Thanks for all of your kind words. It's great to know some readers are still interested in H50 fanfic stories.
This one is kind of special to me. I hope I won't bore you to death with the details. I'll try not to.
"Better start talking," Scar-face growled, his aim steadying on Steve. "I know you're not tourists."
None of them said a word.
Danny shuffled next to him nervously, wincing at Steve's own weapon trained on his best friend. His mind was on overdrive, desperate worry for the lives of three people who were his whole world making the best of him. One wrong move, one mistake, and… He didn't want to think about that.
Steve, still crouched in pain, seemed just as tense as Danny.
Danny shuffled nervously, glancing at Steve before fixing his gaze on Scar-face. "You're making a big mistake."
"No, it's the two of you who made a mistake by playing heroes," Scar-face sneered. "So, better tell me who the fuck you are before this gets a lot uglier."
Danny felt the situation spiraling out of control, a sense of impending doom tightening around him. He needed to buy time, to find a way out. "Look, we're here on a family trip. We didn't mean to intrude on whatever you guys were doing. Just let us go, and we'll forget we ever saw you."
The scar-faced man sneered. "You think I'm stupid? You came here out of nowhere, killed two of my men, and you want me to let you go? I don't think so."
"What do you want, man?" Steve spoke through pained breaths.
"I want you to tell me who you are and why you're here," Scar-face spoke slowly, emphasizing each word.
"We told you al–"
"Cut the crap!" the man interrupted, his face contorted in an angry grimace.
"It's the truth," Steve said.
"Are you cops?"
Danny hesitated, his mind racing. "No."
"Military, then." Scar-face gestured to Steve's P226 in his hand. "Nice gun. You know, my brother used to have an identical one. As far as I know, it's the official sidearm of the U.S. Navy. SEALs, to be specific."
Steve forced a tight smile. "Well, you could say I have a thing for military surplus," he replied, his voice steady despite the gun in his face.
The Scar-face didn't seem amused. He took a step closer, his finger twitching dangerously on the trigger. "You know what? I changed my mind. I don't care who you are. I should just shoot you all right now," he growled.
Danny's muscles coiled, every fiber of his body ready to launch at Scar-face in a final, desperate act to protect his best friend.
The man didn't shoot. "But since you idiots killed my divers, I could use someone with your skill set," he said instead.
"I'm not doing anything for you," Steve spat out.
"Yes, you are," Scar-face said confidently. "Because I would hate to hurt those two sweet kids."
Primal rage flooded Danny's entire being. No one would threaten his children and get away with it. No one. He barely stopped himself from springing into action, every muscle in his body tensing with the urge to lunge at the man threatening his family despite the odds. But he knew another armed man was with his kids inside the cabin, and one rash movement could put them in even more danger.
"You lay a finger on them, and I swear to God–" Danny started, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and fury.
"Easy, Danny," Steve interjected, trying to keep the situation from escalating.
Scar-face smirked. "As I said, I won't. As long as you two don't make me."
"What exactly do you want?" Steve barked out, anger seeping into his voice too.
"You are going to finish the job my men started," Scar-face said. "There's something down there and I want it."
Danny shuffled nervously, not exactly liking the idea of Steve diving alone in an unfamiliar cave. "You've got two more guys over there," he protested.
The man shook his head. "Those two just got out of the water. They can't dive for at least twenty-four hours. The two you killed were supposed to do the second dive. That's why the two of you will replace them."
Danny's eyes widened in horror. "Excuse me, did you say the two of us? I'm not a diver."
Scar-face shrugged. "Do I look like I give a fuck? You're going."
Feeling his breath speeding up, Danny sucked in a deep breath to calm himself down. "No. I can't. I–"
Steve, sensing Danny's growing panic, stepped in. "Listen, it's too dangerous to send an inexperienced diver down there. I'll do it alone. I know what I'm doing. He stays here with the kids."
Scar-face's expression hardened. "Nice try, but you're both diving."
Danny's breath came in short, shallow gasps. The thought of diving itself was scary enough, but the thought of diving into the dark, enclosed cave was pushing him to the edge of a panic attack. "I can't do this, Steve. I can't."
