Work Text:
Steve can't seem to focus. It's not something that happens often, but even as he re-reads the paragraph, nothing is sinking in. He's been looking forward to looking through the old case file, but his mind is not cooperating. He just can't focus.
No.
Scratch that.
He can focus. It's just that, for whatever reason, his brain is stuck on this idea that something's wrong with Danny. There's nothing that would suggest there is. Their friendship and partnership are stronger than ever and while things at work have been a little rough, Danny's still being his usual self. Which is why Steve's confused as to why his mind keeps wandering into dark thoughts about his partner downing a bunch of pills or swallowing his service weapon.
Intellectually, he knows that Danny would never hurt himself, that he would never do anything that could, in any way, hurt his little girl. But simply knowing that doesn't assuage the worry gnawing at Steve's brain. It does nothing to stop that low, dull alarm that something isn't right. He puts the file back into the box, pulls on his shoes and grabs his keys.
Danny's place is dark, the Camaro's parked out front, and for a moment Steve wonders if he's even home.
He heads in, unlocking the door and turning on the lights. Danny's shoes are at the door, so it's likely he's just gone to bed early. He can always apologize if he's wrong, but Steve hadn't driven this far too not check on Danny. The bedroom door is open, but Danny's not on the bed. Steve can see the top of his head lying on the floor. Flicking on the bedside lamp, he looks over at his friend.
Danny's not hurt, not physically at least. There's no blood or obvious injuries and he pulls his head back from his knees to blink at the sudden change in lighting. Steve kneels on the floor next to him, his hand on Danny's shoulder.
"Danny? You ok?"
It's a stupid question. He knows it's a stupid question, but the sight of Danny - strong, opinionated, vocal Danny - curled up in a ball of misery has him panicking a little.
"No." Danny answers back, his voice flat and dull.
"What do you need?" He asks. He can do this, he's good at helping, but he's not sure where to start. Danny's shoulder shrugs under his hand before he tucks his head back against his knees and Steve is just... lost.
Danny's always been more aware of the emotional stuff, knows how to talk to people, get them to open up. Steve's no slouch on that front either, but Danny's not some suspect they need to question or some terrorist to be interrogated. No, Danny's just... quiet. Too quiet. And Steve has no roadmap on how to make this better.
He shifts, pulling his phone from his pocket. He opens the browser and searches his bookmarks. He knows it's here somewhere.
When his therapist had first recommended it, Steve had felt a bit insulted. He's an adult dammit, not some toddler who needed to learn that he was cranky because he needed his nap time. But, with use, he had found it helpful for figuring out his own mood at times. He pulls up the site, the familiar little poop emoji smiling at him, before settled back next to Danny. His thumb idly rubs back and forth on Danny's shoulder as he taps the link for the first question - "Have you eaten in the last four hours?"
He doubts Danny's even moved for a while, so he has his first objective.
Well, second.
The floor's hard under his knees so he can only imagine how Danny feels after lying here for who knows how long. He pockets the phone and pulls Danny upright, getting the man sitting before gently helping him straighten out, Danny's knees popped loudly in the silence.
It takes a moment, but Danny accepts his help, and Steve helps pull Danny up to sit on the edge of the bed.
He doubts Danny will want a large meal, so Steve heads to the kitchen, raiding the fridge and cupboards for something quick and light. He quickly assembles the PB&J sandwich and grabs a glass of milk before returning to the bedroom. The sugar and protein will do him some good.
Danny's barely moved, seated further back onto the mattress from where Steve left him. He puts the glass down on the bedside table before handing the sandwich to Danny. There's no snark, no argument, Danny just eats quietly, before drinking the glass of milk.
Steve takes the dishes, placing them in the sink. He grabs his phone and clicks through the next few questions.
Medications? Not that he's aware of.
Hydration? Just covered that.
Sleep? Hmm. That's probably what he'll need next, but Steve's curious what the next suggestion would be.
Pain? He'll have to ask.
Uncomfortable environment? He glances around. The place isn't immaculate, but it's tidy.
The emotional stuff will have to wait until Danny feels up to talking again, so he turns the screen off, slips the phone in his pocket before returning to the bedroom.
He sits himself down near the center of the bed, next to Danny as he lays on top of the covers. He looks exhausted.
"Anything hurt?" Steve asks, settling closer.
"No."
"Not too hot? Cold?" Steve pesters.
Danny barely moves, shaking his head slightly as he closes his eyes.
Steve could probably leave Danny to get some rest, tuck him into bed and head back home. Probably should.
Danny will probably be ok.
Danny's always been ok before.
He's survived perfectly fine before Steve forced his way into his life.
He doesn't need Steve.
But that's the thing. Unneeded and unwanted are two different things. Since his mother's death, Steve knows he doesn't need someone to care for him. That doesn't mean he hasn't wanted it.
So maybe it's his own selfish desire to be wanted, to be the source of someone's comfort, that has him lying down next to his exhausted friend.
Danny shifts closer as Steve pulls him over, resting on Steve's chest, one of his hands coming to rest across Steve's abdomen as he settles. Steve tucks one hand behind Danny's back, the other resting on his own stomach.
"Rest Danny." Steve says quietly, feeling Danny's body relax against him.
His own body relaxes, the anxious thoughts finally at peace.
He's never known Danny to collapse like this, but if he needs to, Steve feels that they can tackle it together.