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No. He was the brother, not WoFat. He was Mary’s brother. No one else.
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Danny had seen him, of course, in the basement. Had seen the bruises, already forming, could still smell the burned flesh . . . but somehow, this was worse. This, Steve bloodied, bruised, burned . . . nothing filtered or obscured by grime and sweat . . . the injuries standing out in even starker contrast on his clean skin, the bruises even darker, now.
“Danny.” Steve’s voice was just a whisper, and Danny startled. He hadn’t meant to stare, to --
“Danny, I’m okay.”
Anger boiled and bubbled over.
“The hell you are,” Danny said, his voice cracking. “This is not okay, Steven. I want to kill WoFat all over again, with my bare hands, slowly. And that -- that woman, too.”
“I’ll be okay,” Steve amended. He rested his hand on Danny’s shoulder.
Danny looked up at him -- why was Steve offering him comfort? It was ridiculous.
“I’ll be okay, Danny,” Steve repeated earnestly, and Danny realized that all of his emotions, his anger, his worry, were displayed there for Steve to see. As usual.