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Being part of The Eye didn’t mean that interaction with society was entirely uncalled for. No, it was more like the card in the glass case. Everyone else could see you and you, them but you remained a mystery. People in The Eye were seen and could see but there was always something that was just a little off about them. Dylan was like the glass holding the card, keeping the public from finding that mystery. Some would call it a diversion where people like Cowan would staring at him as if they could see right through him. Others, however, didn’t know what they were seeing until it was too late. It was Dylan’s job to protect his people. The Eye’s people. Dylan was meant to be the shield to the four people that put their faith in his hands. Henley wanted out, so Dylan made it possible for her to have an easy exit into the shadows. The Eye took care of its people even if they wanted to walk away. The Eye was an all-encompassing agreement that the people that devoted their time and fate would in exchange be looked after until the end of their days.
And even though Dylan was part of The Eye, that didn’t mean he didn’t eat. He needed to make a living somehow and working with the FBI wasn’t exactly enough to roll in cash. But it was enough to have a place to sleep and afford food. After his revenge on Tressler and the utter embarrassment of Cowan--- he still felt bad about that (not really)--- he had his pick of the litter when it came to case files. He still had keep up appearances however, and a portion of his office was dedicated to the supposed trackings of the Horsemen.
Fuller had dropped the file onto his desk with a self-satisfied thud.
"You're going to like this one," Fuller said as he took a long drink of his coffee. Dylan would have asked why but Fuller had a wicked taste of irony that didn’t help his sarcasm levels. Instead, he picked up the folder and skimmed through the forms and photos. Daniel Hendrick Ryan. Drug trafficking, assault, a list of connections with unlikeable people that dealt mainly in illegal weapons, armed theft, and a list other things including a couple of suspicious explosions. Great.
Dylan glanced up at Fuller. Ryan was your average scumbag. Nothing special.
"Keep reading," Fuller said with a knowing smirk. Dylan sighed and skimmed some more until he spotted what Fuller was waiting for him to see.
"He's sells magic supplies as his front?" Dylan said with exasperation leaking from his tone. “You’ve got to be kidding me?”
“I told you you’d like it.” Fuller said.
“I hate it.” Dylan’s quick response came. Fuller snorted and flipped the pages in the file over to Ryan’s biography.
“Ryan thinks he’s some kind of magician. He’s got nothing on the Horsemen but he’s not just you’re average street performer either. Three of his performances involved armed robbery.” Fuller propped his hip onto the corner of Dylan’s desk, setting his mug onto another folder. Coffee on the brim of the mug left a brown stain on the winkled material and Dylan shook it off with an irritated scowl. “Plus, he thinks he’s God gift and I just don’t like him.”
“You talked to him?” Dylan lifted a brow.
“Unfortunately,” Fuller grumbled. “When we tried to pin a cocaine operation on him. He’s an ass.”
“What makes you think I want anything to do with these freaks again?” Dylan felt the bitterness on his tongue as he said it but he kept it to himself. He had been doing this too long to let it get to him. Still, it felt like he was turning on his own whenever he had to degrade the capabilities of his colleagues in the magic world. Fuller’s smirk turned into a half smile and he rubbed his hands together in his lap, trying to play off his excitement.
“Because you’ve been bored since the Horsemen case. It’s been over four months and nothing interesting has popped up. I also know that you’ve hit a dead end in tracking the rest of those magic Robin Hood freaks. Maybe this is the case that can help you see things from a new angle.” Fuller may have been completely oblivious to Dylan’s true nature but that didn’t mean he was stupid. Fuller was smart and the parts that Dylan allowed Fuller to know about Dylan, he knew like the back of his hand.
So, a month’s worth of take out food, late nights, and a serious need to find a newer way to get his frustrations out, Dylan and Fuller were storming into a warehouse with their guns raised and the rush of adrenaline pumping through their veins. The first moment is always the most overwhelming. Controlled chaos, as men were running and voices of SWAT team members shouting commands, had the energy in the air thrumming with excitement. Everything you and your team had been talking about for weeks was just lying out in the open. It was a thrill but it took an extreme amount of self-control to not run up and flaunt it in every criminal’s face. Danny would not make a good FBI agent for that reason alone.