One look into Steve's eyes was enough to confirm that his friend was well aware of it.
"How deep are we talking about?" Steve asked. "Did you say twenty-four hours surface interval? It must be a deep dive. Way too deep for someone who has never done it before."
"The entrance to the cave is at forty meters," Scar-face said. "It goes down to ninety."
Steve's eyes widened. "That's nearly three hundred feet!"
"What?" Danny's throat seized. He felt sick.
Steve shook his head. "It takes years of training to be able to dive that deep, and years more to dive inside caves safely," he protested. "There's no way he's gonna make it."
Danny appreciated Steve's effort, but it wasn't exactly what he wanted to hear. He tried to focus on his breathing.
In. Out. In. Out.
"I don't care."
"Please–"
"He is going. Period."
Danny had never regretted listening to his instincts more than now. Had he not decided to check these guys out, they would still be enjoying a free afternoon. He would watch his kids having the time of their life while learning from their uncle Steve, and he would enjoy a few refreshing drinks with his best friend while lounging on the deck of a comfy boat. They would be safe. Instead, they were all here, threatened by a criminal, with no choice other than to comply.
"Better get ready," Scar-face said. "All you need is over there in the back."
Steve placed a reassuring hand on Danny's shoulder, his voice calm and steady. "Look at me, buddy."
Danny did, desperately trying to hide his fear. He knew Steve would see right through him.
"It's going to be alright. I'll be with you every step of the way," Steve said.
Danny didn't reply. He didn't have a choice, did he? After all, he got them into this mess.
Scar-face gestured with the weapon for them to stand up and move over to the equipment. The man standing at the doorway held his weapon at ready, too. One wrong movement and they'd be riddled with bullets.
Danny heaved Steve to his feet, feeling the strength of his friend's pain in the tremble of his muscles. It fueled Danny's simmering rage. That son of a bitch knew exactly where to hit.
Danny's gaze fell on the bunch of aluminum tanks, neatly stacked in a row of stands, all labeled with colorful marks. The labels didn't make any sense. Most tanks were yellow and green, with the word 'nitrox' written in huge letters, and small handwritten labels with various numbers on each of them. Two of the tanks were marked O2. Oxygen. This one, Danny knew. He noticed all the tanks had a set of letters repeating with various numbers.
"What's MOD?" he asked.
"Maximum operational depth," Steve said, studying the tanks and their labels.
Danny pointed to the oxygen tank. "This one says 13. Is that 13 feet?"
"Yes." Steve didn't lift his eyes from the setup.
"But we're going to… almost three hundred?" Danny's head spun with the image.
"We're not gonna use that one all the way down," Steve said. "It'd give us oxygen toxicity and–"
"And?"
Steve pursed his lips, confirming Danny's thoughts. And we would die.
"We're gonna have to switch between these gas mixtures on the way. He pointed at two cylinders joined together. The label said Trimix 12/65. "This one will be the main gas. It'll help to reduce narcosis."
"Narcosis?"
Steve threw Danny a worried glance. Then he turned back to Scar-face. "Please, let me do this alone," he said. "It's not safe for him."
The man shook his head. "I don't care if he dies. It's your responsibility."
"If I have to take care of him it endangers both of us. We might not even get to whatever it is you want from there."
Scar-face pointed towards the cabin. "You have a pretty good motivation," he said. "So, do your best."
Steve's jaw tightened when he looked back to Danny. He was trying hard to keep it together, but Danny knew this man like the back of his hand. He could read him anytime. And he knew the Super SEAL was as anxious about taking Danny down there as Danny himself, if not more.
"It's okay, Steve," he said, trying to convince himself as much as his friend. "I'll… do my best."
I'll try not to get us both killed, is what he meant.
Steve drew in a deep breath, then returned his attention to the tanks in front of him.
"What are these?" Danny gestured at the remaining labels. One said Trimix 21/35, and another one was marked as EAN50.
"Our decompression gases," Steve explained. "We'll use these for the decompression stops on the way back."
