Chapter Text
The Observatory was dark and quiet by the time Dylan was walking back down the drive to the front door. He quietly wiggled the doorknob to discover, yes, they had actually locked him out.
Setting the pie gently on the front stoop, Dylan pulled out his lock picks and knelt in front of the door with a stifled groan at the creaking of his knees. It only took a few seconds on unlock the door, and during that time Dylan ruefully acknowledged to himself that he was definitely not as young as he had been.
The door clicked open silently, and the eldest Horsemen slipped inside the foyer. He took a moment to tuck Jack’s cap and Merritt’s hoodie back into the hall closet, then silently put the pie, still in it’s bag, on the kitchen counter beside the fridge. A quiet humming from the next room caught his attention, and Dylan poked his head into the living room.
The TV was on to some staticy news station, the program itself long since logged off. It’s flickering blue light just barely illuminated the small pile of Horsemen that had crammed onto the one sofa. Dylan smiled gently at the sight, one he hadn’t seen since before the Oglethorpe show. Nothing more than a shadow in front of the screen, he slid into the room. As lightly as possible, he tucked a pillow under Lula’s head where it had slumped awkwardly, laid a heavy blanket over Merritt’s lap and shoulders, and placed Merritt’s hat- which had fallen onto Jack’s head- on a side table. Then he turned off the TV and vanished up the stairs.
Danny’s light was still on when Dylan got upstairs, which didn’t surprise him. What did surprise him, however, was the door sliding open as Dylan walked toward it.
Danny poked his head out sleepily, a pen tucked behind his ear and his hair curling wildly. Dylan obviously wasn’t the one he was expecting, if the widening eyes were any indication. He went to shut the door, but Dylan was a man on a new mission, and caught it before it could close. Danny glared at him and walked to his sloppily made bed when it became clear that Dylan had no intention of leaving.
Bolstered by the admittance, reluctant as it was, Dylan slid inside and closed the door quietly. Turning to Danny, he opened his mouth… and clicked it shut again as he caught sight of the detailed dioramas and plans coating the small desk. They were obviously for some performance, and when he leaned slightly closer, he was floored by the elaborate combinations of the Horsemen’s skills that went into each trick.
Danny had been uncomfortably shifting as Dylan looked at his illegal show plans. He had had the foresight to not name a place on any of the diagrams, but he was certain Dylan was going to figure it out. He didn’t know why he hadn’t forced Dylan out as he usually would. He suspected the “slight” food and sleep deprivation was likely clouding his judgment. He inhaled sharply as Dylan turned to him, but squinted in confusion at the odd look on the older man’s face. If he didn’t know better, Danny would almost call it awe.
“Danny,” Dylan said, face quirking into a half smile. “These are amazing!” Danny did a double take in confusion.
“W-what?” Dylan risked taking a seat beside the obviously skittish Horseman beside him.
“Danny, the complexity and thoughtfulness in these plans is astounding. You took care to include the others equally, and the acts are such an unusual blend of all of your talents.” He smiled again, and rested a hand on Danny’s shoulder. “I couldn’t have come up with anything better myself.”
Atlas reeled from the unexpected praise. Even after the awful way he’d been acting, Dylan was infallibly caring.
“I knew you could work something out if you put your mind to it. Is this why you’ve been ignoring us for so long?” The “ignoring me” was left unsaid.
Danny looked at the hopeful look on his mentor’s face for several long seconds. He thought of the bags under his eyes, still so visible. The smile that was wavering but there, in a way it hadn’t been for more than a week. He thought of the dozens of plates left in front of his door, meals all fully and carefully cooked, if a little lackluster. The anger that had so recently been strongly stewing in Daniel’s stomach collapsed.
He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t go behind Dylan’s back again, he couldn’t hurt him like that. He may not understand why on earth Dylan would spend so much effort on him, and he still wasn’t sure he deserved it, but he had missed the Horsemen, and Dylan. He wasn’t going to do something so cruel. Not again.
“Yea. I’m done though, so I’ll be down for breakfast tomorrow.”
Dylan beamed.
Standing, he walked towards the door. But before he reached it, Dylan turned back to the startled man behind him.
“You know, Merritt was onto something. We’ve all been stuck in here for way too long. Don’t tell the others, but I’m going to plan an outing for all of us. Something to shake things up.” The man had the audacity to give a gentle wink as he slipped out the door, flicking off the overhead light behind him.
Throwing his hands over his face, Daniel collapsed back onto his bed with a groan. His thoughts were whirling in shaky, disjointed patterns. How dare Dylan be so considerate and kind and clearly just starting to recover from a severe rise of his depression (Of course Dylan had depression, the Horsemen were pretty sure he was the only one who didn’t know) that HE had caused, and yet cared for him anyway. Danny simply couldn’t deal with it, especially considering how badly he’d been about to lash out. One thought rose very clearly to the forefront of his mind.
“I am going to Hell.”
The next morning dawned bright and clear, the rain of the night before long gone. The grass on their lawn was glistening, the sun was shining… and Dylan was cooking in the kitchen. All the Horsemen, including Danny, had come into the room at the same time, slightly wary. Danny was still reeling from their late night talk, and the others had nothing to go on other than the fact that they had woken up with a blanket on and the television off.
It was a harsh shock to see Dylan up and moving around so enthusiastically. He was wearing a button down shirt, dress socks, and a pair of plain jeans that none of them had seen before. His hair was still damp from the first shower he had likely had in days. The radio propped in the corner was playing some oldies pop song, and Dylan was actually humming along in between bouts of sneezing. The smell of bacon, coffee, and waffles was filling the kitchen, a welcome change from the cereal that had been becoming progressively more stale throughout the week.
Jack made a sound that was somewhat similar to a cat in a blender, and Dylan turned, concern on his face. “Jack, are you alri-” He was interrupted by the young Horseman throwing himself bodily at the older man, forcing him to quickly put down the fistful of silverware he’d been holding before Jack impaled himself. Dylan looked down in surprise at the boy clinging to him, who was practically shaking.
“What’s wrong?” Dylan asked. Jack actually sniffled. “You’re back.” Dylan did a double take and looked around the kitchen to see three matching faces nodding along with Jack’s sentiment. Dylan’s face wavered for a moment, then he gently peeled Jack off of him and plopped him on a stool.
“I know I haven’t been myself recently, but I did a lot of thinking last night. What would you guys say to a little outing? Not a full show, obviously, but we could go see London, have lunch, do something touristy.” Everyone’s eyes, which had swiveled to Daniel when Dylan started talking, went wide. Danny had to force down a flush of guilt when he saw the accusing looks in everyone’s eyes. He stepped forward, taking the initiative to respond to Dylan, who had started to look slightly uneasy at the long silence.
“I think that sounds great, Dylan. Did you have a place in mind?” Dylan’s eyes lit up, and as everyone settled slowly around the table, he told them a story of his younger FBI days involving an international counterfeit ring based in London, a very unorthodox way into the National History Museum, and another newbie getting so smashed they tried to make out with a movie poster. Then he offered several places that he had seen that he thought they would like.
Nothing was perfect, not by a long shot. Dylan’s hands were shaking, and there was clearly a significant amount of effort on his part to be up and moving and sharing a story in the first place. Everyone was still giving Atlas suspicious side-glances, and the waffles were slightly over-cooked, but it was definitely a start. The storm looked like it had broken.