Brotherly Indifference
Tony did not hear the exchange upstairs. He was at the opposite end of the house, pointedly not interacting with his little brother. Jonas didn't remember him, and the last thing Tony wanted to do was jog his memory. His family had been targeted because of their connection to him. If there was any chance at all that Jonas could make a clean break, to go live with this Aunt Cathy in New York and never ever have a reason to come back to Austin EVER, then Tony had to give him that. Jonas was better off not knowing him.
But it hurt. Dear Gods, did it hurt. Brick shithouse that he was, there were still a few soft squishy spots buried deep in his core, however hard he tried to ignore them. And Jonas was, by far, the squishiest. That was why he had to leave -- for Tony's sake as well as his own. With all of the shit going down, if Cassius got their hands on Jonas again, if Tony was ever forced to choose between saving the world and saving his brother....
His hands balled into fists and he almost put another hole in Annie's wall to match the one upstairs, but managed to hold himself in check. Barely. Outside he might seem carved from stone; on the inside he was a quivering ball of grief and rage in desperate need of an outlet.
If Jonas could just escape this mess, be free somehow, be safe.... Tony would never see him again, but that would be okay if it meant he was safe.
Jonas recognized the couple in New York, which meant he knew them and they had to be who they said they were. But somehow, that was the worst part. Because maybe it was just the crazy talking, but try as he might Tony still couldn't shake the gut feeling that this was a trap, and he was sending Jonas right into it. He wasn't afraid he'd never see him again; the sickening lurch in his stomach was that he would see Jonas again. Very soon.
When we found out that the way to free Huitzilopochtli was to kill him, I had no hesitation. Give me the tools and point me in the right direction. Ready to march off into the sunset, determined to murder my father or die trying.
But Jonas.... Not Jonas. Please, Gods, not him.
He closed his eyes as he started chanting, pulled the blood-red eagle's feather from around his neck and plunged the blade into the gouges the Doberman's teeth had left in his arm. Dug deep, letting clean blood flow to cleanse the wound, cleanse himself. He let the feather drink its fill, then ran the blood-laden fringe over his own tongue, savoring its sweet-sharp essence and praying for strength.
Though if his father was in a position to be killed by him, how much could he possibly have to give?