(no subject)

[the_death_card]

Who: Dylan, Jack, and Merritt (briefly)
What: Dylan comes bearing gifts to help Jack get back to learning firebreathing. With some nudging from Merritt, they also manage to clear the air between them - and get even closer in the process.


the_death_card: *even if there are still things up in the air, one thing that has returned to normal is how much time Jack spends in and around the suite's living room and out on their balcony. he's in the living room, now, playing idly with a deck of cards - he feels out of practice, for some reason, though he is self-aware enough to know it's probably just because he's been so off his game in other ways over the last couple of weeks. it's still a good way to center himself, though, one of the first things Max drilled into his head, and he produces and then re-palms a few cards, checking his own technique before he does it again*

onebehind: *when he shows up at the suite, and as is becoming the norm, he's already taken the time to take the Agent brains off and change out of his work clothes. the why, now, however, probably has less to do with him not wanting them to see weakness, real or perceived, and more to do with the fact that he just -- just still needs to get it all off, off, off as soon as he gets out of the door, as soon as possible. either way, though, rather than have to take his usual minute, he can and does move to join him in the living room. he flops down in his usual seat, looking a little worn out, and sets a Walgreens bag down on the coffee table, silently*

the_death_card: *glances back over his shoulder when the door opens, still playing with the cards - and then smiles when he sees it's Dylan. he's willing to give him his usual minute - but when he doesn't seem to need it, Jack squares the deck so he can set it on his knee as he offers...* Hey.

onebehind: Hey. *offers him a little, brief smile* How's it going? *and yeah, that's probably a loaded question, all things considered, but it's all he's got*

the_death_card: *maybe a little, though not nearly as much as it has been the last few days. either way, though, he shrugs, and, honestly...* Not too bad? Trying to keep my head clear. *gestures toward the deck. he really is okay right now, but as was already said, he still feels like there's some cobwebs hanging on up there. he pauses a beat as he refocuses on Dylan* You?

onebehind: *wets his lips with his tongue, genuinely considering that, then shakes his head a little* Tired of being tired at the end of the day. *of feeling weak, if and when he gets close to losing his shit again. of not knowing how to act around Jack because, for all his high powered perception, he's afraid he's going to decide they're not okay, after all, or flinch if he moves too fast in his direction, or whatever. of a lot of things*

the_death_card: *and he's... still not Merritt, as much as he's gotten better at reading expressions. he knows there's more to it, but he can't put a finger on it* Everything okay at work? *that might be a (not-so-)subtle attempt to try to get him to open up about some of that*

onebehind: *arches his eyebrows, as if to say Really? and then looks all at once apologetic. reaches up to scrub a hand over the lower half of his face and then makes a vague gesture* It's less work and more ... me having to -- to deal with having to pretend to be that guy for any length of time, anymore, after being ... *stuck in Agent mode. or whatever*

the_death_card: *drops his gaze at that, just as apologetically. yeah, he knows it was a stupid question. looks back up after a moment, though, expression turning sympathetic as he nods* I'm sorry, dude. *that he has to go back and that he can't take time and so on*

onebehind: *he took a couple of days, afterwards, and he's taken a couple of half-days at random, when it's gotten to be too much, but ... but either way, he shrugs* It's not your fault. I'm just ... *not really dealing with this as well as he's been pretending to, is what he's getting at. he can't quite bring himself to say that out loud, though*

the_death_card: Still. *and yeah, he kinda figured. he... is and isn't, personally. it kind of depends on various things - who's around and what time of day it is and where he is and so on*

onebehind: *nods once, faintly, and breathes out a sigh. rubs at his eyes, briefly, then drops his hand back into his lap* Thanks.

the_death_card: *nods, again, looking up at Dylan without raising his head* You're welcome.

onebehind: *a moment of silence follows, in which he studies Jack. he looks away before too long, however* I kind of -- I'm sorry. And yeah, I get that that wasn't me or whatever -- *he doesn't sound like he's entirely sure he believes that, even after the conversation he and Merritt had* -- but still. *and that said, he forces himself to look at him again, something in his eyes half-terrified, even if it doesn't really reach his face beyond that*

the_death_card: *huffs out a sigh, picking up the deck to lean forward and set it on the coffee table, to get it out of the way before he ends up having to pick them up later. he's pretty much lost ground at this point, anyway. and there's some heat to his voice that's not completely intentional. he's just. tired of things being weird.* Because it wasn't. Believe me.

onebehind: *looks away again, his jaw working even if he doesn't say anything. it'd only be to apologize again. for making him come back to all of this shit and screwing up his routine. for pissing him off, apparently. for being weird about this still*

the_death_card: *sighs, deflating a little. he's not pissed off, he's just. frustrated. and scared, too, that this could all still fall apart somehow* It's not... you don't need to apologize to me because that wasn't you. *and pauses, abruptly, before he plows on* We... *actually, enough with the royal "we"* I know you, and that wasn't you.

onebehind: *rubs at his forehead, breathes out a sigh and raises his eyes to him again* So people keep telling me. Doesn't mean I hate myself any less for what happened.

the_death_card: I went and lived on my old boss's couch off and on for a week. *he gets it, believe him*

onebehind: Point. *he hesitates for a minute and then* If it makes you feel any better, I don't blame you. *for having to kick his ass. for hiding out, even if it probably wasn't good for any of them. for any of it. and yeah, he knows that most of Jack's regrets are probably centered around Daniel, considering their throwdown, but he also feels like that needed to be said*

the_death_card: *it's not going to hurt anything, at least, considering the breath he can't help but let out* Thanks. *a beat* And I don't blame you either.

onebehind: Even with the ... *thumbs at his nose, rather than actually saying it*

the_death_card: *nods, immediately* Yeah. There wasn't really another way. *or, well, there might've been, but that was the quickest and most sure. and then, after a beat, and, tentatively...* Besides, that's two to me. *as far as kicking Dylan's ass goes*

onebehind: *that actually gets a laugh out of him -- no more than a sigh of one, really, but a laugh all the same* Screw you.

the_death_card: *and the grin breaks through in full as he breathes out a laugh of his own*

onebehind: *grumbles something about him being a cocky asshole, his expression mock-sour, even if his eyes betray relief and amusement both*

the_death_card: *and laughs again, ducking his head a little, just as relieved*

onebehind: *shakes his head, a smile, however faint but real coming to his lips, and breathes out another sigh, as if he'd been holding his breath until just now. he's not over what happened, not by a long shot, but he feels at least a little better now. maybe it really will be okay*

the_death_card: *yeah. yeah, it will be. returns the smile for a moment before he sobers again* We're okay. *him and Dylan, he means, as far as he's concerned* I know we're all still gonna be a mess for a while, but.... *they're okay*

onebehind: *he nods, sobering, too* Yeah. We're okay. *a beat and then nonchalantly* Guess that means I can take my peace offering back. *and by peace offering, he means the bag on the coffee table*

the_death_card: *arches his eyebrows as he looks to the bag* On second thought.... *kidding* What is it?

