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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Bubu allows Jack a more obvious smile before she excuses herself to the back again. She'll return when Jack and Dylan are ready to check out, but for now, she trusts them not to steal anything and she has other things that need her attention still, so early in the day.

"I figured that was a given," Dylan tells him, meanwhile, echoing him.

Jack laughs a little - and then pauses, smile dimming. "Um... you okay, by the way?"

He wants to check in, considering the minefield that is the shop's backroom and considering he knows Dylan was already having a hard time with memories of his father. He would feel a little bad for dredging them up again if Dylan hadn't been the one to suggest they come here in the first place.

Raking his tongue over his teeth, Dylan takes a moment to genuinely consider that.

It's always a little bittersweet, seeing his father's friends, and obviously, he had no interest in seeing the thing that took Lionel Shrike's life. He did want Jack to have this, though, to know Long's and see some of his family history. He also probably should have come to see Bubu before now, and there's some guilt attached to that. And -- well, the list of pros and cons, both, go on. It's complicated.

"I will be," Dylan promises, if those conflicting emotions didn't translate well enough.

Jack considers him for a moment, considers what he's getting through the connection. He appreciates Dylan being honest with him, not brushing off the question, considering how many adults refuse to talk about emotions and that kind of thing with kids.

Finally, he nods. "Okay," he says simply and steps forward to move past him, back into the shop proper. As he does, he brushes his shoulder against Dylan's arm, a hug without actually going for a hug, the gesture meant to be comforting.

He heads for a shelf of various decks of cards, glancing back over his shoulder to see if Dylan's following.

Jack has seen him with his head in a cupboard, screaming for his father. It seems a little silly to lie or try and minimize his feelings, right now, at least about this.

Either way, he leans into Jack a little as he passes him, feeding something both grateful and warm through the connection as they touch. He lets that linger for a moment, lingers himself, then finally moves to follow Jack. He offers Jack a small, encouraging nod as he turns, but is otherwise silent.

"There's... a lot of stuff in here," he offers thoughtfully after a moment as he looks over the cards, and that may seem silly to say, considering it's the oldest and therefore one of the most iconic shops in the world, but he could spend way too much time and money in here. It's a little overwhelming - in a good way.

"Some of it's kinda -- " Dylan glances towards where Bubu disappeared off to. He's quick to decide whether or not she's out of earshot, however, he probably shouldn't call anything here cheap. " -- meant for tourists. Or beginners."

That last bit is added with much less disdain. Everyone has to start somewhere.

Jack makes a little reflexive face at the mention of tourists - he gets enough of them in New York, thanks very much - but nods. "Which is me," he agrees lightly, shooting Dylan a grin.

He picks up a cheaper pack of cards - but also a nicer one in a metallic green tuckbox. He considers for a moment - and then sets both back on the shelf so he can take his wallet out, to see how much cash he has - and then looks back to Dylan. "Oh, um... unless she'll take American money, can I pay you back? Or you can take it out of my allowance or whatever?"

He's assuming she'll take credit cards, but he doesn't know if it'll mess her up if he just has dollars.

Dylan waves him off at the mention of money. "I was already planning on paying for whatever you picked out."

That offer stands, provided Jack doesn't decide to go and decide to pick out something ridiculously expensive just to spite him now.

"Oh. Thanks Dad," he returns with a smile, putting his wallet back in his pocket and picking up the decks of cards again.

He wasn't expecting that, and some part of him still feels like he should be responsible for it - but he's at least able to accept it, now, accept that Dylan wouldn't offer if he didn't want to, when he put up such a fuss about the clothes, before.

All that said, he continues his way through the shop, picking up a couple other things, including one of the puzzle boxes he noticed earlier and a book on street magic. He considers a collapsible table, but considering he's just been doing tricks with things he can carry in his backpack to school, it seems a little big.

"Okay," he says finally, when he feels like he's done - though there's still the lingering sense that he could spend a lot longer in the shop.

Dylan nods towards the register, once Jack finishes, then starts in that direction. "I'd really like to see you fit a whole table in your backpack."

Never mind the fact that he has a whole baseball bat in his hoodie at home.

Jack huffs out a laugh, walking beside Dylan as they head for the front of the shop. "Yeah, I was kinda trying to decide if it was gonna fit, but." He shakes his head. No, it was not going to fit.

"I wanna do table stuff in the park, some. Not, like... the hustle kind of shell game or anything? But balls and cups, y'know?"

