Title: These Things That Go Bump in the Night
Fandom: Hawaii Five-0
Pairing: Steve/Danno
Beta: samjohnsson (who made anything good, great, and anything great, awesome) and amycoolz (who boosted my ego and confidence like woah)
Summary: It's the end. Or the beginning. Or… f*ck, Danny doesn't know. What he *does* know is that people are trying to *eat* him and he feels totally justified in reasoning that to take some sort of top priority.
Author's note: I'd tell you I'm sorry but then I'd be lying, which, you know, is bad and uh… stuff. My only regret, is that I missed Halloween. Also, timeline wise this takes place before episode 1x06.

Disclaimer: If I owned Hawaii Five-0, you'd never see any Hawaii Five-0 fanfiction by me on the internet. Probably.

Mayhem. Absolute mayhem. That's what Danny Williams wakes to on Sunday, October 14 but he doesn't know it, not right away.

It's three in the morning when he jerks awake, his phone ringing obnoxiously loud on the bedside table. Blindly, he gropes at the varnished oak surface, lifting and patting until his flesh hits the cool plastic of his cell. Squinting at the screen, he'd like to say he's surprised when it reads Steve McGarrett but then… well then, he'd be lying. He hits "ignore" because it's three in the fucking morning on a Sunday and rolls over, phone still in hand.

He's just starting to drift back into his blissfully McGarrett free dreams when the phone predictably rings again.

"God dammit," he grumbles into his pillow. He considers throwing the offending object across the room but he needs his phone so that would be a bad idea. Also, that won't actually stop the ringing. "Dammit," he repeats because if his brain cells are functioning enough to recognize these facts, he's way too awake. He sighs and goes with plan B—he stuffs the phone under his pillow and prays he can sleep through the muffled sounds. It takes a few minutes, but eventually the noise stops. His relief at this is short lived however, because it starts up again soon after.

Growling, he grabs the damn thing and jabs at the "answer" button. "What," he greets irritably.

"Danno!" Steve shouts. Danny frowns and pulls the phone away from his ear. "Danno," Steve says again, quieter. "Where are you?"

"What do you mean 'where am I?'" Danny replies concernedly as he sits up because- and it's probably his sleep deprived brain misinterpreting something here but nonetheless- Steve sounds worried and more than a little frantic. "I'm at home. It's three in the fucking morning you ass and we have work tomorrow, meaning I should sleep now because I've got another five adrenaline filled days before the next chance. Where else would I be?"

"'Home?' What the hell are you—no, that doesn't matter. Danno, listen to me- stay where you are. Do you understand me? Just stay there. I'll be there as soon as I-"

"'Stay?' What do you mean stay? What am I, a dog? Just what the hell is going—wait," Danny says when something catches his attention. "Look, can I call you back? I think… I think there's someone outside of my door."

"'Someone outside of your door'…? Danno, don't open it!" Steve yells and Danny has had just about enough of this.

"Steve, it is three in the morning, you're shouting, and there's someone outside," he replies, then frowns. "Actually, I think I hear… moaning? Steve, I think there might be some kind of emergency going on…"

"Danno, just listen to me-"

"No, you listen. So far you've done a stunning job of not telling me what the hell is going on, which, hey, let's face it- between us, that's pretty status quo. In any case, I'm getting pretty fucking sick of it because we are partners and partners tell each other things so I'm just going to go see what this person needs and then call you back. While that is going on I suggest you utilize the time to come up with a damn good explanation before just ordering me around because, did I mention? It's three in the fucking morning." With a huff, Danny ends the call and tosses the phone aside, grunting as he uses his cane to lever himself up towards the door.

Elsewhere, Steve is staring at his phone, willing the sound of the dial tone to be replaced by Danny's voice and thinking shit, shit, shit.

The person—a woman, from what Danny can tell, but then, it's pretty dark—has moved from just outside his door to his front yard. Her back is to Danny and she's moaning, which is a pretty good indicator that something's wrong, but he can't tell where she's been hurt.

"Ma'am?" he questions softly. No answer. "Ma'am, my name is Danny Williams. I'm a detective. Are you in need of any assistance?" There's still no answer but the moaning stops temporarily and he can tell she's begun to shuffle towards him. "That's right," he encourages soothingly, "just step towards me-" Danny stops talking abruptly. The woman (and it is a woman if the floral print skirt and long hair are anything to go by,) has stepped into a patch of moonlight and God, Danny thinks, this is bad.

