Big Wave

The punch was painful. Danny landed on the floor with a nosebleed and a bruised lip. Steve stared at him as if he was frozen, pale in the face, clenching his fist. His knuckles were a bit bloody. Danny carefully stood up, making sure not to cut himself on the broken glass scattered on the floor. He did not look at Steve once.

"Danny," Steve uttered as he was watching him leave. Danny didn't turn around, but he made sure to slam the door shut. Steve raised his hand and stared at his knuckles.

Headache.

A jolt of pain reminded him.

Pills. In the car.

He staggered towards the door, drowsy and slightly disoriented, feeling the pressure from the headache. His fist was burning.

Steve pulled the door open, not even looking in front of himself. Danny was right outside and smacked him with the paper bag.

Don't let Danny see the paper bag.

Damn.

"What the hell is the matter with you, huh?" Danny asked, yet quietly. He wasn't yelling anymore. There was a certain sadness to his tone. Steve's nostrils were widened, teeth clenched. Obviously, the smacking hurt his pride and he instinctively wanted to punch Danny again. But he knew he deserved this.

"I…" he uttered hoarsely. "I'm fine, Danny."

"How can you possibly say that with a straight face?" Danny was in shock.

"I'm fine! Look, I've been through worse than this. I've seen worse than this. It goes away."

"It goes away? Where, Steve?! Where does it all go? Right into my face?"

Steve was silent. There was absolutely nothing on his mind other than the bottle of pills in Danny's hand. Danny noticed his gaze falling onto the bag.

Letting out a disappointed sigh, he walked away with the bag.

.

.

.

There was a bottle of gin stored in the kitchen cupboard. Steve's eyes glistened once he saw it.

This could help.

Steve poured the transparent liquid into the glass and brought it closer to his face. The intense scent of alcohol made his lips stretch into a little smile. Maybe Danny was right, he thought. Pills weren't doing him much good. He wasn't reasonable enough to realize that alcohol wasn't going to help him either. He took two sips right away, feeling the bitterness tingle his throat. Two sips later, a broom was in his hand and a melodic, jazzy tune was playing on the stereo. First the broken glass disappeared from the floor, then the whiskey spills were wiped, then every single object got put back to its place. Pieces of wood which were formerly a chair were put on top of a pile of junk. Except for the broken window and bullet holes in the couch, his living room was once again tidy.

Sighing, Steve walked into the kitchen. He washed his hands in hot water, feeling the burning sensation on his knuckles.

Danny.

Steve sighed as he ran the dry mop through his fingers. Another two sips of gin later, Steve was sat on his couch, staring at the blue envelope. He felt tormented. The envelope was like Pandora's box; he was driven to open it, but he knew nothing good would come out of it. Still, he reached for it. His fingers gently pulled out a set of photos. This time, he was calm.

The photo of the boy was on top. Steve took deep breaths as he was observing it, feeling his heart ache more and more as each second passed. It started somewhere around his heart and slowly crawled into every inch of his body, so violently that it began to physically hurt. He felt sick to his stomach, yet he couldn't look away. Was there a way for this sadness to go away? Could it go away, like he told Danny it would? He wasn't sure.

He tried breathing in and out, calmly, as he was going through the pictures. His heart was racing, his hands were shaking. The sadness started stinging somewhere inside his chest. It was like a tidal wave, splashing his very core with such an unbearable, disgusting feeling, washing out any and every trace of happiness and serenity.

Steve couldn't suppress the sobs any longer, he let out a loud, ugly cry. He was crying because it hurt him badly and at this point, even though he couldn't admit it to Danny, he was letting out a loud cry for help.

.

.

.

It was two o'clock in the morning and Danny couldn't sleep. His bruised lip annoyed him, and he couldn't sleep on his right side because of his sore cheek which annoyed him even more. He gave up and got out of bed. Quickly checking up on Charlie and Grace who were asleep, or at least in Grace's case – pretending to be asleep with her phone under the blanket, Danny turned on his laptop. He began researching certain words and scrolling through a bunch of articles and pages. He decided Wikipedia wasn't a sufficient source and began clicking on various scientific articles. He needed real, legitimate information.

Four letters graced the screen and Danny groaned. He wondered what were the chances of Steve straight up shooting him with his gun if he told him he needed to see a therapist? What made him wonder even more was what were the chances of Steve shooting him straight into the face upon hearing the words posttraumatic stress disorder?

Danny was by no means a professional, but Steve ticked all the boxes on the symptoms list. Danny knew he had to do something, but he didn't know what.

Some time later, Danny heard a knock on the door. He lifted his head, feeling nervous. Three a.m. visitors usually only meant trouble. Danny reached for his gun on the table and silently walked to the front door, making sure not to make loud noises that would wake the kids up. That's why he was even more nervous – the kids were staying with him, and if there was going to be trouble, he surely didn't want them involved. Danny slowly reached for the doorknob, holding the gun carefully and opened the door. He didn't really know what he was expecting, after all, a burglar or a murderer wouldn't politely knock on the door and wait to be invited inside. Danny lowered his gun and looked at his visitor.

Steve was in his pajamas, looking like a terrified, lost little sheep. His eyes were swollen and the expression on his face made Danny's heart skip a beat. They were looking at each other, both with teary eyes.

"I don't know what's going on, Danno," Steve murmured pleadingly.

"Come on," Danny pulled him into a tight hug. Steve's body was warm, and Danny could hear his heart racing. "We'll figure this out, okay? We will."

They stood inseparable for a few moments until Danny realized Steve was completely sleep deprived. He made him sleep in his bed while Danny crashed on the couch, even though Steve protested. Danny insisted, and Steve gave up after a while, too exhausted to argue for long. It took him ten seconds to fall asleep on Danny's fluffy pillow. It seemed like Steve was comfortable and finally peacefully asleep.

It didn't last all night.