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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Jack is practically bouncing on the balls of his feet as Dylan retrieves the blades. He's equally careful as he reaches out to take them, partly because he doesn't know how sharp they might actually be but mostly because he's worried about managing to damage them somehow, considering they're literally historical objects.

"Oh, these are actually as heavy as they look," he says as he hefts them a little, getting a better grip. "Always kinda wondered if they were just playing that up."

"They're actually steel, even if they're not sharp," Dylan reminds him, gently.

He'll let Jack have another minute or two to inspect them as he pulls the cabinet open and gets in. It's probably a good thing that he's never been a particularly tall man.

"You wanna close me in here?"

Jack does look over the blades a little more before Dylan speaks again - and then he sets them aside to approach the actual rig. "Do I just... close this?" He pauses a beat. "I don't think you're wearing enough sequins," he teases.

Dylan snorts, resting his hand in the place cut out for the door to close around the assistant's wrist. "I'll find something for the dress rehearsal, boss, promise."

A pause follows, then more seriously, he tells him, "But yeah. Just close the doors."

Jack just snickers as he does, in fact, push the doors closed and put down the latches before he steps back. "Okay, um... tell me when you're good?"

Dylan waves his free hand at him. "I'm good if you're good."

Never mind the fact that, in the tight space of the cabinet, he's turning so that Jack can put the blades in without hurting him. It won't take him more than a second. He'll be ready by the time Jack has the blades in hand, again.

Jack moves to pick up the blades, hefting one so he can line it up with the slot in the side of the rig. It takes him a moment - but then he slides it into place, adjusting a little when it wants to snag on the sides of the track.

That one done, he picks up the second one, pushing it into place as well. He's torn between frowning in concentration and beaming like an idiot considering this is so fucking cool, so he's a little relieved Dylan can't see his face right now.

"Alright, you got that?" he asks, never mind the fact that he can absolutely feel the second blade just shy of his thighs. Jack is right in thinking that Dylan really can't see much, from inside the box.

"Now, what you wanna do is push the middle section to the left."

Jack takes a step back once he gets the blade into place - and then nods, mostly to himself.

"Right," he returns. "Or, uh... yeah."

He nudges the box a little in case he needs to get it moving - and when it moves freely enough, he pushes it to the left, as directed, until it stops.

And predictably, in the space where Dylan's midsection is, there's nothing. He glances down at the spot, pretending to wring his hands, hand, as best he can, fingers twisting and relaxing over and over again, and then looks to Jack. "Gotta say, not having a stomach is kinda weird."

Jack snorts, grinning - not that he's really stopped grinning at this point, because holy shit this is awesome. "I mean, you could try to make it the next diet fad or whatever?"

"People'd probably pay for it," he says by way of agreement. A vague gesture to his missing stomach follows. "But I really don't wanna have to explain all this to Mike, so how 'bout you put me back together?"

Jack laughs again - but does pull the box back into position. He pulls the blades out, pausing to lean them carefully against the wall before he undoes the latches and steps back. "Ta da," he says, his grin even wider now, and he rocks up onto his toes again, barely resisting the urge to bounce.

Dylan pushes out of the box, once Jack has stepped away, and gestures to it with a flourish, for the benefit of a nonexistent audience. A bow follow, and when he straightens again, he smiles at Jack. "Remind me, next time, to bring a pogo stick."

Not that he really blames him for being exicted.

Jack settles back onto his heels sheepishly, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck. "Sorry, it's just... super cool?"

He knows Dylan's just giving him a hard time to tease him, but he recognizes he's maybe being a little overexcited about the whole thing.

But come on. It's literally history and literally magic.

He nudges his shoulder lightly, almost apologetically, somehow. He was just teasing; he doesn't blame Jack for being excited. If anything, to be honest, it makes him feel better about his decision to bring him out here in the first place.

"And here I was, worried that you were gonna be bored," he tells him, that in mind.

Jack nudges him back with a smile, that sheepish edge fading again, warmth filtering through the connection.

"Nah, man, this is awesome. I mean, out there's cool enough, and then all this on top of it?" He gestures vaguely, meaning to indicate the warehouse itself.

"Yeah, well." He's glad Jack's into it, really. He makes that much clear, through the connection, too, before he lets it go, the feeling ebbing slowly, like the tide going out to sea.

"Anyway, uh ... " he continues after a beat, looking for the next logical step in the conversation. He's really not sure what that is, though.

Jack hums acknowledgement of that as the mood changes, and he raises his eyes to take in more of the warehouse. "Uh... so... there anything else in here? Or's it all just storage or whatever?"

Not that he'll be disappointed if it is just a storage space, but he's trying to get them moving again, if Dylan needs to show him anything else in the warehouse or if they need to go anywhere else to look at something.

"I got a workbench?" Dylan supplies, gesturing towards the far wall opposite the door. There is, in fact, a workbench sitting there, taking up most of it, covered in a mess of papers and models made from Legos. None of them are particularly sensitive, though -- he's not that far along in planning his revenge.

"And there's, like, a not-quite bedroom, in the back."

Jack drifts toward the bench in question, grinning at the sight of the Legos. He doesn't dare to pick any of them up, though, still wary of messing something up and making Dylan angry - just because he's starting to relax doesn't mean there aren't still some old habits in there that he's yet to shake.

"Oh, yeah," he returns, glancing toward where he assumes Dylan means. "I guess that makes more sense than having to, like... set up an air mattress or a crappy cot or something."

" ... is this a bad time to tell you it is a crappy cot?" Dylan asks after a long, purposeful pause. As far as he's aware, it actually is, which is why he said not-quite bedroom. It's a place to sleep, sure, but there's no bed.

Jack blinks at him - and then laughs. "It's better than the floor," he declares after a moment.

He shouldn't really be surprised to know it's just a cot, considering the rest of the space - and considering he made his previous comment based on the idea that Dylan came out to work sometimes and just ended up being here later than he meant to.

"You ever go camping or whatever? Tents and all that crap?" That's kind of a random question, but it's related to the crappy cot situation.

He shakes his head.

"We spent the night on the beach, in the bed of a buddy's pickup truck, once, but." There had been two pickups, if you want to get technical, but that's a matter of semantics. The point he's making is that's probably the closest to camping as he's ever been, and that was years ago, decades. It also probably wasn't strictly legal, but again, semantics.

"That something you're interested in doing?"

"Maybe?" Jack decides after a moment. "I've never done it anyway."

There's a lot he hasn't done, really, and he's not even sure if it's something he would end up doing. If the opportunity came up, he wouldn't say no, though.

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