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 just huffs out a laugh, this one more directed at himself.

He takes a bite of food as Dylan answers and then shrugs. "I get it. Just uh... you know. When you feel like it? I'll listen." He offers him a smile that's crooked but real.

For a moment, Dylan's tempted to tell him, albeit not unkindly, that he may be waiting awhile for all that he really doesn't know where to start. He clamps down on the urge, however, instead settling for studying Jack for a minute as he rakes his tongue over his teeth.

"You're allowed to ask questions, too, y'know," he says, instead and finally. Jack's allowed to prompt him on stuff, and it may actually help.

Jack makes a face - again with not wanting to bring up any bad memories for Dylan, but he already apologized for that and had it dismissed. "Okay," Jack returns simply, instead. "But you're allowed to tell me you don't feel like answering."

If Dylan's already having a bad day - like he was today, like led to them going to the Warehouse - he doesn't want to make it worse.

"Deal," Dylan allows, with a firm nod. A pause follows, as he finally takes a bite of his own food, and then, "So, uh."

He really has no idea where they go from here.

Jack mirrors the nod, turning his attention back to his own food for a few moments before Dylan speaks again. He pauses another moment, thinking, and then finishes the bite he's just taken. "So, uh... Maybe we talked about this, but. Did you live in New York at all before I ran into you?"

He's pretty sure they had a discussion about the Brownstone's decor at some point, but that had been before Jack had known the whole truth, and he doesn't think it's come up since then.

Dylan huffs out a breath of a laugh, then leans forward a bit, eyebrows creeping upwards over a wry smile. "What, you really think my aesthetic is doily schick?"

A beat, then he leans back, his expression fading into something more thoughtful in measures. "But uh -- no, I moved to Vegas after I graduated the Academy. I came back to New York a lot for lunch or whatever, though."

His heart was still in New York, even if he wasn't.

"I thought about getting a place, and kinda splitting my time between the two a couple of times, but ... " He shakes his head. "It didn't really make sense before I met you, you know? Like, what would be the point?"

Jack shrugs, but he's grinning, too. "Not like I knew that before," he tells him, teasing - never mind that he has seen Dylan's actual aesthetic now - or at least Agent Rhodes's -, considering he'd spent time at the Vegas apartment while Dylan was detoxing.

He sobers a little as Dylan actually answers, nodding. "Right, yeah, that makes sense, considering you could just go back and forth and not actually have to stay wherever." He pauses. "And then I tried to steal your wallet and made you get a second mortgage."

Jack's smirk returns - and he doesn't actually know how Dylan's paying for the Brownstone, if he rents it or owns it or what, and he doesn't actually know what "second mortgage" means beyond the general idea, but it's a thing people say regarding housing, right? He's just being a little shit, as usual.

"Alright there, Warren Buffett," Dylan says with a roll of his eyes. There's a smile that hides under the expression, though -- he's clearly entertained. "Lucky for you I rent. And the FBI pays pretty well. And the Eye pays me a stipend ever month for doing occasional side shit for them."

Or for being Lionel Shrike's son. Or just for being a member. He's not entirely sure, to be honest, and he's never really thought to ask. He just keeps himself available if the Eye needs anything from him and leaves it at that.

Jack makes a face that's half cringe and half apologetic. "I have no idea who that is," he admits. Sorry, Dylan. This may be when he goes all blasé teenager on him, because he definitely doesn't understand that reference.

"And you save a shitton on plane tickets," he jokes, grinning around a sip of his drink. "But, uh... what kinda stuff do you do for the Eye? Since you're obviously not on stage or whatever."

He's assuming it has something to do with the sketches he's seen Dylan doing, but he's also never actually seen Dylan's sketchbooks beyond quick glances. The idea of looking through them without permission feels like an invasion of privacy.

"Jesus, I'm fucking old," Dylan mutters under his breath.

A sullen bite of his food follows, and at Jack's next question, he rakes his tongue over his teeth before he meets it with one of his own. "You know what an ingenieur is, as far as stage magic goes?"

Jack can't help but laugh a little, giving him a shit-eating grin before he, too, takes a bite of his food.

Jack nods quickly while he chews and swallows. "Uh, yeah," he says finally. "They're like... the ones who design the tricks and stuff, right?"

He nods.

"That's what I do for the Eye. I may not be able to get on stage, but I can still design shit for other magicians." A beat. "Well, that and I do some art for them, too, sometimes." And another. "Remind me to show you some of my sketchbooks, sometime."

He has both art and plans drawn up in some of them.