There's blood running down the front of her shirt— and Danny is not a paramedic but he's pretty sure there shouldn't be that much blood outside of her body— and sweet Jesus, are those bite marks on her arms? Her skin is so pale—it's the light Danny tells himself, it has to be because nothing human is that chalky white—and her eyes are just... God, they're unfocused and blank and is it just him or do they look cloudy?

A corpse, he'll tell Steve later. She looked like a walking corpse. Really, Steve will reply dryly. Can't imagine why.

She's moaning again, arms outstretched towards him as she nears. "Ma'am," he says calmly, like he's trained to be in these kinds of situations. "This looks serious; I really don't think you should be moving." She doesn't listen and just continues her unsteady walk towards him, pace picking up the closer she gets. "…Or you could just keep coming towards me and strain yourself unnecessarily, which, by the way is just increasing your likelihood of internal damage and, you know, death." She doesn't stop. Danny sighs and rubs his forehead. "Alright, ma'am, you are clearly prepared to do your own thing here and, hopefully, to deal with the consequences of your actions. You're a US citizen, so that's your right. But, because I'm a decent human being, I'm just going to go ahead and call emergency services anyway. Just in case."

He goes back inside- to pick up the phone from where he'd tossed it- leaving the front door wide open. The phone screen reads 2 new voicemails but he ignores them in favour of dialling 9-1-1. He gets the busy tone. "What the…?" He hangs up and then redials. Same thing. "Maybe the lines are down?" There's a moan and when he looks up, the woman's silhouette is standing in the door frame.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes, apparently unperturbed. "I think there must be something going on—I can't contact the emergency services. It looks like I'll have to drive you— woah!" he yells when she suddenly lunges at him. She latches onto his left arm—cold, he thinks, her hands are cold- and brings it to her mouth. Quickly, Danny breaks her hold and shoves her back roughly because excessive force or no, she just tried to bite him. She stumbles back but is undeterred—she comes at him again.

"Ma'am," he tries, "I think you may be confused or possibly in a state of mind where you're having difficulty differentiating between friend and foe or maybe even mentally deranged but I need you to stop." She doesn't. "Oh, boy," Danny says and sidesteps. The woman's momentum carries her past him and she crashes rather forcefully into his wall. She crumples and stills.

Wincing, he approaches hesitantly. "Ma'am?" he asks, nudging her prone form with the rubber end of his cane. No response. Worried, he crouches next to her, fingers enclosing around her wrist as he searches for a pulse. ('Cold,' he thinks again, 'why is her skin so fucking cold?') He panics when he doesn't find one. "Ma'am!" he repeats, pressing his index and middle fingers to her neck. Nothing. "Shit."

He sits with his back against his fold out couch and wonders what the hell just happened. "Okay Danno, let's recap. Steve called with his panties in a bunch, there was a severely injured civilian woman who attacked you and is now lying dead in your apartment due to unknown—holy fuck!" Dead people, Danny knows, do not move. He knows this. So then why, he wonders, is there a dead woman crawling towards him?

She pounces on him and thank God for his reflexes because his hands on her shoulders are the only things preventing her from chewing on his face. "Woah, woah, woah!" he shouts as she snarls and bites the air in front of him. He pushes at her but he can't get the force he needs to shove her off from the way he's sitting. When she turns her head, he thinks he might feel the scrape of teeth against his skin as he pulls his arm away and punches her in the face. Scrambling, he manages to get his feet beneath him and he dives for the handgun he slipped into the bedside table drawer the night before. Behind him, the woman is climbing to her feet.

"Ma'am, if you do not desist your actions right this minute I'll have to resort to taking violent action," Danny warns and Jesus, is he trying to reason with a dead person? He turns off the safety when the woman continues towards him doggedly. The first shot hits her in the leg and oh dear Lord all she does is stagger before carrying on as if nothing happened. His second shot is to her chest, the bullet tearing into her heart and dropping her like a stone.

"Crap," he says, sinking onto the couch. His adrenaline is pumping and the sound of his heart roars in his ears. "What the hell was that?"

Then there's a groan to his right and he watches disbelievingly as the supposedly dead woman drags herself towards him, leaving a bloody streak on the floor behind her.

"Well," Danny tells no one in particular, bringing his pistol back up. "Fuck."

And then he shoots her in the head.

Cruise ship crashes into Waimea Bay
Honolulu Tribute, October 11, 2010

HONOLULU—A group of locals got quite the scare this morning when a Hornblower cruise ship drove itself right onto the shore of Waimea Bay. Furthermore, the hybrid ship, a model introduced into continuous service in 2009, held the corpses of at least 110 passengers, all speculated to be civilians. Names are to be released at a later date once the bodies have been identified.

