Summary: It's Inauguration Day 2017 in Washington D.C., and the Horsemen put on a show that America will never forget. Drama, Humor, Family, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Whump. Features Dylan, Daniel, Jack, and Merritt.

Empty Fist
PenPatronus
Chapter 1 of 3
Suicide Mission

Thanksgiving
November 24, 2016
Helena, Montana

Daniel Atlas grunted as he lifted the turkey out of the oven. "How many pounds is this?" he called. "It's a freaking dinosaur!"

Jack Wilder sidled up to the kitchen counter. "Pick a card," he said, flashing his smile and a full deck.

Daniel opened three drawers before he found a carving knife. "Kinda busy. Get out the Styrofoam plates, will you?"

"Come on, Danny, pick a card!"

Atlas started to reach for one, then folded all his fingers except for the middle. "If you're not going to help, at least go wake up Dylan."

Jack spun on his heel and faced the living room. "Merritt! Pick a card, man."

Merritt McKinney pointed their TV remote and muted the football game. "That bird is a 30-pounder," he announced through a yawn as he rolled off the couch. "Hypnotized and strangled it myself in our backyard."

A figure lumbered out of the hallway that led to the bedrooms. A clean-shaven Dylan Rhodes leaned against the refrigerator and cocked an eyebrow at his fellow Horsemen. "How do you hypnotize a turkey?"

Jack sprung to the leader's side. "Dylan, man, I've got the sweetest trick. Pick a card!"

Dylan chuckled at the young man's enthusiasm and removed a card from the deck. "I'm not paying your quarter of the rent this month if you pull this card out of my ass." Jack waggled his eyebrows, then turned his head aside so that he wouldn't see Dylan put the card back in the pile after he memorized it.

Merritt shared a look with Daniel. "Look who's awake before noon," he teased Dylan. "Fearless leader even showered and shaved for the special occasion. And, wow, is that a CLEAN t-shirt?"

Dylan rolled his eyes at his teammates. "I'll get the napkins," he said, and proceeded to rip paper towels in half and distribute them across the cracked dining room table. "None of the girls are joining us today?"

"Henley hasn't visited in a month," Daniel said louder than he intended. "And Lula went to visit her family a week ago. You'd know that, Dylan, if you had an actual conversation with us once in a while…"

Dylan rolled his eyes. "I know I've been a bit of a hermit lately…"

"No." Daniel slammed a drawer shut and glared. "Merritt's a hermit. You've been avoiding us. Is there a reason, or are you just an asshole?"

Dylan didn't reply.

In the uncomfortable silence that followed, Merritt grabbed the plastic utensils and Jack picked up the disposable bowls and plates. The pair followed Dylan around the table, carefully setting each spot. Behind them, Atlas was carving up the turkey when his knife scraped against something smooth. Daniel frowned. He peeled back a wing and wiggled two fingers into the turkey's guts. "Holy shit."

Dylan, Merritt, and Jack looked up to see Daniel holding something flat and rectangular. Jack's grin stretched from ear to ear when he spotted the queen of spades. "Is that your card?" he asked Dylan.

Merritt broke into a belly-laugh at the astonished look on Dylan's face. His laugh was so loud, so delightfully obnoxious, that the other three couldn't help but join in.

An hour later, Dylan and his Horsemen had their feet propped up on the table, their pants unbuttoned, and glasses of wine in their hands. "This Thanksgiving I'm thankful that the funniest, smartest, hottest magician in the world agreed to marry me!" Jack said, raising his glass in the air.

"Babe, I thought we were going to wait until Christmas to tell them!" Merritt said with a pout and puppy dog eyes.

Daniel coughed through a gulp of red. "I'm telling Lula you said that," he warned, "if you don't pass me the pumpkin pie. And before you put me on the spot, it's pie. It's pumpkin pie that I'm thankful for."

Merritt clasped a palm against his chest. "So brave of you to bare your soul like that!" he exclaimed, his sarcasm honey-thick. "Now I know, what, like, three things about you? Never felt so close to you, man." Daniel humored him with a small smile and clinked their glasses together. "I am thankful for my second glass of wine—"

"Third," Dylan, Jack, and Daniel all corrected.

Merritt thought about it. "Third," he conceded. "And I am thankful for…" He hesitated as if gathering his courage. "For you—you knuckleheads. For my brother," he said, nodding at Atlas. "And for my super-annoying little brother," he said to Jack, who grinned back. "And for my boss / sort-of-dad…Which is impossible because he's actually younger than me. To the man who brought us together—Dylan! Cheers!"

"Cheers!" Jack agreed, and all but Dylan took a drink.

Two full minutes passed while they waited for their leader to say what he was thankful for—or to at least look up from his empty plate. Finally, it was Daniel who leaned across the table and put his hand on Rhodes' shoulder. "Dylan?"

Dylan still didn't look up. "Have to tell you guys something," he said, and then he took a drink. "I'm leaving tomorrow…Flying to D.C."

"What?" Jack sputtered. "Why?"

"For how long?" Merritt asked.

Rhodes chose to answer Merritt's question. "Through January, probably. I'll text you when I land," he said, finally making eye contact with Atlas, "but after that I won't be able to contact you…Not for any reason."

"You're meeting with The Eye," Merritt guessed. Dylan took another drink—emptying his glass. "You're working for The Eye. You're…doing a show?"

Jack tossed his hands up. "You're doing a job without US?"

"It's dangerous," Dylan whispered.

Jack rolled his eyes. "Robin Hood adventures are always dangerous! That's half the fun, man!"

Dylan turned in his chair. "I don't mean it's dangerous like we might go to jail. I mean it's dangerous like—like I don't expect to come back from it."

