Chapter Text
Angus’s books have always been a comfort, familiar like a home that’s since forgotten him. If he curls up against a corner and dim the lights just so, it almost feels like those nights in his grandfather’s office, surrounded by oak stacks and the wavering glow of candlelight. Unfortunately, it might’ve been one of the factors that diminished his eyesight, but he feels like the trade is even.
He’s doing that now, in his own little room beside Lucretia’s sleeping quarters. He isn’t really sure why his room is right beside hers, since everyone else is in a different department, but he feels better about it anyways, even if she disappears for long stretches of times without telling anyone.
But today’s kind of different, cause he’s been here a while now, and his eyes keep skimming over the same paragraph, again and again, without really registering anything but the weird feeling in his chest.
It’s the part in the third book, where Caleb is confronted by the same tag-team cop-duo that’s been hindering his detective work since the first installment, both very annoyed by the way Caleb seems to do their job better than them, but Angus knows, knows that Caleb is just smarter, keener, more perceptive than anybody else.
“What do you know? You’re just a kid!”
Back home, when he would spend his time in the courtyard, watching, always seeing the people that would exit and enter, Angus was privy to things that people wouldn’t suspect him of. The mistress. The embezzling maid. The sleazy businessmen that his father continues to deal with, even though Angus pleads with him not to, not to let them in their house anymore because Angus gets scared of the way they look at him.
“You think you’re better than us, eh, boy? It’s not like you can do anything to get at us. Doesn’t that sting?”
And people weren’t pleased about it, when he started speaking up. So for a while, he didn’t. Well, it wasn’t really a choice he willingly made, but more of a way to stop the looks he kept on getting from his parents.
On nights like these, he wishes he was like Caleb.
As they advance on the small form of Caleb Cleveland, the boy detective finds courage in himself, in the people who trusts in him, in the people he’s helped, and stands his ground fearlessly.
The insults are nothing to him, but language is power, and Caleb knows that better than anyone.
His figure was small, but his heart sits strong.
“You’re nothing more than a bully that grew up and never changed, but the pond is too big now and you’re not the biggest fish here!” His voice, once timid, grows and grows in the face of these two men, and they stop in surprise.
From the side of the warehouse bursts in–
Angus stops.
Rereads it again.
He tries to see a parallel in this, but pieces are refusing to fall into place, and he’s not sure if they even should but then why was he obsessing over this in the first place? He stops.
Rereads it again.
Stops.
Taako had yelled at him today. And, well, even though Angus is a little boy, he still had the determination and guts to go out and solve mysteries that nobody else could so it didn’t really make sense for him to be upset by a few words, per se, but the feeling in his chest grows a little more and his eyes feel funny.
He had said ‘no family’.
It isn’t as if it’s not true; when Angus thinks about tall oak bookcases and the tan, wrinkled skin of his grandfather, it hurts when his heart screams family but his mind thinks (he doesn’t think that way back).
(still kind of hurts)
Insistently clean marble floors and flawless golden drapes don’t mean much to him; fanciful pocket watches and pristine white gloves don’t either; the smell of old books and warm hugs and a dark study rips into him violently enough to make him sick, make him regret finding the Bureau, regret everything–
He stops.
Angus tries to solve what happened today, analytically like an adult, and empathetically like Caleb, but his head hurts when he tries; was it his fault? Does Taako really think that way about him? Why did he run away? Why didn’t he run after him? Why–
He closes the book abruptly, but neither moves nor places the book to the side.
He realizes he’s kind of tired.
But, not in the normal sense of tired. Tired like his shoulders are too heavy, tired like his lungs are getting harder and harder to move, tired like loneliness. Tired in the same way that maybe Taako is, but then he doesn’t understand why Taako would then push him away, but right now he doesn’t understand much of anything.
A knock on the door snaps him out of it, and Angus shifts off the bed to answer, slightly disoriented and furiously rubbing at his eyes.
“Hello? It’s, uh, it’s a bit late, sir–”
“Hey Angus,” Magnus smiles, and Angus looks up in surprise and a little bit of apprehension.
