In Your Head

by Tari Roo

Violence causes silence, in your head they are still fighting.

Title: In Your Head
author: tari_roo
Rating: G (gen)
Word count: 3k approx
Characters: Danny and Steve
Pairing: None (gen)
Spoilers: None – non season specific.
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: I do not own them, nor have any means/intention of making a profit of them, this story, or any such derivative. However, I personally would like to have Danno and Steve on my team in the zombie apocalypse.
Summary: Violence causes silence, in your head they are still fighting.
Prompt: written for the Hawaii_50_hc h/c alphabet challenge. I got the letter Z and Zombie \o/.
AN: Thanks auntmo9 for the quick beta. All mistakes are hers mine. Rather than go AU I went for aftermath, mixed comfort and non resolution!

*h50*h50*h50*h50*h50*h50*h50*h50*h50*h50*h50*h50*h 50*h50*h50*h50*h50*h50

"Quick, go, go! Use the grenade!"

"Shit, shit, it's on me, it's on me! Shoot it!"

"Relax, I'm coming."

"Relax? Relax? It's going to eat me!"

Unpanicked, Danny calmly turned and triggered his semi-automatic, blowing away the zombie about to chomp down on Toast. Raising a sarcastic toned eyebrow at Toast, he drawled, "I thought you were supposed to be good at this."

"I am!" Toast cried fingers and thumbs flying over the wireless controller, his avatar running around gathering ammunition and supplies. "You're just a frakking maniac, man!"

"Quit whining and get it together. I've got walkers off to the east, right in front of the warehouse we need." Danny checked his own ammunition levels, and grinned maniacally as the menu scrolled through an entire armoury of destruction at his disposal. What to choose, what to choose.

"The objective is rescuing the civilians, sucker, not just mowing down zombies." Toast was looking pale in the flickering light of the TV screen, his eyes darting about nervously. In fairness though, he was always pale and nervous looking, but nonetheless Danny punched his arm gently in reassurance but mostly annoyance. "Dude, no one plays this to rescue civilians. It's all about wanton undead destruction."

Toast shot him a weird look and muttered something that he thought was inaudible but was clearly, 'Trigger happy g-man.'

Grinning, Danny turned his onscreen avatar eastwards and said happily, "Let's go splatter some brains."

For a good solid twenty minutes, Danny and Toast ran towards the warehouse, killing an onslaught of the living dead who lurched, snarled and died in a spray of graphic blood, flesh and brains. Danny used a combination of concentrated cluster firing and targeted head shots, methodically wading through the zombies. Behind him, Toast pretty much just kept his finger solid on the trigger of whatever automatic weapon he had, filling the space around him with a rain of death. It was effective, for as long as he had ammunition but he kept running out and then missing ammo stashes. Danny, the wiser, smarter killer still had ammo, but as the tide of undead continued unabated, even he was running low by the time they neared the vicinity of the warehouse.

"Shit, is the entire population of Cleveland zombies?" Danny muttered, his fingers flying over the control, thumbs aching pleasantly.

Ignoring him, Toast just kept up a stream of 'Die, die, no, no, argh, die!' and did not reply. Quickly checking his ammo levels, Danny gritted his teeth and wondered if it was too soon to try attack the warehouse. Maybe they should retreat and target a few nests or cinemas first.

"Arghghghghhhhhhh! Die, die... shittt!"

Danny whirled and snapped off a couple of shots, saving Toast from death by the eternally hungry - again. "Dude, watch your six!"

"That's what you're supposed to do!" he wailed, flailing through his supply menu, fruitlessly searching for more ammo.

Unable to glare at Toast as he was too busy scanning the area for zombies, Danny grunted in denial, and hissed, "There, a downed Blackhawk. Let's check if it's got ammunition."

"Dude! Dude, no, it'll be a trap!"

It was too late though, as Danny ran into a kill zone and a flood of zombies staggered out from behind the wrecks of a military convoy, and the crashed chopper. The TV screen coloured with a dazzling display of blood and muzzle flashes, the chorus of unearthly moans raucous in Danny's headphones.

"Back up, you clear a path behind us, I'll slow them down," he growled at Toast, who was standing his ground like he was ready to down Tarrantino-style – covered in blood.

"What, you got a frakking elephant rifle or something," Toast snapped, but backed his avatar away and behind Danny's – clearing a path back the way they had come.

