Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Rusty’s great with people.

No, that’s not quite right. Rusty used to be great with people. He can still talk circles around them and be just as flattering as he’s always been if he’s in the right state for it, but more often than not he’s ended up overwhelmed and anxious if he talks to groups larger than two or three. It’s not the end of the world, just another thing that Danny’s learning to work around and work with, and he’s okay with that. As long as Rusty’s okay, he’s okay.

But now there’s a wrench in the whole thing, and the both of them are staring it down over breakfast as Rusty inhales his fifth piece of toast. Like he hasn’t eaten in weeks. The problem, they’ve found, is Linus Caldwell.

“And he was such a good kid too,” Rusty had remarked, as dryly as Danny’s ever heard him speak, after they’d figured out what happened.

Until about two weeks ago, no one else had known Rusty was alive, and Rusty had worked very hard (and cried and pleaded with Danny over the whole thing when he really didn’t have to) to keep it that way. He was scared, he’d told Danny, a week after they’d found each other in Vegas, and again each time that Danny brought up seeing any of the guys. He was scared, he doesn’t do well with groups, he’d make himself sick worrying.

Linus doesn’t know any of this though, so they can’t properly blame him, but that doesn’t stop Rusty from looking irked in the general sense. Stressed. Danny would feel the same if he was in Rusty’s position though, if he’d just had everything Linus knows spilled to a fairly large group of people that he hasn’t seen in over ten years. Danny’s pretty sure it was an accident, because it’s been a few months since the job they worked together, and everything coming out now just doesn’t make sense unless it had come out when Linus wasn’t thinking (and Danny loves the kid, but sometimes Linus just doesn’t think).

That had been two weeks ago, when Rusty was still recovering from the tail end of an infected gunshot wound. He’d been feverish then, exhausted and a little delirious and spending most of his time dozing on Danny’s couch, but he’d still been awake and aware enough scroll through the messages of a text group that was doing nothing short of blowing up. Everyone had been, for lack of a more eloquent way to put it, losing their shit, primarily at Danny, because no one had Rusty’s number. It had been a lot of why didn’t you tell us, a little of why didn’t Rusty tell us, some where is he, and an overwhelming amount of requests for Rusty to say something himself. He hadn’t, but Danny had sent a picture for proof of life.

That had probably been a mistake. Rusty was clearly sick in the picture, and that just made everyone ask even more questions.

In the end, it had all boiled down the decision that they needed to see Rusty. It’s sweet, Danny thinks, that they need to see he’s alright. It’s less sweet that the whole situation, set to be resolved tonight, is probably minutes away from giving Rusty a panic attack.

He’s on his sixth piece of toast.

“Slow down,” Danny tells him. “You’re going to make yourself sick.”

“Can we cancel if I do?” Rusty asks through a mouthful of bread.

They both know the answer to that already. The only reason that Rusty had agreed to meet the guys at all is because both him and Danny know full well that if they don’t agree to it, it’ll come to them, and the idea of so many people in the house makes Rusty even more nervous, because there’s nowhere to run to.

“You don’t want to be cornered in your own home,” Rusty had said.

“They’re not trying to corner you,” Danny had replied.

“Sure feels like it.” Danny guesses that it does. It had been Rusty’s information to share, and he’d done nothing of the sort. If he wasn’t so sure it was a mistake, he’d tear Linus a new one for that.

Interrogation, as Rusty has termed it, takes place tonight. Linus’ house, because he’s got one of those now. As far as Danny can tell, Rusty couldn’t be looking forward to it less. He’d started pacing before the sun came up, and at this rate he’s going to wear himself out before noon. Maybe that would be better, all things considered.

“It’s just a couple hours,” Danny tells him, and Rusty looks like he’s going to cry, but they both know there’s no way around this without Rusty telling everyone more than he wants to.

