Hawaii Five-0 is property of CBS and its creators.

A/N: Inspired by darkmoore's A Gift(ed) for Christmas over on AO3, with a healthy helping from my own dragon verse.

Steve tossed and turned in his bunk, haunted by dreams—visions, really—of the upcoming mission. Gunfire. Running figures, falling, lifeless. A single shot. A funeral, the mourners decked in uniforms. A salute. A flag. Deep, debilitating sadness.

There was more though: a garage—his father's Steve thought. A voice, yelling at him to freeze. More gunfire, more falling bodies, but on a ship this time, which was strange, because this mission was nowhere near the water.

And, most prominent of all, a face. It was obscured, but Steve could tell it was male, saw a shock of blond hair. Then, the face turned towards him. It was still in shadow, but a pair of the bluest eyes Steve had ever seen locked with his. Steve didn't know what it meant, but he knew it was important.

By morning, the images had faded, leaving just a deep sense of foreboding. Steve hated these feelings. He knew that some anxiety before a mission was normal, but this was something more. Steve always knew, knew when a mission was going to go south. He'd wake up with dread in his stomach, his movements sluggish, mechanical, everything playing out as if in a dream, his dream. And he was always right. He got good feelings, too, knew when a mission was going to go well, but unfortunately, those were fewer and far between.

And yet, despite his misgivings, even stronger and more intense than usual, Steve felt like there was something more, like this was the darkness just before the dawn, like one door was going to close but another was going to open. Maybe he should lay off the metaphors. Still, Steve felt like good things were ahead, if he could only survive long enough to get there.

Steve kept his feelings to himself on the way to the drop zone, not wanting to burden Freddy. He forced himself to laugh and joke with his friend, congratulating Freddy on his marriage to Kelly and the impending birth of their child. Steve tried hard not to let on that he was sure one or both of them was not going to survive the mission.

That didn't keep Steve from watching in horror as Freddy was gunned down. Steve ran to his friend, trying desperately to get Freddy to safety. Even as Freddy begged him to complete the mission, Steve was torn between getting Hesse out of there and trying to save Freddy. Steve knew it was hopeless though, knew because of his vision, not just his trained analytical mind telling him Freddy couldn't survive such injuries. Finally, he left Freddy behind, escaping with his prisoner—and his life.

Freddy's loss nearly paralyzed Steve. He knew he should be happy—he had completed the mission, and Hesse was going where he belonged, but he mourned the loss of his friend. Steve had lost comrades before, but never one as close to him as Freddy. Steve didn't think he'd ever be the same. And he couldn't shake the feeling that things weren't over yet.

His brooding was interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone. The number was his father's, but Steve dreaded picking it up. He knew with certainty that it was not good news. The other shoe was about to drop.

The next events happened in a blur—Victor Hesse's voice, his father's, the ambush, Anton Hesse running and falling, Steve watching in horror, grabbing for him but knowing he was dead. What played out before his eyes was interspersed with flashes from his dream, blending visions and reality until Steve wasn't sure which was which.

Then, a single gunshot echoed in his ear and in his mind, and Steve came back to himself just in time to hear Victor's voice. The realization of what happened hit Steve in his gut. His father was dead.

Grief and a need for revenge, for his father and for Freddy, overrode everything else. Steve forgot his feeling of impending change, change for the better, and focused on the here and now. He had to get Hesse, had to untangle the clues his father had left.

The clues led Steve to his father's toolbox, led him to break into an active crime scene (it was his house now, he rationalized; he had a right), led him to grab the toolbox and turn to leave, just as a voice echoed in the garage. "Freeze!"

Steve turned and saw a figure in the shadows, a stranger, but somehow familiar. The figure was male, and Steve could just discern a shock of blond hair. Then, the figure stepped into view, and a pair of the bluest eyes Steve had ever seen locked with his. Steve had a sense of déjà vu. He'd seen those eyes before, even though he'd never met the man. Then it hit him. This was it. This was what he was waiting for. This was his future.

Danny Williams was his future.

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A/N: This was _not_ what I was intending to write. I wanted a break from my series, but I wanted some good old fashioned slash. This was not what I had in mind. But the idea grabbed me and wouldn't let go, so here you go. Yummy slashy slash may follow separately. . .