onebehind: *snorts and, after an amused eyeroll, gestures to the bag* Find out.

the_death_card: *leans forward again to pick up the bag and sit back with it - and the grin returns at full brightness as he sees what it is* Sweet.

onebehind: I figured when you were ready to move on from being a camel ... *and spitting on people with the water bottle and all*

the_death_card: *laughs a little as he lifts out the bottle of paraffin and torches* I actually talked to Becky a little while I was hanging out at Max's *apparently Max had mentioned to her that Jack was trying to teach himself, and she asked* and she said I was probably good to move on if I felt comfortable with it. *pauses a long beat and then, a little hesitantly...* You wanna....? *nods toward the balcony*

onebehind: *glances towards the balcony more reflexively than anything else, starts to nod, and then stops. not that he doesn't want to, but ... * We could go out there, yeah, or if you felt like you wanted more space, we could try the warehouse. *there's plenty of open space inside as well as outside, after all, and probably less a chance of them setting themselves on fire if something goes wrong, as such*

the_death_card: *gratefully - and not without relief, again. not that he thought to ask to use the warehouse - it's still Dylan's space - but it's nice to have the reassurance of him being willing to let him use it, considering the Horsemen kind of invaded* Yeah, that'd probably be better.

onebehind: *it's probably good that they did -- he recognizes that in hindsight, even if he wished they hadn't at the time. he probably wouldn't have come back for awhile, if he'd been left to his own devices, and that wouldn't have been good for anyone. but at any rate, he offers Jack a little look, not quite sympathetic, not quite apologetic, but those are probably the closest words available to describe the expression. of course he's still allowed to go there. he allows him a moment, to let him catch that, to hopefully let it sink in, and then the look on his face takes a step towards embarrassed as something occurs to him* I kind of haven't had the time to clean up ... *it probably still smells like booze in there. and the broken models are still on his workbench. if that's going to be a problem ... ?*

the_death_card: *and yeah, he gets that - and the long breath he lets out says he definitely, finally get it. and shrugs* We're just gonna make another mess. *it won't be. it's Dylan. he's okay, with Dylan*

onebehind: *he nods, firmly, slowly, and looks away for a moment, wetting his lips with his tongue. a sigh follows, a hand scrubbed over his scruff, and then* Yeah, good point. *and that said, he slides to the edge of his chair, to get up*

the_death_card: *gets up, too, bringing the bag with him as he waits for Dylan to lead the way*

onebehind: *heads for the door, touching his fingers to it, briefly and as per usual, as he reaches it. rather than find an elevator waiting for them when he pulls open the door, however, he it's the warehouse, instead, straight up. he's still having issues with feeling claustrophobic every so often and he doesn't want to put himself in an enclosed space, have issues and ruin what's probably going to be a bit of sorely needed fun. so, warehouse. which, yes, still smells like booze and he makes a face as he steps in* Remind me to come back here with a mop at some point.

the_death_card: *whether he goes with the elevator or straight to wherever he's going depends on a handful of mostly random things, so he doesn't say anything. he does take a moment, after he follow Dylan into the warehouse because yeah, that smell is familiar, and not in a good way. but the moment is brief, and mostly him just refocusing on the now instead of thinking about other times and places. and, immediately after the moment passes, and with more than a hint of Dylan's own voice....* Come back here with a mop at some point.

onebehind: *glances back over his shoulder at him, honestly caught off guard by that -- not the fact that he had to remind him now but the fact that he used his voice to do it -- and then laughs. actually laughs, the sound real and warm and more than just the little huffs of breath he's managed thus far. shakes his head faintly, still grinning when he finishes, and growls at him* Asshole.

the_death_card: *and just grins back, brightly, pleased that that had the effect he was hoping for - and keeps grinning at the namecalling* I thought you knew that already.

onebehind: I was going for the whole -- *vague hand gesture* -- reinforcement thing. *that said, he turns away, to lead the way to the center of the warehouse, his smile dimming a little as it occurs to him, now, too, that this is the first time he's really laughed since Torre and how good it actually felt to be able to. he's not really sure what to do with do with that, though, and so he takes a moment to try and push it out of mind before turning to face him, fully. he also has to stop himself from thinking about the fact that this is where he and Jack fought, once upon a time, even if that was all in good fun -- or at least harmlessly, for both of them to blow off some steam. that one's a touch harder and it takes his smile from him entirely. on the plus side, though, he can play it off as looking thoughtful, which is only half-untrue, really* What do you think? *here or outside?*

the_death_card: *he's thought about that, too, but it was very different than what happened at the theatre, and he's honestly not worried about it. he's refusing to let Torre ruin things anymore than he already has, basically. but considers for a moment, and then...* Outside might be better. *and not just because he wants to poke around the graveyard - if they do it in here, it'll be more for Dylan to clean up*

onebehind: *less of a chance of them catching something on fire outside, too. the dust cloths are very flammable; the rusting guts of unfinished amusement park rides, less so. that in mind, he nods, flashing Jack a wry smile, and then heads back towards the door* Okay, c'mmon.

the_death_card: *that, too. and he moves to follow Dylan, bag still in hand*

onebehind: *leads them out to the graveyard and away from the warehouse a little, leisurely, in case Jack does want to poke around or at least look around. eventually, though, he comes to a sort of clearing, the space around them still ringed in the massive bones of dead rides, but at a distance. he takes a minute, spinning around in a slow circle of his own, debating whether or not this is good, and then nods once, sharply and mostly for his own benefit. this should work*

the_death_card: *and he does look around - he seriously intends to do some actual poking around at some point, but there'll be time - as he follows Dylan. when Dylan stops, he follows him in turning, examining their surroundings before he looks back to him* This okay, you think?

onebehind: I'm thinking so, yeah.

the_death_card: Cool. *lifts the bag to take the paraffin and torches out of it, setting it out of their way once it's empty, and then drifts closer to Dylan*

onebehind: *gestures for the torches with two fingers. not that he doesn't think Jack could light them on his own, but he figures he can light one while he gets ready with the paraffin and then pass it to him when he's good*

the_death_card: *passes them over and then sets to getting the paraffin open, waiting, once he has, for Dylan to light the torches*

onebehind: *lights one of them with a little flash of fire all his own, then uses the first to light the second. and once they're burning, he can't help but grin a little as he looks over at Jack* You ready? *for him to hand him the torch, he means*

the_death_card: *grins back, excited, and then focuses on what they're doing, the grin fading slowly* Hang on. *and he takes a mouthful of the paraffin, capping the bottle and holding a hand out for the torch - and to pass Dylan the paraffin, once he has the torch*

onebehind: *hands him the torch, takes the paraffin, careful not to get his own torch and the bottle too close together, and takes a step back, giving him space* Okay. Go for it.