There is no known time of death for the passengers as well as no suspected cause. The ship, which has been estimated to have been sailing for approximately nine days, has passengers which indicate a time of death as far back as eight days ago in addition to passengers which could not have died more than an hour ago.

Disturbingly, there were about 40 people, while in a less decomposed state, which appeared to be partially eaten. The deceased status of all passengers combined with the bite marks found on the decayed, has led to the theory that a mass murder involving cannibalism took place. Investigators are bringing the corpses back to a laboratory in Honolulu in hopes that autopsies will help to identify the cause of death.

Even more peculiar was the ship's destination. Undoubtedly, the ship was headed to Hawaii though the reason why is an answer that will hopefully be revealed soon. Suspicions have been raised that this incident may be related to the sudden loss of communication from the mainland.

Honolulu mayor Louis Hekekia insists that the ship and the silence from the mainland are two mutually exclusive events. He assures that the unexpected quiet, which has continued for ten days and followed immediately after an alarming distress call, is most likely nothing more than an elaborate and uncalled for hoax in the name of the approaching Halloween holiday…

Zombies. Fucking zombies. Danny drops his head into his hands (after he'd firmly closed the front door because, damn it, he needed a moment where nothing was trying to eat him to sort this shit out) and moans out a sorrowful, "Seriously? Why is this my life?"

Don't get him wrong—he's not above freaking out. In fact, he's pretty sure the natural response is to freak out, just a little. But the thing is, with Danny at least, right behind that instinct to panic is ten years of keep calm and deep breaths, that's right: in, out, repeat and damn it Williams! If you want to know what's going on then you have to stop and look at the facts, man. You're a detective, right? So look at the facts that are keeping that instinct at bay.

So Danny breathes, deep breaths, steady and sure, in and out, and remembers that he told Steve once that this is all he has and he needs it. That he wants to do what he's good at and he wants to be reminded that he's good at what he does and that's true so zombie apocalypse be damned, this won't be enough to break him.

"Facts, Danny," he mumbles into his hands. "Let's start with those facts." He can't write them down because he doesn't dare turn on the lights and while the waning moonlight filtering in makes for some beautifully poetic sounding imagery its absolute hell on his eyesight. That's okay—mental lists will work just fine.

The Facts

- Steve called and he wanted to Danny to stay where he was. He may or may not have sounded frantic
- A civilian woman without a pulse tried to bite him
- She continued to attack even after a shot to her leg and more importantly, her heart
She stopped attacking/moving after he'd shot her in the head

Technically, there isn't any evidence to support his the-civilian-was-a-zombie hypothesis or his assumption that the zombie apocalypse managed to sneak up on him. Technically, there's a possibility that she had a pulse and he somehow missed it meaning there's actually a possibility that she wasn't dead when he shot at her those first two times. Technically, he doesn't know if she would've eaten him or not because that wasn't really something he'd been keen on finding out. Technically.

But then, Danny's also sure that he doesn't really care about those technicalities because no matter how he does the math he keeps coming up with seven. Which is bad. Seriously bad. Seven, after all, is the number that tops his Numbers that Should Never Be Messed With List because everybody knows that the fucker ate nine which makes it some sort of scary number cannibal. (Coincidentally, on his Top Ten Ways the World Might End List, seven is the one where he listed 'via zombie apocalypse'.)

The point is that there are, apparently, zombies or zombie-like creatures, which have invaded Honolulu.

Damn it all. This type of shit never happened back in Jersey. He was adding this to his "Reasons Why Jersey is, and Forever will be, Better than Hawaii" list.


Epidemic in Honolulu? Tips on preventing viruses
Aired October 12, 2010 – 07:00 HST


JAMES PALAKIKO, KITV ANCHOR: All right, thanks Kahele.

KAHELE ʻŌPŪNUI: Not a problem, James.

PALAKIKO: Alright, so the time is seven on the dot, and for those of you just joining us, we have Dr. Sabrina Keahi here to discuss the sudden onslaught of sniffles and fevers Honolulu appears to have been hit with.

Good morning Dr. Keahi.

SABRINA KEAHI, MD: Good morning James.

PALAKIKO: So what are your thoughts on this sudden epidemic?

KEAHI: Well James, it came unusually fast and hard but it looks like Honolulu's been hit with the inevitable cold and flu season. Nothing to worry about, I assure you. For this time of year, it's completely normal.

