Chapter Text
When Merritt wakes, Daniel is gone and the bed is cold in his absence. The sun has just barely risen, but he’s clearly been up for a while.
Grogginess fades to make room for total, crushing panic in a matter of seconds. He’s in the kitchen scanning for Atlas’ figure so fast that his feet skid around the corners.
Daniel is standing by the counter, busying himself over something on it, seemingly unharmed. Upright and moving.
“…Morning?” Merritt says, heart still pounding. It’s a bizarre mirror of the night before, his eyes set on Daniel’s back, just the two of them in a space brimming with tension.
Just like the night before, there’s no answer.
Daniel’s visibly tense and trying not to be, steadfastly stirring his coffee.
The room bears some clues of this turmoil - the key pot disturbed and various papers strewn across the table and abandoned.
“Atlas?”
Silence again.
So this is how we’re playing it. Merritt thinks wryly.
He’s not particularly surprised. From the state of the keys, Atlas considered running. He wouldn’t blame him, really, if Merritt had been in his shoes, he would have turned and run the second he had the chance and never looked back. But Atlas’ dedication to the Eye runs deeper than his, a childlike trust in higher powers that hasn’t been stomped out like fire sparks under a boot as it has in Merritt through the bitterness that accumulates over long years.
In the absence of physically leaving, of course he would attempt to leave the incident, as Merritt is fast coming to mentally name it, behind, never speak of it. Run from the reality instead of the location.
“Would you like some coffee?” Atlas says, too monotone to be natural. It’s a roboticness borne of someone trying too hard to modulate their own inflection. Like the crying the night prior, it reeks of desperation with its constraint in a way that is wholly more humiliating than outright admittance.
“I’d like a conversation.” Merritt replies honestly, sitting directly opposite him, between Atlas and the front door. He doesn’t think fleeing is entirely out of the question yet.
“I don’t see why.” Atlas says sharply, looking up with a smoldering challenge in his eyes, and it's such a relief that Merritt almost forgets to be annoyed.
Almost.
He laughs humorlessly.
“You don’t see why? Really? Well, where can I start, how about how-”
“It’s none of your concern.” Atlas cuts him off.
“Oh what, you just want me to wait until you have another full mental breakdown-”
“I was not having a breakdown.” Atlas hisses furiously.
“-And then I’ll… what? Pick up the pieces again?”
“That was…” He begins, and the unspoken ending, ‘an accident’ sits heavily between them, an outright lie and an obvious one at that, “...It won’t happen again.”
“So you’re not going to cut yourself again.” Merritt states bluntly. It’s not a question. They both know the answer. Atlas still sucks in a shocked breath at the statement, like he wasn’t expecting Merritt to be willing to go there, to be so unforgiving in his word choice.
Atlas takes a deep breath, placing both of his hands palm down on the table and squeezing his eyes shut as he takes two more carefully measured breaths.
“I don’t need you, do you understand?” He says, stressing every syllable.
“That’s quite literally not what I was saying.”
“And it’s quite literally none of your business, so thank you very much, you can leave now. I have work to do.”
“Yeah, so do I,” Merritt mutters. “Daniel. Look at me. Do you seriously think that we can all just leave you to your ‘business’ and forget about last night? Come on, you’re a smart kid, be honest with yourself. Do you think that is actually going to happen?”
“I think-” He starts, but his eyes are twitching from side to side, the mug set back down as his fingers shake it with fine trembles, the shockwaves threatening to spill the coffee within. Merritt’s getting to him.
He continues, using his words like a battering ram. Defenses be damned.
“Jack saw. Henley saw.” It’s mean, but he has to break Daniel down somewhat. Get him back to that place where he’s cracked open enough to acknowledge there’s a problem. “What about Dylan? If I asked Dylan right now what to do, would he know? Or would he be just as surprised as me. What about the Eye? I don’t want to get them involved, but if you make me, I will.”
“The Eye knows!” Daniel snaps.
Merritt goes cold.
“They what?”
For the Eye to know, and not… not do anything, that was-
“The Eye knows everything.” He says confidently, almost smug. Merritt’s horror fades into white hot frustration.