"Ah, okay," Danny said, not sure it explained anything at all. "So, we have to take all of these?"
Steve nodded. "Five tanks each."
"And switch between them during the dive?" Danny asked.
"Exactly."
"How do I know when to use which one? What if I accidentally choose the wrong one?"
"You probably die," Scar-face chimed in. "Depends on depth and the gas you breathe. But I wouldn't fancy your chances."
All blood drained from Danny's face. He looked to Steve, who confirmed it with a slight nod.
"Don't worry about that, I'll take care of it for you," Steve said. "I'll make sure it won't happen."
"Uh-uh."
"There are some rules to follow," Steve said. "I need you to listen carefully, because down there, we won't be able to talk."
"Rules? Like what?"
"The most important one is to never, under any circumstances, hold your breath," Steve said. "Got it?"
"Never hold my breath," Danny repeated. "But what if I run out of air?"
"Still no," Steve said.
It didn't make sense. "Why not?"
"Because you'll be breathing compressed gas under pressure," Steve said. "That pressure changes with the depth, and gas expands with decreasing pressure. Which means, that if you trap the gas inside your lungs by holding the breath, even small changes in depth could result into lung over-expansion and–"
"And kill me. Got it."
Steve's face was dead serious. "If you can't breathe in, you slowly breathe out," he said. "Understand?"
Danny nodded, feeling his stomach churning from the stress. "But what if we are too deep? What if I can't breathe out for long enough?"
"Then you drop all the extra weight on you, maybe even inflate your wing if necessary, and swim to the surface. But it's extremely important to breathe out during this emergency ascent. In better case it'll guarantee you a decompression sickness, but that at least gives you slightly more chances to survive, unlike lung over-expansion injuries."
"And in a worse case?"
"Arterial gas embolism," Steve said, his face dead serious. "Possibly leading to a cardiac arrest."
"That's great," Danny said, his mind already going through all kinds of emergencies. "I get it. No breath holding. And no fast ascends if possible."
"Exactly. And you'll have to equalize every few feet," Steve continued. "To adjust the air spaces inside your ears with the outside water pressure."
"O-kay?"
Steve pinched his nose, and blew out through it. "Like this," he said. "Gently. Don't force it."
Danny repeated after him and felt a gentle pop in each ear. "Okay."
"Good. Now, it is a cave dive, which means no direct exit to the surface," Steve said, mentioning one of Danny's biggest issues with all this. "So you need to stay calm. One mistake in such an environment is usually fatal. So just repeat after me, and do everything I do."
Not what Danny wanted to hear. "Right," he said, his mind already on overdrive.
"And the visibility will be limited," Steve added.
"Won't we have lights?"
"Yes, we will. But there's silt on the bottom of the caves. One kick into it and even with the light we might not even see three feet in front of us."
"How am I supposed to see you, then?" Danny could feel his breathing rate rise again.
"I'll hold your hand," Steve said without a hint of joking in his voice.
"Uh-uh."
Steve's hand rested on Danny's shoulder, the firm, familiar grip anchoring him amidst the chaos. Their eyes met, and in that moment, the unspoken bond between them was palpable. Steve's calm resolve and support were the lifeline Danny desperately clung to."Buddy, I know you don't like this," Steve said. "But it's absolutely essential for you to stay calm, no matter what happens."
Easier said than done.
"Can you try that?" Steve asked, deep worry etched in his face.
Danny nodded slowly, unsure how on Earth he would manage to do so.
Scar-face rolled his eyes, clearly losing patience. "Enough with the pep talk. Get suited up and get down there."
Steve turned around to face him, barely stopping himself from launching at the man. "You want us to go there or not?" he snapped. "I'm not taking him down without explaining him the basic things he needs to stay alive!"
Scar-face didn't move a muscle. "Careful with that tone," he said. "And I'm not gonna repeat it. Get ready. Now."
"Not before I prepare a dive plan," Steve said.
"You can use the one we had prepared," Scar-face said. "Once you reach the maximum depth, you've got enough gas for fifteen minutes of search. There should be three decompression stops. The first one at 200 feet with Trimix 21/35 for five minutes. Another one at 70 feet with Nitrox for twenty minutes. The last one at 20 feet with pure oxygen for forty minutes, then surface. Sounds about right?"
