans, wrapping one massive arm around Austin’s waist. Had he been anyone else, he might have added something like You’re going to wake me up, or five more minutes. However, as this is Alaska, the reprimand is all that’s needed.
(This isn’t, admittedly, how Austin expected to get sandwiched between the two states, but he can’t say that he minds it.)
It doesn’t take much more wriggling to free one of his hands enough to wrap around behind him and up to the nape of Alaska’s neck. The state hums gently, rubbing his chin and cheek on Austin’s hair. Austin resists the urge to do the same to California.
“I think it’s morning, darlin’,” he tells Alaska.
“No,” the state grunts, “Just the sun.”
Ah. Yes. It doesn’t set here for quite a while, does it? Not at this time of year, at least- they’re still a handful of weeks from the solstice yet.
Austin stills, then, and allows himself to be pulled and pushed around until he’s where Alaska needs him. The state hums happily, tugging a blanket over the three of them. Outside what must be the bedroom of Alaska’s in-state home, a dog barks and scrabbles at the door. Once again, Alaska groans.
It takes a while for Austin’s breathing to slow again. By the time it does, Alaska and California have both settled back into sleep.
He can’t fall asleep again, though. Not right now. So instead, he simply appreciates their presence, and the quiet… and the dog whining outside.
‘Is that an I want a walk right now whine or an I need to pee and if you don’t let me out right now I’m going to do it on the floor whine?’ Austin wonders.
‘Probably the former,’ Dallas contributes, ‘If this is one of Alaska’s huskies, they ain’t settled without a hundred-mile run.’
Austin hums in surprise, which gets the dog to scrabble harder, hearing that one of the representations inside the room must be awake.
“Go to sleep,” Alaska groans, squeezing harder around Austin’s middle.
Unfortunately, this means he disturbs the surprisingly slow-to-heal injuries that have been left there.
Austin squeaks, pained.
This is enough to get Alaska’s full attention. The added weight is off of him and California in a moment- from beside him, the other state grumbles and squirms into wakefulness. For a moment, Austin lays there- it hurts to move, and perhaps if he doesn’t, Alaska will be able to fall back asleep.
“I know you’re awake,” says Alaska, throwing that particular plan out the window.
Austin cracks an eye open, which Alaska seems to take as an invitation to handle him. Clearly attempting to be careful of his ribs, the state maneuvers him to an upright position- across the bed, California struggles up himself.
Austin smiles widely, hiding the lance of pain when he moves. His fingers hurt, his ribs hurt, his thighs and calves- well, actually, everything hurts.
“So,” he chirps, “Breakfast?”
California’s Yes, please is cut off with a sharp bark of No from Alaska.
“You’re going to use it to weasel out of talking,” the state says, “I won’t let you.”
“And how do you plan to accomplish that?” Austin challenges. Alaska snorts.
“I will handcuff you to the bed if I have to, little man,” he says. Austin smiles, all teeth, and puts more of his weight on the state’s broad chest, tilting his face down with one outstretched hand.
“You sure you wouldn’t want it the other way around, sweetheart?” he asks.
Alaska flushes, but grabs Austin’s hand, bringing it down and away from him. He looks like he’d both rather be anywhere but here and would loathe to be anywhere else. Austin squeezes his hand in his own.
“Breakfast,” he insists, “And then I’ll talk.”
Alaska gives him a suspicious stare.
“No,” he says, “You talk now. Then breakfast.”
Austin raises his eyebrows.
“You sure you’re good for all that talking without any food in you?” he asks, genuinely concerned. Alaska gives a snort.
“You won’t be explaining what’s going on to me,” Alaska drawls, as if Austin is a small child, “You’re talking to him.”
He brings both of his massive hands up, cradling Austin’s face between them, and twists it so that he faces California.
The other state is still wiping the sleep from his weary eyes, but seems far more alert now than when he’d been eager about food earlier.
Austin swallows.
He really isn’t getting out of this, is he?
Alaska’s broad arm settles over him, trapping him in place as Austin turns to face California.
“You ready to talk, now?” the state asks. Austin scratches at the back of his head. Across the room, discarded, lies Texas’s hat. Maybe he can stare at that instead of meeting anybody’s eyes.
“If I said no, would you let me out of here?”
California seems to digest that for a moment, and then reaches out to grab Austin fully.
“No,” he says, as he arranges Austin so that the city is just that little bit closer, so that he can feel the fingers in his hair.
Austin nods. He’s really not getting out of this one.