“Oh! It’s you! I’m,” He stops, and looks around. “Did Taako send you? Because I really am sorry since I think I’m the one that pushed him to do that? And I’m sure it was bringing up some bad memories or something and”
“Angus.” Magnus stops Angus gently, and Angus’s mouth snaps closed. “Taako didn’t send me. If Taako wants to do something, he can do it himself. I-uh, can I come in? Are you…” his eyes land on the book on Angus’s bed. “Did I interrupt you?”
“…not at all, you can come in.” Angus opens his door to let Magnus’s hulking frame inside, and closes it afterwards. “What did you want to talk about?”
“I heard about what happened today. Wanted to make sure you were okay.” He says offhandedly, flipping through Angus’s personal copy of Caleb Cleveland, eyes skipping over words and sentences strangely. Like he didn’t just absolutely stump Angus with just a few words.
“Uh, wanted to make sure I was okay? Sir?”
“Call me Magnus.”
“Magnus. Why would, I mean, you weren’t really involved in this though, right?” More words clamber behind Angus’s throat waiting to be let out the second he lets down his guard, so he holds steady and waits. Like a good boy.
“Haha, Ango, it’s hard to not be involved when my friends hurt each other, accident or not.” He shrugs, and continues. “I guess it’s not really any of my business? But I care about you, so…how’re you doing? I heard it was a real doozy.”
What? Angus thinks. He furrows his eyebrows and twiddles his thumbs.
Strike one, his mother says.
He stops twiddling.
“I’m, I’m fine. I’m doing alright. I feel kind of guilty about leaving him like that though, I’m not sure if he meant, uh.” He swallows after a pause. “If he meant everything he said, but I shouldn’t have left a conversation so abruptly. It was rude of me–
“Ango, my dude.” Magnus’s hand lands on both his shoulders kind of awkwardly, like he was going to go for a hug and then stopped halfway. “From what I heard, it wasn’t much of a conversation, was it? More of like an outburst, I think. It’s fine to take yourself away from a situation that hurts you, Ango.” He shrugs and Angus could feel it. “Nobody can blame you for that.”
It’s weird, Angus thinks, that his shoulders feel lighter with Magnus’s hands on them.
He tentatively takes a step forward, arms raised just a little bit by the side, and he’s not really sure how to ask for a hug? Cause everyone else has always had boundaries with him and the three Reclaimers just…did whatever. So, he just steps forward, and Magnus’s face lights up in a smile and he steps forward and Angus’s face is buried in a warm jacket that smells of wood and scented oil.
“Thanks, Magnus.”
They hug for a while, and Angus disengages first, a little bit embarrassed at how long it went on, but Magnus didn’t seem to mind, so they just kind of settle around in Angus’s room and chat for a bit about Caleb Cleveland, cafeteria food, Madam Director, and the various benefits of being an adventuring carpenter.
It’s a nice night, Angus realizes.
And Magnus doesn’t really bring up the Incident earlier that day until Angus breaches the topic with; “Why is Taako so angry?”
He had to stop for a minute (both of them); one to think, and one to regret ever saying that at all.
Strike two, his mother says. Why would you bring up that ugly topic when we were having such a good time?
“Sorry, I was a little out of bounds there–”
“I think he’s lost.” Magnus says. “He behaves like it’s him against the world, but – well, this is kind of weird, but it’s like he’s always expecting something when he turns around, or when he shoots off a one-liner, but. Well. He doesn’t tell us much either, Angus. Sorry I can’t help you with this.”
“No, you’ve more than helped me at this point.” Angus confesses, and Magnus shoots him a smile. “I just…” He pauses, but Magnus motions for him to keep going.
“Um, it hurt when he said that.” He whispers. “That I cling to everyone I see because my family is gone, and,”
Strike three, his mother says–
“Well, no duh.” Angus looks up. “I’d be surprised if that didn’t hurt. Just cause he’s got some shit –oh, sorry, uh…crap of his own to sort out doesn’t excuse what he did.” Magnus’s eyes soften and he lets out a breath. “It wasn’t okay of him to do that.”
Angus sniffles and wipes at his eyes, and Magnus sits there calmly. He puts his arms around Angus, and waits.
When Magnus says goodbye a little later, he gives Angus another big hug, and leaves Angus feeling a little lighter. (A few seconds later he rushes back into the room, dropping a small wooden duck in Angus’s palm with a “forgot this!” and rushes out just as fast.)
And Angus goes to bed less tired.