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The performance was going fantastic. The crowd was awed– they always were. It was their second in-location performance, and while the theatre was small and more standing room than seating room, it was still a stage. A stage they were working like the professionals they were.
It’d already been half an hour, and their performance was set to last around forty-five minutes. It was going great, and Jack was midway through his solo performance featuring card tricks he’d done a million times. The audience was enjoying it, just like they’d enjoyed everything else. They were a fantastic crowd, very good at ooh-ing and ahh-ing at the appropriate moments. It was a rush, to perform on a stage like that.
And then the deep, familiar feeling of sick dread bottomed out in his stomach. Nausea, something distant and not-quite-right feeling, curled through him and he faltered mid trick. He knew exactly what it was, the twisting sensation that made him dizzy.
He had time, he could get through the trick.
He would not fuck this up.
The cards moving in his hands were flung with motions that’d become muscle memory to him, a miracle. He didn’t have to focus, didn’t have to ensure he was doing it correctly, he just had to focus on not collapsing on stage.
“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen!” He called, throwing his arms out. There was one out he had at his disposal– a cheap smoke bomb he kept with him, mostly for situations like this. Sometimes for fun, for comedic deployment mid conversations. Sometimes it was for getting around from a mugger or a creep on the streets.
More often than not, it was how he fled when his body decided to betray him.
He was struggling to stand up straight now, he could swear the entire theatre had tilted just enough that he had to lean to stay standing, “That isn’t all from us, but it’s the end of my part in the act! You’ve been a wonderful audience!”
The smoke grenade tucked in his vest was easy to grab subtly, to flick to active in his hand. He took the final card from his throwaway deck and concealed the small explosive, before flicking it down at the ground so the crowd bounced toward the audience.
The smoke concealed the stage, it choked the air and made it harder to breathe than it already was. He fumbled for the off switch on his mic, and practically leapt off the stage to the prep room, “Hen!” He called, voice edging on frantic.
“Jack? You have another few minutes left, what’s going on?”
“I– can’t,” he choked, practically crashing into the nearest piece of furniture. That subtle sensation of being off balance had tripled, he felt like gravity was breaking. No matter how much he tried to compensate or how little, he kept feeling that sudden shit, I’m falling feeling deep in his gut.
Henley didn’t stick around to help him, even though he’s sure she wanted to. Her heels clicked toward the stage at a run, rushing to get back before the smoke cleared. More movement shuffled around the room, “Kid?” Merritt’s voice was tinged with worry.
Jack clenched at his chest, his eyes clenched shut. It was hard to breathe through the nausea, the sharp sting of bile in his throat. The world felt disconnected, and he felt like he was wobbling despite standing still– was he standing still? He couldn’t tell, he could feel the cold surface of furniture beneath his arm, that was it.
“Jack, hey,” Danny’s fingers snapped near his head, and he flinched. It sent a wave of dizziness through him, and his grip on the table slipped just enough that he tipped over. Strong arms caught him, “Jack, look at me, tell– tell me what’s going on.”
Jack couldn’t open his eyes– couldn’t look at the world he knew was swimming with a familiar aura mirage, but he smacked his lips and tried to bring moisture to his mouth to speak, “s’z’re,” he rasped, voice breaking. He grunted, squirmed in Merritt’s grip. He needed to lay down before it started, didn’t he?
“What– What’d he say?” Danny’s voice was low. Jack got the feeling he was talking to Merritt.
“I’m not sure… kid, come on, little louder for us.”
Jack scowled, breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth, “See’sure,” he slurred, tongue suddenly much too heavy.
There was a pause, “Set him down, quickly. I’ll find a– a pillow, or- or– or a blanket, a towel.”
Danny’s stammer usually wasn’t that bad, he noted absently. He must be especially worried, which Jack figured was pretty reasonable.
Maybe he should’ve told them about the seizures, but when they first met it just wasn’t feasible. He was a street magician– hardly that. He was a petty thief that must’ve been picked by sheer luck. He’d done a few shitty corner performances and that’s it.
He was the youngest, the weakest, he had the smallest part in the plan. If they found out he had seizures, they would’ve thrown him out. Found someone to replace him.
They still might, he worried, before thick saliva floods his mouth and his whole body shakes with the force of a gag, “Woah, there, Jack,” Merritt’s voice is soothing, like trickling water and a soft breeze during sunrise.
He might be getting a little delusional, or… something. Whatever the word was. He couldn’t think.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Merritt murmured reassuringly, running a hand through his hair despite the thick layer of hair spray holding it in its position. Jack groaned, tried to swallow down his saliva without gagging again, “Come on, work with me here.”
