A/N: This chapter starts later that evening.
"Come on, Jack!" he called up the stairs. "We're going to be late!"
They'd told Frank they'd be there for dinner, and they should have left five minutes ago.
There was a thud, and then a backpack came flying out the door.
"I'm not going!"
He walked up the stairs, leaned in the open door. "Yes, you are, Jack. You and Sean love going over to Pop's, this is just like a mini-family vacation. What's going on?"
"This is all my fault and I'm not going! If I hadn't made you talk about Iraq for my presentation, all this wouldn't have happened!"
"All this…all what?"
"You not having your gun and Mom being scared and us going to Grandpa's house!"
Jack stumbled towards Danny. He wrapped him in a hug, feeling the boy shaking. "Shhh, it's okay, kiddo, it's okay."
After a few minutes, Jack pulled away, walked over to his bed and sat down.
Danny sat down next to him. "None of this is your fault, kiddo. I don't have my gun because I got in trouble at work."
"But I heard Grandpa ask you for your gun, and Mom was crying, and…"
Danny frowned. "You were awake, Jack?"
"Yeah. I didn't let Pops know, 'cause I didn't want to get in trouble."
He let out a shaky breath, rubbed at the back of his neck. "You're not in trouble, Jack. The only person who's in trouble right now is me. I did something…stupid to make your Grandpa think that it wasn't safe for me to have my gun." He ruffled his boy's hair. "But everything's gonna be okay. You don't need to worry, kid."
Jack burst into tears, arms flailing at Danny's chest. "Everything's not okay! Grandpa took your gun away because he thought you were going to kill yourself!"
Danny pulled his boy into a hug, stilling his thrashing arms. "Jack…why…what makes you think that?"
"I know what guns do!" the thirteen-year-old sobbed.
Danny felt his heart clench. He rubbed at his boy's back, then pulled away, gently lifted Jack's chin so he could look him straight in the eye. "I promise you, Jack, I'm not going to kill myself. I'm getting help. You don't need to worry about me, kiddo. I love you and your brother and your mom more than anything in the world, and I'm not gonna let anything take me away from you. I promise."
He hoped he wasn't lying to his son.
Jack hiccupped and buried his face in Danny's chest again.
After several minutes, his sobs slowed and he sat up, wiped his eyes. "You promise?" he whispered.
"Yeah, kiddo, I promise. Go rescue your backpack and get in the car with your brother. We'll talk more later, if you need to, okay?"
He grabbed his own bag, walked downstairs to find Linda waiting for him, the crock-pot of spaghetti sauce by her feet. "What's wrong with Jack? I could hear him screaming…"
"I screwed up, Linda," he whispered. "Now I've got our thirteen-year-old terrified that I'm going to kill myself."
"Danny…" his wife said, her voice breaking. "Why?"
"He woke up yesterday, heard you crying and Dad asking me for my gun."
"What did you tell him?"
"Promised him I wouldn't."
She kissed him. "We need you, Danny. Our boys need you. I need you."
He nodded, picked up the crockpot. "I know."
The clock read 2 a.m. when he woke up. His heart was racing, but he couldn't remember the details of the nightmare.
"Danny?" Linda asked groggily.
"Shhh. I'm just going to get some water. Dad's probably awake; I might chat with him a bit. If I'm not back in thirty minutes, you can come check on me."
He kissed her, shrugged on his bathrobe, and slipped out of the room.
He could hear muffled cries, and he padded down the hallway to the bedroom the boys shared. The cries were getting louder, and he pushed the door open. Sean was sound asleep, but Jack was tossing in his bed, hands reaching up to grab something. "No, Daddy, please! Come back, Daddy!"
Danny's heart broke. Jack hadn't called him 'Daddy' in a while… He slipped into the room, padded over to the bed, and sat down. "Jack, kiddo, you're safe. Daddy's safe, too. I'm right here, kiddo."
His boy bolted upright, his head hitting Danny's chin. "Oww!" he said, then pulled away. "D…Daddy?" he whispered.
"Yeah, it's me, kiddo. In the flesh. I'm right here."
Jack tackled him in a bear-hug, and Danny wrapped his arms around him, ran a hand down his back. He could feel him sobbing. "Bad dream, kiddo?"
Jack hiccupped. "Yeah. You…you were…dead. You…you'd used your gun…to…to kill yourself!"
"It was just a nightmare, kiddo, just a bad, bad nightmare. I'm safe. I'm right here. See? Pinch me."
Jack pinched him and he yelped, then glanced worriedly at his younger son.
Sean still slept on…the innocent sleep of youth…and Danny let out a sigh. "I promise you, kiddo, I'm not going to kill myself. I'm seeing a doctor, I'm talking to Mom and Grandpa; my doctor's going to get me some medication. I'm not going anywhere, kiddo."
