solosundance (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
solosundance) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fan_flashworks2019-11-01 11:22 pm
solosundance) wrote in fan_flashworks2019-11-01 11:22 pm
Entry tags:
Drugs: Hawaii 5-0 (2010): Fic: Extremely Hazardous If Misused
Title: Extremely Hazardous If Misused
Author: JoJo (solosundance )
Fandom: Hawaii Five-O (2010)
Pairing: Steve/Danny
Rating: Teen for language, subject-matter
Wordcount: 1530
Summary: Wo Fat turns the world upside-down
A/n: coda to episode 5.07 Ina Pana (If Perhaps)
Dusk had turned to dark by the time they made it out of the laundry warehouse.
Chin, Danny, and Steve, all hooked up and wheeling out of a doorway towards the flashing blue. Lights were speckled over the lot. There was a fleet of cop cars out there, and a bus standing ready with its back doors open.
All the way up the endless flights of stairs and across the laundry shopfloor Steve had been solid.
He’d needed Chin and Danny on either side of him, sure he had, but his legs hadn’t gone. Stubborn as all get-out, he’d held his head up more or less every barefoot step of the way. Incapable of much speech he’d just kept moving, staring forward with a blind intensity while cops and laundry staff crossed and re-crossed his vision. Trying not to drag on the friends who were holding him up.
“You don’t need to help us.” Chin had sounded frustrated as hell. “We got you.”
It must have been that old dumb SEAL instinct. Never give in, never.
Even a side view showed Danny that Steve most definitely wasn’t with them. Chin, angry, mouthed it at him, shaking his head.
‘Not with us.’
And then, when they’d hauled him outside and got him sitting on the step of the bus where it stood with its lights flashing and its back doors wide, Danny could finally get a good look at him, try and see where he was at.
Sweaty, bloody, haggard, that was where. Steve’s gaze was more terrifying now. Dark, blown, focused inwards, or maybe nowhere. It was hard to tell.
“Get the forensic guys down there asap!” Grover was barking at the real world as it buzzed around them. “Get all the sharps, all the paraphernalia. Move it! They’re going to need to know what he’s been given.”
Crime scene, Danny thought, vague.
There were two dead people down in that scuzzy, puddled basement, both courtesy of Steve’s clinical, precise, no-room-for-errors, dumb SEAL instinct hand. And that was a Steve who’d been gunshot at the time, tortured, shot up with something.
He was a scary motherfucker. Jesus he was.
*
Lou wandered over, antsy. It said everything that he didn’t even bother to address McGarrett direct.
“How’s he doing?”
“How about lousy?” Danny clipped out, hand curled around the nearest shoulder. Lou bugged his eyes, offended. Chin huffed, not liking the tension.
Danny wanted to shove everyone else away, put his arms around Steve and ask, with snappy, pointed, emphasis if he knew how very much he hated him.
The EMT was examining the head wound and Steve sat passive under the intrusion, but only, Danny thought, because he was zoned out, and not because he was trying to be cooperative.
“Commander, we need you to lie down for us. We need to put in a line, get you transported quickly.”
The “’m fine,” was chesty.
“Steve, they’re trying to help you.”
Steve swung his head, slow, to look at Danny. They made eye contact. Then Steve frowned as if Danny wasn’t who he was expecting, or even needing, to see.
“Where’s...” Steve began, and then stopped. As if his strings had been cut.
“OK, now listen,” Danny snapped into the pained silence. Pushing aside not being recognized for the moment, he increased the pressure of fingers around shoulder muscle. Everything was tense under his touch, like board. “You need to get checked out by these professional people. Quicker you lie your long ass down, right here, quicker they can get you to the hospital. Steven.”
Steve scrunched his brow further, confused. Not, it seemed, by what Danny was saying, or by the pointed use of his long name. More by what was in his own head.
And jeez, he was soaked through to the bone from head to toe, as if he’d been immersed in cold water, or standing out in a rainstorm. His skin was freezing to the touch, slick with blood, and sweat. There seemed to be a question hovering, and Danny felt his stomach clench with nerves, praying Steve wasn’t going to ask about his dad again. Because he didn’t think he could stand that.