"That's awesome," Jack says into the beat - and then sits up a little, excitement on his face and fizzing down their connection.

"Oh, man, definitely," he agrees immediately, grinning.

"Can you tell me anybody you've designed stuff for?"

Jack is absolutely a nerd for stage magic, so there's a good chance he'll at least recognize the name, even if he might not have actually seen the trick considering most shows don't end up on YouTube. He's not sure just how much of a secret it all is, though.

Dylan takes a moment, trying to decide what the biggest or at least more impressive name he can pull out of his hat is.

"You know who Lance Burton is?" He doesn't doubt Jack does and so he doesn't wait for an answer. "You hear about the Solid Gold Lady trick he did back a couple of years ago?" He's less sure about that one, because no, it wasn't on YouTube -- it didn't even exist then.

"I know who Lance Burton is, yeah, but I don't think I know about that one? Guessing it's like... turning someone to gold?"

He's not insulting the name by making that guess. He's just guessing based on the fact that yes, most tricks tend to be named for what happens during them.

Dylan isn't particularly offended, because Jack has the right of it -- the trick is named for what happens during the course of it. That in mind, then, Dylan nods.

"Yeah, we turned a woman into a gold statue." He pauses, raking his tongue over his teeth thoughtfully. "I think the statue itself was worth, like, ten million dollars." Not that that's particularly important, but he's lost in the memory, now. "We almost couldn't convince the owner to let us borrow it for awhile."

"Holy shit," Jack breathes, staring at him, mouth open, food pausing in his hand where he had started to take a bite of it. "You had an actual gold statue for it?"

He knows Lance Burton is Kind of a Big Deal, but YouTube is still new so there isn't much on there, he's never really had access to a television when they did televise performances, and he's definitely never had the money to go see any magicians live.

Dylan smirks, pleased by Jack's reaction. "We had an actual gold statue."

A beat.

"The second hardest part was finding a plant that looked enough like it to make it convincing." After being allowed to borrow the statue in the first place, of course. "The rest of it was pretty simple." But still a feat of his engineering prowess.

"Mannnn," Jack drawls, fidgeting a little. "I know video's bad for magic and all that but holy shit I wish there was more of it. And not just the televised stuff. I've seen like... bits and pieces of acts here which is why I got into it in the first place - and the street magicians in the park, obviously, but. I wanna see more, y'know?"

He knows Dylan does know, too, and he's glad for it.

"Lucky for you, I was planning on taking you over to Long's once we're done here," Dylan tells him, a smirk tugging at the corners of this mouth. After a pause, and just in case Jack doesn't know, he adds, "It's the oldest magic shop in the world."

Does that count as 'seeing more?'

Jack's mouth drops open a little. "For real? Holy shit. I think I knew the oldest magic shop was somewhere in, like... the East? Or I'd heard that or whatever? But you know sometimes that stuff is bullshit and racist because of the whole 'Eastern mystics' or whatever, but like. Yes. We are definitely going there."

It all comes out in a rush, some of Jack's learned stoicism falling away in the face of his excitement; for a minute, he actually looks like a kid instead of a kid who's had to grow up too fast.

That definitely counts as seeing more.

Dylan hums, pleased and entertained both by Jack's reaction. A grin accompanies the sound, just as happy, though after a moment it fades back into something a little more serious. "Y'know, I think Bubu's got a grandson that's about your age."

He can't quite remember how old Li is, but it's got to be close, right?

"Cool," Jack returns easily, though he makes a face a moment later. "I speak like... no Chinese though."

And yes, he knows that a lot of the world speaks English, but he feels a little bad about the fact that he only speaks English.

Again, Dylan looks thoughtful. "Pretty sure they both speak English."

He knows Bubu does. He's slightly less sure about Li, if only because he is about Jack's age. He can't say for sure that the kid knows more than 'pants' 'cheese' and 'motherfucker' in English, at this point. Then again, though, maybe he knows more than your average high school kid just by virtue of working in a shop that gets a lot of foot traffic from tourists. It's hard to tell.

Either way, he recognizes that's not what Jack was entirely getting at, and so, after a beat, he adds, "We do enough travelling, though, and you'll learn." And another pause. "I can teach you."

Jack lights back up at that, the uncertainty fading again in the face of the offer. This is why for all the "problems" he caused his social worker, going to school was never one of them, and why his grades have improved so drastically since having this new stability. "That'd be awesome. I wish my school offered more languages. Or I had time to take them or whatever."

He knows some Spanish by virtue of class, but he still wouldn't mind knowing more.

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