Fuller was covering Dylan’s back as they took a team to a closed door. The heavy pounding of feet echoed throughout the whole warehouse and Dylan would have been lying if he said that he didn’t love his job. Being in the FBI had served as a way to release and live in the rush that his body craved like oxygen. The way the pounding of his heart matched the beat of the pounding of feet. It was a rhythm to something he was all too familiar with.
There was a count down before someone kicked down the door. Fuller and the others were checking the blind points, shouting and demanding for surrender. But Dylan had seen it when the door splintered, a slight movement in the darkness, and he hardened his gaze.
“FBI,” He announced. “Put your hands in the air.”
Fuller appeared at his side, clicking his flashlight on in the direction Dylan was point his gun, and repeated the command. Then the light fell on the person in the room and the rhythm that Dylan found an odd sort of comfort came to a screeching halt and slammed into his chest like a ton of bricks.
“Holy shit,” Fuller cursed. “It’s Jack Wilder.”
Dylan swallowed a curse from leaving his lips when he spotted the kid in the darkness. Jack was trying to cover his face with his hands against the bright light but the handcuffs pressed tight into his wrists and holding him to a rusted pipe kept him from going far. His t-shirt was torn in places and with a returned vigor Jack as if he'd snapped out of a stupor, he began pulling at the handcuffs.
Dylan tried to search his mind for how he possibly could’ve missed the fact that Jack had fallen off the radar. The Horsemen were suppose to be laying low. They were suppose to check in with Dylan every three days. Jack hadn’t missed his. Yet there he was, hyperventilating, and tugging even harder at the handcuffs around his wrists. The beam of the flashlight made the fresh blood on Jack’s hands glisten and something cold settled in Dylan’s gut.
“He’s injured,” Dylan said. Without waiting, he turned to Fuller. “Call an ambulance. Everyone else clear the rest of this place. Find anything you can to nail Ryan.”
No one needed to be told twice and without a protest Dylan was left alone with Jack. Once he was sure they were in the clear he holstered his weapon and started towards Jack but at the sound of his footsteps the kid startled back and the handcuffs caught him. A low whine escaped his lips and he tried to yank his hands back again.
“Jack,” Dylan said in a low soothing voice. His horseman was shaking like a leaf and the wiseass kid that had been so eager to learn stared, terrified of Dylan.
“Jack?” He tried again. Jack blinked wet lashes, his eyes watering from the sudden light, before a look of recognition appeared on his face.
Dylan’s stomach bottomed out as he spotted the dark bruised circles surrounding Jack’s eye. The skin was so angry it was still red from being hit underneath all the black and blue hues.
“I… I … I can’t get them off… I … I can’t re…remember… I can…” Jack stammered, his voice shaking in a whisper and jerked Dylan’s attention away from his face.
Dylan frowned. Jack never had a problem with locking picking. He was almost better than Dylan. But blood and bruises and torn skin lined Jack’s wrists where he had been pulling at the handcuffs. Dylan held a hand over the metal before he let his fingers touch it. Jack jumped when Dylan’s hand made even the slightest touch of skin and something cold dragged Dylan's spine.
Dylan glanced back up at Jack’s face, but the younger of the two men was staring intently at the lock. Dylan caught the look of bruises around Jack’s neck but he pushed that aside for another time. He cupped the back of Jack’s neck with his hand, forcing himself to ignore that startled gasp at the touch, and with a soft command said, “Jack, looking into my eyes.”
Jack looked into Dylan’s eyes and Dylan saw it immediately. The slightly glaze of hypnosis blinded Jack’s brown eyes.
“I can’t remember how to do it.”
Jack’s already young voice cracked with its whisper. The grime covering his face and slight stubble suggested he hadn’t left the basement and the coloring of the scabs mixed with the bruises says he had been down there for a little over three days. He hadn’t missed a check in, which meant they would’ve grabbed him right after he’d hung up. It was too close for it to have been a coincidence. Jack hadn’t wandered in where he shouldn’t have been looking. Ryan and his men had planned it. They’d watched Jack and learned the inevitable pattern underlining his seemingly random days in hiding. They took him with intent and then they took away his knowledge of how to escape.