the_death_card: *adjusts his stance a little once Dylan takes the bottle, raises the torch - and then spits a spray of wax at the flame. it's not particularly spectacular, his aim a little off, but he still manages a good sized fireball*

onebehind: *makes a small, pleased noise all the same, a stupid grin accompanying it* Nice. *he watches him for a moment following that, his eyes proud, despite all the shit of the last couple of weeks, and then he takes a mouthful of the wax, himself, passing the bottle back to Jack after he's done so*

the_death_card: *wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, returning the grin - and it warms a little at the look in Dylan's eyes* Thanks. *once he takes the bottle back from Dylan, he takes a few steps back, giving him room, now*

onebehind: *he really should have thought to bring them something to drink, too -- this stuff doesn't taste the best -- but regardless, once he's sure Jack's out of the way and he's clear otherwise, he raises the torch, spraying wax. and as far as first attempts go or, well, first attempts using actual fire and paraffin, it's a pretty good one. not perfect, mind you, but decent. enough so to leave him grinning again as he lowers the torch and runs a hand over his mouth*

the_death_card: *they'll get something when they get back home. and he grins, again, echoing...* Nice.

onebehind: *he hums, pleased with himself, now* Thanks.

the_death_card: *is just kind of generally giddy, himself* Yeah.

onebehind: *yeah, that's a good way of putting it for him, too* This is kinda ... *awesome* Not that I figured it wouldn't be, but ... *shit, dude. they can breathe fire. and just imagine how much cooler it will be with actual magic, when they get that far*

the_death_card: *and his grin manages to brighten even more* Seriously. *to all of that, really*

onebehind: *gestures to the bottle of wax* You wanna try it again? *not that they have to spend all night out here or use the whole bottle in one sitting or whatever*

the_death_card: *just looks at him, but the grin returns immediately as he holds out a hand for it. of course he does, come on*

onebehind: *snorts and mutters* Yeah, okay, stupid question. *and that said, he passes the bottle back*

the_death_card: *laughs a little before he settles, taking another mouthful and passing the bottle back to Dylan. it's a little better, this time, his aim better, the fireball cleaner - and Jack just resists the urge to do a little dance, afterwards because seriously, this is so cool*

onebehind: *he can read that off of him and he can't help but laugh. not that he's far behind him, as far as almost dancing goes, but still* Might wanna hold off there, Napolean. *as in Dynamite, not Bonaparte. and he's just going to hold off, himself, on taking another mouthful of paraffin, in case Jack feels the need to come back at him. he really doesn't want to choke on the wax*

the_death_card: *which he is* Was that a short joke? *Bonaparte, not Dynamite*

onebehind: *snorts* It is now, apparently.

onebehind: *not that he has room to talk*

the_death_card: *snickers, in return*

onebehind: *flashes him another grin, then forces himself to sober, so he can take another mouthful of paraffin. and for him, this time he manages to do about well as he did last time, good but not perfect. he'll take that, though, because a) still breathing fire and b) at least he's apparently going to be consistent*

the_death_card: This is awesome. *in case they haven't said that in the last ten seconds*

onebehind: *he laughs* Yeah, it is.

the_death_card: I know we can do it without the torches, but I keep wondering if I can do it without the fuel, too. *he can't remember if they talked about that, but he's thought about it*

onebehind: *he can't remember if they have, either, but ... * I've been wondering the same thing, actually. *and he looks slightly sheepish in admitting that, even if Jack had the same thought*

the_death_card: *he just grins, though* We can find out.

onebehind: I'm half-tempted to try it right now. *never mind the fact that they should probably just stick to practicing the mundane way, for now*

the_death_card: *probably* I can keep the electricity going *like he did during the show, though that was working with a primer - he just made the charge visible*, but I haven't done too much with a prolonged flame. *just the short bursts. and it feels like he needs to do that before he'll be able to go without the fuel*

onebehind: *and his expression flickers a little at that -- mostly because of what he says next* Neither've I, honestly. *before the last six months or so, he really hasn't had a lot of opportunity to play with his magic. it's probably a miracle he can do what he can do right now*

the_death_card: *sorry to rain on the parade* It probably won't take us long, though. *to get it down*

onebehind: *it's not his fault. and, honestly, he has a point there* Probably not.

the_death_card: Plus it lowers the risk of us setting ourselves on fire. *and he's still grinning as he says that*

onebehind: *snorts* Yeah, keeping my eyebrows is kinda a plus. *since he knows they did talk about that*

the_death_card: *yep* As is not getting yelled at. *priorities*

onebehind: That, too. *grins at him for a moment, then sobers seemingly abruptly, his expression a touch uncertain, though, not upset. not that he addresses it -- at least not immediately. instead, he glances back over his shoulder in the direction of the warehouse and then to the bottle of paraffin* You feel like you wanna keep going, or ... ? *he wants to make him the same offer he made Merritt, letting him call him Jake rather than Jacob, but he doesn't want to do it while they're distracted with firebreathing. it can wait, if Jack wants to keep playing*

the_death_card: I think I'm good. *looks up at his torch* I'm starting to feel the need to find a castle to storm, or some tomb to rob, so...

onebehind: *he makes a small, amused noise, the smile returning* Next time, I'll remember to bring a Holocaust cloak and a wheelbarrow. *and that said, he flicks his fingers a little, seemingly absently, and then reaches to close his hand over the fire of his own torch to put it out. from the look on his face, it's really not that big a deal, nor does it hurt*

the_death_card: *snorts - though his grin fades into fascination as he watches Dylan put out his torch. he was already wondering if he could do that, actually. and he thinks he knows what Dylan did, but in case he doesn't, actually...* What'd you do? *nods to the torch*

onebehind: Just kinda -- *the hard part is always trying to figure out how to phrase this shit* -- reminded it it was my fire in the first place. *a beat* It probably wouldn't save my ass if I were in a burning building and I started it, but it's a nice trick, otherwise. *since he's immune to his own fire and all*

the_death_card: It's really awesome. *again with the understatements around here*

onebehind: *wryly* Less awesome was how many times I burnt my fingers trying to figure that one out. *gestures for Jack's torch*

the_death_card: *laughs a little and holds his torch out to him. that just means he needs to find a candle, basically*

onebehind: *good luck, Jack. good luck. that shit hurts. but at any rate, he shakes his hand out again, and then snuffs the flame on this torch, too. when he's finished, he transfers them both to one hand and glances towards the warehouse again. he wets his lips with his tongue as he turns back to Jack* C'mmon.

the_death_card: *ask... well, you might actually want to ask Max, since Jack himself is likely to gloss things over, but he had some interesting times learning what he knows, now. a burnt finger is pretty far down the list, really. but anyway.. lets him take the torch and turns to spit into the dirt again - yeah, they need something to drink - before he follows Dylan*

onebehind: *as they're winding back through the graveyard* Yeah, I should have thought to bring something to drink.

