Chapter Text
Time went wrong at the edges for Steve. The frenetic battle broke down into a series of stutter-stop snapshots:
Earth surging underfoot.
The weightlessness of sudden flight and the hard jolt of landing.
Danny—
Danny caught on razor sharp claws.
—body flung in a low arc.
Steve felt the impact against the truck in his own bones.
He didn’t actually remember covering the distance to his partner. There was no thought; no intention. He simply blinked from one place that was not with Danny to another that was.
Steve crashed to his knees; hands frozen midair, hovering and afraid to touch. He knew the basic combat first-aid spells that every magically adept SEAL received. Medical magic wasn’t his strong suit by any stretch; but he knew enough to keep soul and body together long enough for actual medical personnel to arrive.
It didn’t matter anyway—even if he were a world class healer he couldn’t use any of it on Danny. He could, however, use the physical first-aid skills he’d learned during his SEAL training.
Sharp squares of glass dug into his knees through the sturdy fabric of his cargo pants but he ignored the pain. He forced himself to press his finger to Danny’s throat. He nearly wept at the strong, steady pounding of the pulse beneath his touch. He was further reassured by the steady rise and fall of Danny’s chest.
With the same breathless care he would use to move unstable ordinance he rolled Danny onto his back.
There was no blood.
Steve blinked.
Danny’s tactical vest was shredded. The armored panels were ripped in parallel gouges that ran from low on Danny’s side, up to the opposite shoulder. One gash had penetrated deeply enough to tear the blue dress shirt and scratch a scarlet welt across his skin.
But there was no blood.
Danny’s face scrunched up and he squinted up at Steve. “Ow?” he said, turning the sound into a question.
“Jesus, Danny.” Steve felt his bones going liquid with relief. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“Sorry,” Danny grunted, gingerly testing his limbs for damage. He frowned down at his chest, hand drifting up to finger the ruins of his Kevlar vest. “You owe me a new shirt, McGarrett,” he grumped.
Steve beamed at him. “Sure, Danno.”
“Help me up.” Danny held out his hand and Steve took it, pulling them both upright.
“You okay?” Steve asked, sharp eyes cataloging every wince and tentative movement.
“I think I’m good,” Danny answered, rolling his shoulder cautiously. He cocked his head, puzzled. “Uh, maybe not. Has that—was that there before?”
Steve did a double take. A twelve foot tall hedge bramble had sprung up, surrounding them. “No,” he said, gaping at the wall of green. “That is definitely new.”
The illusion of sanctuary was shattered by sporadic gunfire and the roars of the demon.
The hedge shuddered. Through the foliage, too translucent to be real, Steve could see the massive bulk of Utor slashing violently at the intertwining limbs. “We’re gonna have to make a run for it. We do not want to get trapped in here with that thing.”
Danny groaned.
“You sure you’re okay?” Steve asked, trying to divide his attention between Danny and the demon raging a few yards away.
Danny shook his head. “No, I’m not. I’ve had a really terrible idea.”
“What?” Steve asked, all of his attention focused on Danny.
Danny laughed. It sounded high and slightly hysterical. “Don’t worry. You’ll love this plan. This has Steve McGarrett written all over it. Except for the part where you don’t get to do the crazy thing.”
Steve’s stomach clenched. “Crazy? Danny, what are you going to do?”
“This will either work… or destroy Oahu. If this doesn’t work, I am really, really sorry.”
“You’re not making any sense.”
“I know. I just need you to keep the big guy occupied.” Danny drew a couple of deep breaths, and Steve recognized an internalized pep-talk up when he saw it.
The protective spell was failing—parts of the green wall had already faded. They had seconds at best.
Steve’s hands, acting on their own accord, wrapped around the shoulder straps of Danny’s tactical vest and pulled.
It was not a kiss for the ages. There was an awkward clashing of teeth and way too much adrenaline. Danny tasted of mud and sweat and exhaustion. It was messy and abrupt and kind of a disaster. It was perfect.
Steve released Danny, panting hard. “Do not destroy my island,” he commanded.
He checked his clip, and as the sheltering spell fell, he set about creating a diversion for Danny. As he darted forward, already firing, he heard a shout behind him.
“Timing, Steven!”
Danny put his head down and charged through the remains of what had been a very pleasant park. He summoned every ounce of will in his body and compressed it into a tight ball in his chest. When the pressure became unbearable he flung the accumulated power outward against the binding curse as hard as he could. The curse screamed to life, gorging on the sudden glut of Danny’s magic.
The fine threads of the binding spell flared with power and Danny was startled to see that they were visible, glowing with tarnished silver light. He had never thrown so much power at the curse and it devoured his magic greedily, shredding the gathered will and pulling at the tattered remnants. Danny let go of his magic, terrified that the curse would consume it all and leave him burnt hollow.
The curse was awake and insatiable. It sucked a security spell off the door of a nearby shop, gulped down a gang’s territorial marker without even registering it. The attacks that volleyed back and forth between Etienne and the rooftop twisted away from their targets to arch toward Danny, stretching like salt-water taffy. A lance of flame that would have battered Chin’s failing defenses instead curved toward Danny. The fire attenuated into thin wisps of power that dissipated before reaching him. Danny ignored it all, his entire being focused on reaching the witch at the center of the maelstrom.