Might as well get it over with.
“Alright,” he says, “I-”
He takes a deep breath.
“Houston’s always been the one keeping us fed,” he begins, “He makes sure we’re taken care of physically, makes sure Texas isn’t responsible for something he wouldn’t care to manage. So when I saw that the folks they’d assigned to protect us were going to be doing less of that and more of making sure Texas stayed in line, did what they wanted- well.”
Austin picks at one of his socks.
“Texas has always liked it when I deal with the politicians, ‘stead of him,” he says, “He’s the one that votes ‘em in, but apparently they talk circles around him in a way he doesn’t like, and, well, I’m the one that’s got a ‘fancy-pants liberal school’ and knows what projects our fuel tax is going to, so-”
Austin barks out a laugh.
“I was already dealin’ with politicians and minders and all that nonsense before they started gettin’ more difficult to handle, y’know?” he asks, “Wasn’t that hard to pretend that I wasn’t actively ensuring he didn’t have to spend any time with ‘em.”
California nods at that. Behind him, Alaska shuffles.
“Only problem with that is… they don’t like me much,” Austin explains, “And, well. We’re immortal. And they can make all our lives that much more difficult if I fought ‘em on anything. So.”
California inhales sharply.
“They’ve been hurting you, haven’t they.”
Austin shrugs.
“I made myself a target,” he offers, “Not like they had to hit it, but it is what it is.”
There’s another hitch of breath, as if California is struggling not to cry- whether on Austin’s behalf, or for the idea that he could be a bad friend to one of the only ones either of them have had, Austin doesn’t care. He leans forwards until Alaska lets go of him, crashing onto California’s chest with a hum.
The state digs fingers into Austin’s back.
“It wouldn’t be so bad,” Austin continues, “If I could just kick ‘em out, you know? Make their lives harder right back. But they’re appointed by folks Texas approved of- if I want them out, I’d need everyone on board, and if I told the rest of ‘em before now… I don’t know what the other cities would’ve done, but Texas would’ve thought I was insulting him. He would have gone in my place. Probably would have gotten his ass beat the second one of ‘em said something he didn’t agree with. And… I’m the capital, y’know? If I’m not good for this, at least…”
California’s heartbeat twists in an ugly new rhythm.
“I…” he says, “Why didn’t you tell me earlier? Or Alaska?”
Austin snorts.
“You kidding? They don’t listen to you six days out of seven, and I know it’d just hurt you worse if you knew all of it and couldn’t do anything.”
California nods, breathing uneven.
“You’re telling them now?”
“Probably,” Austin says- it’s accompanied by a dry, harsh laugh, “If it’s gotten this bad, there’s no ignoring it. If I don’t tell ‘em, you two will probably somehow manage to get Gov involved anyways.”
California pauses in his ministrations, as if he’d been planning to do exactly that.
“So what’s the plan, then?” Alaska interjects, voice rough. He’s gotten up to stand- Austin has no doubts that he’s likely off to run with his dogs until his mind stops spinning like a hamster on a wheel.
“I’m sure we’ll figure it out.”
Austin waits until California has gone to make breakfast, and then curls up on himself in the bed.
“Alright,” he starts, “How much of that did you hear?”
There’s an echoing silence.
“I know I’m not the only one up.”
‘... Fuck, Vi,’ says Dallas, which is quickly accompanied by another half-dozen voices in the same sentiment.
“As much as I appreciate the thought,” Austin says, “Anyone got any solutions?”
‘Exile,’ says Texas, easy as that, and the idea is echoed by the rest of the cities. Austin doesn’t bother to hide his relieved sniffle.
‘Ain’t no way we’re lettin’ you deal with any more of that,’ Texas continues, ‘You might be an obnoxious, bleedin’-heart liberal, but you’re all of that and ours. All of that and mine- my capital . They don’t got a right to treat you that way.’
Austin’s sniffle is a little bit more audible, now.
“I know I’m not what you would’ve wanted for that,” he says.
‘I could swear we just went over this,’ Texas reminds him, ‘You’re my capital. You’re our obnoxious, arrogant, nosy little stick-in-the-mud. We might have our arguments, but I wouldn’t trade you. None of us would, you hear?’
The door creaks open, and California steps through it, settling himself back down on the bed. Austin takes the proffered eggs, feeling much better with food in his stomach.
‘He’s right,’ Dallas agrees, ‘Much as I hate to agree with him on anything. You’re ours. You’d do the same for any of us.’