They took it away as if they took away his ability to breath. There is a click of the handcuffs as they released into Dylan’s hand and a slight shuffle of cheap FBI standard leather shoes against concrete.
“Ambulance is on its way.” Fuller’s voice broke through the slow building fury in Dylan’s chest. The agent stepped forward as Dylan stood.
“I thought he was dead,” Fuller said pointing at Jack but Dylan didn’t bother to wait.
“Sleep,” Dylan commanded, jabbing his partner in the chest and Fuller went limp against Dylan’s shoulder. “Whenever you hear the name ‘Jack’ you are not going to know who that is. When you wake I want you to clear the room and you aren’t going to remember seeing Jack at all.”
Dylan gave a silent apology to his partner as he snapped his fingers and Fuller cracked back into awareness.
“What happened?” Fuller asked.
“Jack left.” Dylan said keeping strong eye contact with the other man. Fuller frowned.
“Jack who?”
Dylan smiled bitterly. He hated having to do that.
Fuller lifted his brow giving Dylan a weird look. “I’m gonna go clear the room.”
“Good man.” And then they were alone. Jack had crept into the shadows; the cuffs Dylan had undone hanging from his wrist. Even under someone else’s influence the kid wasn’t going to leave without Dylan. The Eye took care of it’s own.
“Jack,” Dylan said with a low tone again. “Go find Merritt. He’s…”
“I know,” Jack said, his voice jumping at every pitch. Dylan picked the lock of the other handcuff and stuffed them into his pocket. There was going to have to be a visit to the river tonight for these things, he catalogued into his brain for later.
“Alright,” Dylan pulled his badge and threw it over Jack’s head, the long chain looping around the kid’s neck. He pulled off his FBI jacket, already beginning to feel the cold dampness of the room through his shirt, and bit back a curse as he eased Jack into it. “Take these. Stand up tall but don’t look anyone in the eye. Look like you’re going to do something. You should be able to get out through the front door. Tell Merritt I’ll be over when I’m done here.”
Jack didn’t say anything but nodded.
“Jack, look at me.” Again complete compliance. Jack’s large brown eyes were still dilated from the hypnosis. “Can you get to Merritt on your own? Are you hurt anywhere else that I need to know about?”
If Jack was hiding something serious like a gunshot wound or something Dylan would deal with the consequences once they had him secured at a hospital. But nothing was going to persuade him otherwise if Jack thought he needed the ambulance. Jack seemed to have to consider for a moment on whether or not something had happened but he just shook his head.
“Are you sure?” Dylan pushed one last time.
“Yeah… I’m ok.” Jack said. He was hardly ok but he could get to Merritt. Dylan put his hand on Jack’s shoulder as if to check for himself that the kid wasn’t crumbling completely. The faint tremble was still there but he could walk on his own.
“Alright. I’ll get there once I’ve got everything settled.” Jack nodded again and took a couple unsteady steps towards the door. But once he reached the threshold his footsteps became firmer, his head down, and his posture tall.
Dylan knocked on the paint chipped door with a soft rap of his knuckles. A shuffle and then the door opened a crack with Merritt peering from the small sliver of light. Merritt visibly relaxed and opened the door all the way.
“Christ, Dylan.” He said, far too somber for his usual quipped remarks. Dylan nodded and pressed his mouth into a firm line.
“I know. Where is he?” Merritt stepped aside and let him into the hallway of the dimly lit apartment.
"I had to knock him out,” Merritt held up defensive hands at the look Dylan sent him. “With whiskey. Trust me it didn’t take much. We’ve got to see if he can sleep this hold off a little bit more before I try anything. If we aren’t careful we can just confuse him even more.”
Jack was asleep on the couch, his neck long and exposed as his head was cradled back into a cushion. A bowl of water and a red stained cloth were on the coffee table next to an open beer bottle. Jack let out a small snore and Merritt mockingly cooed. But Jack winced in his sleep and any sort of amusement was sucked from the room.