"Nope, something better."

Trying not to laugh, Danny pulled out a bazookas, and couple of grenades he had saved just for such an emergency and chuckled, "Say hello to my little friends."

The next five minutes were a blur of disgusting computer graphics, decayed faces lurching at him, and a blood bath of arterial spray and brains. Toast was panting in his ear, and Danny's heart was pounding with adrenalin as they retreated, trying to find an area clear of zombies to regroup. Through it all though, he felt the back of his neck prick, and the sensation of someone watching him.

Danny and Toast reached a relatively zombie free area, a good klick from the warehouse and took a minute to catch their breath, literally. Toast paused the game and grabbed a Gatorade off the table. "Shit, that was close, dude."

Stretching his arms and feeling his neck click, Danny nodded and slowly turned to look behind him, half expecting a decayed zombie, but fairly certain who would be lurking behind them. There in the doorway, skin pale and patterned with dark shadows and bruises, Steve swayed, hair messy and standing on end, eyes dark and red, chest bare, baggy sweats hugging his hips, bare feet flat on the floor.

"You look like shit."

"You're playing without me."

"You needed sleep, rest – time to recuperate."

The death glare of hurt feelings would have fried Danny on the spot had he been a zombie. Danny smiled and said with a smirk, "Besides, you said the gunplay and firing sequences were unrealistic."

"It's zombies."

Danny rolled his eyes and motioned with his head for Steve to come sit beside him on the couch. Doing a fairly decent impression of a shuffling zombie, Steve sullenly stumbled over, flicking the back of Danny's head as he did so. Flopping down the couch, jostling Danny, Steve collapsed with a groan and growled, "Bright..." He waved at the TV screen, the only light in the room. It's bright LCD contrast light made him look even worse – the bruises stark and black on his face and chest.

"You're supposed to be asleep."

Death glare level two was engaged and directed at Danny. Toast watched them both around a mouthful of chips and dip, the corners of his mouth yellow with cheeto crumbs. Steve nodded in greeting and Toast returned it solemnly, a two finger salute of respect. Out of the corner of his mouth, Steve grumbled softly, "You replaced me with a pothead hacker?"

Danny shrugged, eyes back on the game, checking his supplies. "I needed a challenge. Turns out he's worse than you."

Twin, indignant 'heys!' responded to that, and Danny replied with 'yes, really,' eyebrow waggle, unfazed by their ire.

Nodding he was ready, Toast unpaused the game, and the slaughter continued. Happily, Danny found an ammo stash and led Toast on a hopefully zombie-light long route to their objective for this level - the warehouse. Naturally, within two seconds, Steve started commenting, his finger shaking as he pointed out Zombies. "Danno, there, three o'clock." Danny already sighting it blew it away. Steve though did not stop.

"Shoot it!"

"Nice, I would have gone for the head."

"Toast, you're lagging... move it."

Blowing away two zombies with one spray of gunfire, Danny growled, "No backseat zombie killing! You're concussed, injured and high on painkillers. Shut up and let the professionals work!"

"Trained combat tactician over here."

"You get us killed in 5 minutes flat every time we play!" Danny squawked, eyes firmly on the screen.

"Do not!" Steve sounded irate, but his voice had an edge of humour to it.

"Do too! It's like you forget everything the Air Force taught you in a flat nano-second. Tactical combat genius, my ass!"

"They're zombies! You don't need tactics!" Danny rocked with the not-so-light punch to his bicep for the Air Force remark. For a guy who had been knocked on his ass earlier that day, he still had a pack to his punch.

Smirking, and licking his lips, Danny shook his head. "And that attitude is why we're going to lose the Zombie Apocalypse. Military minds around the world will say: oh, they're just zombies. And wham... end of civilization!"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Steve roll his eyes. "Danno, the likelihood of..."

Shaking his head, Danny laughed, "We are not debating the viability of a zombie plague right now! I am killing the undead, you are supposed to be asleep and Toast... on your right, your other right!"

Danny narrowly saved Toast, who was wide eyed and grinning nervously. "Sorry, didn't see it."

"Obviously. Pay attention!" 'And not stop eavesdropping' Danny did not add, as it was hardly a private conversation.

