the_hermit | For nine

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For nine_ofswords

Summary: In which ~~Merritt fails his will save~~ ~~Merritt makes a stupid decision~~... In which this thread ends badly.

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Merritt goes still, something about him calming, and the smile that crosses his face is humorless. "That little 'stunt' was easy," he begins seriously, his tone becoming carefully measured.

"The Horsemen are my family, and leaving that man a drooling idiot was the very least I would do to protect them."

He's not close enough to actually, physically reach Ben, but he doesn't need to be. He swings, mentally, lashing out with a burst of magic designed to cripple.

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"We got you," Henley agrees solemnly, not quite in time with Jack but close enough that Dylan has a moment of quiet worry, hoping this isn't a sign of damage as much as they all probably need this closeness, right now.

Filing it away for later, when his head doesn't feel like it's going to pop off his shoulders, he moves in to put an arm around Merritt, supporting him as the other Horsemen draw back. "You headed for the bathroom, too? Or should I drop you somewhere else?"

Merritt's not particularly concerned, considering the aftershocks of magic just starting to dissipate. If it's still an issue after they've all had some sleep, he'll see what he can do about it.

For now, he just leans into Dylan's arm. "Bathroom first," he agrees, "and I could do with a drink. Of water, for now."

As much as he could do with some alcohol, it's probably not the best idea considering the current literally delicate state of his brain.

"I got it," Jack tells them as he finally stands, moving to follow them out of Merritt's room.

"Thanks," Dylan calls back to him as he leads Merritt carefully, slowly towards the bathroom. When they reach it, he guides him over to the toilet, leaning away only briefly to put the lid down before he eases Merritt onto it.

"Sit," he orders belatedly, already moving to grab a couple of washcloths out of the linen closet. He runs one under the tap, warm water soaking into it, wrings it out, and passes it to Merritt. He repeats the process with the second and presses it under his own nose, mopping at the smear of blood there.

Merritt's already heading that direction, bracing himself with a hand on the counter. "Thanks," he says as he takes the washcloth, wiping at his face, too, and where more had started to run into the crease above his lip while he was laying on his back.

It's unsettling all over again, how close he came to losing that fight, and he takes a breath as he finishes, as he lays the cloth back on the sink.

"When we're all less scrambled," he begins, quietly, "we need to talk about that guy. We might not have seen the last of him."

"No argument," Dylan agrees, peeling the cloth back away from his face. He drops it on top of Merritt's, does a quick once-over of himself in the mirror, and then turns to face him, leaning back against the counter as he does so. "And we should really actually get together, work on shoring up the defenses, rather than just talking about it."

He gestures between the two of them.

"Again, no argument," he agrees, reaching out for a hand getting back up again.

There's the sound of uncoiling springs followed by a dull, vaguely metallic clunk followed by a softer fwump from the living room, followed a moment later by Jack's voice. "Sorry! That was loud."

"Your son's up to something," Merritt tells Dylan, bemused.

Dylan glances sharply in the direction of the door. He immediately regrets the motion, headache flaring white-hot behind his eyes, blurring his vision for an instant before it recedes.

When he recovers, he swallows thickly, rakes his tongue over his teeth and, very deliberately and very slowly, returns his attentions to Merritt. He tries for a wry smile; it mostly translates as strained. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Mostly the fact that he's apparently decided to destroy the living room," Merritt returns dryly, heading for the balcony overlooking the suite's first floor to see what Jack is actually doing.

It won't take much to figure it out, as he's shoved the coffee table out of the way and opened the pull-out from one of the sofas. Jack himself is out of sight at the moment, but then a door closes downstairs, and he dumps an armful of pillows and blankets onto it - and then looks up at them like he's not at all surprised they're there. "I figured the odds were good everybody was gonna go back to sleep, and..."

He also figures the odds are good they could all use the continued contact.

Dylan follows him out, follows his gaze down and looks somewhat relieved when he makes sense of what's going on. It's not that he thought Jack was actually destroying the living room, it's more that, yes, he wants to go back to bed, and yes, he'd like to do it close to the rest of the family for any number of reasons. This saves him from having to suggest it; this saves him from having to muster the effort required to pull out the couch and find the linens.

The relief, however, fades a moment later and as he glances to Merritt. "I know your brain's kind of scrambled, right now, but ... " But is he going to be able to sleep, after everything that just happened, as much as he might want to, should?

Jack takes that as approval - or actually gets it through the magic still floating around, Merritt's not going to think about it right now - and turns away to start making the bed properly.

Merritt looks back at Dylan, frowning as he actually considers his answer to that question. "I think I'll be good," he returns after a moment, especially if they're going with Jack's plan to camp out downstairs.

He means that, too. He's not even worried about the potential for nightmares right now, considering the warmth they all gave him.

Without thinking to try and read the truth of that statement, without needing to for, yes, the taste of their combined magics still in the air, Dylan nods, accepting. He turns away briefly, following that, to call for Daniel and Henley as loud as his aching head will allow, and then shifting back in Merritt's direction, offers him his arm again.

"I'm gonna sleep for, like, twelve hours," he tells him, mock-confidentially. There's a note of seriousness behind it, too, however. He doesn't want anyone getting the wrong idea if they try and wake him before then and he shoos them away.

Merritt brushes that off, reaching out to put a hand on the balcony railing instead. "That'll get awkward on the stairs," he explains, because neither of them need to trip over each other right now.

"Pretty sure nobody's going anywhere but to sleep for the rest of the day," he returns - but he also really does appreciate the notice.

"Good point," Dylan allows with the briefest stab of embarrassment. Both parts of that are a response to the idea that things might get awkward, if he tries to help Merritt down the stairs, but it serves as an answer to Merritt in entirety, and so he lapses into tired silence as they move downstairs. A second or two later, Henley and Merritt join them, and another after that and they're all standing in the living room.

Still quiet, Dylan looks to Jack. Can they fall into bed now, please?

Jack moves back into the living room from the kitchen, turning that light off as he goes - and passes off the previously promised bottles of water.

Merritt takes one of them, opening it to take a long drink. He feels better for it - but also stops at that, closing it again and setting it on one of the side tables. He doesn't really want to have to climb over everyone.

"Well, I'm laying back down," he tells them all, that done, and moves to do as threatened, letting out an exhausted sigh once he's settled.

With a noise of agreement, Dylan sits down heavily on the edge of the pull-out and then shifts over, making room. Henley, meanwhile, gestures for the other bottles, not to drink but so Jack can follow Dylan into bed. She sets them off to one side, for later, figuring for as long as they'll all likely sleep, they'll want them then, and, once Jack's settled, climbs onto the pull-out behind him. Daniel slides in behind her, grabbing the edge of the blankets to throw over the group of them.

"Twelve hours," Dylan repeats, this time for the rest of the Horsemen. He already knows he doesn't have to explain what he means by that.

There's a hum of acknowledgement from Jack and Merritt, both of them already starting to drift again.

Tomorrow, Merritt will worry about how much of an enemy he actually just made and what to do about it. For now, surrounded by warmth and family, he's just going back to sleep.

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