Right. He was being moved. He went slack, heard Merritt grunt and belatedly realized that wasn’t what he meant. Still, the eldest horsemen worked with it, gently lowering him down to the ground until they were laying flat.
Frantic dress shoe steps approached them, “I got a pillow. Merritt, move, check on Henley.”
Danny’s voice seemed to fade in and out, painful feelings like pressure in his head pressed against him. For a fleeting moment, he felt like he was floating– no solid ground beneath him, no air around him, no arms clutching his arms in worry– just… nothing.
And then it was black.
…
Danny was stressed about the performance. It was only their second show on a real stage as a group, and while he’d done plenty solo and duo acts, this was different. This was important, it was one of the first big steps toward the real meat of The Eye’s plan.
He was pacing behind stage while Jack’s solo act played out– the part he was, quite frankly, most worried for. Merritt had been on the scene for decades, he and Henley worked so closely together he knew she could handle herself, but he was– forgive the humour– a wild card.
He was more a petty thief than a magician, he hardly did street shows before meeting them. He’d never been on the big stage, he wasn’t even old enough to drink.
So, yes, he was stressed. Stressed that Jack would fuck it up, or worse, one of the rest of them would, and things would crash and burn and they’d never make it into the eye. He kept glancing at where Henley sat in the wings, keeping an eye on their youngest.
“Danny, sit your ass down before you wear a hole in the floor,” Merritt drawled, eyes glued to his phone. Danny had been listening to the quiet chimes of Candy Crush for the last ten minutes, and it was slowly driving him insane.
He did not sit down.
“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen!”
Danny perked up, alarmed. What was Jack doing? That wasn’t the end of his performance– he had another five minutes, he can’t be leaving stage already. He flicked his wrist to check his watch, and sure enough, he hadn’t lost track of time.
“That isn’t all from us, but it’s the end of my part in the act! You’ve been a wonderful audience!”
What was he doing?
The sound of hissing filled the stage, and Danny saw whisps of smoke curl toward the wings, before Jack practically fell into the prep room, “Hen!” His voice was frantic, crackling, like something was wrong.
“Jack?” Henley’s hands flitted around him, worried, “You have another few minutes left, what’s going on?”
“I– can’t,” Jack seemed to choke on his own words, listing to the side until he nearly crashed into the nearest piece of furniture– a table that had been left bare for food and drinks none of them ordered.
“Henley, you need to get on stage,” Danny directed, her part was after Jack’s, and even if it was a few minutes early they could improvise. He tried his best to shove down the anxiety that things not going to plan shoved down his throat, instead focusing on Jack.
Jack looked like he was tipping over even laying half his body weight on the table. His hand clutched at his chest, pinching the fabric of his dress shirt so tightly that Danny was sure one of the buttons would snap off. His breathing was fast, frantic, like he was having a panic attack.
“Kid?” Merritt stood from behind him, crossing the room while Danny stood frozen.
The movement of their eldest Horseman got him going, and he made it to Jack’s side in two long strides, “Jack, hey,” he snapped his fingers near the kids ear, trying to get him to focus away from whatever was making him panic. Sweat beaded on the thiefs face.
Jack flinched violently at the sudden noise, and it seemed to send him fully off balance. He jerked, trying to correct himself before he could fall, and failed. Merritt lurched forward to catch him.
“Jack, look at me, tell– tell me what’s going on,” Danny kept his hands back, fidgeting with the cuff on his shirt to keep from trying to pull Jack’s attention to him.
His mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air a few times, brows pinching. He managed to rasp out something, but Danny could hardly distinguish it from a harsh breath.
“What– what’d he say?” Danny bit his cheek, now wasn’t the time for his stammer to be acting up. He looked up toward Merritt, with him being closer, maybe he understood it.
Merritt pursed his lips, shaking his head, “I’m not sure… Kid, come on, little louder for us.”
Jack’s face twisted into a scowl, and he took a deep breath, “See-sure,” he slurred.
Danny and Merritt looked at each other, alarm heavy on their faces. Danny’s heart began to jackrabbit, threatening to beat out of his chest.
Since when did Jack have seizures? He’d not had one in all the months they’d lived together– or had he? Had he hid them? Why would he hide something so important?
“Set him down, quickly,” he swallowed hard, gesturing toward the ground, “I’ll find a- a pillow, or- or– or a blanket, a towel,” he stuttered, rushing away from Merritt while he tried to force out the words. If the aura had started just before Jack began to announce his departure from stage, they must have less than a minute before the seizure itself started.
