onebehind | magician's apprentice | been a hell of a ride but I'm thinking it's time to grow

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magician's apprentice | been a hell of a ride but I'm thinking it's time to grow

Dylan knew, coming out of the hospital if not going in, that getting sober wasn't going to be easy. He knew he'd have bad days and good days and days in between, and every therapist he's seen since then, every meeting he's been to has only reaffirmed that. They'd also armed him with a bag of tricks to deal with everything and everything in between, but -- well, today is one of the bad ones and nothing is helping. He's been pacing the house like a madman for the better part of the day, trying to find something to hold his attention long enough that he can stop thinking about running down to the nearest liquor store. He needs to get out of his skin. He's just shy of calling his sponsor. He needs to get out of the house.

He needs to get out of the house.

Stopping midway through moving a pile of books from one side of the living room to the other, he latches onto that idea and turns it over in his head. He needs to get out of the house.

He's moving again a second later, though this time, it's with a purpose, a clarity he hasn't felt like he's had in hours, days, weeks. He goes to Jack's room, tapping lightly on the door, and then after a beat and once he's been invited in, sticks his head in. Flashing him a smile that's equal parts reassuring and strained (he's fine, they're fine, this is nothing bad, he's just a little jittery, don't mind him), he tells him, "Hey. Pack your shit."

He has an idea. It'll be good for both of them.

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"It's -- tradition," he explains, all at once less manic, something softer and sadder flowing in, washing it away. A moment of hesitation follows, as he tries to decide now if he wants to explain but if he can, and ultimately, he ends up shaking his head. Apparently not. "You'll see."

A beat.

"It's only a couple hours up there."

Jack hesitates too, feeling out that emotion - and then huffing out a breath. "Okay."

Obviously, he's on board with whatever Dylan has in mind. He was just surprised considering how much of their other travel has been done through the Floo Network.

That said, he heads for his side of the car, reaching for the door handle once he gets there.

Dylan waits until he's in the car before muttering a cursory but obligatory, "Buckle up."

Once Jack has, once he's settled and he is, he shifts a little, settling in, and then puts the car in park, starting to pull away from the curb. They're a handful of traffic lights away from home before Dylan speaks again. "You ever leave the city? Like -- not like we have, but take the bridge or the tunnel or whatever?"

He's pretty sure he knows the answer to that, for all that he's pretty sure Jack had never been out of the city, period, before him, but it beats the silence.

Jack has already started to reach for his belt, pulling it on and getting comfortable, glancing over his shoulder at traffic as they head out. He looks over at Dylan at the question, shaking his head. "Not really? Most of the places they put me were in the city - and even most of our school trips or whatever were around here."

Literally the only times he's really been out of New York have been with Dylan.

"Makes you feel any better, you're really not missing much," Dylan tells him, wryly. Still, despite that and Jack's answer in mind, he heads for the bridge rather than the tunnel. Better for Jack to have a view, while they're crawling along, headed out of the city, than the dark claustrophobia of the tunnel.

Jack laughs a little in response to that. "That mean you think New York's better than everywhere else?"

Clearly, that is what Dylan means. He does appreciate the choice of the bridges, though. He's not exactly claustrophobic, but the view from higher up does sound better than watching solid walls pass by.

"Isn't it?" Dylan shoots back. Maybe that's not what he meant, maybe it was, but either way, it is now. New York is and will always be home. New York is and will always be where his heart is.

"Well, I mean, yeah," Jack returns - and looks over at Dylan to shoot him a wide grin. Honestly, he assumed Dylan agreed with him on that? He just wanted to make sure.

"Glad we're on the same page," Dylan says with a nod. A pause follows, his mood drifting slowly back towards something more serious, and then he tells him, "You wanna fuck with the radio, by the way, I'm not gonna stop you."

It's going to be a long, potentially quiet ride, if he doesn't.

Jack grins back at him for another moment before he turns his attention back out the front window, mood drifting back toward neutral along with Dylan's. "Oh, yeah," he agrees easily, shifting to reach for the radio. It takes him a moment to figure out which button does what, but he finally finds his usual local station, settling back in his seat. "This okay?"

There's a vague sense that Dylan's still a little too something to really register the radio, the music more for Jack's benefit than his, but still, he nods. "Yeah, that's fine."