“Wo Fat,” Steve said, head wagging crazily. “Wo Fat.”
Neither question nor statement. Just a slurred name. A synapse firing in his scrambled brain.
“You just saw him!” Danny knew he sounded impatient, which was the last thing he wanted to be.
“Now look, guys, we need to get this show on the road.” Talking of impatient. One of the EMTs was getting shirty. “Could you?”
Danny flattened a hand on Steve’s chest. Avoiding the bruises as far as he could, and the hideous, raw, pattern of burns.
“You’re a mess and it’s pissing me off. Just lie down and stop being a child,” he ordered, the kind of steel in his voice he thought might work. “Now.”
The blue-dark eyes flared and flickered. It was so not the time for a battle of wills. So not the time to call Steve a child. Danny exerted more pressure, felt the jump and quiver of muscles against his palm, felt Steve cave.
“You go with,” Chin said, a hand ghosting across his back. “We’ll follow on.”
Danny fumbled for the Camaro keys, twisted, let them drop into Chin’s outstretched palm. The splash of lights was bothering his eyes now. Steve’s bare chest was still under his other hand.
*
In the ambulance, Danny talked.
“What happened was this,” he said, eyes on the clenching hands as the IV slid in. “HPD called us when they found your car in the middle of the fucking road.”
He anchored Steve’s wrist hard to the gurney while the EMTs worked around him.
“I, personally, knew you’d been taken, soon as I saw the car. Pretty much sure it was him. Got help from Sang Min to run you down. Adam Noshimuri gave us a steer too.”
Danny wanted rid of the broken shackles, by hacking at them with whatever was to hand if necessary, but one of the EMTs told him to leave them alone. He gritted his teeth.
“Got there fast as we could, babe. Not fucking fast enough, I know, but fast as we could.”
Multiple times, Steve tried to sit up. At first the EMTs wanted Danny out of the way, but then the sitting up became more of an issue so they let him keep a hand to the Commander’s chest.
Danny had kissed that chest. Many times, in many places. He’d pushed it away, too. Felt crowded out by it. But there, unbeknownst to anybody, he had laid his head, let himself be happy. He had marveled at the stupid heartbeat under his ear, drifted, mind-blown, into sleep.
He stared at one of the EMTs. Almost as if he was about to say the thought out loud. It was weird, this impression that he was the one full of unknown drugs, acting erratically on his mind and body. The incongruity and fear rattled him.
*
They were rattled at Tripler, too. Rattled because this was substances as yet unknown. Because they knew Commander McGarrett well, and didn’t care at all to see him in this state.
“Tell me about it,” Danny said, unfairly bad-tempered when one of the nurses tried to explain to him that what might seem like a mad meltdown of specialists and doctors around the traveling gurney was just... protocols.
He didn’t like a drugged Steve any more than they did. Probably way more than they didn’t like it if he was honest.
Didn’t like a battered, burned, gunshot Steve much either, to be fair, but at least that was familiar.
As for puking, shivering, head-clutching Steve... Well, that was really the Pits. The absolute, kill-me-now, Pits.
Quite a cocktail, they said when all the results came back from the warehouse and the lab. Hallucinogens, several working together, chemical relaxants and rare stimulants, mostly working against each other.
Wo Fat had needed the drugs to work, but he’d wanted it to be bad, too.
Chin and Danny agreed. Just, no, words.
*
Dark had turned to dawn before the first round of nightmares drained away.
Danny sat bedside for nearing forty-eight hours without much of a break. Chin and Lou’s attempts to drag him away to rest caused scenes. Such scenes. Kono’s calm speechifying was good, it was impressive, it showed Danny how the fuck much they cared, but to no avail.
He was mad with fatigue, fury, worry, and rage. His own personal cocktail.
And then even when Steve’s muddy, groggy, eyes finally cleared. When there was finally a spark in them that wasn’t chemical delirium. When he eventually said something that made the tiniest bit of human sense (which happened to be “Ow, well that hurts” when they were re-dressing the burns).
Even when he rested his big guardian hand on the side of Danny’s face and said, “It’s OK now, D., I’m over it.”
Danny still had a horrible, disorienting, feeling that, dead as he was, Wo Fat had shot himself right up into Steve’s veins. And he might never go away.