He heard Merritt’s soft voice, no distinguishable words, while he rushed around the prep room looking for something he could use. In the end, he found a chair in a small seating space that had a thin pillow on it, and rushed back. He was heaving for breath by the time he made it to them.
Merritt had Jack laid flat on the ground, head cushioned on his lap just in case. Danny dropped to the floor beside them, “I got a pillow. Merritt, move, check on Henley.”
Danny had only just barely managed to shove the pillow beneath Jack’s head when he started seizing.
Henley’s heels clicked on the hardwood floor, steps quicker than they should be if she’s trying to maintain a cool exterior for the crowd, “Is he– oh my gosh,” Henley gasped, and then she was beside him, hands hovering near Jack’s twitching form.
“It– it– it–,” Danny bit his tongue, and scowled. He took a breath, focused on what he was trying to say, “It seems he may have some sort of– of pre-existing condition,” he explained, much happier to talk of the facts of the situation than to sit in silence watching someone he’d started… caring about seize painfully on the floor in front of him.
“Pre-existing? Why didn’t we know about it?” her hands twitched, and he grabbed for them. He wasn’t big on touch, never had been, but she needed it. He could handle it for long enough to keep her calm.
“Don’t try to restrain him, you could risk causing a dislocation or bruising. He said– he said–” he breathed out a sharp breath, “He said he was going to have a- a seizure, like he knew– like he knew it was going to happen. That means he’s had– had them before.”
“Right.” Henley swallowed, nervous. Her gloved hand clenched his, like she was reassuring herself he was there, “I don’t know anything about… seizures. Should we call someone? An ambulance?”
“No.” But he hesitated, because they might need to. It would depend on Jack’s perspective, but he might not be aware enough when he comes out of it to give them a proper answer. But if they called for an ambulance, they would draw attention to Jack’s medical emergency– that wasn’t the kind of publicity they needed, “No, if he needs a hospital we’ll take him. After the performance.”
“The performance?” Henley exclaimed, “Forget the show, Danny, he’s– Jack isn’t even old enough to drink and I’m watching him have a– a seizure, what if something goes wrong in his head and he dies, Danny. Are you willing to let that happen over one show?”
“He’ll be fine. It– It’ll be fine,” Danny tried to keep his voice steady. It didn’t work.
There was a loud thump, one that repeated over and over once it started, and Danny jerked his attention to see Jack’s wrist hitting the leg of the table that Merritt must not’ve thought to move him away from. He let go of Henley’s hand long enough to tug off his suit jacket and shove it in between the surface and their fellow horseman.
Henley stared at him, and he refused to look back at her for more than a glance.
He took her hand again.
He flicked his watch up, calculated approximately how long it’d been since the seizure began. If his memory was serving him well, then the seizure needed to end within two minutes before it became an emergency.
“...How much longer?” Henley’s voice had lowered, like she didn’t want to break the figurative silence, “For the– the seizure, I mean.”
He hummed, forced his mouth to work, “About– about– uh, two minutes. If it goes any longer… well, then we’ll need to cancel the show, I guess.”
“Right.”
The twitching began to slow after sixty long seconds. Daniel wished he could say he finally went slack, all that tension tugging at him slipping away, but he didn’t. They weren’t out of the woods yet.
“Alright, everybody, make some noise for J. Daniel Atlas! Come on, call him out here folks, let’s get his attention!” Merritt’s stage voice echoed into the wings.
“Shit,” Danny hissed. It was his turn to take stage, if they were to stay on schedule he was meant to go out after Jack before the finale, “Henley, stay with him. When– when– when– shit,” he ran a hand through his hair, then winced. He’d definitely ruined the look, “When he wakes up, ask him questions, he– he might be– groggy, or confused, okay?”
She nodded, lurched to grab his suit jacket that he’d already forgotten he’d taken off, “Here,” she held it up to him, only to grab him by the shoulder and pull him back down. She pressed a kiss to his lips, “For good luck. He’ll be alright, okay?”
He nodded, pressing his forehead against hers and taking a breath, “Okay. I’ll be back.”
“Put on a good show, yeah?” she reached up and gently mussed with his hair, putting it back into its artfully disheveled look.
“I always do. Oh, oh– uh, turn him on his side, when he wakes up. Recovery— recovery position.”
“Got it. Go on, they’re waiting,” The chanting for their showman had reached impressive volumes. She watched him go, then turned her attention to Jack when a tired, crackling groan pushed itself from his throat, “Jack? Honey, can you hear me?”
