Hello! This is my first story in this fandom and I'm a bit nervous about posting it. The funny thing is I started loving the show from reading the fan fiction from some of my favorite SPN authors and not the other way around. I think I got it backwards, but I'm a fan nonetheless. I love both Steve and Danny, and I'm not sure I have a favorite right now. This story does focus on Danno a tad bit more than Steve, but I already have another Steve-centric story planned.

DISCLAIMER: I know very little about cop procedures or lingo. The little I do know is from watching cop shows, and we all know how accurate those are, lol.

Reviews are love.

Superhero

Detective Danny Williams didn't believe in superheroes. Even when he was a kid, he couldn't stretch his imagination that the spandex-clad, caped crusaders were anything other than unstable goofs with authority issues and death wishes. Danny clipped his badge to his belt and holstered his gun. He grabbed the towering stack of case files and headed out of his tiny apartment.

The longer he was a cop, the less he believed in real heroes.

And then he met Steve McGarrett, former Navy SEAL, master of every weapon and mode of transportation ever made, record-holding free-diver and certified adrenaline junkie, and Danny found himself subscribing to the idea of super human abilities and the greater good.

He might have ranted about McGarrett's unwaveringly stupid obsession of the hunt and the capture and how he ninja-jumped all over the constitution and due process, but secretly he imagined Steven sneaking out of the Five-0 headquarters in camouflage spandex to save damsels and thwart evildoers. Danny chuckled at the image as he ventured down the beach in the lavender twilight of early morning. As much as he cursed Hawaii, New Jersey had nothing on its sunrises. He would never utter it out loud, not even under the bloodiest of torture, but it was true. He stood by the beach, sipping his coffee and waiting as the water rolled in, frothy and warm. As predicted Steve emerged from the waves like Aquaman, and waded into the beach with more energy than anyone had a right to have at five o'clock in the morning.

Steve grinned and jogged over to Danny, greeting him over the rush of the surf. "Never thought I'd see you in the sand this early, brah. Why are ya know, here so early?"

Danny sipped his coffee. "Haven't been to bed. Spent the night with my favorite lady."

Steve toweled off his chest and arms and together they headed into his house. "Finally, you got some, I was starting to get worried."

Danny grimaced and allowed the disgust flash across his face. "Steven," he said calmly, "how long have I been your partner? How do you not know who I'm referring to? Between your armed shenanigans, my ex-wife, I barely have time to shave let alone allocate the time to properly entertain that of the fairer sex. So who do you think I was talking about?"

"Grace."

"GRACE! Thank you."

Steve grinned. It was mischievous and deadly, and Danny groaned as he knew it would be a painfully long day. Steve had some kind of emotional cycle, like PMS, and every twenty-eight days, he nearly annoyed Danny back to New Jersey.

"You let Grace stay up all night? What kind of father are you?"

And so it began. "A tired one. She had nightmares last night and refused to go back to sleep and then begged for her mom until I caved. God, I can't wait until she understands the value of money and I can bribe her. After a lovely and not at all aggravating four a.m. drive, I couldn't go back to sleep, so I figured we could work on these case files and just lay low today unless we get called in."

Steven rooted around in his fridge and came out with fillets of fish and a handful of eggs. "She had nightmares?"

Danny heard the veiled concern in his voice and was touched. "It happens sometimes. When she was younger, she'd get like full-on terrors. Screaming and thrashing around like that punk you throat-punched last week—I'm not judging by the way; he deserved it—and then she'd wake up and wouldn't remember a thing. Rachel and I would think she was seizing or possessed or something but she'd want to play."

Steve cracked the eggs in one skillet and added the fish in another. "Kids are weird."

"Thank you for that stunning insight. Yes, kid are weird. Especially mine. But parenthood is the most bizarre thing in the world, even for you, G.I. Joe." Danny drummed his hands the counter. "So what about you? Are you actually capable of sleep or do you swim with the other SEALs during the night?"

