Work Text:
June and Bosco and Charlie are the masterminds of this heist. They’re smart and they know it, overlooked and underestimated. Not completely by design, but definitely used to their advantage.
They think it’s a great idea to bring the original Horsemen together. That it’s the only way this heist will go the way they want it to.
Well, it’s partly because they’re fans, too, but what can they say? It’s too good of an opportunity to pass up.
They ignore that they could have done it with projections again, that it would have been easier to do it that way.
They ignore the consequences of their own actions, police showing up at Henley’s doorstep, probably scaring her kids.
The heist is too important.
They think the Horsemen had broken up naturally, maybe a few petty arguments, nothing that couldn’t be patched up quickly.
They were wrong.
June and Bosco and Charlie watch the Horsemen cautiously, the tension palpable, the eyerolls generous, the snark and harsh tones and finger pointing unending.
“What if that’s us in a few years?” one of them whispers.
“It won’t be,” another reassures.
“We’ll never let it get that bad,” the third promises.
They think it’s getting better as their plan moves forward, but then the fifth Horseman is brought in - that wasn’t part of the plan, but it’s a welcome change, and easy to weave into their web - until they witness the bitterness and scorn.
“If I was her, I’d be angry, too.”
“We wouldn’t do that to one of our own.”
“It’s all of us or none of us.”
They ignore their own role, that they should have thought to send a tarot card to the Fifth, should have predicted this would happen.
They’re smart, not clairvoyant.
They’ve used their idols’ talents for so long they’ve forgotten where they learned it from. June has no patience for Jack’s inability to solve the door puzzle. They know he would have gotten there eventually, or maybe Henley would have seen it. It’s not like it was difficult in the first place.
Bosco actually does try to one-up Daniel with the card tricks, and does get frustrated when he fails. Youth brings ingenuity but lacks experience; he loathes to admit it, so he doesn’t.
Charlie is frustrated that the Horsemen haven’t found the papers in the false painting yet, retrieves them himself. They’re on a timer and he knows it, he needs the pieces to fall faster, get everyone into position sooner; he knows if they could take their time someone would have thought of it eventually, someone would have gone poking around.
Are they even really trying? None of this is difficult, in fact they’ve made it way too easy.
Not even Merritt, master of reading people, practically reading people’s minds, has figured out their game. They’d expected him to, almost wished that he would. It would give them a challenge, or maybe an ally they could bring in on the secret. Something to make things more fun while getting justice for one of their own.
The Horsemen are washed up in some ways, too slow in others, disappointing and annoying the trio. And yet their abilities still shine, as they show off instead of working on the puzzle laid before them. The magic excites the younger group, bringing genuine awe and bit of envy to the surface; those were the people they’d brought into their trick, not some strangers who aren’t even trying to help. Bosco tries to get them back on track, and it’s here that Charlie realizes the Horsemen don’t have their hearts in the heist, not like they had ten years prior.
They’re trying to be the Horsemen, but…
“We’re not them.” A resignation, a promise, wrapped into one.
The Horsemen aren’t even trying, so it’s up to the three of them to do the heavy lifting. They were supposed to be more on the sidelines, have the others do more of the grand scheme. They were supposed to puppet the play, not star in it, not until the very end. The audience came for the Horsemen, after all, not for some unnamed crew who haven’t done their own show, who haven’t shown what they can do, only unveiled the criminal and claimed that they did magic to dupe her, no witnesses to prove it.
The Horsemen have no flair anymore. They’re just going through the motions out of curiosity more than anything. Humoring the younger generation. They agree to the least exciting part of the heist, leave the kids to provide the distraction. They learn later how the Horsemen had been caught and almost murdered, and think that if they’d tried, the older group would have seen that trick coming a mile away.
“We’re not like them. We’re having fun.”
“They used to have fun, too, and now look at them.”
“They forgot their purpose. We know what ours is.”
They take the credit and give the Horsemen more than they’ve earned, all smiles and warm greetings and welcoming arms to their home. They watch the others’ frost thaw, the unspoken reconciliation, the kiss.
“That could be us.”
“Someday.”
“Maybe.”
A warning and a promise, wrapped into one.