This serves as kind of a coda to most of season five. I was dissatisfied with the focus (or lack thereof) on Danny's pain in dealing with the loss of a sibling. I will explore different episodes where he was absent/there was a significant event/where I feel he should have experienced some kind of trigger with his loss.

I will preface this with the warning that it is a bit graphic at times in reference to Matt's body. I will also say that a lot of this is coming from a personal place of loss. So, if this seems out of character or like too much, it's probably because I lost the line between myself and Danny. I did my best to consider what our emotional Jersey detective would do and how he would react, taking into consideration the different dynamics of the different roles he fills.

Please leave reviews/comments/whatever so that I can get some feedback. I will update this with more tags to different episodes, likely up to 5.18, but maybe beyond that.

Lastly, this is rated T for mentions of violence, some adultish themes, and some language. Just to be safe.

As always, I own nothing.

He thought that the weight would lift - or at the very least grow lighter - after he pulled the trigger, but all it seemed to do was fall harder against his chest. It was unbearable and triggered his claustrophobia, but he remained on his feet. Distant, hazy, but still standing. The revolver didn't want to leave his hand and for a fleeting second, as the barrel of the gun tipped back towards him, he wondered if he just needed to pull the trigger a second time to remove the weight. Another second passed and he let it clatter to the table in front of him, dropping just next to the body still draped across it.

Trembling fingers reached towards the oil drum to his right and his breath hitched in his throat, his chest threatening to seize with a mixture of anxiety and despair, as sweat pricked his fingertips. He was certain he was going to throw up just as he was certain he was shaking like an earthquake as he pulled the lid off the barrel. The smell alone should have knocked him to the ground, but he couldn't move; couldn't even fall.

The first thing his brain processed - thankfully (if you could be thankful in this situation) it had ignored the stench of rotting flesh - was the severed right hand that seemed to reach up towards Danny, begging for the rescue that never came. Eyes ignored the gruesome breaks at the knuckles, instead focusing on the large ring still on one disfigured finger. The brushed gold was now stained with red, but Danny couldn't look away from the stone - Matty's birth stone - still set in the center of the class ring.

Memories of his brother crossing that stage to receive his diploma, Danny surrounded by their over-joyed family members as they yelled much too loudly for the youngest of their clan, were what finally broke him.

The tears fell silently, but freely down his face as his heart tore itself to pieces in his chest. A heavy hand rested on his shoulder. A hand trying to ground him in reality. A hand that he knew, instinctively, belonged to Steve - and not because of some weird connection with his partner that let him discern Steve from all others with just a touch, but because the logical part of his brain was, somehow, still working and told him the only one it could be was Steve. Because everyone else was dead.

Including Matt.

"Matty."

His voice wasn't broken, but his heart break was audible.

Steve didn't dare move, not wanting to interrupt the reverie no matter how much they needed to get moving. He'd have given anything to have a private moment with his father after his death - or so he had always thought. Now, Steve was thinking he was the luckier of the two of them. He didn't have the image of his father burned into his brain - just the sound of the gunshot.

Another minute passed before Danny dragged the back of his hand across his eyes to chase away the tears. A brief moment of hesitation followed before he replaced the lid to the drum and moved to push the dolly it was sitting on, not once looking at Steve. Not saying a word.

And Steve didn't dare intervene. He gathered the duffel bags and let Danny move slowly, painfully, up the stairs with the damned oil drum. They hadn't been able to save Matt; Steve wasn't about to take away Danny's opportunity to rescue his brother's corpse from obscurity.

They made it to their Jeep without further interference or conversation. There was no protest about Steve driving as Danny climbed into the passenger seat.

The ghost of a smile crossed Danny's face as he thought back to when he and Matt were younger and would fight - literally fight - over who would get shotgun until their mom would declare their sister - whichever one had dared to brave the journey with them - would get the coveted seat.

Now, with the oil drum in the back of the Jeep, Danny felt like he had cheated. He would kill for the chance to go back to one of those moments where they were in the backseat screwing around as their mom reached back with her trusty plastic spatula she kept between the driver's seat and the center console and smacked them on the shins until they quit.

Danny had already killed, though, and it had done nothing.

The detective didn't even flinch when Steve stopped outside of an orphanage and gave them all 18.5 million dollars of Reyes' money. He just drifted back to his quiet thoughts, to memories of Super Mario Bros., Duck Hunt, and Ms. Pac-Man. To simpler times when their hardest decision was whether or not they'd respect their curfew.

When they arrived at the air strip, Danny wasn't sure he had enough energy to carry himself onto the cargo plane, let alone the oil drum.

He couldn't think about his brother being in there. It was just an oil drum.

One defeated look was all Steve needed before fishing the barrel out himself and carefully securing it in the cargo hold.

The weight was crushing now but the tears had stopped and the agony in the pit of his stomach had been replaced with numbness and emptiness. It took everything Danny had to climb into the plane and fasten his own seatbelt. His eyes were unfocused and his face blank as he failed to acknowledge the movement around him. He didn't even bristle when Steve sat too close to him, his eyes straight forward; still unfocused.