There wasn’t a response. She grabbed him by the shoulder and hip, praying he wouldn’t fight back as she carefully pulled him onto his side. He grunted, a pained hiss breaking through his teeth, but aside from some weak tugging against her hands he didn’t make it difficult.
“I’m right here, okay? I’m not going anywhere, you’re alright,” she murmured, rubbing small circles into his skin with her thumbs, “I’m right here. Just breathe.”
Merritt slipped into the wings, “How is he?” were his first words to her. He dropped down beside her and reached to adjust the pillow so it sat more comfortably beneath Jack’s head.
“Waking up still, I think. Sounds like he’s in pain, but… not much we can do about that, I guess.”
“Right.” Merritt rested his hand against her shoulder in comfort. Jack’s face twisted and he grunted, shifting in obvious discomfort, “Jack, kid? You with us?”
Jack’s words were slurred and mumbled enough that he wasn’t audible. Henley and Merritt shared a look.
“One more time, honey? A little louder if you can,” Henley rubbed his shoulder gently, trying to reassure him.
He grunted again, “Ich fühle mich beschissen…" he muttered.
Merritt raised a brow at her, “That wasn’t English, right? My ears aren’t going?”
“No, I think that was… German?” she frowned, “Since when did he speak German?”
“Huh,” Merritt tipped his head in thought, “Now that I think about it, that might be what he’s speaking when he’s half asleep.”
“Mer’?” Jack squinted an eye open, his gaze unfocused and fuzzy.
Their attention was back on Jack in a blink, “We’re here, kid. How you feelin?”
“Schrecklich.”
“English, if you please.” In a better situation, Henley would’ve laughed.
Jack groaned, frowning. His eyes slipped shut again. A series of sounds that didn’t sound like words, German or otherwise, but more like him trying to put together a word that he couldn’t quite remember, “Bad,” he managed, eventually.
“Yeah, I bet.”
“Do you know where you are?” Henley kept her voice soft, because there was no chance he didn’t have a headache after that. He grunted.
“Uh…” Jack swallowed thickly, throat bobbing, “Bühne... Aufführung... verdammt, Englisch.” He mumbled. His face twisted, “Show?”
Merritt slumped in relief beside her, “Yeah, kid, that’s right. We were at a show. Do you, uh…” He looked to Henley, frowning.
“Do you remember who you’re here with?”
“So viele verdammte Fragen... uhm,” his voice cracked, “Mer?” he managed, “...Hen?”
“That’s right, do you know who else?”
He frowned, face twisting like he was thinking. The silence dragged on for long enough that Henley was about to reassure him that it was okay– even if it wasn’t, even if she didn’t know how much memory loss was okay after a seizure, was any? Did it mean he needed a hospital?-- “‘An’ny?” He forced out, like pausing midway through the slurred name.
“Yes. Yeah, yes, Jack, good job,” she took his hand, squeezing it reassuringly, “Merritt, how’s Danny?” She turned to their eldest horsemen, who was staring at Jack with a pinched, worried expression.
He didn’t move for a few seconds, like he was reluctant to go look– she could understand that, “I’ll go check. Stay with him?”
“Obviously. We’ll be right here, okay?”
His knees popped when he stood. Henley shuffled so she was sat beside Jack’s head, moving her hand to run through his slicked back hair. The gel and hairspray in it kept it clung up in big chunks, but after a few swipes it started to come loose.
Jack hummed in appreciation, leaning toward her. Some of the hard lines in his face softened. She sat with him, watching him carefully. Would he have another seizure? Was there usually more than one? Did she need to keep him awake, was it like a concussion?
“He needs us out there,” Merritt leaned back in from the wings, face expressing just how little he liked that idea. She scowled.
“He can’t expect us to just leave Jack back here, can he?”
“He needs to end the performance,” Merritt shrugged, “It’ll be quick, Jack'll be fine.”
She looked down at their youngest, and forced herself to back away, “Jack, honey, we’ll be right back, okay?” She murmured, “Try to stay awake.”
He hummed, and it made her heart twist to watch his face fall back into pained lines and a thick frown. She glared at Merritt, who held his hands up in surrender, “Glare at Danny, not me.”
“I can glare at both of you. Let’s get this over with.”
…
Jack hated having seizures.
That wasn’t surprising. Nobody would enjoy something like that, it was miserable and painful and worst of all– he wasn’t alone, this time. They'd all seen it. Hell, he’d barely managed to get off stage before it started.
