SN Prompt Fic: The Impossible

[out_there]

For china_shop who asked for "something about Isaac and Dan's friendship/mentor-mentee relationship". This is an answer, albeit an indirect one.

Also on AO3.




Danny knows he's getting old when the sports professionals around him start looking far too young. At least he's not the only one feeling it.

"Danny, Danny!" Casey hisses, elbowing Danny in a really obvious way that people around them are thankfully ignoring. He tilts his chin at the stage as if Danny needed help understanding the source Casey's disbelief. "How did he win? He's not old enough to shave."

"He's old enough to shave," Danny says, because he has a cousin who started shaving at fourteen, and the kid is definitely out of high school.

"Is he old enough to drink?"

"I don't think so," Danny says, knowing it's a lie. The kid is probably mid-twenties: newscaster brown hair, dark eyes, enough tan to look good on camera. A solid jaw bone that would be easy to light and play well in the midwest states.

Dana got them tickets to the Sports Emmy Awards. It's always a good night, but it's a lot more fun now. Danny doesn't miss the nerve-wracking anxiety of waiting for their segment to be judged, the disappointment of not winning or the second-guessing when they did win (Did it have anything to do with him? Was it really Casey they were rewarding? He's a lot better at ignoring those little doubting voices these days, but awards always fed his insecurities.)

But coming as guests, and knowing you can't possibly win anything, is a relief. It means he and Casey can sit at one of the back tables, away from the stage lights, and criticise modern broadcasting as much as they want.

"Maybe we should buy him a drink," Casey suggests. "You know, celebrate winning an Emmy under twenty?"

"You know he's twenty-eight, right?" Danny was younger than that when he started in Texas, but he'd felt old and jaded. Dana and Casey were a few years older, full of drive and confidence, new blood ready to do it better. Now he looks around at paid professionals and they all look like kids, still naive and optimistic, and full of big dreams for the future. "Do you think this is how Isaac felt? Looking at us?"

Casey frowns, confused. "That he should buy us more alcohol?"

"That we were so young."

"We weren't this young."

"Do you think he saw us and thought: they're kids. They're young and trying and hoping, but they're still such kids. They think they know everything but they've barely seen the world yet."

Danny swallows past his tight throat. It's been years now, but he still misses Isaac. Misses knowing there was someone smarter and wiser than him who loved him flaws and all. Someone who was always on his side, even if that meant telling him when he was wrong. Someone who recognized his potential and called him out when he was phoning it in.

"The young do not know enough to be prudent, and therefore they attempt the impossible, and achieve it, generation after generation," Casey says slowly, his elbow drifting across to rest against Danny's. "Isaac told me that once. He liked the idea of doing the impossible."

"Yeah, he did," Danny says, grateful that he still has Casey, still has someone who believes in him and loves him down to his bones. Has someone who will curl up on the couch with him and criticise soccer, or stay up far too late to watch the Olympics results live. Or sit beside him and mock the news journalists of today. "He ever tell you about the four-minute mile?"

Casey nods. "Roger Bannister, who did the impossible."

"Who broke a worldwide record," Danny repeats, knowing the way Isaac used to tell this story.

"He only held the record," Casey says, "for seven weeks."

Grinning at each other, they both recite the punchline. "And now high school kids do it."