I've been sitting on this one during the review fiasco. This was a new year gift-fic for Praemonitus Praemunitus and is therefore my very first attempt at pure Steve whump. Happy new year, PP! Totally love your stories even though you primarily whump Steve!

Acknowledgements: IC, ECT and KQ have all had this inflicted on them over the last few days. Their helpful comments are greatly appreciated.

Apologies in advance, it's confusing (sorta on purpose though) and was written with a stinking hangover.

A VOICE IN THE CONFUSION

Steve could hear Danny's voice but he didn't know where his partner was. He sounded so far away. He sounded scared. Steve tried to make out Danny's words but they seemed garbled, running together like the drops of blood that slid between his fingers then fell, lost in the deep red pool that was spreading in front of him.

"D-Danny…" The word came out wrong. Too hoarse, too quiet. How could he help Danny when he couldn't even say his name out loud?

Steve had got away, he had escaped. They had hurt him though, beaten him, and the memories of the abuse spun round in his head, real and yet not real.

"Tell me where she is!"

"Fuck you!" Steve growled right back in the bastard's face, because it wasn't going to happen. No way was he telling this psychopath where the safe-house was, where they had hidden the man's terrified girlfriend when, eyes wide with unspoken fear, she had vowed to testify against him.

He couldn't move, couldn't deflect, couldn't fight back and the ropes dug deep as he tried. He zoned out, blanking the pain, blanking the blood that stung his eyes and threatened to render him blind, blanking the sickening crunch of his own ribs as the brute began to pop them one by one, measured and deliberate.

"Tell me where she is!"

"STEVE!"

Steve's eyes drifted open again, because he had escaped but Danny still needed help, Danny sounded scared. Where was he? Where was his best friend? Had they taken him too? Was he here somewhere, locked in a room, tied to a chair being beaten like Steve had been?

Steve looked down. There was an object nestled in his hand. It was flat and solid, sticky with blood. A cellphone? It was, and he could hear Danny's voice. Danny was shouting on the cell, calling his name. Danny needed him.

He stared at his hand, willing it to move. His fingers trembled as he raised the cell, brought it to his ear. "D'ny?"

"Steve! Chin's got your location, okay babe? We're on our way. Just keep talkin'. Please keep talkin'."

Danny's words were confused. Confusing. Danny was confused. But Danny's tone was unmistakable. The fear was spiralling into panic. Danny needed help. Steve wanted to fix it, tell his partner he was coming to save him. He moved his lips soundlessly even as his eyes watched that blood pooling in front of him, uncomprehending. He couldn't find the words. He didn't understand. The man had beaten him but there shouldn't be blood, not like this. It had to be someone else's blood. Not Danny's. Please not Danny's. The man had threatened to do that, to hurt Danny. Was that what had happened? Was that where the blood had come from? From Danny? It had to be. Shit.

He wanted to ask Danny how badly he was hurt, ask what they had done to him while Steve was tied tight, unable to protect him. He wanted to tell him to hold on because Steve didn't want to lose him, couldn't lose his best friend, his brother. He would kill the bastard who had hurt Danny, made him bleed. He'd killed one already, he could remember that.

The man leaned in close, leering, stale breath in Steve's face, cold eyes following the drops of blood that ran down Steve's face, dripped on his chest. "You are going to tell me, McGarrett. I'll do anything, anything it takes. You're a tough guy, that's great. What if I hurt someone else instead? What about that blond guy- your partner? Maybe I'll get him here too, make him bleed. Would you like that?"

Steve roared in fury and the man stepped in closer to mock. Too close. Steve struck like a viper, legs coming up and gripping the thick, muscular neck, squeezing and squeezing.

The man thrashed and struggled as he gurgled. One punch struck home true, a solid blow beneath Steve's ribcage. Steve cried out as pain radiated across his chest. His grip on that thick neck loosened for a fraction of a second. But the man wanted to hurt Danny and that was not going to happen. Steve squeezed with his legs with renewed vigor, then twisted his hips until he heard a sweet crunch and he knew the man couldn't hurt Danny anymore.

Steve blinked, confused. He had been walking. Hadn't he? Yes, he had been walking, looking for Danny. He was on his way to help Danny. Or was Danny was on his way to help him? Fuck. He was so confused. He remembered walking away from the man with the broken neck after finally, finally, getting free of those ropes. There had been a knife in the man's limp hand, a knife that was slick with someone's blood. Please not Danny's. Please not Danny's. Somehow, somehow, Steve had torn his chair free from the bolts on the concrete floor, dropped over on his side, chair and all. He'd manoevered himself to the limp hand and the knife, sliced through his bonds.

But once he was free, everything felt distant, vague, around him. He had lain there, confused. Then… yes, he had been walking. He had been walking and talking. Talking to Danny. On a cell? Yes, on the dead man's cell, he'd taken it from the guy's pocket because he had to speak to Danny, find out where he was, save him.

Then he had been talking to Danny but he couldn't find the right words. He couldn't ask Danny where he was, couldn't tell him he was coming to help him. His mouth wouldn't work, his tongue wouldn't work. And the things Danny said sounded wrong. Made it sound like it was him who wanted to help Steve and that was crazy. Danny had to be injured. There was too much blood. Who else would it be coming from?

Steve had staggered to a halt, turned and leant heavily against the wall. He had looked dimly back the way he had come. Dark red spatters marked his route like breadcrumbs, glistening, warm and wet like tears, like the tears on his cheeks. He didn't understand. He'd stood, staring, uncomprehending, then slid slowly down the wall.