Daniel sat up straight. "The hell does that mean?" he demanded. "Dylan, you're not going on a suicide mission alone—"

Dylan faced him. His features were strained and pale. "What I'm NOT doing is taking you down with me. There's something I have to do and it's separate from The Eye's personnel and resources—it's got nothing to do with you."

Merritt rested his elbows on the table and braided his fingers together tight. "Dylan, we don't want to help out of loyalty to The Eye. We want to help YOU. You know we'd do anything for you, man."

"That's exactly the problem." Dylan shook his head sadly. "I've put you in enough danger! Danger for my own selfish reasons. For MY vendettas. I have to do this one on my own. I…I have to go pack. Thanks for dinner, guys." With that, Dylan abandoned his chair and retreated to his bedroom, slamming the door tight.

Jack started to follow him, but stopped when Daniel grabbed his shoulder. "I got it," he said quietly. Jack took the cue and sat back down. Merritt removed his hat with a long sigh and started clearing the table.

Atlas hesitated at Dylan's door. He sighed and leaned his forehead against it. "Don't make me have Jack pick the lock," he threatened. A minute passed, but then Daniel heard the telltale sound of a latch turning. The doorknob rotated. An inch of light appeared. Atlas hesitated for another half a minute, and then went inside.

"Geeze," he gasped. "What the hell have you been working on, man?" All four walls (including the windows) were covered in paper: maps, blueprints, diagrams, schedules, weather reports, biographies, pictures, lists of names, and newspaper articles. Daniel put his hands on his head and dug his fingernails into his skull. "Have you even been sleeping…?"

Dylan sat on the edge of his perfectly-made bed with his hands braced under his thighs. "I, uh…" He coughed, and then cleared his throat. "Haven't really slept well since I, you know, drowned…Nightmares."

Daniel pursed his lips together. He knew all too well. More than once he'd woken up in the middle of the night to Dylan shouting for his help. When that happened he practically kicked down Dylan's door to get to him—to wake him up only to stand there awkwardly waiting for his leader to catch his breath. They never spoke about it the next day—or ever. But, Dylan hadn't woken up shouting in weeks, which meant that Daniel hadn't been in his bedroom in weeks, which meant that the wrappings on the walls were new. Daniel stepped closer and started analyzing. Dylan watched him, also analyzing.

Daniel soaked up the information lightning-fast. "You ARE going to get yourself killed," he concluded. "Dylan, I didn't vote for him under my aliases, either. The majority of Americans didn't vote for him, but that's the way the system…" Daniel sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Look, nothing is more secure than D.C. on Inauguration Day. If one trigger-happy police officer feels one hair stand up on the back of his neck, the entire military will be all over you."

"I'm a magician, not an assassin," Dylan reminded him. "The only thing I'll be armed with is the truth."

"The truth is that you're going to rob one of the richest men in the world while the entire world is watching…" Daniel scanned the lists of names. There were thousands. "And give that money to his former employees…To the investors he bankrupted…To the victims of every petty libel lawsuit…Every student he scammed…Every undocumented worker he underpaid…"

"And any woman he ever sexually exploited." Dylan spat out the words like they were poison on his tongue. "I'm going to expose every tax record, every scandal, every political conspiracy. I'm going to unmask him in front of the world once and for all. A racist, hypocritical, greedy criminal will not be President of the United States."

Daniel switched his attention to the blueprints. "You'll have to pay off the groundskeepers. You'll have to dig in the middle of the night. And you'll need at least a hundred plants and stagehands to pull this off. And, seriously, dude, it's probably going to be in the middle of a winter storm, under 20 Fahrenheit. Without The Eye backing you up—"

Dylan folded his arms tight against his chest. "I have my own contacts. More than one underground society in D.C. owes me a favor."

"We don't have most of this equipment. The expense—"

"I have my own savings. I'll use it all if I have to."

A series of printed emails caught Daniel's attention. "Holy shit." Atlas tugged one page off the wall and examined it. "They have proof? The FBI has proof of his ties to the mob and to Russia and they aren't doing anything about it? You're sure?"

Dylan stared at his own feet. "I still have friends in the bureau. Their superiors, and their superiors' superiors have their arms tied. Some have tried to leak this information to the media, but threats have been made against their families. If the FBI won't do their job, and the media can't, then it's up to people like me. It all comes back to his money, Daniel. He uses it like a loaded gun against the heads of thousands of innocent people. I have to take that gun out of his hands. Without money, he's powerless."

Water hovered in Daniel's eyes. "So, you're essentially going to turn that loaded gun on yourself?"

Rhodes shrugged. "This is how it has to be. This is the higher purpose, Daniel. I've spent my life stopping the bad guys, and I won't stop now."

Daniel shook his head. "Dammit, Dylan…"

"Best case scenario: I spend the rest of my life in prison. I won't have the Horsemen in there with me." Dylan stood and held his hand out for Daniel to shake. "So, let's say goodbye, Danny. Let's say goodbye—and mean it."

Atlas shook his head. "Screw this 'only I can save America' martyr bullshit!" he hissed. "You act like you're here to save the world, like the world needs you—did it ever occur to you that WE NEED YOU? That I—" A single hot tear landed on Daniel's cheek. He wiped it away with his sleeve and sniffed. "We have the same higher purpose, Dylan. Why do you get to fulfill yours but I don't get to fulfill mine?"

Dylan slowly lowered his hand back down. "If you don't want him to be President, then go protest in the streets and bitch on Twitter like everybody else," he said. "Leave this to me. Daniel…Please, just walk away."

"We're not walking away from this," Daniel declared, jutting his chin out. Footsteps approached. Neither of them had to turn to know that Merritt and Jack were watching from the door. "Did you really think I was gonna walk away from YOU?" Daniel whispered, echoing Dylan's same words from months before.

To Be Continued