Steve plated his eggs and poked at the sizzling fish. His face was neutral, but he shrugged and focused on his breakfast. "I sleep."

"I know the truth about your mom's death was the suckerpunch no one saw coming. If you want to talk…"

"I can call you any time. I know, Danno."

Danny laughed again and shook his head. "I was actually going to refer you to a good shrink, but yeah, that works too."

Steve grabbed plates from the drip-dry rack and plated up the over-easy eggs and fish. "Breakfast."

Danny looked at the odd combination of foods, and couldn't resist. "I hate to break it to you, Steve, but this isn't breakfast, unless you know, you're a cat or a fishmonger. Bagels, bacon, Cap'n Crunch, a little 'leggo my eggo'…that's breakfast. Good God, man, what did the Navy do to you?"

-o-

Danny always liked plans. As a cop, it was good for their days to have a predictable ebb and flow. Since he joined Five-0, plans had been obliterated along with standard procedure and Miranda rights, but he didn't mind as much as he thought he would, because they were filling prisons with evil people that would have otherwise slipped through the widening cracks of the justice system and the island, Grace's home, was safer for it.

But Danny wasn't complaining when he spent the morning completing case files with Kono and playing desk chair hockey with his co-workers, brooms and a coke can. Chin Ho had just deflected Steve's wicked shot into their milk crate goal when the phone rang. Steve pushed off and snatched the phone. He braced his foot against the ground to jot down a few details and bid the governor goodbye.

"Snagged a case. Well, at least boring groundwork for a case. This is right up your alley, Danny. The Governor wants us to bring in the wife…well ex-wife…of a drug smuggler. He made some pretty nasty threats as he was being dragged off to prison fifteen years ago. Chin Ho and Kono stay put, learn the file and call the warden at Hawaii State Penn. I want his prison records ASAP."

Kono twirled in her wheeled desk chair. "Why would we have to pick up the ex-wife?"

Steve moved over to the smart computer's console and brought up the thugs wrap-sheet onto the flatscreens with a fleck of the wrist, so the group was staring into the menacing eyes of Brody Monroe. "Because the ex-husband just got released."

-5-0-

"This guy is the worst kind of criminal, the scum of the earth. You know, I hope he falls off an inch so we can lower him into a volcano by his danglers, why should the sharks have all the fun." Danny ranted.

Steve shook his head and turned off the radio. "Share with the class, Daniel."

"Only my mom can get away with calling me Daniel, Steven. Listen to this: Monroe used the family dream home as a warehouse for meth and cocaine for some pretty nasty drug dealers. When his wife found out, he beat her to a pulp and locked her and their four-year-old son in the basement for two days. Her assistant came by to check on her, saw her car in the driveway and blood splatters on the wall and called the cops. Dad got popped on a litany of drug charges and when he was sentenced, he bit a baliff and was hogtied and dragged from the courtroom detailing how he'd murder his soon-to-be ex-wife. Douchebag got out thirty hours ago—the fact that he even got paroled makes me question my belief in the whole process—and hasn't checked in with his P.O."

"So he's off the grid after fifteen years of raging at the people who turned him in. If I'm a spineless wife-beater, I'm planning revenge," Steve estimated. "We need to get the wife before he does."

The urgency increased a few notches, but they had handled worse. Once they picked up the wife, Danny would enjoy tracking this loser down.

The former Mrs. Brody Monroe worked in an upscale office building that went out of its way not to look like the place where college graduates came to die with its exposed brick and industrial tubing, open spaces, gaming lounges and graffiti-style artwork. Julia Monroe was now Vice President of Marketing and was probably pacing in her glass-encased office that overlooked the air atrium with studded with towering palm trees and exotic flowers. Steve flashed his badge to the receptionist, who seemed overjoyed that the former SEAL with the boyish good looks and huge biceps appeared to spice up her boring day.