He chatted with his boy for a few more minutes, then sat with him while he fought sleep.
When Jack was finally asleep again, he padded his way back to their bedroom.
He pushed the door open to see Linda pulling her bathrobe on. "Was just going to come looking for you," she said.
He sat down on the bed, pulled her into his arms. "We need to talk, babe."
She tensed up, and he rubbed her shoulders. "What is it? What's wrong, Danny?"
"Jack had a nightmare that…that I'd killed myself. He…he's scared, Linda. I got him calmed down and he fell asleep again; but…"
"That's…I'd say that's a normal reaction, Danny. Check in with him in the morning before school; if he's still upset, we'll keep him home and I'll call the pediatrician, get a referral for an emergency meeting with a child therapist."
"Great. Now two Reagans have to see shrinks, all because I can't handle a few flashbacks?"
Linda pulled away from him, turned so she was facing him. "Don't talk like that, Danny. I am proud as hell of you for talking to Doc Dawson, for reaching out to him. It's not your fault that Jack heard us talking yesterday. But he did—and if he's terrified that his dad's going to kill himself, then we need to get him some help."
He nodded. "Okay. I'm going to go chat with dad for a bit; he's still working the floors down there."
"It's the middle of the night, Danny. You should be asleep," his dad said as he came down the stairs.
He shrugged. "I'd rather be awake than trapped in another nightmare."
"Come join me. I made chamomile tea."
He walked into the living room. "Why are you awake, dad?"
"Old age, memories, the usual. What about you?"
He sat down, picked up the teapot and poured himself a cup. "Not sure. Woke up right before a nightmare, instead of during."
"Linda know where you are?"
"Yeah, she heard me get up. I told her she could come check on me if I wasn't back in thirty minutes."
"How you doing, Danny?"
He shrugged. "I don't know. Better than earlier. I…thanks for calling me, for checking up on me."
"Of course, son."
There were footsteps on the stairs. "It's almost 3 a.m., Francis. O, hi, Danny."
"Hi, Pops," they chorused.
"Both of you should be asleep."
Henry walked into the room, sat down in his chair. "Chamomile tea? How long have you two been awake?"
"About an hour," Frank said.
"Same, give or take twenty minutes," Danny said around a yawn.
"What's on your mind, Danny?"
"Jack," Danny sighed. "He basically threw a temper tantrum about coming over. Finally talked to me; yesterday, he heard you ask me for my gun, dad. He thinks us staying here and me not having my gun is all his fault because he asked me about Iraq. To make it worse, he…he asked me if I was going to kill myself. I promised him I wouldn't, but I don't think he believed me. I just got him back to sleep after a nightmare. Linda's gonna call his doctor in the morning."
He leaned his head in his hands. "I…I'm having flashbacks and starting an anti-depressant; my kid's terrified I'm going to kill myself…my family's falling apart, and I don't know what to do."
"One small step at a time," his dad said. "Talk to Jack's doctor, talk to Dawson…baby steps. Trying to imagine all the possibilities will only stress you out. And while you take those baby steps, you lean on us; that's why you're staying here for a few days, while you figure all this out. It'll be okay, Danny." His voice broke. "I got you back safely after Iraq; I'm not gonna let you slip away now."
Danny had called and pushed his appointment with his doctor back to 1 p.m., so he could go to the counseling session with Linda and the boys; and at 2 p.m. he came out of the office with a prescription in his hand.
He got in his car, locked the door, and pulled out his phone. Doc answered on the fifth ring. "Hey, Danny, I'm between patients now, but I have a few minutes. How'd the visit with your physician go?"
"Fine. He gave me Zoloft. That's not why I'm calling, Doc."
"I'm listening, Danny. Where are you right now? I hear traffic."
"I'm in my car in the parking-lot of the doctor's office. Car's turned off, doors are locked," he added teasingly.
"Thank you for that reassurance. What's going on, Danny?"
"Jack…my thirteen-year-old…threw a temper tantrum yesterday over going to Pops' house. Turns out he was awake Wednesday morning, he heard my dad ask me for my gun; and he thought me not having my gun and being at home not at work was all his fault—because he asked me about Iraq for his presentation. Last night, he had a nightmare that I had killed myself with my gun. Linda got us an emergency consult with a child shrink this morning, and he gave us some techniques to use. Boys are staying home today."
He heard a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry to hear that, Danny. Keep reassuring Jack that you're not going anywhere, let him stick close to you if that makes him feel better. Call me tonight, and we'll chat more, okay?"
"Yeah, sure. Thanks, Doc," he said, and hung up.