***

Rusty is holding Danny’s hand, he’s already shaking, and they’re barely stepped inside the front door. They’re late, because Rusty had broken down and started hyperventilating halfway through the drive, and they’d needed to pull the car over and get him some fresh air. He’s better now, if a little pale. The only thing is, Danny doesn’t know how the hell everyone else is going to react to Rusty when they see him.

He’s certainly different now, and Danny’s not sure if any of them——Linus included, even though he’s already seen Rusty——are expecting that. Rusty’s always been one of the more dependable members of their group, the guy you’d go to with a problem. The guy you’d expect to have his shit together, to be composed and confident, and everything that Rusty was and sometimes can still be——but he’s not that today.

Today he’s shaking, and looking incredibly small in the front room of the house, incredibly uncomfortable in his own skin. He’s got on long sleeves, the button-up——buttoned all the way up to his throat——is just big enough that he can hide his hands in the cuffs. He’d wanted to take a jacket before Danny had gently reminded him that it’s the dead of summer. There’s a little bag of pills in his pants pocket. There had been until Danny lifted it off of him, anyway. It’s hard, but Rusty needs to be sober for this. They both do.

The first thirty minutes are, well——

They’re manageable. For Danny. He’s not the one being swarmed though. Everyone wants to talk to Rusty, and Rusty looks like he’d rather be shot again. He’d stumbled over his words the first time he’d opened his mouth, and has continued to do so ever since. Can’t finish a sentence, not that anyone’s letting him with the way they’re all talking over him, and this never would’ve been a problem for Rusty before, but he’s overwhelmed now, and Danny can feel it.

Things had started going bad with Basher.

Basher is, Basher had been, Rusty’s closest friend after Danny. Basher and Rusty had also had the habit of being physically affectionate. Pats on the shoulder, hugs, that kind of sort of thing that really shouldn’t be important to think about. Danny doesn’t even think about it until he watches Basher touch Rusty and sees Rusty’s entire body tense.

He looks so fucking scared, and Danny doesn’t say anything, and Rusty doesn’t move until Basher drags him elsewhere to talk to the twins. Danny knows he should’ve said something, but Rusty’s an adult. Rusty can take care of himself.

But he’s scared. Scared so bad that it’s hurting Danny, who is all the way across the room, pinned into some conversation with Linus and Yen. He’s not paying attention because he’s too busy watching Rusty pretend to laugh at something that one of the twins said. Rusty’s a pretty good actor when he needs to be, and it’s not a bad imitation, but Danny sees through him in a second.

He watches Rusty stick his hands in his pockets and rock back on his heels a little bit. Rusty’s mouth moves then, but Danny can’t read lips well enough to figure out what he’s saying. He’s smiling though, or trying to, which seems to be as good a sign as any that he’s not wholly trapped, but then, a few minutes later, Danny watches Rusty excuse himself. He follows him——not entirely subtly——a minute later. He’s hiding in the bathroom, talking quietly, and the lock takes maybe twenty seconds for Danny to make short work of. Then the door is open, and he can see Rusty, sitting on the floor with his pills in one hand and his phone in the other. He looks up at Danny, eyebrows crinkled in a sad, worried way.

“Maria, I’ll call you back,” he says, and then lowers the phone. He looks up at Danny, with an expression like he’s about to cry. “I’m bugging out,” he mumbles. Bugging out as in ladybugging, which means Rusty isn’t quite himself right now.

“Bad?”

“Pretty bad.”

Danny runs a hand through his hair nervously, then props his hands on his hips. It’ll be bad if they leave now. Better for Rusty, but bad for the guys not worrying in the future.

“Rus——“

“No.”

“Ladybug,” Danny corrects. “Do you think you can make it another hour?”

Rusty shakes his head. “I don’t know what to do.” He’s staring at the pills now, clutched tight in one hand. “Too many people, and I——“ He cuts himself off and sighs sharply. “I’m scared. I feel like I’m on a job.” Never mind the fact that jobs shouldn’t be scary, they hadn’t been before.