the_death_card: *shrugs* There's stuff at home.

onebehind: True. *not that that stops him from running his tongue over his teeth again.*

the_death_card: And we'll know better for next time. *assuming they use the paraffin next time*

onebehind: *he makes a little affirmative noise and, as they reach the warehouse, rather than take them straight home, he heads inside again. and by way of explanation as he moves for the workbench, idly ... * You're gonna have to wait a minute on that drink. I wanna ... *he wants to talk to him. and yeah, okay, they could probably have this conversation at the suite -- it's not like anyone's going to judge him or whatever -- but he'd rather do it here, where he won't get interrupted or sidetracked or whatever. plus, well, it feels appropriate, somehow, all things considered. his father's space. his father's nickname for him*

the_death_card: *follows him back inside and over toward the bend, frowning a little, concerned, when Dylan trails off* What's up?

onebehind: *picks up a couple of pieces of one of ruined Lego models, once he reaches the bench, and turns to lean against it, putting the model back together idly, for something to do with his hands, as he talks* I talked to Merritt the other night. *after his screaming fit nightmare* About a lot of things, actually, but -- but the fact that Mira told you guys not to call me Jake came up.

the_death_card: *nods a little - he knew Dylan and Merritt had talked, even if he couldn't actually hear what they were saying* Yeah, she mentioned it after Merritt finally figured out your name.

onebehind: *he nods, too* It's kind of a family thing. My father used to ... *call him that, which is probably obvious even without him saying it, but he can't quite get it out* And Mira. Mira's mom, sometimes, when she'd been ... *hanging around his father for too long, but he can't quite get that out, either. it takes him a minute to get anything out, after that, actually, but when he does, he backs up to Merritt and his conversation* The night we talked, I told him he could, too, if he wanted to. *he pauses, forcing himself to look up at Jack, where his attentions have drifted to the ruins of the model, and then* Same goes for you, if you feel like it.

the_death_card: *and he nods again - she mentioned that, too - and stays silent while Dylan goes on. and then, he blinks, a little stunned, and then blurts...* Are you sure? I mean... *he doesn't know what he means, actually. for all that he's called them family a few times, he just. this feels more important*

onebehind: *softly but nevertheless genuinely* Yeah, I'm sure.

the_death_card: Okay. *and then, sincerely...* Thanks.

onebehind: Yeah. *glances down at the model again, mostly to hide the fact that his eyes are stinging, and then turns to put it back on the bench. barring that, though, he's really not sure what to say or do now*

the_death_card: *neither is he, and his eyes are stinging, too, to the point that he reaches up to thumb at them when Dylan turns away. and finally, chuckles a little, and he can't quite keep the fact that he's a little choked up out of his voice* So all that from both of us about worrying we'd pissed everyone off was really crap, then. *and he's teasing - considering Jack himself did the most fucking off of all of them....*

onebehind: *flashes him a little smile* Kinda looking that way, yeah.

the_death_card: *laughs again, the sound small but infinitely relieved, ducking his head a little as he reaches up to run a hand roughly over his hair*

onebehind: *looks away, too, his smile fading slowly, and then at great lengths ... * I thought it would be easier for you, if you didn't have to see how ... fucked up I was by all of this. *a beat* Am. *how fucked up he is, present tense*

the_death_card: *sobers, too* Dude, we're all fucked up by this. And, I mean... I don't really have any room to talk considering I ran off to Max's, but. Like Daniel told me, there's no point to trying to work through it all on your own when you've got us to help you.

onebehind: Yeah, I think I'm getting that. I just ... *he stops there, at a loss, and just shrugs instead*

the_death_card: Me, too, don't worry. But... None of us are going anywhere, Jake. *they've established that, now. he's done running, personally, and he knows the others would agree with him*

onebehind: *his mouth twitches just a bit at the use of the diminuative, something warm passing through his eyes, there and -- well, it was probably meant to pass, just a response to him using his father's name for him, but it lingers* None of us are going anywhere.

the_death_card: *smiles faintly, too, in response, and nods* Nope. So we've got time.

onebehind: *he nods a little, too ... and then wryly* Yeah, well, you might spend a lot of it for the next ... however long waiting for me to ... *actually know how to approach this shit to talk about it when he needs to*

the_death_card: *gently teasing* We can get you a code word for when someone needs to make you talk about stuff. *smirks a little*

onebehind: *snorts* That actually might not be a bad idea. *is he joking? is he serious? fuck if he knows and he said it*

the_death_card: *he's not sure just how much he was joking, either, to be honest. and, to be fair...* It's probably not a bad idea for any of us.

onebehind: Probably not.

the_death_card: *offers him another smile, faint but real - and then, maybe or maybe not sarcastically...* We'll make it... I don't know. Marshmallow, or something.

onebehind: That'd get kind of awkward if it was December and not July. *still, though, he might just kind of ... casually work that into a conversation, next time he's having a rough time and needs to get it off his chest*

the_death_card: *shrugs* We can change it to... I don't know, what's fluffy that has to do with summer?

onebehind: *thinks about that for a minute and then shrugs* Marshmallow still might work, actually, if you're into s'mores.

the_death_card: *makes a face* Never had them. *yeah, he knows. judge him.*

onebehind: *arches his eyebrows, his jaw working a little as if he's going to ask Jack if he's serious. he thinks better of it before he actually gets it out, however, and instead, offers* I'll bring home the shit for them sometime this week.

the_death_card: *gets that anyway and shrugs a little - but then grins* I thought they were a cold weather thing.

onebehind: *shakes his head* I've always done them as a summer thing. When I was in college, we used to go down to the Sandy Hook for bonfires. *and there were s'mores. and beer*

the_death_card: *smiles a little* Nice. *a beat, before* I've done toasting marshmallows *since you could get a lot of them for cheap* but not s'mores. *or a proper bonfire, but he's starting to feel like he's begging for sympathy, here, even though it's nothing that really bothers him - or at least he's not going to say it does -, so he's not mentioning that*

onebehind: *if he can work out how to get them all to a bonfire without blowing his cover -- which, well, might not be that hard, since the best bonfires start at sunset and the dark would be a good cover -- he will and not just for Jack's sake. it'd be good. something to do in August, maybe -- or September, when the college kids and tourists have all gone away for the summer and right before the days start getting colder. it's something for him to keep in mind for later, if nothing else. for now, though, he just offers Jack a smile* Yeah, definitely hitting the store. *for marshmallows and graham crackers and chocolate*

the_death_card: *grins* Cool. We can always do with more sugar rushes around here.

onebehind: *looks horrified, mostly for effect* Never mind. S'mores are cancelled.

the_death_card: *and immediately pouts* Nope, you promised, now.

onebehind: *breathes out a sigh of a laugh* Yeah, okay.