“It isn’t pretty.” Merritt warned, taking his place back on the coffee table and pulling one of Jack's wrist onto his knee. “I’ve only just started cleaning.”
“He’s going to need some ice for his neck.” Dylan mused seeing the purpling bruises from earlier in full. Merritt muttered his agreement before he took he pressed the wet cloth on the angry skin.
“There’s more beer in the fridge.” Merritt said under his breath, his gaze concentrating on the dark red skin that was slowly turning into shades of black and blue. Together they worked in silence. Merritt cleaned away the blood and grime that had become a second layer to Jack's skin. When the water needed to be changed out, Dylan would take the bowl and fill it with fresh clean water before returning it back to Merritt and doing whatever needed to be attended too next.
"If you tell either of this I'll put you in a trance so deep, you'll think Daniel is your mother," Merritt suddenly said. The threat was empty but he had Dylan's attention none the less. "But it's time like these that I miss Henley."
Henley had asked out four months earlier and her presence was like an ache amongst the group. She was by no means expected to be the mother of their rag tag team, but her calm level head was a comfort many of them had taken when on the brink of panic. Dylan didn't have to ask what Merritt was thinking about. He didn't tell Merritt about the circumstances of Jack's imprisonment but it didn't take a lot to figure out. Had Dylan known Jack had been missing, he would've told the others, found them a safe place to rendezvous until it was clear.
Merritt didn't know if they were being hunted and the possibility was enough to start the fuse to an explosion of panic that would set off the fight or flight in his team. If push came to shove, his team would rather run than fight back.
A sharp hiss left Jack’s lips and he wretched his arm away as Merritt wrapped the bandages around his torn up skin. His eyes fluttered open and he searched the room, confused before Jack’s gaze landed on Dylan then Merritt.
“Wha---“ He stopped when his voice cracked and another wince twisted on his face.
“Hey there Jackie Boy.” Merritt said with a force behind his tone trying to sound normal and instead only seeming to set Jack's frayed nerves on edge. Merritt raised a hand to grasp the side of Jack’s head. “Why don’t you look into my eyes for a second?”
Jack flinched away from Merritt's hand, bouncing his head back into the pillow only for Merritt to follow. “C’mon. Work with me here, Jack. I’ve gotta look.”
Jack stilled but remained tense when Merritt’s intense blue eyes focused solely on Jack’s.
“Good. That’s good,” Merritt said with an approving nod. “You’re starting to break through on your own.”
“Do you remember anything?” Dylan asked staying in his spot. Jack and Merritt both looked over at him in sync. Jack’s eyes crinkled a bit and he bit on his lip. Did he remember anything? Dylan wasn’t sure of the ramifications of leaving someone under for so long. It wasn't unusual on long games to leave the idea of the hypnosis in someone's brain for days, months even. But, to have someone under and focused on that idea for so long could eat away at a person.
“Not really.” Jack finally said blinking and struggling to remember. “I was walking and I got grabbed from behind and---”
He broke off with a hiss and tried to pull his arm away again.
“Hold still.” Merritt said instead of apologizing, returning to his work on Jack’s wrists. Jack’s gaze followed down and he stared hard at the torn skin, lost somewhere in his own head. Merritt watched him for a second before he pressed down on the wound again, pulling him out to them again. Jack cringed and glared at Merritt.
“What else do you remember?” Merritt asked.
“Nothing.” Jack lied. The kid had a complex bigger than Atlas’s ego.
“C’mon Jack.” Dylan tried sitting on the arm of the couch. He fisted his hands in his lap and looked over at the kid.
Jack’s breath stuttered and he hissed again at Merritt giving him a kick. Again Merritt didn’t apologize. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t remember how to… how to get out…”
“Do you remember now?” Merritt asked in an even tone.
“Maybe… I… I don’t know.” Jack responded with an honest uncertainty. Dylan’s phone vibrated against his leg and he snatched the phone from his pocket. Fuller’s name appeared in blue lettering on the locked screen.
Fuller
Found Ryan’s fingerprints on the evidence. Bringing him in now.
The front door clicked open and before Merritt or Dylan could react Danny’s voice was filling the room.