‘Damn right I would,’ Austin does not say, but they get the gist regardless. Instead of replying directly, he turns to California.
“You want to help me kick some jackasses the hell out of me?” he asks. The state’s eyes light up.
“Should we wait for Alaska?” he asks.
Austin grins, and grabs his bag.
“Nah. Plus, it’s over a hundred back home. Wouldn’t wanna inflict it on him.”
Houston and San Antonio are both stable as they can be, given the situation, but they speak with a doubled voice on this one.
‘If you need us, let us know.’
It’s not an empty reminder. Austin knows they’ll show up.
Smiling, he snaps back home.
He’s got some street-cleaning to do.
Watching his capital drop-kick a full platoon out of his city limits- literally speaking, he’s pretty sure one of the men went right over a descending aircraft- is pretty damn satisfying, but Texas has got to say, this is even more so.
There’s still a light on at the desk. That much is surprising.
“You should tell your capital that he ought to be more polite,” the man sitting at said desk reprimands, “I doubt any of my men will be very eager to come back.”
Texas shrugs.
“They can try. They’ll find it pretty damn difficult to get back over the state border, much less the city limits.”
The man raises his eyebrows, and sits back in his chair. Texas steals a pen from the desk.
“Really? Awfully childish, don’t you think?”
“No,” Texas responds, “I don’t think that at all.”
“It’s going to be pretty difficult to get new guards for you,” the man offers. Texas snaps the pen in half. Spraying ink all over his hands. The laptop in front of the man is still open.
"You're not gonna sign on any new ones," Texas instructs, snapping it shut with one hand, "In fact, you're gonna stop botherin' us altogether."
“Or what?" the man asks, hands folded together. Texas simply stands there, staring.
He doesn't know that Texas has no power here. He never needs to know. All this man knows is that with the moon behind his back, Texas's eyes glow as if he'd been pulled right out of Hell itself. He watches the sweat drip down his neck.
"Or you will find yourself Unwelcome," he growls, "In all the ways it matters."
Unwelcome is different from banishment. He wouldn't have to leave. He wouldn't even have to stop winning. Unwelcome is another's spit in every plate, never a cloud to block the sun when it would be wished for. Unwelcome has no meaningful affect. Unwelcome can still make anyone miserable.
(And it has a pretty frightening ring to it, for a politician.)
Austin has been trying to make practically everyone in this building Unwelcome for years. They've all stopped him, in various ways, for various reasons. That ends now.
Texas may not agree with Austin. He may not like him, most days. But Austin is his capital, and in this, Texas-as-an-individual will defend him.
It's the least he can do.
The flight feathers grow back faster once they’ve been yanked out of his skin.
It’s a pretty simple solution, but it’s still one Austin wouldn’t have thought of without Houston’s reminder as to the specific limitations of their abilities- nor would he have been able to pull out all of them without the assistance of more clever hands.
CDC is an excellent help, in this regard.
Austin’s just glad they hadn’t chopped off his tail feathers too.
Alaska, of course, had been displeased at the fact that they hadn’t brought him for the literal ass-kicking, but Austin can’t bring himself to mind awfully much- it would have been far too hot for him.
“See if I let you come over this winter, then,” the state grumbles. Austin snorts, clambering over his shoulders to tuck his face into Alaska’s hair with a smile.
“But that’d be inside,” he coos, “Where it’s nice and warm. And where you are.”
Alaska huffs, gripping Austin’s shirt in one giant hand and dropping him onto the ground.
It’s the first full meeting in a while since they’ve started interfering with each others’ minders, and already, the Table appears to have lost a good chunk of its tension.
Of course, the rest of the tension is unavoidable and unrelievable. There’s only so much they can do when they’re still cobbled-together representations of vastly different groups of people. When they’re entirely unable to make any real changes to how they’re governed. When they see how their own people suffer and yet are paralyzed in inaction, or even worse yet, can’t decide whether the suffering fits the general metric they’ve decided will be used to qualify if it’s worth it.
Yes, there’s still tension. They’re all still Representations, after all.
But they’re not just representations.
Austin, for his own part in it, thinks he’s got a good handle on the difference between himself-as-a-city and himself-as-an-individual. He thinks these States are starting to get it, too.
And, well.
On an individual level, much as it’s stripped from them most days, much as they have to muddle past more than humans could ever imagine… Austin knows there’s a singular truth.
For them-as-the-individuals, there’s always the choice to be kind.