He sat there now, peering dimly back at the trail of gore, looking down at his hand, at the cell, at the pool of blood.

Danny. Danny was scared and Danny was in trouble and Steve couldn't work out how to help him. All he could do was stare down at the cell in his hand, listen to Danny's voice shouting his name. His vision greyed.

But then somehow Danny was there, right there in front of Steve, rugged face fearful, blue eyes frantic. Steve had no idea where he had come from, when he had appeared. He looked like he was shouting, yelling in Steve's face, but there was no noise. Steve's eyes dropped, saw the blood soaking through his partner's knees. Too much blood. Danny was hurt.

He felt a hand cup his face, a thumb swipe at his tears. He looked back up, saw there were tears on Danny's cheeks too.

He had failed. His partner was scared and hurting. He hadn't saved him. Steve moved his lips, tried to apologize, to fix the pain on Danny's face, but nothing came out.

…

Danny's head hung low. He looked at his hands. They were clean now, but he could still see the blood, would always be able to see the blood. He couldn't stop shaking.

The bastard's knife had gone in just below the right side of Steve's ribcage, angled up. It had cut skin and muscle, severed veins and sunk deep into his liver. He had lost blood. A lot of blood. He had nearly died.

The surgeon had spoken to Danny, told him positive things that just weren't sinking in. The damage had been repaired. The liver can regenerate really well. Good chance of a full recovery. But all Danny saw was the blood, all he heard was Steve's voice, gasping out his name, trying to tell him something or ask him something.

Chin had called while he was waiting for the surgeons to try to save the life of his best friend, his brother. Chin told him that he and Lou had followed the blood trail back from where they had found Steve sitting with his back to the wall and the light fading from his eyes. They had found the room where Steve had been held. Newman's body had been there, neck broken. The bloody knife was still in his hand. He must have stabbed Steve as Steve fought him, fought desperately to escape.

Newman had Steve for twelve hours. Twelve hours during which he had beaten him, broken his arm and six of his ribs with a hammer.

They had been searching, frantic, when Danny's phone had rung, when he'd heard Steve's voice as Steve tried to say his name, over and over.

Danny's breath hitched. His mind was filled was horrific, disjointed memories. Memories of that weak voice, of his first sight of Steve's crumpled body when they had found him. Of the blood. So much blood. Of Steve's lips moving, trying to speak to him. And Danny was sure, so sure, he was trying to say 'I'm sorry.'

Danny squeezed his eyes shut, tried to blank out the memories. A tear leaked out, ran down his cheek.

"Detective Williams? You can come sit with him now if you like?"

The nurse's soft voice made him jump. He swiped at his eyes angrily and got up to follow her, head down.

The room was dimly lit but Danny could see every minute detail like it was under a freaking spotlight. Steve's pale face, his strong body rendered defenceless and still. The machines sustaining his life. The mechanical hiss of the ventilator was like fingernails down a chalkboard.

The room seemed to close in on Danny. It was all too much. He wanted to run. He froze, sucked in great breaths but the panic was building.

Then strangers' hands were on him, pushing him into the chair, pushing his head down between his legs, their calm voices telling him to slow his breathing, calm down. But how the hell was he meant to calm down when all he could see was Steve and the blood and the dying light in his eyes?

But he did as he was told, followed the directions of the strangers' voices until the pulsing red mist in his mind started to dissipate, until he could plaster a thin façade of calm over the terror he truly felt. Then pushed them away, told them to leave him.

He stayed. He sat down beside Steve and he stayed because he had to. He needed to. He was too scared to leave him, too scared he was going to lose him. He was just plain scared.

…..

Steve could hear Danny's voice but he didn't know where his partner was. He sounded so far away. He sounded scared. Steve tried to make out his Danny's words but they seemed garbled and confused. Steve wanted to help him, wanted to tell him he was on his way to save him, tell him everything was going to be okay.

He frowned, tried to understand where he was and what was happening. Everything felt numb, yet everything hurt at the same time.

He opened his eyes, blinked hard against the light. For long moments all he could see were blurred shapes, his vision as confused as his mind. Then he saw Danny. His partner was seated beside him, head bowed. His lips were moving, carrying on some one-sided conversation that was simply too rapid for Steve to grasp. Steve's gaze dropped to his own hand. Danny was holding it, the pressure of his grasp light, almost apologetic.

Danny was here, with him. Safe. He exhaled softly in utter relief, then searched out Danny's face again, studied him closely. He realized that Danny might be safe, but all was far from right. He clearly hadn't shaved for days, hadn't styled his hair, hadn't changed his clothes. And his expression- he looked scared and so, so sad. Lost. Steve had to fix it, had to make him better somehow.

Concentrating hard, fighting the distancing numbness in his mind, Steve managed to tighten his fingers around Danny's lax hand by the tiniest amount.

Danny looked up in astonishment, met his eyes.

"S'ok." Steve croaked out the attempt at comfort, grimacing at the way the word sounded. A poor effort.

But Danny's face transformed. His lips trembled, yet twisted slowly into an unmistakeable smile. The sadness seemed to fall away.

Steve stared in surprise, trying to understand. Then Danny's mouth began to move again. Steve did his best to make out his partner's words. It was too hard. They were still a blur, still coming too fast, but Steve could hear relief in Danny's voice and suddenly that became all that mattered.

Steve sagged back. He listened to Danny. He had no idea how, but somehow his paltry attempt had achieved everything he had been striving for- the fear had gone from his partner's voice.

Steve closed his eyes, exhausted, his own fear for Danny slowly fading after what felt like a hundred years. The corners of his mouth turned up in a soft smile.

THE END