the_death_card: *and just laughs, too*

onebehind: *shakes his head a little, still amused, and -- oh, God. he still has the paraffin taste in his mouth. makes a little face and starts to push away from the workbench* You ready to head back? *they can stay here, if he wants to, if he has anything he wants to talk about that the other Horsemen don't need to hear, but*

the_death_card: *he can't think of anything right now, honestly. he wasn't kidding when he said they were all still a mess - even though he came back and is done running, there's still a lot chasing itself around his head he's trying not to think about - but he can't really pin any of it down, even if he wasn't ignoring it all* Yeah, I'm good if you are. *does he need to talk about anything else?*

onebehind: *he's more or less in the same boat as Jack -- there's a lot going on in his head, but he doesn't know how to pin it down, where to start -- and so he shakes his head faintly* I'm good.

the_death_card: *and he's going to take his word on that - at least for now* Okay. Let's go.

onebehind: *they can sit down and talk about it all later because, yeah, he's not okay, and he knows that Jack isn't, and it needs to be done, but ... not now. they're having a good night; he wants to keep it that way. they needed something positive* Alright. *and that said, he moves back towards the door, calling up the suite behind it before he opens it*

the_death_card: *yeah, they are, and they did, and it really is helping. he follows Dylan back into the suite, moving immediately for the kitchen and asking over his shoulder...* What do you want?

onebehind: Uh ... water's good, for now. *he might have a drink later, but for now he needs something to wash the taste out of his mouth. and something he wouldn't feel bad spitting into the sink, if he needs to*

the_death_card: *nods, heading for the refrigerator to grab two water bottles and toss him one before he opens his - and does rinse his mouth out, spitting into the sink and then rinsing it out quickly before he steps back out of the way in case Dylan wants to do the same*

onebehind: *catches the bottle and moves to join him in the kitchen, setting the torches down on the half-wall between it and the kitchen so he can uncap it as he goes. he takes a mouthful of water, swishing it around in his mouth and, rather than swallow it, he steps up to the sink as Jack steps back, and spits. afterwards, he traces his tongue over his teeth, tenatively, and then nods once and if only for himself. yeah, that's a lot better* Thanks. *for the water, belatedly*

the_death_card: *moves out of his way, taking an actual drink of his water* Welcome.

onebehind: *takes another, actual drink of his water, too, and slides down the counter a little, away from the sink, in case Jack needs it again. a little glance to the sink follows, to indicate that. barring that, however, he says nothing, just stands there, leaning against the counter and watching him, idly. one of the bad things about feeling out of sorts is that he has these moments where it's like he's forgotten how to talk to them. he figures the others are having the same problem, but ... *

the_death_card: *they really are. even if it's slowly getting better, they're still really not bullshitting like they did before all this started. he hates it, but he doesn't really know what to do about it. eventually, though, he just raises an eyebrow, curiously*

onebehind: *offers him a wry smile and pops one shoulder in a shrug* Yeah, I have no idea.

the_death_card: *makes a face* Me neither.

onebehind: *and in that instant, it's so hard not to go back to pretending everything's fine, just for the sake of some fucking normalacy for the both of them. just to keep tonight good, rather than awkward or, as it seems to be where the conversation's inevitably going to go, focused back on Torre and what happened. he manages to keep himself from it, however, albeit barely, the shadow of walls washing over his face briefly* Sorry.

the_death_card: *shakes his head* It's not... *trails off, and then sighs* It's going around. Not knowing what to say. It's not as bad as it was, but... *shrugs*

onebehind: Yeah. *a beat* Not that that makes it any less frustrating.

the_death_card: *shakes his head a little* Yeah.

onebehind: *and just for clarification's sake* Not that that's your fault. *he's frustrated with himself, not Jack*

the_death_card: *he's frustrated at himself, too, don't worry - but he also really doesn't blame himself. Torre's the one who screwed them up* No, I know. *a beat* It's not your fault, either.

onebehind: Just checking. *and as for that second part, he's ... working on that. but he's not sure he wants to admit to it, not because he's afraid of looking weak or anything other than normal or whatever, but just ... oh, who fucking knows. he sure as hell doesn't*

the_death_card: *yeah, none of them do. it's okay. smiles faintly, trying for reassuring before he takes another drink of his water*

onebehind: *flashes him a brief, admittedly thin smile in response, breathes out a sigh, and takes another drink of his own water. and after a moment ... * If I thought it'd help ... *he'd go find Torre and hurt him worse than Merritt did. he'd ask Merritt to take the memories of this shit from him. he'd do a lot of things*

the_death_card: *isn't Merritt, but he can get some of that - and he knows the feeling, but...* We'll be okay. *and he sounds like he believes that. he pauses, then, and eventually lets out a breath. he hesitates to open up too much about this stuff, considering it feels like poking at old wounds, and because he knows Dylan wishes he could go back and fix it, and because they had a good night and, like Dylan, he hates to change the tone. but maybe the fact that they had a good time at the warehouse is why he can get into this* It's been over ten years since some of what happened while I was in the system happened. And it took me a long time to even start to get past some of that shit, because I didn't have anyone. And maybe that's why I ran off to Max's, because I knew how to deal with it on my own. *or he thought he did. that obviously worked out for him real well* But apparently I missed the part where you guys wanted to help me with this shit. So... much as it sucks right now... we're all here, now.

onebehind: *he nods, letting out another sigh, relaxing just a tiny bit where he's been tensing slowly, the more frustrated he's gotten. a moment of silence follows and then, almost hesitantly* I know the feeling. *he was on his own for thirty years, after all, remember* And I've got a bad habit of holding onto shit. Sometimes it serves me -- *like it did, taking out Bradley and Tressler and so on* -- sometimes, not so much. But I don't know how to just ... let it go.

the_death_card: *again with them being way too much alike for their own goods. he nods* Yeah. I mean... I still have nightmares about someone I'm never going to see again. *and that, considering how many years have passed and how young Jack was at the time, he might not even know if he did see him again. but he just shrugs*

onebehind: *he can't help but look vaguely, briefly sympathetic, even if he wasn't looking for sympathy in admitting that, and then ... * Yeah, I know that one, too. *before Torre, his nightmares had been coming fewer and further between -- Miranda wasn't wrong about avenging his father bringing some measure of peace -- but that doesn't mean he didn't have them. nor does it mean that they weren't largely focused around Bradley in any number of ways and despite the fact that, like Jack said, he'll probably never see him again, or his father and not being able to save him or what drowing on the bottom of the Hudson must have been like or some combination of both. and now, obviously, he has Torre to haunt his dreams*

the_death_card: *and just nods a little, again, looking down to fiddle with the cap to his water bottle, sort of at a loss, again*

onebehind: *hesitates for a moment, before haltingly* I used to dream about Bradley, when I wasn't -- wasn't dreaming about what it must have been like for him, in that safe. *and, obviously, in the latter case, the him is his father* Just -- knowing he wouldn't be able to get out, knowing he was going to die there. And that there wasn't anything he could do to stop it. *a beat* That there wasn't anything I could do to stop it.

