gcldveined.
silence fell once again at dylan’s plea, the tension stretching between them like a wall. jack turned away to stare out the window, at the passing lights and the people in the city, celebrating the NEW YEAR. he could see activity and laughing faces and stupid hats, as if the sun wouldn’t rise again for some of the most goddamn important people in it. he expected the headlines to read HORSEMEN DISAPPEAR BEFORE FINAL ACT – he knew there were people who would be waiting on the banks of the thames. they’d never show up – for all he knew, this was the end of the horsemen, and the eye would go further underground than before.
the gps chimed to alert them to their destination, and jack moved out of the van almost before dylan had come to a full stop. hands braced against the side, head hanging, taking deep breaths in an effort to keep back the nausea that the events of the night had brought on. the moment dylan rounded the side of the van, jack turned, pulling him abruptly into a tight embrace – his body ached, eh was sure dylan’s did too, but he needed a moment – a moment to reassure himself that dylan, at least, was alive. that he was not ALONE.
❛ we’re gonna figure this out, right ? ❜
figure it out, he said, as though they could solve the fact that lula, and merritt, and danny were dead. dead. their bodies broken on the ground somewhere in england, but YEAH, he asked dylan if they could figure it out. jesus christ, wilder. always looking for direction. as if their leader would know any more than he.
briefly, dylan wondered how long it will be until the bodies are found. he wished, he really did, that he didn’t know what a body thrown out of an aeroplane looks like: he hates himself for how quickly he imagine his friends ( fuck ‘friends’, the closest thing he’s had to a family in decades ) in that condition. it can’t take long if the plane remained over london — maybe a day or two max to identify them after that and then the world would know. he’s not gonna be able to watch any news once that happens.
his mind must have switched on autopilot: he didn’t notice jack moving towards him before he felt the boy’s arms around him. the initial reaction to the pain was quickly pushed aside for the comfort, and dylan had never wished so sincerely there was a godly power that could tell him what to say or do to make it right. he could feel jack’s pain, mixing in and mirroring his own, and dylan had to swallow down a broken sob when he heard the words talked somewhere over his shoulder just to be able to answer.
“ YEAH. ”
he had no idea what he meant by it — jack probably didn’t know what he was asking either — but there was no other answer he could even think of giving, not with the grief burning his lungs and wanting to break his bones. dylan could figure out tressler. he could figure out walter. and yeah, he couldn’t bring back any of the people who died because he had lived, but he could for damn sure make sure jack wouldn’t be met with the same fate. he had to. it wasn’t him the tresslers wanted — he should be allowed to live the rest of his life without all of this, no matter what the cost would be… and he knew that the cost was going to be giving them the one person whom they’ve really wanted dead. “ YEAH, ” he repeated, much surer now, and as he pulled away he could only hope the grief was too overwhelming for jack to notice the hint of melancholic determination that had crept to his gaze.