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kat_lair***
Title: it's not the song, it is the singing
Author:kat_lair
Fandom: Hawaii Five-0
Pairing: Danny/Steve
Tags: Alternate Universe - Creatures and Monsters, Sirens
Rating: T
Word count: 1,345
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Summary: “Cover your ears,” Danny says.
Author notes: Spooktober 2023, Day 18/31. Prompt/theme: sirens. Title is from Hozier's Nine Cried Power which is a song on a much more profound and important theme than this silly little fic and absolutely deserves better than to be blundered for a title. Go listen and learn about the people featured on the vid.
it's not the song, it is the singing on AO3
“Cover your ears,” Danny says.
Steve stares at him, uncomprehending, barely able to hear anything as it is with the constant whine and crack of bullets hitting the boat, the muted splash of them hitting the water around it.
Danny huffs, tossing his gun to the side, all put ripping Steve’s from his grip before doing the same to it. They’re out of ammo and pretty soon the men shooting at them will realise that too.
“Cover. Your. Ears,” Danny repeats, serious and urgent. He takes Steve’s hands in his and presses them over Steve’s ears. “Please.”
They’ve been after the group of human traffickers for weeks, finally tracking them down to one of the more remote islands. They’d left Kono and Chin to deal with the victims and the perps smart enough to surrender when Five-0 and a group HPD’s finest had descended on them, while he and Danny had chased after the core leadership trying to escape. There was nowhere to run, or so they’d thought, but after half an hour in the jungle, they’d found a private harbour, the gang members already making their getaway on a luxury yacht waiting there.
Luckily, there had been a smaller motorboat too and Steve’s reckless driving had allowed them to manoeuvre around the bigger vessel, effectively blocking the narrow exit out of the small bay. Except, the effectiveness of their move lasted only as long as their ammo did. He and Danny only had their service weapons and one spare clip each. The perps probably had grates of illegal firearms in their boat, as the shooting never seems to slow down.
In summary, things are not looking good. The sides of the boat offer scant cover, even with the two of them crouched as low as they can, and Steve doesn’t see any easy way out. Probably, at this point, their best bet is to hope that the criminals value a swift escape more than pausing to put a bullet in two law enforcement agents, but frankly? The odds aren’t great.
However, Danny, somehow, seems to have a plan. His hands are still cupped over Steve’s own, covering his ears but not so tightly yet that Steve can’t hear what he’s saying.
“Okay, just… I can get us out of this.”
Steve nods. “Right. What…?”
“It’ll be…Unorthodox.” Danny shrugs. “And in a different way than your own brand of frequent out of box thinking tends to be.” Whatever Danny’s planning he doesn’t look happy about it, his shoulders high, his eyes not quite meeting Steve’s as if he’s afraid he’ll find anything but acceptance there.
Steve still doesn’t understand what’s happening, but he doesn’t have to. He trusts Danny.
There’s a sharp plink as another bullet hits close, ricocheting off the motor, and they’re out of time for explanations or reassurances.
“Fuck!” Danny curses. Then he presses Steve’s fingers against his ears hard, the message clear, and crabwalks to the end of the boat nearest to the gang’s yacht.
Steve doesn’t know what he expects to happen but for a long moment nothing does. Danny simply sits there, his face tilted up, eyes half-closed.
After a while, Steve notices that the rain of bullets slows down. Then, gradually, it stops. Danny shifts, rising to his knees, his head now well above the side of the boat. The new angle makes it easier for Steve to see the stretch of Danny’s throat, as distracting as always, but taut with tension now, tendons standing out. It takes him a few seconds until he realises why.
Danny is humming.
Steve can’t hear it but, somehow, he can feel it, the hairs on his arms standing up, the air growing heavy and still. Cautiously, he gets up, first to his knees and then, when Danny stands up, he does too.
It is as if they are suddenly in the middle of a painting, the blue of the water deeper, the sky slate grey. There is no wind, no waves, the sea around them smooth as a mirror. Some animal part of Steve recoils, instinct telling him that even though no one is shooting at them anymore, the danger has only increased. He glances over at the yacht, and sees the men standing by the railing, some hanging over it, their guns forgotten.
And then Danny starts singing.
Steve knows it before he sees Danny’s lips moving, shaping slowly around words he’s sure are not English or any human tongue at all. It resonates in his chest, in his bones, until his ribcage vibrates with it, until the urge to pull his fingers out of his ears is as strong as the urge to press them in tighter. His heart knows what this is, what Danny is, before his mind accepts it so when Danny steps over the side of the boat, gracefully lowering himself into the water, Steve doesn’t try to stop him.