She smiled, eyes flickering to Steven's wedding-band-free left hand, and grinned even brighter. "How may I help you…Officer?"

Danny leaned in. "He's a Lieutenant Commander, actually. You should see him in his uniform with all the medals. It's very impressive; very Officer and a Gentleman."

Her eyes actually sparkled and Danny could almost see visions of white chiffon and wedding cake toppers in dancing in her head. "I'm so sorry, Commander, then."

"Don't worry about it. Is Julia Monroe available? We just need to talk to her for a few minutes."

"FYI she changed her name when she re-married; it's Julia Witherspoon now." Sera consulted her double-monitors and clicked with purpose. "I'm sorry she's in meetings all day. She really doesn't like to be interrupted."

Danny flashed his badge again. "We really need to speak to her, Sera. Please."

Before Sera could respond, her console droned shrilly. She glanced down at the phone system and snatched her earpiece, slipping it in again. "Give me a minute. This almost never happens."

She typed on her computer and leaned over the console. Danny arched over the counter and saw that an emergency light was flashing big and blue and nearly all of the lines were lit up. One of the computer monitors flashed "911."

"Does that mean what I think it means?"

Sera shook her head in disbelief. "People usually dial 911 accidentally, but it seems like we have six calls and counting."

Danny always felt a short-lived surge of pure panic before he dove into life-or-death situations; it was human nature, after all. The longer he was a cop, the shorter the rush. His fingers tingled as he unholstered his gun. Steve had called dispatch and was informed of the complaints they were receiving about the building. He pocketed his iPhone, eyes crackling with the same adrenaline that had now abolished Danny's natural fear. "Dispatch says they're receiving calls about a man with a gun roaming the halls. He's trying to get to the fourth floor."

Sera gasped, her face draining to a milky white.

Danny shook his head in confusion. "What's on the fourth floor?"

"Executive offices, tech support, and…oh God, the daycare."

Steve cursed in what sounded like mandarin.

Steve was already running, checking the sidelines and looking at the map of the building mounted on the wall. Danny moved behind the counter and physically pulled Sera out of her chair. "Get out of the building right now."

"But the kids…"

"We'll get him in time. When the police get here, they're going to lock it down. That means no one in or out. You need to leave right now."

People never stopped surprising Danny. In the face of violence and the ugliest things humans could do to each other, Sera shook her head, and for a second refused to leave. Danny pushed her towards the exit. "That guy is the best bet of saving those kids. He's a freakin' Navy SEAL. When the police get here, tell them Five-0 is already on the scene and we'll need back-up. I need you to do this."

Danny watched her go, gripped his gun tight, and covered Steve's six, ready to save lives.

-5-0-

Steve was in his element, doing what he was trained to do, pursuing the deadly and the depraved. He felt almost super-human as they approached through artificially lit corridors and waved between the desks. He let decade of combat training take over, blocking extraneous thought and letting instinct and muscle memory take over.

They moved hot and fast up the stairs. Each floor was a long expanse of space divided in half by banks of elevators and a break room on both sides. There were copious hiding places available, but men who marched into an office building with a gun and fifteen years worth of rage wouldn't cower under a desk.

All of the calls had come from the third floor, so they started there, while security helped to manage the other floors. It was conspicuously quiet with the scent of gunpowder lingering in the air. Ten feet down the hall, Steve nearly tripped over three lifeless bodies crumpled in the threshold of the bathroom, where they'd probably tried to enter to hide. He checked them quickly, but they were all dead. Notebooks, pens and even laptops littered the carpeted floors, phone dangled off their hooks, chairs were knocked over and stood stagnant in the halls. Blood and bullet holes marred the muraled walls. Steve passed a conference room filled with terrified workers crouched on the floor who pointed down towards the bank of elevators.

Danny opened the door and led the dozen or so people down the stairs. He closed the door silently, and returned to his position.