the_death_card: Neither of us were even teenagers. There wasn't. *anything they could do, he means. and he knows what a comfort that isn't, and Jack forgets that more often than he remembers it, but.*

onebehind: I know. But it's kinda ... *in the same vein as what he has nightmares about. things he couldn't prevent, people he'll never see again. he was more trying to be less cryptic and more genuine, give a little bit of himself up in response to Jack doing the same, rather than looking for him to tell him it wasn't his fault*

the_death_card: *and just nods a little - and then huffs out a sigh. now he's feeling like he said the wrong thing and. yeah. as much as he does believe they'll get past this, right now, he's just frustrating himself*

onebehind: *he sighs, too, and reaches up to scrub a hand over his face* You didn't do anything wrong, okay? I appreciate the "serenity to accept the things I cannot change" thing -- *he honestly does* -- I was just trying to be less of a -- a tight-lipped dick. *to use an insult for himself that he's used before, in better times*

the_death_card: *breathes out a laugh at both parts of that phrasing* I know the feeling. *again, considering he was more ready to run off than talk things out*

onebehind: *offers Jack a small smile, brief but real* Yeah. *the two of them have way too much in common*

the_death_card: *they really, really do. he laughs a little, wryly, and takes another drink of his water. he realizes how ridiculous all of this is, but like with the others, he feels like there's one more thing they need to get past - but he can't figure out how to get them past it*

onebehind: *he gets that impression, too, but he's not sure what it is they need to get past in the first place, and that ... kind of bothers him. all his perception, all his ability to read people, and it means nothing, right now. makes a little face into his own bottle of water as he raises it to take a sip, too*

the_hermit: *chooses this moment to come downstairs, stopping for a moment at the bottom of the stairs when he sees them already there* I thought I heard you two wander back in.

onebehind: *flashes him a smile, too* Hey, yeah, sorry. *for not leaving a note or something. after everything that's happened, he feels like they probably should have, but ... it didn't occur to him*

the_hermit: *waves that off as he moves to join them in the kitchen* I'm all for the buddy system.

inaloadedroom
onebehind: *nods* Fair enough. *a beat* So, how's it going?

the_hermit: *looks thoughtful* Kind of bored, actually. And I cannot tell you how nice that is. *looks between them* You two?

onebehind: *he makes a small sound, no more a heh than anything else -- yeah, he really doesn't blame him -- and then glances briefly, intentionally, to the torches still sitting on the half-wall, so Merritt can get some indication of what they were doing. a shrug follows* Comparatively? Not too bad. *today -- or, well, tonight at least -- was mostly good, despite the conversation taking a turn towards the serious, despite the awkwardness still present between him and Jack, and despite the fact that he has no idea how to fix that*

the_death_card: *smirks a little, too, at Merritt's wording, and then shrugs as he takes another drink* Not bad.

the_hermit: *follows Dylan's glance to the torches* I still don't know what you have against your eyebrows, but it'll look good on stage. *and then frowns at them a little and barely resists the urge to roll his eyes - which Dylan isn't likely to miss, even if Jack does*

onebehind: Eyebrows are fuckers. *and speaking of eyebrows, he arches his at Merritt. what?*

the_death_card: *and frowns at both of them - yeah, even if he missed the eyeroll, he knows he missed something, now* What?

the_hermit: *sighs* You two are as bad as the other two were. *nods back toward the stairs, to indicate Daniel and Henley. and then, after a beat* Without the, you know... sexual part of the tension. *because ew*

onebehind: *Jack's probably the closest thing to a son as he'll ever have, so ... yes. very ew. thanks for that, Merritt, even with the whole without caveat* We're working on it.

the_death_card: *also agrees with the ew, and his face is probably priceless, right now*

the_hermit: Yeah, I can tell how that's going. *moves past them to get the drink he came down here in the first place for, and then, once he has it and once he's drifted back past them to where he was...* My completely unsolicited and possibly unwanted advice? There's not actually an invisible wall in this kitchen.

onebehind: *his face is probably equally priceless. it's okay, Jack. thankfully, the look fades into a frown after a moment and at Merritt's advice* Yeah. *he knows that. sort of. on an intellectual level, anyway*

the_death_card: *frowns, too* Obviously.

the_hermit: *sighs and mutters something about maybe I should take two as he looks at the drink he has in hand. and then finally shakes his head* Well, I am going back to my book. You two have fun with... *gestures at them vaguely, at the tension he can practically see in the air*

the_death_card: *rolls his eyes at that* 'Night, Merritt.

onebehind: *makes a face at Merritt* Night.

the_hermit: *waves a hand at them as he heads back up the stairs. his family is ridiculous, has he mentioned?*

the_death_card: *shakes his head as Merritt leaves, finishing off his water*

onebehind: *your face is ridiculous, Merritt McKinney. as true as that may or may not be, though, he has a point, unfortunately. he usually does. makes a little face at that thought, finishes off his own water and hesitates for a moment before gesturing for Jack to hand him his so he can go throw both in the recycle bin*

the_death_card: *hands off the bottle, reaching up to run his hands roughly over his face*

onebehind: *takes a moment to toss them both and when he turns back, starts to head back to where he was leaning by the sink only to stop, to force himself to go lean somewhere closer to Jack. again with Merritt having a point and he's ... trying*

the_death_card: *can't help but chuckle faintly, wryly, though it's not directed at Dylan as much as he's realizing how ridiculous all of this is, and he shifts a little, forcing himself to relax considering he knows how tense his posture's been through this whole conversation*

onebehind: *his has been, too, for the most part. but at any rate, he offers Jack an equally wry smile* He's kind of a pain in the ass when he's right.

the_death_card: *nods, laughing a little again* And the bad part is that he usually is.

onebehind: Yeah, unfortunately. *a pause follows and then, slowly, seriously* Look, Jack ... *and he stops there, if only because he has no real idea where he was going with that*

the_death_card: *and then there's a random flare of anger - and again, it's not at Dylan. it's just. at Torre, for ruining what they had going, for making them all so unsure of each other. at himself, for not knowing what to say, either. for the people in his past who made him so afraid to actually connect to anyone. at this whole situation. and he reaches up to run a hand roughly over his face again as he lets out a breath, trying to resettle himself - and he suddenly wishes he hadn't already finished the water, since it would at least give him something to fiddle with and look at, since he can't seem to bring himself to look at Dylan* None of us blame you for what happened with Torre. Either to us or to you. Because you didn't do it, and obviously it wasn't your idea for him to fuck you up. And no one blames you for not being here, because you have a job you have to keep up. And... us fighting was the best way to take care of things, because we knew something was really wrong, and Merritt could just put us out for a second and fix it but we didn't know what was going on with you and. You weren't gonna hurt me. I know Merritt planted a suggestion for you to hold back, but I was a lot more worried about hurting you than you hurting me. *and yes, there's some ego in there, but - he could have taken care of it, if he'd had to. he could've been rougher and maybe it would've been over sooner and maybe Dylan wouldn't have gotten any blows in, but Jack's fought people who were actually out to do as much damage as possible, and he knows how to get away from it - and that was without his new tricks*