He could… vaguely recall Danny and Merritt being there when he got backstage, and he thought Henley went on stage to replace him? But it was all so fuzzy, and it hurt to think.
When he woke up everything was sluggishly processing, he could hear people talking around him but it was taking him far longer to translate than it usually did. His mushy brain wanted to whine about the people around him not speaking German, but he was conscious enough to know that he should be speaking English.
Henley and Merritt– though their names came and went in his memory– fluttered around him talking and touching him, gentle, reassuring hands against his body. Hands that held him in place in the recovery position, despite the way it made his shoulder pinch uncomfortably and his neck ache.
By the time Henley and Merritt had to leave him, he was aware enough to recognize he shouldn’t roll back over. But it hurt. Everything hurt. His muscles burned, his head was throbbing, and there was a sharp, stinging pain in his wrist.
He wanted to go home. He wanted to lay in bed and sleep off that feeling. That feeling of exhaustion and confusion, the thick fog that hung around his head and made it hard to think and speak.
It felt like no time at all and an eternity before there were footsteps rushing toward him, and hands on him. He’d started to doze, and it took him far too long to recognize and translate Danny’s frantic voice.
His brow furrowed at the sound of his stutter, thick and obvious and hard to process. He blinked his eyes open, just enough to get a feeling for where everyone was, and twitched his arm toward Danny, “Alles in Ordnung?” He muttered.
Danny turned to him and frowned. Words tumbled from his lips that Jack had to reorder in his head, “What– What– what’s he saying?” He stumbled, turning to Henley, “Since when does he not– not– Since when does he speak German?”
How did they not know his first language was German? There’s no way that’s not come up… His train of thought trailed off, a buzzing in his ears making it hard to focus.
Someone shook his shoulder, and he twitched his head up to see Merritt looking down at him, speaking slowly, “What’d you say, kid?”
He frowned. Right, English. No German. He knew this already, why was he still struggling with it? “Danny.. okay?” He managed, eyes flicking back toward the showman.
“Yeah, he’s fine, don’t worry about him,” Merritt’s voice was warm and soothing, reassuringly calm, “Just worried about you.”
Henley muttered something that Jack couldn’t quite make out, drawing Merritt’s attention away.
“...up, okay?” He blinked. Merritt was looking at him again, “Okay?”
He furrowed his brow. He didn't know what he was being asked, but he trusted Merritt. He nodded, and then strong arms pressed beneath him and he was lifted off the ground. He tensed, pain flaring, and couldn’t keep himself from keening at the feeling. An apology was spoken, though he didn’t know who by.
It was a blur, getting home. He vaguely remembered being brought into the car, laid down more on Merritt’s lap that on the seats. He remembered the pain and confusion he felt when he was woken up to be brought inside, and how every step up the staircase the person carrying him took made something in his leg pinch and flare angrily.
He didn’t remember much from the night, but when he woke up the next morning buried in a puppy pile of the other three, he figured that was alright. Even Danny was still sound asleep despite the sun shining in through the blackout curtains.
…
Bonus:
“So, since when do you speak German?” Merritt interrupted their quiet morning, his spoon quietly clicking along the edges of his coffee mug.
Jack paused, breakfast bar half in his mouth, and raised a brow, “Really? That’s what you’re gonna ask about?” He asked around the food. His wrist was fucked up, he’s fairly certain he hit it against something, and he probably has a mild concussion seeing as he still had a headache. But aside from that and some general weakness, he was fine this morning.
Merritt hummed into his mug.
“Since forever. I was taught German and English growing up,” he gave in, pulling his breakfast from his mouth. May as well get this over with.
Danny, rinsing out the last of the coffee pot to put in the dishwasher, frowned at him, “If you were taught– taught both growing up, why– why did you default to German?”
Jack stared, trying to think back to the night before. He remembered having trouble understanding them, to a degree, but… was he speaking German? “I guess sometimes it all gets mixed up?” He hesitated.
“Boys, leave him be,” Henley interrupted, stopping Danny from asking any more questions by pointing at him with her spatula, “Breakfast, Jack,” she handed him a plate, and he blinked down at it. She gave him a look, “You didn’t think I was going to let you get away with just that, did you?”
“Uh. No, ma’am,” he took the plate, “Thanks?”
“Mhm,” she hummed, “Go sit down, put on a movie.”
“What?” Merritt said, “Why does he get to pick the movie? We have turns for a reason, Henley Reeves.”
“Did you have a seizure last night, Merritt?” She cocked her hip, raising a brow at him. Jack slipped from the kitchen, biting down laughter.
He loved these guys.