“Ok. So I’ve got a list of places with trusted reliable sources for safe houses. Jack get your shoes on. If we leave now we can hit a train that can take us to Seattle and then…”
“Hi, friend. Come on in.” Merritt sarcastically waved as Danny raced through a massive escape plan.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Dylan said silencing the room. The three horsemen looked up towards him as he scanned his phone.
“I’m going to find out what this is all about. Right now you’re going to watch out for Jack,” Dylan pointed at Jack when he opened his mouth to protest. “I can’t guarantee if these assholes are after you or everyone. You’re stronger together. I’ve got to go back to the office. Stay here and call me if something happens.”
“Something happens? You mean like the guys that attacked Jack come back and kill us all while we sit here twirling our thumbs.” Danny frowned.
“Jack can’t go anywhere---“ Dylan started.
“Yes, I can---“
“Sit down.” Merritt pushed Jack back down into the couch still cleaning Jack’s wrists and again ignored the glare from the younger man.
“The Eye takes care of it’s own.” Dylan said to each other them with a pointed look. They all knew what that meant. He typed a quick response to Fuller and then shoved his phone back into his pocket. “I’ll take care of this. I’ll be back later tonight.”
And with that he was turning on his heel and heading back to the office.
Fuller met him at the door, confident smirk on his face, and walked Dylan to the interrogation room. He stood behind the glass and took Ryan in. Unlike Merritt who had had the balls to guess when Dylan had walked by and stare at him through the mirror or Jack who flat out slept for a majority of the interrogation, Ryan was humming to himself. Picking at his nails he was trying too hard to act like he didn’t have a care in the world and the way his lips twitched told Dylan he was dying for a cigarette. Dark blond hair was wildly stretched along his scalp and his sunken cheeks were covered with a five o’clock shadow. Dylan glanced at Fuller and could practically feel the contempt leaking off his partner. It was taking everything he had to not bust into the room and beat the hell out of Ryan but Dylan kept his composure and only forced his anger into the steel doorknob as he opened the door.
“Mr. Ryan,” Dylan said looking down at the file. Instead of sitting, Dylan pressed his back to the wall. Ryan was the big man on top and it was Dylan’s job to make him feel smaller than he'd ever felt in his life.
“That’s me,” Ryan said. He folded his hands on the table and smiled up at Dylan with a bounce in his seat like he had to jump-start his enthusiasm. Dylan could see why Fuller hated the guy so much.
“Right. Was it also you that robbed the eighty five year old man with a 2012 Buick Regal GS?” Ryan was taken aback for a moment. Good. Dylan wanted to knock him off his feet as fast as he could.
“Well that was blunt,” Ryan replied. “I have no idea what you’re talking about though.”
“Right, right,” Dylan folded the file in his hands. “What about when you beat the hell out of Emilio Ruiz last fall? You wouldn’t know anything about that if I asked you that would you?”
“Sorry.” Ryan smirked and shook his head.
“Mr. Ryan, do you own and supply a magic supplies store called The Wonder?” Dylan made sure to take in all of Ryan’s face as he answered.
“Yes,” Ryan said almost immediately. No twitch.
“Do you use that store as a front for your drug ring?”
“Absolutely not.” The corner of Ryan’s lips twitched. Dylan caught his tell only just before Ryan’s smirk reappeared. “That would be illegal.”
“Do you practice magic, Mr. Ryan?” Ryan leaned to the left of his seat and cocked his head onto his hand.
“From time to time.”
“Well,” Dylan folded the file closed with a slam and dropped into onto the table as he sat down. “Now you’re just being modest. I mean we’ve got your bank records in here and if I was going to play along with the cash we found at the crime scene I’d say you make quite amount of money from this magic gig.”
Ryan’s eyebrows bounced and he tilted his head to the side. “Yeah, well I’m saving up for something bigger.”
“Like what? Another warehouse to stash your explosives?” Dylan’s sarcasm was leaking into the room with each word.