He motioned to Danny to move around in the other side of the building, so they could cover both sides and box him in. It still amazed him that he and Danny could communicate with few gestures and a flicker of the eyes even though they came from vastly different calibers of law enforcement. Steve ducked behind a pillar to give him time to get into position.

His hearing and vision sharpened and he heard a soft whimper loud in his ears. Moving with practiced precision, he stepped two feet down the aisle, ducking behind a printer and pointing his gun at beneath a shadowy desk. The woman beneath it covered her mouth to muffle a scream and trembled harder, retreating into her hiding spot. Steve didn't dare relinquish his gun, but pointed to his badge hanging from his neck, then held a finger to his lips.

"Did you see him?" He whispered.

She nodded, stricken, tears on her face.

"Is he alone?"

She nodded again.

"Do you know what he's wearing?"

"…b-black…" There was grey matter staining her silk shirt.

"Mask?" Steve glanced around and saw the lower legs and dress slacks of a man on the floor just beyond a filing cabinet and another by the window.

She wobbled her head in the negative.

The severity of the situation intensified. Monroe didn't plan on being caught.

"Come with me." He pulled her out from under the desk and pressed his finger to his lips again.

Grabbing the woman by one shoulder, he gingerly guided her back in the direction they'd came while keeping his sights aimed towards the opposition direction. Once they reached the stairs, he pushed her through the door. He could hear the scuffle of feet and harsh breaths from the other evacuees. "Go down the stairs and out the nearest door. Follow the others."

Once she was gone, Steve treaded carefully through the office, finger on the trigger. He didn't like killing, but he would gladly do so before Monroe could harm anyone else. He understood grief more than most and had a renewed and intense dedication to preventing others from experience such loss.

A gunshot shattered the thunderous silence. Steve sprinted through a vibrant break room, pausing to listen behind a half wall. Gunfire shattered glass with beautiful twinkle. Drawing in a breath, he chanced a glimpse down the hall.

Monroe, clad in black jeans and a black wifebeater, stalked with lethal swagger towards the elevator. He had a rifle strapped to his back and a glock in his hands. "I see you, haole!"

Steve immediately fired twice, not hitting Monroe, but halting his process. Monroe, with his angular pock-mocked face, barely flinched and returned fire with more recklessness than expertise. Steven dove for the protection of the brick wall and cabinets as five shots crunched into the wall over his head, launching dust and plaster into the air.

Two more shots echoed in the distance than the ones before it. Danny.

Steve crawled out on his belly and peered out, then ran from the break room to another row of drafting table. He pushed it over on its end and crouched behind the meager cover of melamine.

Monroe inched toward the elevator, blocking a clear shot with a poorly placed sculpture.

Danny burst from a conference room and fired before disappearing again. One of Danny's bullets thudded fleshily into his arm and he staggered backwards. The other whizzed past Steve's head.

For Steve, horrifying things didn't happen in slow motion like they did in the movies. Men were cut down in the infinitesimal breadth between heartbeats. His mother had been there for Steve's entire life and then with a ring of a doorbell, she was gone. His father had died with a pop of noise and the drone of a dialtone.

So when Danny was shot three times at center mass, and rocked backwards, face blank with shock and pain, through the broken window, it happened faster than Steve could comprehend, especially when Danny kept shooting as he pitched over the too-low sill. Danny's bullets hit Monroe in the gut and the neck. He doubled over with a wheeze and a spurt of blood.

Steve finished him off with a messy headshot. He sprinted over to the dead gunman and retrieved his firearms, moving to tuck the glock in the pocket of his bulletproof vest.

Except they weren't wearing vests.

This was supposed to be a pre-emptive strike to prevent violence and death, and yet it had unraveled into chaos and carnage faster than either of them had anticipated.

An intense, nauseating panic overwhelmed him the way it hadn't in the months since his father's death. Danny had taken three shots. Without a vest. And he'd plummeted to the pavement three floors down. Danny Williams, his partner and friend, was most assuredly dead.