the_death_card: I just want all this back to normal. Because you're kind of the first person I've ever looked up to that wasn't a magician I saw on YouTube, and.... *and finally seems to run out of steam and the words to say what he wants, and he shakes his head a little. that's. seriously putting it mildly, as they've hinted at but never actually said. he doesn't know anything about his father, and he doesn't want to know anything about his father because his father was an asshole who didn't want anything to do with him - but. the times he's jokingly called Dylan "dad" aren't the only times he's thought of him that way*

onebehind: *isn't going to argue that, as much as he'd like to and despite the fact that it runs through his head. he still pulled a gun on Jack, never mind the fact that he never put a round even before Jack got it away from him, and in spite of Merritt's suggestion. he still hurt him, all of them -- he can remember how Merritt looked at him when he showed up at the theatre to tell him to stop calling. he still wasn't there. and yeah, okay, like Jack said, he has a job to hold down, but -- but he doesn't need it anymore. not really. it'd be a hell of a loss of resources, sure, and he's not sure what he would do without his job, since it's not like he can decide to pursue a career in stage magic at this point, but the job has served it's purpose. he doesn't need it anymore, and if he'd let it go, let himself be fired or quit after he revealed himself to the Horsemen or whatever, maybe he would have been around to stop this. at very least, he wouldn't have been put in a position where he'd been forced to hurt them. maybe, and there are a lot of maybes that all add up to him hating himself, no matter how much people keep telling him that it's okay, that it wasn't his fault. again, though, he's not going to say any of that and for a number of reasons -- because it won't help, because the argument is old, because, well, like the maybes, the list goes on -- and so he just watches Jack for a moment, instead, waiting until he feels like he can trust his voice again. and when he manages, all he manages is ... * You have no idea how -- how important you are to me. *all of them, yes, but also Jack specifically. Jack's not the only one who's thought of them as father and son and for more than just the occasional sarcastic use of "dad"* So, yeah. I get it. *wanting them to be back to normal so badly. he wants it, too, even if he'll carry what Torre did to him, what he did to them, forever and in spite of their absolution*

the_death_card: *he knows the feeling. even if Daniel forgave him, he's still having problems forgetting what he did - and what he said. but he figures that's the same for all of them - even Merritt, who seems to be doing the best job pretending he's okay. but... he still can't find the right words again, but he does manage to look back up, everything plain on his face. the opposite's true, there, too, really*

onebehind: *tightens his jaw a little, slowly, trying to will away the fact that his eyes are suddenly stinging or at least keep anything from coming of it. while, through steeling himself, he manages to keep himself from outright crying, however, it really does nothing to change the fact that his eyes are bright. it doesn't change the fact that, even as he puts a hand to Jack's shoulder slowly, lightly, he can't breathe, let alone form words*

the_death_card: *he's just as close to crying, really. as soon as Dylan touches his shoulder, he shifts into it - and as he does, something crumples behind his expression and he turns his head, trying to cover it, and he reaches up to thumb at his eyes*

onebehind: *squints at him for a moment, trying to see if he can't read into whatever that was, despite the fact that Jack looked away and, probably unintentionally, covered his face in thumbing at his eyes. he gives up on it before too long, however, decides it doesn't matter and, after a moment of hesitation, pulls him into a fierce hug. they both probably need it and, at this point, between what's been said and what hasn't, it'd feel a little stupid not to*

the_death_card: *it was unintentional - and it wasn't anything specific, just general relief, the tears as much to do with stress breaking as anything. he moves immediately into the hug to return it just as tightly, forehead against Dylan's shoulder. he might also actually be crying, now, if the way his breathing changes is any indication*

onebehind: *he might be, too, Jack not the only one whose breathing is suddenly odd. he doesn't comment on it, though, doesn't say anything at all, he just moves the hand that was at Jack's shoulder to his hair. and while he may or may not be embarrassed by this later, depending, he can't stop himself from running his fingers over his hair lightly, soothingly, and for both their sakes, tension slowly bleeding out of his shoulders as he does so*

the_death_card: *he may or may not be, too, but that doesn't change that, for now, he's clinging for all that he's worth, the tension draining out of him, too. apparently saying he needed this is something of an understatement*

onebehind: *after a long, silent moment -- moments, plural, actually -- while he's still touching Jack, and again, for both of them, he connects them telepathically. and there's a sense of warmth, infinitely boundless, and more than that, almost trembling relief to his mental presence and to the thought he offers him* It's okay. We're okay.

the_death_card: *his breath hitches a little at the connection, at the feeling, because he doesn't get that from people - or doesn't let himself get that from people - and he nods a little, even if he keeps his reply to their connection* Yeah.

onebehind: *holds him close for awhile longer, fingers still moving through his hair, their connection left open because he feels like Jack needs to know how much he wasn't kidding about him being important to him, and then finally, slowly, he pulls away. mostly so he can thumb at his eyes, swipe the back of his hand over his nose, and try to remember how to breathe*

the_death_card: *pulls back as Dylan does, reaching up to swipe at his eyes, and it takes him a fair bit of effort not to apologize - for the clinging or for crying on him, one or the other or both - and it probably still shows*

onebehind: *shakes his head a little* Don't. *because it's not like he did much better*

the_death_card: *nods a little as he finishes pulling himself mostly back together, taking another deep breath*

onebehind: *he's probably going to ruin it for the both of them, if only because, after a moment taken to pull himself back together, too, he reels Jack in for another hug. this one may or may not last as long as the last, depending*

the_death_card: *goes willingly again, hugging just as tightly as the first time even if he manages not to fall apart, this time*

onebehind: *he manages to keep it together this time, too, for the most part. he also manages to keep himself from connecting them again, even if part of him oddly but intensely wants to. regardless, though, after a long moment, he breathes out a sigh and steps back again, shifting to lean against the wall, next to Jack, where he was when all of this started*

the_death_card: *part of him was almost hoping he would, honestly. he steps back as Dylan does, though, letting out another breath as he reclaims his place against the counter. and then, eventually...* I mean it, you know. *what he said and didn't say and just. all of it*

onebehind: *a little roughly, if only because his throat threatens to stop working again, at that* So did I.

the_death_card: *ditto, now, and he huffs out another breath, trying to keep himself from starting to cry again as he nods a few more times than is probably necessary*

onebehind: *just studies him for a moment, the warmth he offered him through connecting them quiet but visible in his eyes, and then looks away, letting out a breath of his own and for the same reasons*

the_death_card: *offers him a smile that's just as warm in return, and then breathes out a laugh when he looks away, reaching up to scrub a hand over his hair. his voice is still a little shaky when he speaks* Merritt is gonna be such a pain in the ass, tomorrow. *a beat* Maybe we should pretend we're still being weird.