PALAKIKO: So what do we do to prevent this? If I'm feeling a little blue can I just go to the doctor's and get the usual "take two of these and call me in the morning" spiel or what?

KEAHI: Unfortunately it doesn't work like that. Both the common cold, a nuisance to all human kind, and the flu, which brings with it an entirely different league of headaches, are viruses. Because of this, they, quite unfortunately, can't be fought by regular anti-bacterial means. So instead, precautions should be taken to prevent getting them in the first place. Parents especially, should reinforce these means so that their little ghoul or gremlin won't be in bed for that special day of the year!

Wash your hands often. I simply cannot stress this enough. People touch things and that's totally fine but always remember that if you have to touch something- be it the door handle, a keyboard, or money—chances are that somebody else had to touch it too. You can't help the germs lingering on there but washing your hands will keep the viruses on them to a minimum.

PALAKIKO: Anything else?

KEAHI: Another thing is to avoid touching your face. Those germs you didn't bother washing off? Guess where they are now. No sense in encouraging infection by bringing bacteria closer to the areas where they can actually get inside your body.

Finally, try to maintain a healthy lifestyle. Eating and sleeping right as well as physical exercise keeps a healthy immune system. Your immune system will take care of the viruses that manage to slip into your body—provided you keep yours strong. In short, get your eight hours, drink a V8, run after your bus in the morning and you'll be good.

PALAKIKO: Well that seems easy enough.

KEAHI: I know right? Just remember that these are only preventative measures and it's still entirely possible for you to get sick. In fact, health clinics are reporting a sudden onslaught of people, starting from yesterday afternoon and continuing well into today, complaining of fever, chills, slight dementia, vomiting, and acute pain in the joints.

If you happen experience any of these symptoms please be sure to visit your local doctor.

PALAKIKO: I thought the cold and flu couldn't be countered with antibiotics?

KEAHI: They can't but your local doctor can likely prescribe or recommend something to help speed recovery such as an immune system booster or a mild sedative to ensure you get proper rest. For the flu, flu-shot vaccinations would be helpful, though if you're already showing symptoms they won't be of much use. If you're healthy though, and want to take preventative measures, you'll want to look into getting a shot.

PALAKIKO: Sounds good. Thanks for those tips doctor!

We'll take a break and when we get back, Kevin Hale will have the weather.

Steve told him to stay where he was. Danny is unsure if he'll actually be able to follow that command.

It's not that he's feeling particularly rebellious. He isn't. It's just that there is a very nicely composed list of reasons as to why he shouldn't stay here that's longer than the list of why he should.

Reasons to Leave

- There's a dead woman who tried to eat him in his apartment
- Danny was not fighting through the zombie apocalypse with just a pistol. Just… no
- He needed more information. Is this actually a zombie apocalypse or was he just lucky enough to be attacked by the one zombie on the entire freaking planet?
- There's a dead woman who tried to eat him in his apartment

Reasons to Stay

- Steve is coming to get him
- He can't drive well because of his stupid knee
- Walking to wherever and fighting off zombies is going to suck because of his stupid knee
- He doesn't know how many more zombies are out there
- If there are more, he'll probably need more than twelve more rounds and an extra magazine to fight them off

Okay so he lied. Turns out, the list of reasons as to why he shouldn't stay is shorter than he thought it would be.

Sighing, Danny edges a little to the left on the couch, putting a little more distance between him and the corpse.

'Steve better get here really fucking soon,' he thinks while he absently rubs at his knee.

NOT THE FLU—Honolulu struck by mysterious virus
Honolulu Tribute, October 13, 2010

HONOLULU—After being misdiagnosed as the regular flu, a mysterious virus has claimed its first victim in Louis Kalani, a twenty-three year old local who just days ago was present when a Hornblower cruise ship drove onto Waimea Bay shore with four others. According to family and friends he fell ill on the evening of October 11 with a fever, chills, and acute pain in the joints, symptoms not uncommon to the flu. However, eight hours later, the fever increased and Kalani experienced a loss of muscle coordination. By yesterday evening, he fell into a coma. Kalani passed away this morning.

The virus of unknown origin and function is currently the twenty-sixth such virus to be studied by the Centers for Disease Control. Following the standard naming process, where unknown viruses are tagged with an alphabetic code, scientists have named it the Z-virus. If you or anyone you know are experiencing any flu-like symptoms, officials ask that you report to your nearest hospital and prepare for quarantine until an accurate diagnosis can be determined…

Danny tenses when the doorknob rattles. 'Could be Steve,' his mind supplies helpfully. '…Or it could be a zombie. Can zombies open doors?' He stands as quietly as he can, pistol in one hand and eyes trained on the door. He's about to step towards it when the person (God, please let it be a living one this time) swings it open.

