I do not own Hawaii Five-0 or any characters. No copyright infringement intended.

Notes: got nuthin' ... liked the word and not much plot. Much bromance and caring though ... see an error? please let me know. thanks!

H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O

Word of the Day: Stupefy - to put into a state of little or no sensibility; benumb the faculties of; put into a stupor. to stun, as with a narcotic, a shock, or a strong emotion. to overwhelm with amazement; astound; astonish.

He trudged down the sandy lane, limping and disheveled. The beach and the blue of the Pacific Ocean were behind him; the city, his ultimate destination, was far ahead.

He coughed as he walked, tasting dried blood on his lips. His throat was bone-dry and he wanted nothing more than to sit down in the shade. However, he didn't have time to do anything but continually put distance between himself and the small enclave where he'd been secreted. With his eyes cast mostly downwards as he squinted against the glare of the sun, he was determined to simply put one foot squarely in front of the other. Feet that were bare and steadily growing more sensitive to the uneven roughness of the hot, pebbly path and doing his very best to ignore the pain from the ankle he'd twisted somewhere along the way.

A few minutes later, he stopped though. He had to stop, wavering unsteadily, his feet throbbing in time to the ache in his head. He glanced over his shoulder and lost his balance, nearly falling to his knees. There was no one behind him though. No one and nothing but that empty, lonely path and the rocky beach.

Gulls called out overhead and he blinked tiredly, finally trusting that he wasn't being followed by the men who'd used him as cover for their escape.

Perhaps they just didn't care about him anymore because they had gotten their way. They'd gotten their money and the bulk of their illicit arms. And even though he was a cop and offered them some modicum of early protection, for all intents and purposes, they just hadn't needed him anymore. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he realized that his escape had been far too easy. He'd been allowed to leave.

Maybe.

He doubted everything. He heaved in a broken breath of hot air and coughed heavily, his throat feeling as if he'd swallowed glass. He stared over his shoulder again, wondering if he was really being toyed with. Maybe his freedom was part of some terrible game. Letting him go only to catch him again … to toy with him … like stray cats with a bedraggled, worn-down mouse.

But no, that didn't make sense. It wasn't their way. He was free more likely because they didn't care about him at all; they'd seen their next window of opportunity to simply get away free and clear. They had taken it much like he had done the same in order to be free and clear of them.

No matter the reason, he needed to keep going. He might have escaped, but he wasn't at all convinced he'd make it home. Turning, he forced his body forward again, swaying with every step. He used his ruined shirt sleeve to swipe at the grimy volume of sweat streaming down his face. It would be nearly impossible to even identify the true color of that once perfectly dry-cleaned and pressed shirt. Now, parts of it were in tatters. The entirety of it stained from sweat or blood or just plain dirt. Only the slender hem was tucked in over his right hip. The rest of the material hung out unevenly around his waist from where it had once been neatly folded into his slacks.

Had that been yesterday? The day before … or, had it been longer?

He didn't know. He didn't care. He kept limping along, his arms falling limply to his sides. Head down, eyes squinting against the sun. The only sound other than those gulls, was the off-kilter whine of his own lungs as he argued breathing in the stifling hot air. Breathing hurt as much as walking. It was all too much and he wanted to stop. He did with every fiber of his being.

No. He mouthed in anger at himself. But his face was creased in pain now, every step a torturous trial. He shook his head weakly, his eyes barely open. The white path had turned into an uneven grayish-black swath of old road. Littered with broken bits of macadam, rocks and even pot holes, he had more work in staying true to his goal. Doggedly he fought to keep going until his limp became an ungainly stumble. He winced and gasped at each agonizing step, the pain from his ankle now extending up into his calf muscle.

The sound of an engine reached his ears, echoing through the otherwise stillness of his remote exile, and he stopped dead in his tracks. Truck or helicopter … maybe both. Whatever it was, it was close and completely out of the norm. The sound merged with another engine. The uneven thud thud thud of tires on a dirt road and he winced helplessly.