Quiet descended as the muted sounds of an apocalyptic war echoed through Danny and Toast's headphones, and Steve sat somnolent on the couch, eyes tracking the various explosions, gun fire, stumbling dead. Distantly the roar of the ocean crashed relentlessly against the shore, a steady march of its own never sated hunger. Overhead, the stars glistened, pinpricks of light poking through a mish mash of clouds, the quiet of the night undisturbed by the violence below. Inexorably, time slide past, the earth turned, as did the tide, and the sun chased the stars from the sky. As dawn pinked the horizon, and coloured the deep blue of the ocean, Danny triumphantly reached the warehouse after a blood fest and rescued a slew of grateful civilians.

With blurry eyes, and a jaw cracking yawn, Danny took his headphones off, and stood, stretching his arms out, feeling all his muscles and joints creak after sitting still for so long. Cognisant of the silence in the room, he did a silent fist bump of victory. Take that zombies!

Toast was passed out on the other side of the couch, head back, and mouth open, headphones askew and resting on his cheek. He was still clutching his controller though, thumbs poised for action, but the brain has checked out, lost to zombie filled dreams. He crashed at some point, one second firing with Danny, the next gone, his avatar useless. Shaking his head and smirking, Danny checked the other comatose pile next to him. Steve had curled up under a blanket at some point but had ended up sprawled out, one leg on the couch, the other resting on the coffee table, every single pillow in the room collated around him in an artistic impression of comfort.

"Stealth ninja pillow stealer," Danny muttered.

One bloodshot eye peeled open, studying him, no doubt trying to ascertain if he or his words constituted a threat – or an attempt to steal his pillows. Nudging Steve's knee, Danny grinned, "Come on, sunshine. Up you get – medication time."

Silently, Steve blinked, awake and alert, but not exactly firing on all cylinders as he tried to force his body to move – and it refused. Rolling his eyes, Danny reached down to grab his arm, gently helping him stand, "That's what you get for sleeping on a couch. You ain't exactly a spring chicken anymore, Stephen."

"Says the moron who played video games all night," McGarrett grumbled, his voice crackly and soft with lingering exhaustion and weariness. Sunlight was barely colouring the curtains, but it was making progress – fast.

Steadying Steve, giving him a second to find his balance, Danny steered him around the coffee table with its mound of empty plastic bottles, cups, chip packets and red bull cans. "A nice round of muscle relaxants, pain killers and happy pills is on the menu, dude. Have you feeling ship shape and water tight in no time."

Gripping Danny's arm, Steve growled, "You ran around that wrecked fire truck five times before you found the bomb." His steps were a little unsteady, but gaining strength as they shuffled their way past Toast, heading towards the stairs.

Danny draped Steve's right arm over his shoulder, mindful of his ribs and replied chirpily, "And then Kono is going to bring over a shit load of malasadas, with extra powder sugar and between the sugar crash and the drugs you'll be out like a light."

"How the hell are zombies supposed to have generals or bosses or anything... they're the mindless undead! Not organised labour. And I'm the stupid one for thinking the military can handle a zombie plague? I think not." Steve grumbled, free hand moving slightly to express the full extent of his disapproval - and maybe keep balance. The stairs were a little tricky, as Steve tried to step up just as Danny was bracing himself to take his weight and they wobbled momentarily, half up one stair, half about to fall. Busted ribs didn't like stairs anymore than they liked couches.

Unfazed, Danny waited for Steve to steady, catch his breath and find his balance, before slowly continuing, his hand firm on his side, eyes watching Steve's unsteady gait carefully as they moved together up the stairs. "I hear hot showers are pretty damn awesome at loosening up stiff muscles. Maybe you can bribe Catherine into giving you a massage afterwards. "He bobbed his eyebrows suggestively, pausing mid-step as Steve's breathing hitched.

Steve paused, blinking but mumbled, "Three mortar rounds! Three frigging mortar rounds and you missed it three times! You ..." Whatever Danny had failed to do was swallowed in the effort to finish the climb, Steve's skin clammy under Danny's hands, the empty words lost and tossed aside.

With the stairs mastered and behind them, Danny turned their slow moving walk towards the bedroom, his head bent, hair standing on head after a night of near calls, and surprise zombie attacks. Beaming slightly, he said happily, "You gotta love mandatory sick leave and doctor ordered bed rest, Steve. Kinda like a mini-vacation." The wooden floor was cool under both of their feet, their warmer bodies leaving nano-second-long footprints on the wood as they passed.