Author: JoJo (
solosundance )Fandom: Hawaii Five-O (2010)
Pairing: Steve/Danny
Rating: Teen for language, subject-matter
Wordcount: 1530
Summary: Wo Fat turns the world upside-down
A/n: coda to episode 5.07 Ina Pana (If Perhaps)
Dusk had turned to dark by the time they made it out of the laundry warehouse.
Chin, Danny, and Steve, all hooked up and wheeling out of a doorway towards the flashing blue. Lights were speckled over the lot. There was a fleet of cop cars out there, and a bus standing ready with its back doors open.
All the way up the endless flights of stairs and across the laundry shopfloor Steve had been solid.
He’d needed Chin and Danny on either side of him, sure he had, but his legs hadn’t gone. Stubborn as all get-out, he’d held his head up more or less every barefoot step of the way. Incapable of much speech he’d just kept moving, staring forward with a blind intensity while cops and laundry staff crossed and re-crossed his vision. Trying not to drag on the friends who were holding him up.
“You don’t need to help us.” Chin had sounded frustrated as hell. “We got you.”
It must have been that old dumb SEAL instinct. Never give in, never.
Even a side view showed Danny that Steve most definitely wasn’t with them. Chin, angry, mouthed it at him, shaking his head.
‘Not with us.’
And then, when they’d hauled him outside and got him sitting on the step of the bus where it stood with its lights flashing and its back doors wide, Danny could finally get a good look at him, try and see where he was at.
Sweaty, bloody, haggard, that was where. Steve’s gaze was more terrifying now. Dark, blown, focused inwards, or maybe nowhere. It was hard to tell.
“Get the forensic guys down there asap!” Grover was barking at the real world as it buzzed around them. “Get all the sharps, all the paraphernalia. Move it! They’re going to need to know what he’s been given.”
Crime scene, Danny thought, vague.
There were two dead people down in that scuzzy, puddled basement, both courtesy of Steve’s clinical, precise, no-room-for-errors, dumb SEAL instinct hand. And that was a Steve who’d been gunshot at the time, tortured, shot up with something.
He was a scary motherfucker. Jesus he was.
*
Lou wandered over, antsy. It said everything that he didn’t even bother to address McGarrett direct.
“How’s he doing?”
“How about lousy?” Danny clipped out, hand curled around the nearest shoulder. Lou bugged his eyes, offended. Chin huffed, not liking the tension.
Danny wanted to shove everyone else away, put his arms around Steve and ask, with snappy, pointed, emphasis if he knew how very much he hated him.
The EMT was examining the head wound and Steve sat passive under the intrusion, but only, Danny thought, because he was zoned out, and not because he was trying to be cooperative.
“Commander, we need you to lie down for us. We need to put in a line, get you transported quickly.”
The “’m fine,” was chesty.
“Steve, they’re trying to help you.”
Steve swung his head, slow, to look at Danny. They made eye contact. Then Steve frowned as if Danny wasn’t who he was expecting, or even needing, to see.
“Where’s...” Steve began, and then stopped. As if his strings had been cut.
“OK, now listen,” Danny snapped into the pained silence. Pushing aside not being recognized for the moment, he increased the pressure of fingers around shoulder muscle. Everything was tense under his touch, like board. “You need to get checked out by these professional people. Quicker you lie your long ass down, right here, quicker they can get you to the hospital. Steven.”
Steve scrunched his brow further, confused. Not, it seemed, by what Danny was saying, or by the pointed use of his long name. More by what was in his own head.
And jeez, he was soaked through to the bone from head to toe, as if he’d been immersed in cold water, or standing out in a rainstorm. His skin was freezing to the touch, slick with blood, and sweat. There seemed to be a question hovering, and Danny felt his stomach clench with nerves, praying Steve wasn’t going to ask about his dad again. Because he didn’t think he could stand that.
“Wo Fat,” Steve said, head wagging crazily. “Wo Fat.”
Neither question nor statement. Just a slurred name. A synapse firing in his scrambled brain.
“You just saw him!” Danny knew he sounded impatient, which was the last thing he wanted to be.
“Now look, guys, we need to get this show on the road.” Talking of impatient. One of the EMTs was getting shirty. “Could you?”