Oh God save him from these naive fucking children.
He sits down heavily on one of the breakfast bar stools, rubbing at his forehead with a thumb and forefinger. It’s too fucking early for this, and he is too old.
“The Eye, are not gods.” He hisses, head still in his hands. “Do you get that? They aren’t omnipotent, they aren’t actually magic, they are just a group of decently intelligent people that refuse to meet us. They’re just men.”
Daniel falters.
“Men who know everything about us.” He rebuts, but it's weak.
“Okay then,” Merritt says, lifting his head. There’s the crack. This is his way in. “Then let’s call Dylan.”
Daniel blanches.
“We don’t need to-”
“He knows, right? This is nothing new to him. You’re here, so clearly he doesn’t care. So let's ring him. Unless you know you’re talking shit.”
“Fine.” Daniel spits, and then seems to almost immediately regret it. “But he doesn’t- he doesn’t need details alright? It’s- it’s mine- my business. He doesn’t need to get himself all involved.”
Anger fades into pity at the barely disguised begging. Truly, he doesn’t want to do this to Daniel. He will, because it's needed and he doesn’t want to find a corpse the next time, but he’s not taking any joy from it. He wasn’t expecting to find a way in so quickly - Daniel is off his game. He’s not even sure what to say to Dylan, and he’s still working it out as he thumbs the number into his mobile.
Daniel glares at him from across the kitchen island as he raises the phone to his ear, hands gripping tightly at the counter until the knuckles pop out from the skin, white. There’s still a speck of blood there that he hasn’t noticed, something Merritt must have missed. His resolve firms.
“Dylan? Hi.” He starts, and then falters. How on earth is he meant to phrase this? “I just wanted to know how it would work with the IDs and everything if we were to get medical care.”
‘What?’ His voice comes through the tinny speaker. ‘Is someone hurt?”
Daniel’s mouth is open in shocked outrage. He motions at Merritt in a way that clearly signals ‘get on with it’. His wrist shakes like it can’t quite hold the weight of his hand.
“I- yeah, someone’s hurt.”
‘I’m gonna need more information than that, what’s going on-’ there’s a frantic scurrying on the other end of the line, what sounds like papers flying around ‘how bad is it?’
“Okay, let’s back up a sec. It’s-” He doesn’t want to say this. He really, really doesn’t want to have to. “So, last night…”
He sighs. Fuck, maybe he understands Daniel more. This is awful and it’s not even about him.
‘Merritt. Would you spit it out already.’
“What do you know about Daniel’s mental health?”
There’s a conspicuous silence on the other line. Merritt’s practically holding his breath. Then, it stretches on a second too long. His face drops. Daniel, across the room, throws his hands out smugly. Vindicated.
Dylan sighs raggedly.
‘I know he has… a history. The Eye vets heavily. Is that what this is about?’
“You knew?” Merritt questions, becoming quickly apoplectic. Daniel seems to have completely forgotten what the topic in question actually is and has relaxed completely against the counter, nodding at Merritt like it would be absurd to even think otherwise, like he isn’t a victim in this rather than the victor.
‘I- yes, I knew, but we always ensured he had access to the medication, it shouldn’t have-”
“I’m gonna stop you there,” Merritt says, raising one finger in the air as though Dylan can see him. “Because I didn’t know about that and I don’t know if he would want me to.”
Daniel’s eyes go wide enough for the irises to float in a sea of white.
“That’s not what I mean. Last night, I had to perform some… emergency first aid, should we call it, on our favourite narcissist. Daniel seems to be of the impression that this is something you would have been prepared for. I’m of the mindset that if that’s true, I’m probably telling the Eye they can do this whole gig sans hypnotist.”
A new expression from Daniel. His eyebrows drawn in, confused. Distantly, Merritt realises he hadn’t mentioned that. Also how deeply that implicates him in this mess, his own investment in it all. The stakes are high. If Merritt has to be the one to bear them, so be it, because clearly Daniel isn’t capable.