“No one’s going to hurt you,” Danny says, as calm as he can. “They’re——“

“Friends, I know.” Rusty shakes his head. “Doesn’t help. I can’t do this.”

“It’s just an hour.”

“It’s an hour.” Rusty rocks back against the wall and opens the bag with his pills. “Can we please go home?”

It’s going to end——

Badly. You’re right. “Shit,” Rusty mumbles, and rolls a pill between his fingers.

“You don’t want to take those,” Danny tells him.

“Then why’d I steal them back from you?” Rusty asks. “Nice pull, by the way.”

“It’s just going to make things worse,” Danny tells him, and they both know it’s true.

After a long second, Rusty sets the bag in Danny’s hand, and looks at him with a miserable expression. “Can I smoke when we get home?” He asks.

Smoking usually helps Rusty relax, and Danny doesn’t exactly enjoy the smell of it, but if it’s going to tide Rusty over he’s more than okay with it. As long as Rusty’s not high here, and as long as he’s not taking pills, it’s okay by Danny. At least marijuana is legal where they are, and Danny knows he’s going to be drinking a slightly excessive amount of wine after this is all over, so it’s only fair that Rusty can smoke too, even if it smells awful. At least it doesn’t hurt him the way that pills do.

“Yeah,” Danny says. “You can smoke.”

Rusty nods. “Okay. And no——“

“No pills.” Danny grabs the bag out of Rusty’s hand before Rusty can change his mind. He sticks them back into his pocket, then helps Rusty stand. He’s shaky on his feet, sad and unsteady, and lets go of Danny as quickly as he can. Bad time for contact, then.

“Just an hour,” Rusty says quietly, mostly to himself. “Never doing this again.” He scrubs a hand down his face, pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s not a good idea.”

“I know.”

“They think I’m insane.”

“You’re overthinking,” Danny tells him, and Rusty rolls his eyes.

“You’re underthinking. Linus looks like he’s scared I’m going to snap and kill everyone.”

Danny frowns. “We’re in his house, he’s probably just——“

“Worried we’ll rob him blind,” Rusty finishes, and pauses to produce a slim silver bracelet from his pocket. “He should worry more.”

“Are you going to give it back?”

“Probably not. If he didn’t feel me taking it, he probably won’t miss it.” I don’t know if I can even talk to him at this point.

Danny shrugs. It seems fair enough. “Give him an hour?”

“Forty-five minutes,” Rusty says, and finally stands. “On the dot,” he continues, and fastens the bracelet formally known as Linus’ around Danny’s wrist.

“On the dot,” Danny repeats, and puts his hand on Rusty’s back in an attempt to guide him back to the crowd. He removes it almost instantly when he notices Rusty flinch. Sorry.

It’s okay, Rusty thinks back at him, and finally starts walking back in the direction of the crowd. Danny follows him, but stops next to Rusty when he freezes in the hallway.

“Which one is that?” Rusty whispers to him, and gestures subtly at Virgil.

“What?” Danny asks.

“Which twin,” Rusty clarifies. “Is the one on the left Turk or Virgil?”

Danny laughs nervously. “Rus——Ladybug——you know——“

“No, I don’t,” Rusty whispers aggressively. “I’m face blind.”

“What?”

“I’m face blind,” he says. “The brain damage, I——I can’t recognize most people. You, Maria, Linus if I’m lucky, maybe Carver.
That’s it.”

Who the hell is Carver?

“Coworker,” Rusty whispers. “He’s a dick.”

“Virgil’s on the left.”

“Thank you.” Rusty bumps his shoulder against Danny gently. “Far right?”

“Livingston. Feeling better?”

Rusty shrugs. “Still bugged.” Right after he says that, Danny watches Rusty barely avoid flinching when Linus calls his name. But then he throws on a smile that Danny can barely see through, and cracks some kind of joke about his absence that Danny doesn’t quite catch because he’s too busy watching Rusty’s body language and hoping for good signs, which is when he’s interrupted by Basher, who is——what else——concerned.