It's not bothering him, at least.

Jack doesn't respond to that, just turning his attention out the window for a while as he watches the City pass. There's a tinge of something dark flitting through his memories of driving through New York, considering it was usually in Madeline's car on the way to his next placement that would inevitably end in disaster, and a little worry about Dylan, what's going on that has him so on edge. He knows it's not directed at him, and he's not worried in that regard, but there's definitely some anxiety spiraling around in there.

They really are a pair in that regard.

It's a long time before Dylan bothers trying to explain. It's a long time before he can find the words, and when he does, they're stilted, almost choked. "This time of year's always been hard, and the not drinking thing's making it harder. I'd probably -- I'd be drunk. Hell, I'd probably be drunk, even if it wasn't coming up on the anniversary of Dad's ... "

He shakes his head, breaking off there. It takes him another moment to finish.

"Long story short, it's not you, it's me." A beat. "I figure this'll be good for both of us, though." Because yes, he's picked up on the darker turn of Jack's thoughts. It would be hard not to.

Jack looks back at Dylan as he starts to speak, quiet throughout. He stays quiet through the pause, able to tell with their connection that Dylan's not done - and then shakes his head.

"No, I know. Like, really." He can actually tell that it's not him, and he's glad for that ability, because he would be worrying about it otherwise. "The holidays kinda... kinda suck for everybody in some way, I think."

He hasn't had a good Christmas since he was a kid, and it's getting harder to remember those the older he gets.

"Yeah," Dylan allows, a little distantly. Now, though, the distance is about Jack, for him, rather than himself. Not that he wasn't planning on it already, all things considered, but now he has to make this Christmas memorable for Jack.

He files that thought away for later.

"Yeah, well," he continues, ineffectually. "Like I said." Hopefully this, if nothing else, will be a start.

"Yeah," Jack agrees, pausing a beat before he narrows his eyes at Dylan, a faint smile pulling at his mouth. "You gonna tell me where we're going, yet?"

Obviously it's out of the city but not that far out of the city - but it still doesn't really narrow anything down.

Dylan smirks, though there's that underlying flicker of nervousness again. He's excited to show Jack where they're going; he hopes he like where they're going as much as Dylan, himself, does.

"You'll see when we get there," he tells him, either way.

That doesn't help at all, and Jack narrows his eyes at him for that smirk.

"Ugh," he declares in further response, settling back to apparently sulk - though he's smiling a little, too. "C'mon, gimme a hint."

Grin fading into something more thoughtful, Dylan rakes his tongue over his teeth, trying to come up with a hint that doesn't give the whole thing away. In the end, he decides on, "We're going somewhere my father took me, when I was a kid."

A beat.

"I was a lot younger than you are, now, but ... " Still. The tradition still remains, if only because he's making it a tradition.

That does absolutely nothing to assuage Jack's curiosity - and now he has even more questions. He's trying not to bombard Dylan with them, though, considering he knows the topic of Lionel Shrike isn't exactly a pleasant one.

"So that's what the driving's about?"

The tradition, he means, because yeah, he picked up on that - and it's a question he can ask that doesn't directly relate to Lionel.

He nods, though it takes him a moment to find his words, the memory faded in some places, razor sharp in others. He doesn't remember the argument he and his mother had, before they'd left for the warehouse, for example, but he does remember that, "I kind of knew where we were going, when we got in the car. I also think I held my breath, the entire time, because I was afraid he'd change his mind."

Not that Lionel would have, he knows that, in hindsight, but.

Jack narrows his eyes at him, because yeah, that doesn't help either. "See, now I really wanna know," he complains, but there's no heat behind it. Honestly, he's just getting even more excited and interested in where this is going - in where they're going.

"You'll see it when we get there," Dylan reminds him, though there's no more heat backing that statement than there was Jack's. He gives him a similarly less than serious look, before he adds, "Keep your pants on -- it's only a couple hours."

"So I shouldn't ask 'are we there yet' every ten minutes?" he asks jokingly, shooting Dylan another grin.

Why do you put up with him again?

"You know, I can always pull over and tie you to the roof," he tells him, scowl deepening, even if he's not any more serious than he was a second before.

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