This was a game then. He'd been allowed to escape as part of some sick game.

He whined under his breath because he had nowhere to go. Even if he did, he lacked the wherewithal to do it. Resigned to what was going to happen, he looked from where he'd come and … saw nothing. But then his eyes were drawn inconceivably skywards. The helicopter was just overhead, sending plumes of heated air downwards and he winced, blinded by the severity of the glare.

In front of him, he heard it more clearly now, too. Not only the turn of big wheels, but the whine of a vehicle's engine; strong, powerful and thrumming towards him at a high rate of speed. Eyes tearing from the strain, he waited then, stupefied when a big dark truck virtually appeared in front of him. With nowhere to go, he stood where he'd originally rocked to a halt. The helicopter's rotors beating overhead, the truck now sliding to a gravel spewing stop just feet from his body.

He waited for the bullets to fly or for the men to descend upon him with cat-calls and fists.

Instead, his name was shouted out by a voice he thought he might never hear again.

"Danny! Danny!"

The booted footsteps stopped inches from where he stood swaying, but he was afraid to look. It couldn't be real. In fact, he closed his eyes, his expression one of disbelief. It wasn't real.

Heatstroke? Yeah. That seemed more likely. He wavered more, his knees beginning to buckle. It was hot, too hot, and he was done in if he had to fight. And he had nothing left.

"Do it," he whispered hopelessly as he waited for that one bullet to find his head. It would be more merciful if they just did it quickly.

"Danny, no … hey. We found you … we found you. Thank, God," Steve whispered over and over as his strong hands gripped his biceps and eased him gently down to the hot ground where he was buffered against Steve's body.

"Drink. Slow. Easy … slow, Danny." The commands were soft in his ear as a water bottle was held to his lips. He kept his eyes closed as he was granted slow, steady sips, the hum of Steve's voice now a constant in his ear. Some words were for him; others were orders or updates to the other members of the search party.

Danny zoned out then, ignoring questions which might have been aimed his way. Overwhelmed and exhausted, he only caught bits and pieces of what Steve was saying. Danny lay there limply up against Steve as he was checked from stem to stern for injuries, tutted about and cared for. Finally believing that Steve was truly there.

So, what did the words really matter then?

"Needed four-wheel drive to get back here … chopper can't land." Steve was prattling on and Danny just listened, vaguely understanding that he'd have to deal with a rocky and long ride back to any main road. Sensing then, that he might never have made it out alone no matter how hard he might have tried.

Eyes closed, Danny didn't feel the heat anymore. He only felt Steve hauling him to his feet, virtually carrying him the short distance to the big Silverado where he was eased into the back seat. He was plied gently with more water; his most obvious wounds quickly and efficiently cared for. Eyes closed, Danny let himself sink further down into a buffer of safety and peace while his best friend made sure he was safe and secure. The truck was cool and the sun no longer an enemy in the sky trying to beat him into the rocky dirt of the Hawaiian path.

He was going home.

"How're you doing?" Steve whispered. "Hang on me for me, okay?" Danny only roused from his stupor when he heard the worry in Steve's voice. When he felt Steve's hand on his forehead, then his cheek. He forced his eyes open, squinting now only from exhaustion and a desperate want to focus.

"Steve?" Danny pushed out wearily. "Hey …f-found me?" He knew he didn't make sense, but had to say something. Anything to ease the dark worry being expressed in his friend's eyes.

"Yeah, of course I did. Never stopped looking. Not once," Steve whispered earnestly. His eyes glistened darkly in the cabin of the truck. "You're going to be fine … good as new. Let's go home now, Danno, huh?"

Danny nodded once, his eyes closing. He'd learn about what happened later; he would catch up on everything later. Much later.

"Yeah," he murmured softly as he let the deep thrum of the Silverado's strong engine resonate soothingly through his body. He rocked bonelessly in time to the truck's movement as Steve turned on the trail to head out the way he'd come in to find Danny.

To take him ... home.

~ to be continued. ~