He’s asking if Rusty’s okay, and of course that’s when Danny looks away. That’s when he says sure, Rusty’s fine, he’s just not feeling quite himself (more than Basher knows).

That’s when Danny hears Rusty shout——don’t touch me——the same way he does after he has a nightmare, quickly followed by the sound of an impact.

He turns around in time to see Reuben with a bloody nose, and Rusty looking nothing short of self-horrified. He glances down at his hand, clenched tightly into a fist, and says oh, very quietly.

Then Turk says what the fuck, Basher is looking at Danny like he’s got some explaining to do, and all Danny can think is that he should’ve listened to Rusty. He always should’ve listened to Rusty.

“Sorry,” Rusty’s saying. “Sorry,” and “I didn’t mean to,” and “fuck, are you okay?” And Reuben is lying that he’s fine, it’s fine, but where did he learn to throw a punch like that?

Bad question. Not one that Danny has the answer to, not one that Reuben wants the answer to.

"Budapest,” is Rusty’s numb answer. It’s quickly followed by another apology, and by that time Danny has his wits about him enough to find his way to Rusty’s side. He knows better than to touch him though. It’s not something that he has to worry about though, because Rusty has his hand in a vice-like grip the second Danny is close enough.

“Ladybug——“

“Can we please leave?” Rusty begs him quietly at the exact time that Linus asks what the hell Danny just called Rusty.

“I said Rusty,” Danny lies. It’s quick and clean and he doesn’t think twice about it. “And I think he should leave.”

Danny likes to think that this is the point at which most people would agree with him, but his crew has never been comparable to most people. They’re loyal, they’re protective, and they don’t let go of their own people easily.

“Woah——“

“Hang on——“

“I think he’s right,” Rusty says, about as stiff as Danny’s ever heard him speak. He’s gray-skinned like he’s about to be sick, and Danny knows that look because he’s seen Rusty vomit more times than he’d care to admit. “I need to——I’ve gotta go,” he finishes, and then turns and heads for the front door. No one makes a move to stop him, but Linus does run to get ice for Reuben. It’s one of the last things that Danny takes note of before he heads after Rusty.

He pats his front pockets for his keys as he does, because he doesn’t like the idea of Rusty driving tonight. After a second, he finds them in his back pocket, which means Rusty had taken them at some point, only to put them back. That’s a good sign, means he’s not panicked enough to entirely run off on his own again. Though, honestly, Danny doesn’t think Rusty would ever do that again. The whole thing fucked both of them up badly enough that Rusty hadn’t even wanted to let Danny out of his sight for a week after. Not that Danny had been complaining, he’d felt edgy whenever Rusty left the room for a solid two weeks.

He feels edgy now, as he rushes a goodbye and apology to Reuben, and sees himself out the door. Rusty’s set himself on the front steps, and is fiddling with a cigarette, but has yet to light it. It falls to the ground when he notices Danny, and Rusty stands up quickly, all but glues himself to Danny’s side as they walk to the car. He doesn’t speak until they’re both in the car, and Danny has the keys in the ignition.

“I’m sorry.” That’s what he says, that’s what he repeats like a mantra as Danny backs the car out of where it’s parked and gets them heading toward the road. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, Danny I swear I wasn’t just trying to get out early——“

“I know,” Danny says, because he does. “You’re bugging out.”

“That’s not an excuse.” Rusty’s words come out harshly, though none of the sentiment is directed at Danny. “I punched Reuben in the face because he touched me.” He starts shaking then, with quiet, violent so sobs. “He’s never going to——“

“He’s not upset.”

“Maybe he should be!” Rusty bangs his head back against the headrest after he speaks. “What the fuck was I thinking?”

“You weren’t,” Danny says, and takes a careful right turn into the highway. “You were scared.”

“I shouldn’t be scared of my family,” Rusty says flatly. “I’m——fuck.” He sighs. “I’m fucked up.”