As he approached Etienne's circle, the hair on his arms rose and tingled—it was like standing at the heart of an electrical storm wearing a tin-foil tuxedo. Green sparks skittered across his skin, arcing from silver thread to silver thread in a maddening itch that was just this side of pain.
The taste of aluminum made Danny’s teeth ache; he clamped his mouth shut, afraid that if he unsealed his lips the magic would force its way in and burn him from the inside.
His knees folded, slamming down into the scorched line that marked the edge of the circle. The magic wobbled, lashing out in increasingly erratic waves. Danny’s skin felt like it was on fire. Power washed over him, and the curse howled like a living thing. It shredded the circle and sucked the magic into itself.
Gray static filled Danny’s senses. He let himself sink.
Steve lost himself in the familiar dance of evade and attack, drawing Utor away from Danny. It had become a game of endurance and the score was too close to call. Steve’s ammunition and adrenaline were both nearly exhausted but the belpheg was also looking distinctly ragged. Ichor streamed from dozens of wounds and his vessel seemed to become less corporeal as the thick black blood boiled into vapor in the afternoon air.
Darting around an upended slide, Steve slipped in the mud. It was an uncharacteristic stumble that saved his life. Utor’s claws raked the air just over Steve’s head. Steve flattened himself, squeezing beneath a metal slide. He popped up on the other side, firing bullets at the demon until he heard the stomach-clenching click of an empty magazine.
He dropped the empty rifle and drew his knife in a single fluid motion. He coiled into a fighting stance and readied himself.
Utor met his eyes. Steve thought he recognized a measure of respect in the unearthly gaze.
A unexpected shockwave roared through the park, burning away the oxygen and leaving a silence that was absolute. The saccharine taste of rotting fruit flooded Steve’s senses and then was replaced by a tide of sharp ozone.
Utor’s raised claws dropped slowly to his side. He huffed; the noise as loud as a shout in the stillness that encompassed them.
The maw crowded with yellow teeth and tusks stretched broadly into what Steve refused to name a smile. Utor sniffed the air, his wicked claws kneading the air. His grimace grew impossibly wider. He chortled.
Steve felt the sound trace up his spine.
The killing blow never came.
Utor turned and loped across the park in long strides that tore up the earth and sprayed mud behind him and then he dropped to all fours, galloping toward the now silent circle.
Steve, somehow, found it in himself to run after him; racing toward where he could see Danny on his knees, chin folded to his chest, hands lax on his thighs. Steve wasn’t going to beat the beast.
Inside the circle, Etienne sat up, woozy from the magical backlash. His clothing was singed and smoking slightly. He looked up in horror at the looming Utor. Etienne threw up his hand and screamed in broken Latin.
Utor never broke stride.
He caught the flustered witch up in both hands, claws sinking deeply into warm flesh.
Etienne screamed again, wordlessly.
A deep, rolling laugh boomed through the demon, shaking him from shoulder to toe. Etienne rattled bonelessly in that terrible grip. The air surrounding the pair shimmered and collapsed inward with the rolling thunder of an abrupt vacuum and the lingering echo of demonic merriment.
Steve stumbled the last few steps to Danny.
Danny was a mess. He was covered in mud and half drowned, the ruined tac vest a testament to just how close they’d come to death today. Tiny green lightning bolts flickered across his skin. Steve could see the twitches as Danny’s muscles convulsed to the lingering current but the rise and fall of his chest was steady.
Steve couldn’t help himself. With careful fingers, and for the second time in an hour, Steve checked his partner’s throat for a pulse. A spark raced up his arm and left Steve numb to the elbow.
Danny, looking as though it caused him great effort, lifted his head to blink wearily at Steve. “Idiot.”
Steve laughed—wild and reckless with relief. “Takes one to know one,” he shot back. “That was impressively stupid.”
Danny huffed a small laugh and winced. “Told you, you’d be jealous.” His eyelids drooped.
“You okay?” Steve asked, careful and serious.
“Give me a minute?” Danny asked. He closed his eyes and let his head drop forward again. His hands clenched into fists and then opened, smoothing down the front of his thighs.
“Sure thing, Danno,” Steve said, patting Danny on the shoulder gingerly—but the spark had already discharged.
He left Danny’s side to oversee the scene’s transition from action to documentation and check in with Chin and Kono—Steve needed more than their voices on the comms, he need to see his team.
Kono met him on the street, carrying a bag of bottled water she’d retrieved from the vehicles. She was thrumming with the sort of manic after-action energy that needed a focus before it turned destructive. Steve sent her to coordinate the HPD units that were finally arriving to assist.
Chin was still on the roof with Aulani and Nalani. He looked to be approximately five minutes from lapsing into a coma, his reserves utterly drained by the extended magical battle. Steve handed him a water bottle and dug a power bar from one of his pockets—it was only a little mangled. He left the rest of the bag nearby, not wanting to disturb Aulani and Nalani as they conferred over the statue that had caused so much chaos.
Satisfied that his people were more or less whole, Steve headed back down on the street to assess the damage.