"Take-off in fifteen minutes... land at Hickam... 11:53am Zulu..."

Danny's attention to Steve's words waned. The fact that the SEAL's military jargon hadn't even gotten the slightest rise out of Danny told Steve to just let his partner sit and process.

But, for once, Steve found himself wishing that Danny would just flail his arms angrily and rant at him. Anything to let Steve know Danny would be ok. Danny didn't even know if he would be ok. All he knew was there was a hole in his heart that felt like it would become infected and surely fester.

And it was strange.

Danny's life surely hadn't been devoid of death. His partner, Grace. His proximity and work in and around the fall out of the attacks on the World Trade Center. His daily life as a cop. His life hadn't been devoid of grief, either. His divorce, Grace's kidnapping, the multitude of times Steve had been taken... He wanted to believe that he should be able to shrug this off.

But this was different. This was family and, unlike with Gracie, Danny hadn't gotten to Matty in time. Which was why he was certain the hole would become infected and fester. Because he had failed.

He had failed on so many levels. As a detective and an older brother. As a father and as a husband. It was a wonder everyone in his life hadn't ended up in an oil drum.

The tremors returned along with the claustrophobia and Danny resigned himself to just drown in it for the next thirteen hours.

Danny didn't remember falling asleep. Unfortunately, he remembered everything else; including the vivid dreams of Reyes dismembering Matt before his own eyes. He hadn't thrashed in his sleep, but his now-open eyes were clearly haunted and the tremors remained.

"I asked Max to meet us here."

Danny realized that Steve had been trying to talk to him but couldn't bring himself to care enough to give him his full attention as he watched Max carefully transfer the oil drum to the Medical Examiner's van.

The hand returned to Danny's shoulder and, this time, it demanded his attention.

"D'you hear me, Danny?" Steve's eyes were as soft as his tone; empathetic, but not piteous.

"Wha?" Danny's voice cracked from disuse, but he, again, couldn't bring himself to care.

"Max is taking... the drum back to prepare your brother to be transported back home to Jersey. Where do you want me to take you?"

Danny blinked hard as he fixed Steve with a confused stare, trying to force his brain to function.

"I... uh... nowhere. I wanna... I wanna drive myself."

He fished the keys to his Camaro, which they had left at the air field, out of his pocket and left Steve before the taller man could protest.

His hands gripped the Camaro's steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles were white enough to see the blue veins in them. His heart pounded in his chest as the anxiety and despair threatened to swallow him whole. Danny just pressed the gas pedal harder; as if he could drive fast enough to get away from the dark hands of agony trying to pull him under.

There was no destination in mind; Danny moved on auto pilot as his eyes remained empty. Thinking risked the chance of darker, uncontrollable thoughts gripping his mind, so he willed himself to remain blank.

It took about fifteen minutes of staring at the shoreline before he realized where he had taken himself. Distantly, he recognized his cell phone bleating at him, but ignored it as he go out of his car. He was numb; completely numb.

Danny's mindless driving had taken him to the cliff that he had wound up on his first day in Hawaii after he'd gotten lost. It had become his spot - not because it was exceptionally breath taking or anything like that. Actually, it was one of the lesser scenic spots on the island, which meant the tourists were usually few and far between. To be fair, though, it was a prettier beach view than anything he'd seen on the shore back home, but he'd sooner eat a bullet than admit that to anyone - especially Steve.

Legs slung over the cement barrier at the edge of the cliff, Danny stared at the jagged rocks below. His eyes shifted in and out of focus as images of his brother stuffed inside that damned oil drum finally flooded his mind. Blood had pooled in the bottom and dried in clumps on the decapitated head inside. It was a small blessing that Matty's eyes had been closed; the soullessness in them would have just been another thing to haunt him. Strangely, though, it was the hand that he was so messed up over.

The hand reaching up for his big brother, only to be let down.

This time, the tears came forcefully and Danny's sobs were audible. The pain swelled in his chest and his breath felt short, but Danny just let the anguish swallow him. His body shook harder and harder and the tears fell faster and faster. He pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes until he saw spots. He willed the tears to stop, but they just spilled past his fingers.

Danny clawed at the buttons at the collar of his shirt, unable to pull in enough air. The claws of anxiety and grief dug into his lungs and the tears still fell and Danny was certain that everything was going to fall away.

He wanted it to fall away.

But there was that hand again. That damned hand, pulling him back from the edge, this time literally.

The hand didn't move, but its owner didn't say anything, either. Silence surrounded them until Danny was able to regain some semblance of control; the only evidence of his breakdown now the red rims surrounding his tired eyes and the desperate crumpling of the collar of his shirt.

"How am I going to explain this to Grace?" Danny's voice was hollow and devoid of the tenacity and life it usually overflowed with.

Chin sat next to Danny on the ridge, his back to the shore. "You tell her that her Uncle loved her very much and you explain that, while he made some poor choices, he was your brother and you'll all miss him." The lieutenant's voice was strong, confident, but kind as he regarded Danny with empathy.