Standing in the doorway is none other than Steve McGarrett.

Thank God, thank God, thank God, thank God. "So you can open doors without blowing them up first," Danny greets with a relieved grin. For his part, Steve simply glances at Danny before stepping in silently and closing the door with a soft click. He doesn't turn around. "Steve? What's wrong? Oh God, you're actually a zombie aren't you. I didn't even think it could happen to you but… wait. Mother—this means they can open doo-"

"Danno," Steve interrupts, turning around.


"Please be quiet."

He can't help it. He really can't. The zombie apocalypse won't break Danny Williams if he has anything to say about it but if anyone asks, he certainly won't deny the relief and joy and contentment he'd experienced the minute Steve had stepped into his shithole apartment. It makes him comfortable enough that he doesn't hesitate to give a teasing whistle and a muttered, "And a good morning to you too, sunshine." Steve snorts and walks until he's right in front of Danny.

"Honolulu's been overrun by dead cannibals and you're concerned about my lack of social niceties?" Steve squints down at him. "And… is that a tie?"

"Honolulu's been overrun by dead cannibals and you're concerned about how I dress?" Danny counters.

"Crazy mainlander."

"Arrogant jackass."

"Sensitive bastard."

"Whiny bitch."

"I'm glad you're alright," Steve admits, patting Danny's shoulder awkwardly.

Danny rolls his eyes. He can feel the way Steve's hand is trembling through his shirt. Can tell that Steve's touches are lingering a little too long. Can hear all of the silent 'thank whatever deity still listening, you're still alive' messages that Steve isn't saying aloud because they're painted all over his face. "Emotionally constipated idiot."

"Wait a min-" Steve starts to say but gets cut off when Danny pulls him into a rough hug.

"I'm glad you're alright too, you insane fucker," he says into Steve's shirt. Hesitantly, Steve wraps his arms around Danny and when the other man doesn't pull away, tightens his hold, resting his chin on the top of Danny's head.

They stay like that, with only the front door of Danny's shitty apartment separating them from the broken moans and panicked screams and the rest of the burning world, until they can't afford to. Then, in a wayward effort to flip the zombie apocalypse the bird or maybe, just because they want to, they hold each other a little longer.

"So," Danny says eventually, after the moment's passed and Steve's stopped trembling minutely and Danny doesn't have to tell himself to just breathe.

"So," Steve repeats.

"I fucking hate zombies," Danny grumbles, scowling at the woman's corpse.

"Yeah?" Steve asks absently, poking her with the end of an aluminum bat he'd picked up God knows where. "Me too." A pause. "I told you not to open the door."

Danny turns his scowl on Steve. "Oh shut up. You could have said something about the whole zombie thing."

"Like what? 'Danno, this is going to sound a little bit crazy but there are dead people walking around trying to eat the non-dead ones. They're kind of succeeding.'"

Danny shrugs. "Sure."

"You would have believed that?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Danny levels him with an 'are you dumb?' look. "They're zombies, Steve. Who jokes about zombies?"

Steve blinks. "How the hell have you lived this long?"

"Dashing good looks, a biting intelligence, and just a pinch of luck," he replies automatically.

"No really," Steve says. "How have you lived this long?"

"Oh, fuck you," Danny frowns.

"Now's not the best time. Ask again when the world's not ending," Steve answers cheekily.

"I hate you," Danny says, dropping down onto the couch.

"Really?" Steve prods, sitting down right beside him.

"Well… no," he confesses. "But if I could…"

"You still wouldn't hate me. I'm too awesome for hating." Danny groans and drops his head onto Steve's shoulder.

"We need to get out of here," he mumbles into Steve's shirt sleeve.

"Yeah," Steve nods.

"You have a plan?" he asks.

Danny's eyes are closed but he can feel Steve's other arm move when he raises his shoulder in a one-armed shrug. "Try not to die."

Danny sighs. "I really should have known."

"You really should have," Steve agrees. "You good to go?" Danny thinks about it. He has a torn ACL, twenty-seven bullets for a pistol, possibly half the population of Honolulu to fight off with it, and one Steve McGarrett.

Fuck it, this is as close to ready as he's going to get. "Yeah. Let's roll."