Danny keeps singing, mouth opening to reveal teeth that are no longer blunt, not longer human, his eyes like white marble throughout, no iris. One by one, the gang members are jumping into water, starting to swim toward them. Steve’s hands itch for his gun, useless as that would be, and not even needed. The men are not attacking, ignoring him entirely, crowding around Danny but not touching, much to Steve’s relief. They are entranced, forgetting to kick water to keep afloat, starting to dip under.
For a heart-stopping moment Steve thinks this will end like all the myths warn, and he’ll have to explain why the whole leadership of the trafficking gang had mysteriously drowned with their escape yacht and pile of guns right there in pristine condition. But then Danny grabs one of the guys and unceremoniously hauls him onto the boat. The skin under his now sodden shirt glistens pale green, and Steve knows Danny is strong but this – him lifting all five men from the water like they weigh nothing – is more than a just a good gym routine.
Steve scrambles back, placing a boot over one of the guys’ necks, mostly just to feel like he’s contributing somehow. Everything else would need his hands and he doesn’t think Danny would ever forgive him, or let him live it down, if he had to stop Steve from drowning too.
Danny pulls himself back onto the boat and there’s no pretending that the changes in him are a trick of imagination, not when he’s close enough to touch, zip-tying the perps and still singing, his mouth like a shark’s, the space between his fingers visibly webbed.
Once the gang members are secured, Danny stops singing. The stillness that had gripped the world around them fades away and gradually Steve becomes aware of the waves once more rocking the boat, the sunlight starting to filter through the clouds. Danny comes over, slowly, like he’s expecting Steve to scramble away. When he doesn’t, Danny taps Steve’s hands, indicating it’s safe for him to remove them from his ears.
He hears the wind first, then the creaking of the boat, the distant cries of birds swooping around, the low moans of their prisoners starting to come around. And then there’s Danny, his skin pink again, his eyes the familiar blue.
“Steve?” The look he gives him is two parts apprehensive and one part defensive. “You, uh… You okay?”
Steve looks at the pile of bad guys at the bottom of their boat, the shore that is starting to fill up with their back-up who have finally caught up, and his partner who is, apparently, a siren.
“I’m great,” he says, smiling. He’s not lying even a little bit. “So, now that the case is over… I was wondering if you’re free tonight?” Steve wiggles his eyebrows. “I’m thinking karaoke with the team.”
Danny stares at him for a few seconds, gobsmacked, and then completely loses it, his laughter loud and full of relief, sweeping Steve along easily. Today changes nothing. After all, Steve knows he was ensnared and caught already, no magic necessary.
Just Danny.
***
Title: it's not the song, it is the singing
Author:
kat_lair Fandom: Hawaii Five-0
Pairing: Danny/Steve
Tags: Alternate Universe - Creatures and Monsters, Sirens
Rating: T
Word count: 1,345
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Summary: “Cover your ears,” Danny says.
Author notes: Spooktober 2023, Day 18/31. Prompt/theme: sirens. Title is from Hozier's Nine Cried Power which is a song on a much more profound and important theme than this silly little fic and absolutely deserves better than to be blundered for a title. Go listen and learn about the people featured on the vid.
it's not the song, it is the singing on AO3
“Cover your ears,” Danny says.
Steve stares at him, uncomprehending, barely able to hear anything as it is with the constant whine and crack of bullets hitting the boat, the muted splash of them hitting the water around it.
Danny huffs, tossing his gun to the side, all put ripping Steve’s from his grip before doing the same to it. They’re out of ammo and pretty soon the men shooting at them will realise that too.
“Cover. Your. Ears,” Danny repeats, serious and urgent. He takes Steve’s hands in his and presses them over Steve’s ears. “Please.”
They’ve been after the group of human traffickers for weeks, finally tracking them down to one of the more remote islands. They’d left Kono and Chin to deal with the victims and the perps smart enough to surrender when Five-0 and a group HPD’s finest had descended on them, while he and Danny had chased after the core leadership trying to escape. There was nowhere to run, or so they’d thought, but after half an hour in the jungle, they’d found a private harbour, the gang members already making their getaway on a luxury yacht waiting there.
Luckily, there had been a smaller motorboat too and Steve’s reckless driving had allowed them to manoeuvre around the bigger vessel, effectively blocking the narrow exit out of the small bay. Except, the effectiveness of their move lasted only as long as their ammo did. He and Danny only had their service weapons and one spare clip each. The perps probably had grates of illegal firearms in their boat, as the shooting never seems to slow down.
In summary, things are not looking good. The sides of the boat offer scant cover, even with the two of them crouched as low as they can, and Steve doesn’t see any easy way out. Probably, at this point, their best bet is to hope that the criminals value a swift escape more than pausing to put a bullet in two law enforcement agents, but frankly? The odds aren’t great.
However, Danny, somehow, seems to have a plan. His hands are still cupped over Steve’s own, covering his ears but not so tightly yet that Steve can’t hear what he’s saying.