Danny flattened a hand on Steve’s chest. Avoiding the bruises as far as he could, and the hideous, raw, pattern of burns.
“You’re a mess and it’s pissing me off. Just lie down and stop being a child,” he ordered, the kind of steel in his voice he thought might work. “Now.”
The blue-dark eyes flared and flickered. It was so not the time for a battle of wills. So not the time to call Steve a child. Danny exerted more pressure, felt the jump and quiver of muscles against his palm, felt Steve cave.
“You go with,” Chin said, a hand ghosting across his back. “We’ll follow on.”
Danny fumbled for the Camaro keys, twisted, let them drop into Chin’s outstretched palm. The splash of lights was bothering his eyes now. Steve’s bare chest was still under his other hand.
*
In the ambulance, Danny talked.
“What happened was this,” he said, eyes on the clenching hands as the IV slid in. “HPD called us when they found your car in the middle of the fucking road.”
He anchored Steve’s wrist hard to the gurney while the EMTs worked around him.
“I, personally, knew you’d been taken, soon as I saw the car. Pretty much sure it was him. Got help from Sang Min to run you down. Adam Noshimuri gave us a steer too.”
Danny wanted rid of the broken shackles, by hacking at them with whatever was to hand if necessary, but one of the EMTs told him to leave them alone. He gritted his teeth.
“Got there fast as we could, babe. Not fucking fast enough, I know, but fast as we could.”
Multiple times, Steve tried to sit up. At first the EMTs wanted Danny out of the way, but then the sitting up became more of an issue so they let him keep a hand to the Commander’s chest.
Danny had kissed that chest. Many times, in many places. He’d pushed it away, too. Felt crowded out by it. But there, unbeknownst to anybody, he had laid his head, let himself be happy. He had marveled at the stupid heartbeat under his ear, drifted, mind-blown, into sleep.
He stared at one of the EMTs. Almost as if he was about to say the thought out loud. It was weird, this impression that he was the one full of unknown drugs, acting erratically on his mind and body. The incongruity and fear rattled him.
*
They were rattled at Tripler, too. Rattled because this was substances as yet unknown. Because they knew Commander McGarrett well, and didn’t care at all to see him in this state.
“Tell me about it,” Danny said, unfairly bad-tempered when one of the nurses tried to explain to him that what might seem like a mad meltdown of specialists and doctors around the traveling gurney was just... protocols.
He didn’t like a drugged Steve any more than they did. Probably way more than they didn’t like it if he was honest.
Didn’t like a battered, burned, gunshot Steve much either, to be fair, but at least that was familiar.
As for puking, shivering, head-clutching Steve... Well, that was really the Pits. The absolute, kill-me-now, Pits.
Quite a cocktail, they said when all the results came back from the warehouse and the lab. Hallucinogens, several working together, chemical relaxants and rare stimulants, mostly working against each other.
Wo Fat had needed the drugs to work, but he’d wanted it to be bad, too.
Chin and Danny agreed. Just, no, words.
*
Dark had turned to dawn before the first round of nightmares drained away.
Danny sat bedside for nearing forty-eight hours without much of a break. Chin and Lou’s attempts to drag him away to rest caused scenes. Such scenes. Kono’s calm speechifying was good, it was impressive, it showed Danny how the fuck much they cared, but to no avail.
He was mad with fatigue, fury, worry, and rage. His own personal cocktail.
And then even when Steve’s muddy, groggy, eyes finally cleared. When there was finally a spark in them that wasn’t chemical delirium. When he eventually said something that made the tiniest bit of human sense (which happened to be “Ow, well that hurts” when they were re-dressing the burns).
Even when he rested his big guardian hand on the side of Danny’s face and said, “It’s OK now, D., I’m over it.”
Danny still had a horrible, disorienting, feeling that, dead as he was, Wo Fat had shot himself right up into Steve’s veins. And he might never go away.
no subject
And this logical conclusion to it, of disassociation and confusion, the drugs just flattening him, everyone angry to see him so exposed like that and Danno, of course, *furious*.....
This last tiny paragraph is just chilling and horrible and probably 100 percent true.
Excellent stuff!
no subject
no subject