The sunlight was warm and bright through the curtains in Steve's room, spilling over the bed in a tangle of yellow and white. "Remind me exactly how avian swine fly mutates into a zombie virus again?" Steve slurred, hand gripping Danny's shoulder firmly. "Or is it rabies… I forget."

Pointing at the bed, Danny said quietly, "Look, see. A soft inviting bed. No strange lumps in the cushions, no left over Doritos smudges, no dust bunny colonies." Danny was relentless but gentle as he corralled Steve towards the bed, guiding him to sit down on the mattress. He snagged a bottle from the array of pills on the bedside table and shook it.

"You're ignoring me."

"You're talking about zombies."

Steve glared up at him as Danny shook out two bright pink pills. "Ooo, pretty pink for the pretty princess!"

"You're overtired and hyped on caffeine."

Peering at the pills, Danny's eyebrows furrowed in mock contemplation, "I wonder who decides what colour the capsule will be? Do the drug companies have an entire department dedicated to deciding on which colour is more palatable to swallow? Yellow, no. Pink, yes."

"Danny." Steve's eyes were hard, but the effect was diminished by the circles of exhaustion, and the bruises colouring his skin.

Ignoring him, Danny turned and said, "Let me get you some water."

As Danny moved to leave, Steve caught his arm, fast and true, his grip strong. "It wasn't your fault, Danno."

Something icy and hard froze inside Danny and he stopped but did not turn back towards Steve. The nonchalant words died, unborn on his lips, frozen in place. Not letting go, McGarrett squeezed and said softly, "I'm serious, man. It wasn't your fault."

The ice moved, piercing his heart and Danny grumbled softly, "We done holding hands?" He pulled at the grip gently, not trying to break it, but he really didn't want to have this conversation right now… ever.

"Danno…"

A wave of emotion crashed over him at just that one cracked word and without looking at Steve, refusing to see the crap load of bruises, Danny pulled away, and headed for the refuge of the ensuite bathroom. Not bothering to turn the light on, he snagged a glass and angrily filled it with water. Taking a deep breath, he deliberately did not look at the mirror, and paced back into the room. Steve was flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling, one hand rubbing his eyes like a tired child.

"Here."

Awkwardly, Steve sat up and took the pills and water, watching Danny over the edge of the glass, his gaze calm and distant, like he was trying to figure something out. Probably trying to wrap his overtired brain around dealing with 'Danno.'

"Go to sleep, Stephen."

Grunting, Steve waved in agreement, draping his arm over his face, no doubt tired beyond belief. Danny nudged his legs onto the bed and waited for him to painfully lay out straight, curling slightly to compensate for his ribs. Pushing down the tide of emotion lapping at his brain, Danny grunted, "No sneaking back downstairs, ok?"

Not really looking at him, his face still covered by his arm, Steve grunted back. Taking the break, Danny turned to leave and made it two steps before McGarrett said quietly, "Did killing all those zombies help?"

Chest tight, Danny coughed slightly, and muttered in reply, "Shut up, Steve."

He left before they waded into any more emotional minefields and trotted down the stairs, very aware of how easy the trip down was, compared to helping Steve up them. Toast was still fast asleep on the coach and Danny envied the guy for a spilt second.

The kitchen was chilly, untouched by the rising sun yet, protected by the palm trees in the back yard. Kono and Chin would be over just now, probably with Catherine in tow. Between the noise and the people and getting ready for a 'force Steve to relax by having a barbeque' activity, there would be no time to think. Nope, no time.

Danny stood by the kitchen sink, staring out the yard, the palm trees growing in colour as the sun rose, the ocean a shining sliver of blue and white, dark in contrast to the brighter horizon. Unbidden images flashed before his mind, zombies going down in a spray of violence, the merciless crunch of imaginary horrors wiped out in an instant. But that array of gore and blood couldn't keep fresher, harder, more vivid images from crowding in.

Steve falling, an explosion rocking the air, rattling his bones. Part of the house falling… pulling down wood and roof and windows, ... trying to find him.

'Clear!'

'Stephen!'

Danny abruptly kicked the kitchen cupboard and stalked back into the lounge. Snatching up the controller, he cued up the next level. Kono and Chin would be here just now, and until then – there were zombies to kill.

Who the hell needed sleep?

Fin.