"You have no idea." Ryan laughed a short patronizing chuckle that would have surpassed even Danny's annoyance levels. He pulled a deck of cards from his suit jacket and began to shuffle them like a nervous habit. But he didn’t show any signs of being nervous. In fact his calmness was entirely frustrating. But nothing compared to the anger that Dylan felt deep in his chest that threatened to claw it’s way past his civilian façade when he recognized the deck of cards in Ryan’s hands. Jack’s cards.
"There is a world bigger than just card tricks and cheap theatrical smoke. A world of magic and wonder that you couldn't even imagine,” Ryan said as he flipped a couple of cards around his fingers and into his palms.
Dylan felt a cloak of silent raw emotion drape over him like a dusty tablecloth. "So what? All of this. The explosions. The drug trafficking. The kicking the shit out of people was to get into some little club for loser high school weirdos with a fetish for girls trapped in boxes to be sawed in half?"
"Sounds like someone is a little jaded, Agent Rhodes." Ryan said with a smirk. "And it's not just any club. It's The Eye. The place where all great magicians and illusionists belong. Where I belong."
"It sounds to me like they didn't want you if your still desperately trying to get there attention."
"Biding my time." Ryan said. "I think I want a lawyer now."
Ryan stepped out into the brisk air, drawing a deep breath of freedom into his lungs. God bless lawyers. He had the best that money could buy and they were worth every penny. He walked out of the FBI building with a smug air about him and the strong taste victory on his tongue. That didn’t quench the need for nicotine and the damn cops hadn’t let him smoke a cigarette in five hours. He walked a little aways, he was a reckless but he didn’t want to push his lucky by smoking on federal property, and stopped at the park. A metal railing was stretched along the edge by the river and old cigarette buds already littered the green grass. Pulling one from the box in his pocket, he pursed his lips around them and searched his pockets for a lighter.
"What about Jack Wilder?" Ryan spun around, unlit cigarette dangling from between his lips. He smiled off his unease and pulled the stick with two fingers out of his mouth.
"I don't think I'm suppose to be talking to you, Agent Rhodes," Ryan said. Dylan shrugged his shoulders coming to stand in front of him.
"I'm off the clock." He leaned against the metal railing, feeling the coolness leak through his jacket. Pulling the deck of cards from his pocket, Dylan idly shuffled them in his hands. Ryan lifted a brow curiously. "I picked up this trick a couple of cases back. Would you?”
Ryan shrugged. Dylan held out the deck and Ryan took a card, taking a long exaggerated glance at it before he placed it back in the deck. Dylan shuffled again. “Humor me. Now, we can't do anything because he got away before we could apprehend him but we thought Wilder was dead. Instead, I find him in your basement. How'd that all work?"
"I heard the little shit got away." Ryan rubbed his knuckles against his jaw but his pride was pulling at the corners of his lips. He shrugged and leaned against the metal as well. "Alright. I’ll bite. He's the youngest. Weak link. I knew that being able to trap a horseman would garner some attention. He was an easy target."
"Why not one of the others then?" Dylan cut the deck in half.
"Because it would attract attention all over. Yours. The Eye. The horsemen. If those three hacks gave me a problem I had some leverage that would was worth what little trouble he could scrounge up in the process."
Dylan nodded. "You know, I had a friend who once said that the first rule of magic is to be the smartest person in the room. At the time he was talking about himself. But what he didn't know was that he was wrong. I was the smartest person in the room."
Ryan snorted in disbelief but Dylan ignored him in favor of flipping the cards in his hands. "It's always been kind of a running joke between the two of us. But in the end I was holding all the cards. He was just dealing with a separate deck."
Ryan eyed Dylan as he twisted and cut the cards with quick and efficient flicks of his fingers.
"Alright, agent, I really think I should..."
“Was this your card?” Dylan held up a card to Ryan’s face and Ryan paled as he stared at it.
"The Eye will always take care of its own." Dylan snapped the cards in his hands. Dylan the FBI agent was gone and Dylan Shrike was out in the open to rip the heart out of anyone that would try to defile the purity of the magic his father died trying to protect.
“You---“ Ryan backed into the railing again but Dylan only followed.