onebehind: *laughs a little, almost breathlessly* He'd find something else to be a dick about, even if we did.

the_death_card: *nods* Yeah, good point.

onebehind: I have those occasionally. *and that said, he reaches up to rub at his eyes, then breathes out another sigh, all at once exhausted*

the_death_card: Occasionally. *and then just grins a little, and it's nowhere near his usual levels of shit-eating -- he's just as tired, now, even if it's in a sort of good way -- but it's probably closer than it has been in two weeks*

onebehind: *his exhaustion isn't a bad thing, either -- it's the same sort of tired you get after you've stopped being sick for a long time. not better, not yet, but on the way. but at any rate, he huffs out a sigh, rolls his eyes, amused in spite of that, and shakes his head* Asshole.

the_death_card: *breathes out another laugh, reaching up to rub at his eyes as he shrugs, a little what're you gonna do about it?*

onebehind: *he makes another small, amused noise, flashes him a grin, and then glances towards the living room* I'm gonna go sit down. *that's what he's gonna do about it. so there*

the_death_card: *snorts, but pushes off the counter to follow him and claim his usual spot when he does head that way*

onebehind: *takes his usual seat, too, sprawling out a little, once he's sitting*

the_death_card: *once they're both sitting, he reaches up to rub at the back of his neck. he's still a little embarrassed by all that considering he's never broken down like that in front of anyone, well... ever - and again with just being exhausted, now. stress release will do that, he guesses* Thanks, by the way. *for the whole evening, really - from the practice to everything that just happened. and it may even be beyond just tonight.*

onebehind: *yeah, they will. but at any rate, he looks at Jack for a moment and then nods. and very, very sincerely ... * You're welcome. *for any of it. for all of it* Thank you, too. *again, for all the same reasons*

the_death_card: *nods a little* You're welcome.

onebehind: *offers him a brief, tired smile and then lapses into silence but comfortable silence. this carries on for a few minutes, in which he watches Jack idly, and then, just as idly* I think I'm gonna crash down here, tonight. *he'll probably regret it in the morning, comfortable couches or not, but ... he really doesn't feel like getting up and going to bed. he really doesn't feel like leaving Jack, right now*

the_death_card: *looks kind of relieved by that, considering he's having the same problems with not wanting to get up and not really wanting to be alone.* I think I might, too.

onebehind: * ... Merritt is going to be such a smarmy asshole tomorrow, but whatever* Sounds good.

the_death_card: *that's pretty much normal, so yeah: whatever* I thought about throwing another mattress down the stairs, but... *it was kind of a pain getting them back up the stairs, last time*

onebehind: Kinda, yeah. *not that that stops him from glancing thoughtfully at the balcony at the top of the stairs*

the_death_card: *laughs a little* Think whoever fills the refrigerator would make one of these *the couches* a fold-out?

the_death_card: *they've been called refrigerator fairies, considering he was here for ages by himself and never saw anyone despite the fridge being refilled, but he's not actually saying that*

onebehind: *snorts* I think now that you've said that ... *there's a good chance that, the next time everyone leaves the suite and comes back, the couches will have a fold-out bed. or there'll be air mattresses somewhere. or something*

the_death_card: *shakes his head, grinning* I'm not sure if that's creepy or awesome. *or both*

onebehind: *he thinks about that for a moment, and then* I'm gonna have to go with both. *it's also how he knows there has to be a way to stay here, full-time, without raising eyebrows back home, however. if whoever worked this place over to shift to suit as needed could make that permanant, he can come up with something -- an illusion, maybe, hence why he keeps meaning to talk to Miranda and Daniel both -- and make it stick, too. but at any rate, he glances towards the stairs again ... then lets out a breath and moves to get up. yeah, fuck this. he's bringing a mattress down. he'll put it back tomorrow morning*

the_death_card: *chuckles a little as he gets up, too, to drag the coffee table out of the way and make room*

onebehind: *heads into his room, briefly, returning with his mattress once he has it, and glances down the stairs. if Jack hadn't moved the coffee table, he would have asked him to, now, but since that's taken care of (and since he's not in the way), he nudges it to the edge of the stairs and pushes it down. and after it's landed, he ducks back into his room for his blankets and such before coming down the stairs. the gun he's been keeping either under his pillow or at his bedside, depending on how bad a day he's having mentally, stays upstairs*

the_death_card: *once Dylan shoves the mattress off, he moves back in from where he'd moved off to the side to nudge it into the empty space in the living room - and then flops back onto his spot on the couch to unlace his boots and pull them off*

onebehind: *drops his blankets on the mattress, takes a moment to kick off his own shoes, and then kneels down, trying to straighten out the mess of linens so they're not in a ball and they can actually use them*

the_death_card: I feel like this is the adult version of pillow forts, or whatever.

onebehind: *makes a small, amused noise -- if he weren't so tired, he'd probably start trying to build a pillow fort, now that he's said that* Something like that, yeah.

the_death_card: *Merritt might actually die - of glee, mind - if they made a pillow fort, so that's probably for the best. pushes himself up again once he sets his boots aside to help with the blankets*

onebehind: *maybe some other time. for now, though, and with Jack's help, he gets the blankets into some kind of working order, pulling a couple of pillows out of the tangle as they settle it. sets them at one end of the mattress, looks the whole thing over, and then nods once, satisfied, before moving to get off his knees and into the bed*

the_death_card: *and once everything's fixed, he drops onto the mattress, too, turning to lay down on the other side, huffing out another sigh as he settles. has he mentioned the tired?*

onebehind: *he is, too. that in mind, he takes a moment or two to get comfortable, hesitates briefly, and then reaches to smooth a hand over Jack's hair. and if he connects them again, if only for an instant, because he knows Jack wanted it earlier and because he wants memories of warmth to be one of the last things he remembers before falling asleep, well ... *

the_death_card: *it doesn't take him long to start to drift off, once he gets comfortable, though whether he shifts into Dylan's touch a little because he's half asleep or half awake is a toss up. either way, though, he hums softly, contentedly, at the touch, mumbling....* 'Night, Jacob. *and if he's still touching him, if they're still connected, there's a mental echo that is likely entirely because he's almost asleep* Dad.

onebehind: Night -- *and he starts to say Jack, to mirror him, as he takes his hand away, but then he catches that. freezes for an instant, feeling like he's been punched in the gut in the best possible way, however that works, and despite their conversation, despite what they weren't saying, then finally takes his hand away, if only to cover his mouth, to catch any sounds that might fall out of him and then to thumb furiously at his eyes. and when he feels like he can trust his voice again, albeit barely, no more than a whisper and a broken one at that, finally, he finishes with* Night, Jack. *not that he's sure he'll be sleeping anytime soon, now, but ... it's worth it*