A/N: Danny's experiences may or may not loosely parallel something that happened to the author yesterday—the whole breaking down in the laundry room is all Danny, though.
He's going through the mail when two envelopes make him pause.
They're from the New York employment commission, addressed to Linda—at an address she never lived at in her life.
He opens them, frowns when he sees they're unemployment claims.
Linda died in 2017.
These claims run from 2018-2020.
They freaking have her social security number on them.
He finally finds a phone number on the bottom of the third page, calls it, presses "1" ten million times before being informed by a robotic voice that "all representatives are currently assisting other people."
He calls back, tries to stay on the line, keeps getting bumped off.
After an hour, he's pretty sure steam is coming out his ears.
He starts dinner, drinks a glass of water—Doc would be proud. He pops two Advil for his headache—Linda would not be proud, because he'd taken them on an empty stomach.
Sean texts to say he won't be home for dinner; he's studying at a friend's, and Danny loses his appetite.
He finishes cooking dinner, puts it in the fridge, cleans up the kitchen.
He's folding laundry, and muttering over Sean's inability to turn his shirts right-side-out, when the grief hits him like a wave. He drops the shirt back in the laundry basket, slides down the wall.
Stupid f-g…four years, and one letter, one little scam of a letter…
Sean bikes home to get his phone charger. His dad's car is in the driveway, so he's worried when he doesn't see him in the living room or the kitchen.
"Dad?" he calls, but there's no response. He goes upstairs first, thinking maybe his dad is sick and taking a nap—nothing.
Then he searches the downstairs, and the "man cave."
Finally, he tries the laundry room.
His dad is sitting in front of the washing machine, shoulders shaking, head in his hands. It almost looks like he's crying…but his dad doesn't cry. Not…not like this. "Dad?"
He wants to grab him and shake him and ask what's wrong, but years ago, Mom had told him never to touch his dad if he was acting weird—he might be having a flashback, and might lash out.
"Dad?" he says, but his dad doesn't respond.
"Dad!"
He calls his name three more times, but there's no response, and the only thing keeping him from total panic is that Dad is shaking, so he's actually alive.
He doesn't know the passcode to the safe, but he tries to see if his dad has his gun on him. It doesn't look like it. His dad's phone is on the floor next to him, and Sean picks it up, unlocks it (thankful he does know that code), and calls the only person he can think of to help.
The voice on the other end answers: "Hello, Danny. How're you holding up?"
"Dr. Dawson, this is Sean Reagan. Something's wrong with my dad. I just came home to grab my phone charger, and Dad's…sitting on the floor in front of the washing machine. I don't know if he has his gun or not. I think he's crying, or maybe having a flashback, or…I don't know. I'm sorry to bother you, but I don't think my Grandpa could help, and…"
"Sean, you did the right thing. Your dad's on sick leave, so he doesn't have his gun. I'll be there in about 40 minutes, hopefully sooner—I'll call back when I get there, so you can unlock the door for me. When I hang up, I want you to talk to your dad. Tell him about your day. Can you do that?"
"Yeah," he sniffles, feeling like a scared little kid.
"Good job. I'll be there soon."
He talks, and talks, and talks, to his dad, feeling kinda stupid, because it's like talking to a statue.
He leaves his dad for one minute to get a drink of water, then goes back and starts telling him about the girl he has a crush on.
He really hopes Dr. Dawson gets here soon.