“Okay, just… I can get us out of this.”
Steve nods. “Right. What…?”
“It’ll be…Unorthodox.” Danny shrugs. “And in a different way than your own brand of frequent out of box thinking tends to be.” Whatever Danny’s planning he doesn’t look happy about it, his shoulders high, his eyes not quite meeting Steve’s as if he’s afraid he’ll find anything but acceptance there.
Steve still doesn’t understand what’s happening, but he doesn’t have to. He trusts Danny.
There’s a sharp plink as another bullet hits close, ricocheting off the motor, and they’re out of time for explanations or reassurances.
“Fuck!” Danny curses. Then he presses Steve’s fingers against his ears hard, the message clear, and crabwalks to the end of the boat nearest to the gang’s yacht.
Steve doesn’t know what he expects to happen but for a long moment nothing does. Danny simply sits there, his face tilted up, eyes half-closed.
After a while, Steve notices that the rain of bullets slows down. Then, gradually, it stops. Danny shifts, rising to his knees, his head now well above the side of the boat. The new angle makes it easier for Steve to see the stretch of Danny’s throat, as distracting as always, but taut with tension now, tendons standing out. It takes him a few seconds until he realises why.
Danny is humming.
Steve can’t hear it but, somehow, he can feel it, the hairs on his arms standing up, the air growing heavy and still. Cautiously, he gets up, first to his knees and then, when Danny stands up, he does too.
It is as if they are suddenly in the middle of a painting, the blue of the water deeper, the sky slate grey. There is no wind, no waves, the sea around them smooth as a mirror. Some animal part of Steve recoils, instinct telling him that even though no one is shooting at them anymore, the danger has only increased. He glances over at the yacht, and sees the men standing by the railing, some hanging over it, their guns forgotten.
And then Danny starts singing.
Steve knows it before he sees Danny’s lips moving, shaping slowly around words he’s sure are not English or any human tongue at all. It resonates in his chest, in his bones, until his ribcage vibrates with it, until the urge to pull his fingers out of his ears is as strong as the urge to press them in tighter. His heart knows what this is, what Danny is, before his mind accepts it so when Danny steps over the side of the boat, gracefully lowering himself into the water, Steve doesn’t try to stop him.
Danny keeps singing, mouth opening to reveal teeth that are no longer blunt, not longer human, his eyes like white marble throughout, no iris. One by one, the gang members are jumping into water, starting to swim toward them. Steve’s hands itch for his gun, useless as that would be, and not even needed. The men are not attacking, ignoring him entirely, crowding around Danny but not touching, much to Steve’s relief. They are entranced, forgetting to kick water to keep afloat, starting to dip under.
For a heart-stopping moment Steve thinks this will end like all the myths warn, and he’ll have to explain why the whole leadership of the trafficking gang had mysteriously drowned with their escape yacht and pile of guns right there in pristine condition. But then Danny grabs one of the guys and unceremoniously hauls him onto the boat. The skin under his now sodden shirt glistens pale green, and Steve knows Danny is strong but this – him lifting all five men from the water like they weigh nothing – is more than a just a good gym routine.
Steve scrambles back, placing a boot over one of the guys’ necks, mostly just to feel like he’s contributing somehow. Everything else would need his hands and he doesn’t think Danny would ever forgive him, or let him live it down, if he had to stop Steve from drowning too.
Danny pulls himself back onto the boat and there’s no pretending that the changes in him are a trick of imagination, not when he’s close enough to touch, zip-tying the perps and still singing, his mouth like a shark’s, the space between his fingers visibly webbed.
Once the gang members are secured, Danny stops singing. The stillness that had gripped the world around them fades away and gradually Steve becomes aware of the waves once more rocking the boat, the sunlight starting to filter through the clouds. Danny comes over, slowly, like he’s expecting Steve to scramble away. When he doesn’t, Danny taps Steve’s hands, indicating it’s safe for him to remove them from his ears.
He hears the wind first, then the creaking of the boat, the distant cries of birds swooping around, the low moans of their prisoners starting to come around. And then there’s Danny, his skin pink again, his eyes the familiar blue.
“Steve?” The look he gives him is two parts apprehensive and one part defensive. “You, uh… You okay?”
Steve looks at the pile of bad guys at the bottom of their boat, the shore that is starting to fill up with their back-up who have finally caught up, and his partner who is, apparently, a siren.
“I’m great,” he says, smiling. He’s not lying even a little bit. “So, now that the case is over… I was wondering if you’re free tonight?” Steve wiggles his eyebrows. “I’m thinking karaoke with the team.”
Danny stares at him for a few seconds, gobsmacked, and then completely loses it, his laughter loud and full of relief, sweeping Steve along easily. Today changes nothing. After all, Steve knows he was ensnared and caught already, no magic necessary.
Just Danny.
***
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