Danny doesn’t know how to respond to that in a way that would help Rusty feel anything but pitied. Neither of them say a word for the rest of the ride home.

Chapter Text

Rusty’s smoking again. Weed, not cigarettes, because he’s been trying to cut back on cigarettes, and because weed relaxes him. Danny doesn’t mind it so much when he smokes. The smell isn’t his favorite, but he tolerates it, he says, for Rusty’s sake, as long as he smokes outside, so that’s what Rusty’s doing. Leaning against the railing, smoking. Deep breaths in, deep breaths out.

Usually, this helps what Danny and meditation can’t, and it’s better than unprescribed pills. It’s in between puffs of the joint that Rusty notices Danny’s shadow on the porch, and that’s when he turns around to see Danny, watching him. The top couple buttons of his shirt are undone, and he looks a little tired, maybe tense, probably stressed.

“Hey,” Rusty says, smoke still in his mouth and lungs. He sounds tired himself, and probably looks it. “Do you want some?”

Danny doesn’t smoke. If he has a vice (aside from the obvious kleptomania), it’s probably alcohol (particularly red wine). He’s never been much for getting high in any form. There are only two times that Rusty can remember Danny getting high. The first time they’d been in their 20s, and Danny had ended up doing more coughing than anything. The second time he’d eaten a few too many brownies before he’d realized they were laced, and ended up on the couch in hysterics. So, all that said, it’s a surprise when Danny says sure, takes the joint from Rusty, and takes a hit. What’s not a surprise is that he starts coughing immediately.

“That’s awful,” he says after he’s recovered enough to speak again, and Rusty smiles at him, takes the joint back, then takes another drag.

“I think you’re doing it wrong,” Rusty replies helpfully. He lets the smoke out. “Do you want to try again?” He holds the joint out to Danny. “It might help you relax.”

“I am relaxed,” Danny says, but he takes the joint anyway, and touches it to his lips.

“Inhale slowly,” Rusty tells him. He watches Danny, and Danny watches him with a kind of skeptical look, but does as Rusty asks anyway. He doesn’t cough this time, though he looks like he might. After a few seconds, he lets the smoke out. He coughs, but not as violently as he had earlier. Then he looks up at Rusty, eyes big and dark in the night.

“Was that better?”

“Yeah,” Rusty says, and then watches, quietly, with a smirk on his face that Danny just must not be paying attention to, as Danny takes several more puffs from the joint. He’s smoking it liberally, like it’s no more powerful than a cigarette, and it’s probably——definitely——more than he needs, but who’s Rusty to stop him?

“How do I know if it’s working?” Danny asks, and Rusty thinks it’s less of an if and more of a when.

“You’ll know,” Rusty tells him, and takes back the joint, and Danny gives him an I’m-not-so-sure look, the same way he had the last time he’d gotten high. Of course, that time he’d remained entirely unconvinced that he was high at all until he was too out of his mind to act remotely composed about the whole thing.

It’s only a matter of time before that happens again. Probably about five or ten minutes, actually, Rusty thinks as he watches Danny.

He should probably get them inside.

***

It doesn’t take long before the, honestly, overzealous, amount of weed Danny smoked starts to kick in, and Rusty’s glad he managed to maneuver Danny onto the couch by the time he starts giggling uncontrollably. Then Danny, somehow, ends up on top of him, which should really be more stressful——usually feels more stressful——than it is. Rusty’s more amused than stressed now, and he’s glad for it. Freaking out while Danny is mentally off in another universe wouldn’t end well, he thinks.

Danny kisses him then, messy, on the cheek. Then the throat. Then his hands are on Rusty’s shirt, making a valiant, but very clumsy, attempt as unbuttoning Rusty’s shirt.

“Danny,” Rusty says, and moves his hand to Danny’s hair. “What are you doing?”