He absolutely has run a shell game hustle before, but he's not going to say that out loud when he's already had Dylan's disapproval in his head once today.

Dylan assumes he has, regardless, though he tamps down on his disapproval this time. Instead, as he reaches for his wallet in his pocket, he says, "We could probably drag a table out there, sometime." A beat. "Or there's a guy who works the carousel that's one of us. He might have something."

Little does he know that Jack's already met Will Bennett.

There are several people who work the carousel who are at least adjacent to the Eye, considering the token he has for entry. He's not thinking of any of them specifically when he answers, "I shoulda thought to ask. I just know I've seen people have like... ones they can unfold and everything. But I don't really want to take that to school."

And he doesn't want to have to go all the way back home and then back out to the park when it's easy enough just to go straight there, when he can catch the afternoon traffic.

"Can't hurt," Dylan agrees, albeit absently. It has less to do with not being interested in Jack's plans, however, and more to do with the fact that Bubu has reappeared. There's a moment spent trying to figure out how much everything costs, payment and getting it packaged up afterwards, but finally they're ready to go.

As Dylan turns away from the counter, he turns his attentions back to Jack. "You know how to do much with those cards?"

Jack steps to the side, looking over the impulse items on the counter as they get everything bought and paid for. He takes the bag from Dylan as they head for the door, looking at him as he asks. "Some stuff, yeah. I can throw 'em pretty good; 's'why I got two? The one I've been using is getting kinda worn out, and I think I'm missing like half the spades. But I've found a few tricks online that people seem to like."

He pauses a beat. "I just liked the back of the ones in the green box," he admits with a smile.

Dylan's eyebrows go up at the mention of Jack being able to throw cards. "All things considered, that shouldn't surprise me, but ... "

But he swallows it after a moment and as they head back out onto the street.

"Speaking of." Sort of. This logical leap makes sense in his head, even if Jack's not privy to the depth of his thoughts at the moment. Since Bubu decided to speak English, Dylan has dialed the connection back again. "We oughta get you a passport, if we're gonna be doing a lot of traveling. Just in case."

Jack shrugs. "Kinda taught myself? Well, me and a couple other kids in one of the group houses. It gets kinda boring, sometimes. I can show you, when we get back to the warehouse."

He is absolutely underselling how well he can throw cards, but they'll get there.

He blinks a little at the jump but recovers quickly. "I've never had a passport. I still just have the little ID card thing." He doesn't have a driver's license either, he means, but he's not particularly worried about that considering pft. Who drives in New York?

One day, Dylan will take Jack to get his license, because while, no, no one really does drive in New York, it's still a good skill to have, regardless. Right now, though, Dylan backpedals a little, if only because Jack's surprise reads as a bad thing.

Blame the fact that this isn't entirely about proper documentation.

"You against getting one?"

"No?" Jack returns. "Sorry, just, um... subject change caught me off guard." He grins.

"Definitely still getting used to the idea that I need that stuff, you know? Considering I'd never really left New York until, well... we went to Vegas that time."

And honestly, he's probably lucky he never needed ID during that time considering he hadn't had his wallet on him when they left.

"Might wanna get you a couple, in that case," Dylan murmurs, his thoughts mirroring Jack's. "That way, you can keep one in New York and one in Vegas, just in case."

And that way, he might be able to slip some extra forms into the stack.

"That feels all secret agent-y," he returns. "Secret extra documents and all that." He grins - nevermind they are literally part of a secret organization and nevermind that it's going to go beyond what he even knows right now, when he has paperwork for Jack Shrike and Jack Rhodes.

"I'll get you an honorary FBI commission," Dylan promises on the heel of a sigh of a laugh. He levels a warm smile at Jack, which lingers for several seconds, before, "So, back on topic, what're we doing now?"

Jack laughs, too, still grinning - and then shrugs. "I dunno. What time is it at home?" he asks with a glance at his watch, considering it's still set to New York's time zone. "I guess we should probably, like... go to bed at some point?"

He pauses a beat. "If there are beds in the warehouse?"

Do they need to find a hotel? He doesn't know.

"There's those shitty cots," Dylan reminds him. He pauses for a moment, looking thoughtful, before, "I wouldn't mind getting a hotel or something, if you don't wanna go back to that, though."

He's not necessarily sold on going back to the warehouse, but he doesn't want to go home even to sleep. He's not sure he won't end up right back at square one, if left to his own devices, in his own bed.

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