Steve put the brown shopping bags into the back of his truck. He registered a movement from the corner of his eye. A figure emerged from the elevator. The man was heading towards the main underground entrance. As Steve was a trained observer, he took in the details, immediately; male, mid-thirties, Caucasian, wearing a green combat jacket and black jeans. The dim light prevented Steve from getting more details. Something felt off.
Steve put his hand on the butt of his service gun, but it was already too late. Without warning, the world around him got searing hot and loud and turned upside down. Steve couldn't tell what hit him first, the heat or the noise or the violent blast that let the windows of his truck explode and knocked him off his feet.
The explosion left Steve disoriented. He acted on sheer instinct as he brought his arms up to protect his face and head as he barreled through the air toward the black asphalt. He landed on his right forearm, felt the flesh tear from his wrist. His ears were ringing, and every muscle in his body screamed. Steve forced himself to his hands and knees and looked at the entrance. The man was gone. The ceiling partly collapsed. Steve knew he had to get to his feet and move away from here as fast as he could. Only, his left leg didn't allow it. He looked down and found his cargos shredded below the knee. Blood was soaking his leg.
"Fuck," he cursed.
Only seconds later, another explosion ripped through the garage, and Steve was thrown into a black abyss.
He came to, coughing. He couldn't tell how long he'd been out. The dust settled slowly; a neon light flickered erratically to his right. He lay on his back; his body was covered with debris. He took an inventory of his body while he wiped the dust off his shirt. The upper part seemed to be okay. The part from below his waist line was a whole different animal. His legs were trapped under the bumper of an over-turned car. He tried to move. An excruciating pain shot through his hip. Awesome, fuck, shit. He fumbled for his cell. He had it in the back pocket of his cargos. His face twisted in agony as he took it out and brought it up to his face. Though his vision was blurry, he could see that the display was broken, the cell was dead. He huffed out an angry breath and hurled it through the air.
"Calm down Steve; Slow your breath, try not to move. Rescue's on the way."
"Danny?"
"Yep, at your service." The voice chuckled.
Steve looked around but didn't see anybody.
"How …?" he asked.
"Can't tell, I thought it might be a good idea to keep you awake until the cavalry arrives. How's it going?" Danny kept on talking.
"How's it … seriously? What kind of question is that? Half of my body is buried underneath a fucking Camaro."
Chuckle.
"That's not funny, Danny."
"I know, sorry. It's just ... the car is a silver Camaro RS to be precise. Karma is a bitch." The voice mused.
Steve breathed through a wave of pain that caught him suddenly.
"Easy, buddy. I'm here, and I'll help you to get through this," Danny said calming.
For a split-second, Steve thought someone was touching his shoulder in a reassuring gesture.
"I knew you would get yourself into trouble, again," Danny's voice stated dryly, "but I thought it would be on your account while you were on one of your self-righteous missions, for example, or due to something that's caused by your reckless behavior. It never occurred to me that you could end up as the victim of a suicide bomber while you're shopping."
"Awesome, I'm either dead or on my way to hell," Steve muttered.
"Why?"
"The whole scenario is ridiculous. Half of my body is buried under a car."
"A Camaro …"
"Yeah. Whatever. I'm leading a lively discussion with my partner who's obviously not here while I might bleed to death slowly."
"Who says I'm not with you?" The voice snapped.
Steve craned his neck, which was a real effort given his current condition. The pain returned, and he thought his brain was about to explode in his skull.
"Sorry, I can't see you, Danno. My mind is playing a trick on me. Who would've known that the last thing I'm going to hear would be the annoying voice of my partner?"
Steve said with slurred speech as he began to drift into unconsciousness.
"No, no, no. I didn't donate half of my liver so you could die on me in this fucking garage, that's not fair. Steve? STEVE? STEVEN?" The voice echoed in his ears, snapped him out of his agony.
"Oh my god," Steve moaned, "why can't I just die in peace? Give me a break. Aren't I allowed to die now or what?"
"Nope, not as long as you carry a part of me in you and as this is a very important part …"
Steve rolled his eyes. His eyelids grew heavy. He struggled to keep them open.
"Oh boy, I never thought about that," Steve said, his voice a mere whisper. "I have to carry you around now twenty-four seven. Can I have my old liver back?" He chuckled.
"No can do, and yes, I'm happy I could save your miserable life. What would it be without me? Talking about epic bromance, I think we took it to a whole new level." Danny's voice carried a tone of self-satisfaction in it.
"You did that on purpose," Steve coughed, "you wanted me to be in your debt for always and forever."
"Nah, I'm not that selfish. I wanted to be spontaneous." Danny said.
"Spontan … WHAT? Like, it's a beautiful day, let's share my liver with my partner because I'm bored and have nothing else to do? Danny?! What you did was a life-altering decision. It's not like we've shared lunch with each other."
"See, you can count on me. All I want from you in return, is, to take it down a notch. Stop throwing yourself in the line of fire when there are other options. Stop being mule-headed, or at least try. And let me drive my car once in a while, damn it." Danny's voice trailed off.
"You ask me to give myself up, so you're feeling better?" Steve frowned.
"Bullshit, I never said that. See, you're doing it again."
"What?"
"Putting words into my mouth, I've never said." Steve could hear the pout in Danny's voice.
He tried to reposition his body. While his legs were numb, the pain in his back grew worse, and as his legs were still pinned by the weight of the car, it was a worthless effort.
Steve huffed out a breath. "Hey! Wise ass! Any idea when the cavalry arrives?"
Danny sniveled. "Soon, I think I hear sirens."
"You think? Can't you be more precise?" Steve retorted.
"I'm a liver. I'm not your personal police scanner." Danny was pissed.
Steve's body convulsed, this time with laughter, though it hurt like hell, he couldn't stop, "Hilarious. Does that mean we're having fricking conversations from now on? Is Danny going to annoy me from the in- and the outside? I'm looking forward to my time in the loony bin."
"You're such a jerk," Danny's voice snapped.
"Buddy, I'm just kidding. Admittedly, you can be a real pain in the ass from time to time. But I am too. I know you consider me a control freak." Steve paused; a wave of nausea washed over him.
"A gigantic control freak," Danny's voice added.
"Promise me not to tell anybody that I'm talking to you," Steve said.
He heard Danny laugh, "How should I do that? It's all in your head Steve. If you want me to, I promise you not to show up on any family occasions either. You're happy?"
"You're a stupid little oaf. Promise me; you won't wake me up at night."
"Steve, you're overdoing it. No more promises. I think I should stop talking."
"No, please don't. I'm still here on my own. Who knows. When …"
"You're not on your own, but you won't hear me talking to you, any longer. I love you, Steve. So much more than you'll ever know. Bye."
Sirens wailed as tears fell from the corners of Steve's eyes, running down his temples, tears of pain, humility, and sorrow.
THE END
Notes:
Channeling is a natural form of communication between humans and angelic beings, nature spirits, non-physical entities, or even animals and pets. A channeler is very similar to a language translator or interpreter. They allow themselves to sense the non-verbal communication from another being and then translate it into human words ( ). In the McDanno-Verse Steve channeled Danny's liver, just in case you wonder who Steve was talking to.