“You have violated everything that the Eye stands for. Not only have you used magic as a way to make personal means you have used it on the weak and the defenseless. You used it to take advantage of people who were bullied and afraid of you. But you made the mistake of attacking one of the horsemen and took away one his most basic skills for your own personal pleasure. Not only will you never be in the Eye, you will have the horsemen and the Eye after you until you piss your pants at the thought of trying magic again. And what you saw on the card that you chose will be your fate if I so much as smell your condescending incompetent musk again. Do I make myself clear?”
Ryan backed away with a cry from his lips. He nodded, holding his hands out in front of him, and swallowed nervously. Dylan put the deck of cards back into his suit jacket and turned to leave before he walked back to Ryan. Ryan froze in terror.
“And one more thing,” Dylan said leaning over to Ryan ear. “Jack Wilder is half the magician you will ever be. There’s a reason why he is a member of the Eye and you are stuck with a useless hobby.” Dylan slipped his hand into Ryan’s jacket pocket and pulled out the deck of cards, Jack’s cards, and pocketed those as well before he patted Ryan roughly on the shoulder and strode away.
When Dylan dragged himself into the apartment, he had about another hour before sun up and all he wanted was his bed. But if going by the number of text messages he'd received from Danny told him anything, the horsemen were chomping at the bit trying to figure out their next move. Merritt was asleep in an overstuffed armchair, his hat dipping over his eyes but barely muffling his loud snores over the room. A small glow of a lamp light was his only guide through the darkness and he rubbed a hand through his hair as he pulled his way into the living room. Danny was nowhere to be seen which wasn't a huge surprise. He'd started to wander off on his own ever since Henley left and if Dylan was worried, he'd follow him. Considering they had already lost one horsemen, he supposed he should but Ryan had all but ran with his tail between his legs. Danny should be fine.
Jack was hunched over on the couch, a blanket pooling around his hips as his hands tinkered with a basic padlock.
"You're suppose to be resting," Dylan whispered. He frowned as Jack's hand trembled so much he jammed the lock. So Ryan's hold still hadn't broken free. With a curse, Jack threw the lock onto the table with a loud smack that made Merritt jerked awake with a grunt. Lifting his hat, Merritt took in the way Jack's head rested in his hands, the abandoned lock, and Dylan's concerned expression before he stretched himself from his chair and made his way into his room.
"Well as much fun as this has been, I need to hit the hay. Goodnight."
Dylan waited a beat before he sat down on the coffee table, picked up the padlock, and toyed with it in his hands.
"I can't do it," Jack's said, his voice muffled by his hands. "I know what to do and it's like... something is missing. Now I can't do it."
Dylan tucked the padlock away, out of sight and out of mind, for the moment. Pressing his mouth into a line, he pulled out Jack's cards and placed them on the table for Jack to see.
"It'll be alright," Dylan finally said. He placed a hand on Jack's shoulder and took the small victory in the fact that Jack wasn't flinching anymore at the mere thought of touch. "You're out. You've escaped."
"Yeah because you got me out." Jack argued and flicked an impatient hand in front of him, the stark white bandages only serving as a harsh reminder of what was under them. "Now I can't even---"
"Hey," Dylan interrupted him. Jack hunched over until his head rested on his knees, stress and exhaustion taking it's toll on his body. "Don't worry about it. Even the members of the Eye have their limits. Just try to rest. And I promise you, tomorrow when you're awake and your mind is cleared, you'll get it back. I'll personally make it so that there isn't a lock in this city you can't open in under thirty seconds. Now come on. Go to sleep. "
It took a few more meaningful nudges before Dylan could coax Jack back onto the couch. Jack curled onto the cushion, his hand wrapping around his retrieved deck of cards and pulling it into his lap. When Jack's breath had evened out, Dylan turned the lamp off and took up residence back in Merritt's abandoned chair.
Being part of the Eye didn't mean that they had to cut themselves off completely. But the Eye took care of it's own and Dylan took care of the horsemen.
It just made him wondering if bringing in the new member was going to be the final rock that shattered what little unity they had. Until then though, he'd keep an eye on his friends. And with that, he closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair until sleep finally found him and he could rest easy for a few hours.