Chin knew too well how much it hurt to lose someone you loved and somehow he knew that the fact that Matt was a criminal didn't make it any less painful.

"How... how do I tell... my parents? My... my sisters?" Danny looked at Chin with bloodshot eyes and tear tracks down his flushed face. "How do I look them in the eyes... and tell them I failed? I failed to protect my little brother..." The tears strained his voice, but he kept them from spilling past his lashes.

"I won't lie and say it'll be easy." Chin's voice was tight as he briefly thought back to the awful afternoon he had to tell Malia's family that she had died because of a vendetta against him. "But it's better than it coming from an HPD officer they don't know. And they know you did everything you could." His voice hitched. "I know itdoesn't seem like it, but you did and this isn't your fault." The silence fell around them again and this time it wasn't interrupted.

Danny hadn't expected Rachel to be cordial, let alone pull him in for a tight hug after just showing up on her door step unannounced. He realized Steve must have called her after Danny had taken off.

"I'm so sorry Danny."

His chest was tight as he forced a sad smile on his face. He had no idea what to say. It's not your fault? Thanks? Why the hell was she even sorry in the first place?

Instead of voicing his anger, he let her pull him into another hug before leading him to the patio furniture.

It was 2:48 in the afternoon on a Thursday, which meant Grace wouldn't even be out of school for another twelve minutes. It would be at least twenty more after that before the driver brought her home. Part of Danny wanted to rage at Rachel for sending the driver to pick their daughter up from school; how she took the time she had with Grace for granted; how she should just let Danny pick her up if that were the case because he was clearly more willing to be a parent than she.

But all of his anger - both rational and irrational - was swallowed up and mixed in with all of the other anger burning inside of him.

Anger towards Reyes. Anger towards the FBI. Anger towards Matt.

Anger towards himself.

He could feel the pressure in his head build as hot tears threatened to fall and it took every ounce of self-control he had to will them away.

"Talk to me, Danny."

Rachel's voice was like a knife and it made his heart ache. It was just another reminder of how he had failed.

"You don't have to come to the funeral. I'd like for Grace to be there, but please don't feel obligated." Danny didn't want her pity.

"I'm going to the funeral, Danny. I cared about Matt and I want to be there." His words had caught her off guard, but she couldn't say she was surprised. Their relationship had become more strained than ever after Rachel had tried to take Grace to Las Vegas. Still, she felt some guilt at the fact that she couldn't comfort the man she had once been married to. "Grace and I will both be there. I'll look after her when you need me to; otherwise she can be with you every moment."

Rachel's words seemed to have a calming effect on him as his shoulders slumped slightly. Danny pinched the bridge of his nose to try to alleviate some of the pressure in his head, but it just made his nose hurt. "Thanks."

Danny rubbed his hands together anxiously as he sat with his elbows on his knees. Every time he heard a car, his head shot up to see if it was the town car carrying Grace.

Thirty-two minutes felt more like three hours, but the car finally pulled up the driveway. Danny's stomach clenched tightly and the anxiety flared in his chest for a brief moment - until he heard her voice.

"Danno!"

Grace darted out of the car, barely waiting for it to stop, and launched herself into her father's arms. With his daughter in a tight embrace, some of Danny's pain melted away and he almost relaxed enough to allow more tears slip past his defenses.

"Danno, what's wrong?" The slight tremor in Danny's body was still there and Grace had undoubtedly felt it. She pulled back from her father and looked at him intently. The red rims around his eyes; the faded tear streaks on his face; the sadness in his smile. Something was seriously wrong. "Did something happen to Uncle Steve!?"

A single tear slipped down his cheek as he shook his head. "No. No, Uncle Steve is fine." Danny cupped Grace's face gently with his right hand. "It's Uncle Matty. He…" His voice hitched and Grace's face crumpled as tears flooded her eyes.

"I don't understand…" Grace's voice was strained between sobs as she cried into her father's chest. Her lithe body shook as she sobbed, fisting her hands into Danny's already worn and stretched shirt. "What happened!?" It was a simple question with such a complicated answer, but as Grace looked at him with large, tear-filled eyes, Danny knew he had to be honest with her.

Danny picked Grace up and carried her to the porch where Rachel was softly crying; partly for Matt, partly for the pain Danny and Grace were feeling. Grace leaned her back against Danny's chest as they sat together on the wicker bench. "Your uncle got mixed up with some bad people and they ended up… hurting him." He fought through his own emotions to keep his voice even. Danny's eyes focused on the tree in the middle of the yard as he stroked Grace's hair soothingly.

His mind took him back to days of when he was seven and Matty was five and they would climb as high as they could in the large oak tree in their parents' backyard – until Matty accidentally got into the poison oak and had to basically live in a bubble for the next week.

"Are you gunna get them?"

Ice rushed through Danny's veins as he was pulled back from his thoughts. He hesitated, his hand stilling in Grace's hair. He had been hoping she wouldn't ask him that. "Danno? Are you gunna get the guys who hurt Uncle Matt?"

He opened his mouth, but nothing would come out. What was he supposed to say? No. I already killed them in cold blood.

"Yeah, baby. I'm gunna get them."