Steve remained silent for a few moments, his brows furrowed in a focused expression as he did his calculations. "Yeah," he said eventually. "Except one tiny problem. You counted the amount of gas needed for an experienced diver. You know as well as I do that a new one breathes a lot more."
Scar-face shrugged. "Not my problem. You figure it out."
Steve's hands curled into fists. If looks could kill, Scar-face would be dead already.
"What is it you want from there?" Steve asked.
Scar-face gestured to the metal crate behind him. "There's another one down there. But smaller."
"What's inside?" Steve asked.
"None of your business."
"You just made it my business by sending me and my friend on a suicide mission to get it," Steve growled.
Scar-face's nostrils flared in anger as he adjusted the aim and pointed Steve's P226 straight into Super SEAL's face. "Don't test my patience," he said. "I can still change my mind and put a bullet through your brain right now."
Danny brushed his fingers gently on Steve's wrist in an attempt to ground his friend.
Steve got the subtle message. He let out a heavy sigh. "Can we at least talk to the kids?"
"You can talk to them when you get back."
Steve nodded at Danny, who desperately tried to come up with an idea to get them out of this, and headed to the equipment.
It didn't take long before they were fully dressed in the wetsuits. Danny hated the feeling of the neoprene compressing his whole body. Steve, on the other hand, seemed as comfortable as wearing pajamas. He zipped up Danny's suit and looked him in the eyes. "Good? It's not exactly your size but it'll have to do."
Danny shook his head. Or tried to, despising the restricted movement. "I… can't breathe, Steve."
"Yes, you can, buddy. You breathe as normal, okay? Deep breaths. It'll feel less constricted underwater."
Danny highly doubted it.
Steve made him wear some inflatable bladder that he called 'a wing,' and tightened it up, further increasing the discomfort. It got even worse once Steve started setting up all the tanks on him. Two on his back, one at each of his side, and one across his chest and belly. It was impossible to bend over, so Steve helped him to slip on and tighten his fins, and told him to wait.
Danny could feel his knees shake under all the weight. The Hawaiian sun beat down relentlessly, turning the wetsuit into a suffocating prison. Beads of sweat trickled down his spine, pooling in the small of his back and making the neoprene stick to his skin His cheeks were hot from overheating after a minute already.
Why the hell would anyone in their right mind do this for fun? He would never understand.
It took Steve less than half the time to get into his own gear. He did it with precision, and it looked almost as easy as dressing up a t-shirt. He didn't even break a sweat while doing so. It made Danny wonder how many times his friend had done this before.
The air was thick with tension as Danny realized it was time. After a brief explanation of how to breathe from the regulator, Steve made him practice. It felt strange, and each breath sounded like a mechanical gasp, amplifying Danny's growing sense of dread.
Steve then adjusted his own mask and checked their gear one last time, his movements methodical and practiced. Danny's hands, however, were shaking as he fumbled with his mask. It felt alien, and just the thought of putting it on filled him with dread.
Danny glanced around, his eyes landing on Steve, who gave him an encouraging nod. Taking a deep breath, Danny placed the mask over his face. Almost instantly, the sensation of the tight seal around his nose and eyes triggered a wave of claustrophobia.
His breaths came in short, frantic gasps, each one louder and more desperate than the last. The mask felt like it was suffocating him, and his mind spiraled into a frenzy of dread. Panic surged through him, and he tore the mask off, gasping for breath.
"I can't do this. I can't do this," Danny rambled, his voice shaking. "Steve, I can't breathe. I can't see. I can't… I can't do this."
"Danny. Danny, stop!" Steve's voice finally pierced through Danny's skull when his friend took his face into his hands and forced him to look at him. "Do you trust me?"
Danny nodded without hesitation. But it didn't change anything. His heart was still pounding, and his breath was still coming in gasps.
"Good. Right now, I need you to trust me with your life."
*to be continued*
So, what do you guys think?