‘...I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Dylan says, and it sounds like it physically hurts him to admit. It hurts Merritt as well, opens a pit deep in his stomach because now he actually has to say it and none of them can hide behind friendly little euphemisms. He shuts his eyes.
“Last night, Daniel cut himself.”
A sharp intake of breath, in two separate rooms across the city.
‘He- what?’ And there it is. Confirmation. Grimly he looks at Daniel, who seems to have realised the response based on his reaction alone.
It’s a relief, in one sense. That they didn’t know. That they hadn’t sat by and let this happen. On the other hand, the knowledge that they are all alone in this is crushing. Merritt, in this aspect, is now, unquestionably, the authority. The weight of it feels heavy.
“How is he?” Dylan demands, back to brusque.
Merritt laughs acerbically. How is Danny? Well, let’s look, he looks about three seconds away from losing his coffee all over the breakfast bar, he’s pale, he hasn’t slept, or eaten, it still feels to Merrit like he’s bleeding out, just hemorrhaging all over the kitchen while he has a polite phone call.
“Not good. I need to know about the healthcare situation.”
“I’ll have someone sent over.” It brings Merritt no pleasure to hear the panic in Dylan’s voice, but it does bring some small respite. It at least proves that he’s taking this seriously.
“I am not going to the hospital.” Daniel rebuts.
“Good,” Merritt snaps, “Because they’re coming here.”
“Then I’ll leave.” He says, eyes flicking between Merritt and the door.
“Will you?” Merritt says, softer this time. They both know he won’t. That’s what this whole mess is about. Daniel can’t quite bring himself to take his hand away from the flames, even when it's burning him, even when it hurts more than they could imagine.
It’s last night all over again. Daniel collapses into the seat wearily, pale and tight lipped.
“I’m sorry.” Merritt mutters. He means it. Daniel doesn’t care.
“They’ll be over in twenty or so. Do you need anything else? Does he?”
Merritt shoots a glance at Daniel, and walks into his own bedroom, out of hearing distance. Stil, he whispers.
“I need you to tell me this wasn’t something you knew about.”
“We didn’t. I knew he had a past, we knew he had a past. But…”
“But what Dylan?”
“Well, it was decided it clearly hadn’t impacted his magic up to this point.”
He sounds ashamed. Merritt can relate. But he can also agree with it.
“Impacted his- Dylan, are you fucking joking?”
“This isn’t like a job interview Merritt, we care about whether the horsemen can join the Eye, not their personal dramas.”
“Dramas- he doesn’t have anyone, Dylan!” His voice is raising. It’s only as he says it that he realises it's true. “He doesn’t have anyone, you’re the fucking Eye, you’re housing him, he’s a kid, why aren’t you watching?”
“Wrong word. It was the wrong word, I’m- I wasn’t expecting this. I meant that we don’t exclude people based on things like that. It was just another fact about his life. Like Henley’s degree, your brother, so on, information we know but don’t use. I know you said you didn’t want to know about this, and I’ll try to respect that, but we made sure he had access to everything he’d previously had to manage it. We- I thought that would be enough.”
“Well it’s not.” Merritt says, in truth too harshly. This isn’t Dylan’s fault as such, but he is an awfully convenient scapegoat. “That was never going to be enough, Dylan, come on, he’s uprooted his whole life, working 24/7, if he was… unstable, in the first place, that was never going to go well.” He rants, appealing to some kind of logic in all this.
“He didn’t… you said it earlier.”
What had he said earlier?
Ah.
‘He doesn’t have anyone’
“What, so that was it? He didn’t have anyone in the first place, so what does it matter if he gets moved around?”
The silence itself sounds guilty, the crackling of the line like the rustling of rosary beads in a confessional.
Perhaps Dylan isn’t just a scapegoat.
“Is there anyone we can call?” He asks tiredly, wind taken out of his sails. “Family, old friends, anyone? You know about all our family, you must know his.”
“We don’t have any contact information for him. There’s no one… suitable.”
“I don’t give a shit if they’re suitable, we just need someone, what about his emergency contact?”
“...It’s you. You didn’t know?”
Merritt breathes heavily out of his nose. Fuck. Fuck.