Danny looks up at Rusty a little guiltily, like he hadn’t expected to be called out, but even the best thief can’t take someone’s shirt off without their noticing. Especially if that person is Rusty, who is acutely aware of every bit of exposed skin on his body. He’s been feeling better about it recently; he’s taken to sleeping in a tank top or shirtless when his mind lets him, and it’s not… it’s not bad. Not so bad when Danny’s here. He’s kinder about it than most people have been. His skin crawls less when it’s Danny fiddling with the buttons of his shirt and the buckle of his belt.

“I’m——hmm,” Danny mumbles. “Taking your shirt off.” He undoes another button, then looks up at Rusty for approval before sliding his hand inside of Rusty’s shirt. Danny’s hand is warm and heavy over his heart, and Rusty has to admit that it doesn’t feel bad when Danny gently traces over the scars that crisscross his upper rib cage. Maybe he’s been missing out on this, or maybe he’s just high, because people touching his scars usually make him sick to his stomach.

He’s probably just high. Danny’s definitely too high, out of his mind; he’ll be disgusted with himself when the weed wears off, or at least embarrassed. No one wants to be that affectionate towards an assortment of scar tissue and anxiety. Certainly not after everything that had happened earlier tonight.

“Danny,” Rusty sighs. “Don’t, I’m not——“

“Oh,” Danny says, irritated, as he drops his head down, presses his face against Rusty’s mostly bare chest. He can feel Danny’s breath, feel his lips as he presses a kiss to Rusty’s chest. “Shut up.” His eyes rise up to meet Rusty’s, big and brown and high as a kite. “You’re so fucking pretty,” he continues, like he can see right into Rusty’s thoughts and wants nothing more than to dispel them.

Rusty shuts his eyes, tips his head all the way back. “‘M not——“

“Stop,” Danny cuts off, with his face still smushed against Rusty’s chest. “I don’t… I don’t care,” he says. “What you think.” He punctuates each set of words by poking Rusty’s chest. He drums his fingers on Rusty’s chest, and over the silky blue fabric of his shirt. He breathes out, heavy and hot over Rusty’s skin.

He’s thinking again, Rusty just can’t see exactly what it is. They’ve been getting better about that whole thing, the mind reading thing that confuses the hell out of everyone, but they’re still not quite right. They’re close, though, and that’s enough for Rusty.

“I can feel you thinking,” Rusty says as he works his hand through Danny’s hair, soft and gray. Danny hums and traces one of the scars on Rusty’s chest with a kind of reverence that Rusty’s fully convinced he doesn’t deserve.

“I wish you didn’t hate yourself,” is the final product of Danny’s thoughts, said quietly against blue silk.

“I don’t.”

He really doesn’t. Not completely, not as furiously as he had a year ago. There are still bad days, and times where he feels that he deserves to hurt more than anything, but those days are getting fewer and fewer, and farther apart. It’s getting better. He’s getting better, it just feels so damn slow sometimes. Today is one of the days where it feels slow, almost like backtracking, but there’s nothing that Rusty can do about it.

“You do,” Danny mumbles. “Hate your… fuck, what’s it——body.”

Well, it’s broken, bruised, and, at the end of the day, not what Danny deserves. Rusty can’t think of a much better reason to hate something than that. What’s Danny want him to say? That he’s too torn up for him? Too soft? One of the million other flaws that Rusty sees in the mirror on the daily?

“It’s not nice,” Rusty says plainly, because it is a plain statement. Plain, simple, true.

“Fuck off,” Danny mumbles, and resumes lazily unbuttoning Rusty’s shirt. “You’re nice,” he says, and inches his way up so he can kiss Rusty’s throat. “I like nice things,” Danny says, not sounding half as suave as he thinks he does. “Wouldn’t keep you around if you weren’t,” he says. “Nice,” he clarifies.

“Thanks,” Rusty says, and ignores that what Danny just said has his cheeks hot. Never mind the fact that Danny’s clearly a little too high for this kind of conversation. They both are, but that’s not going to stop them. Never has before.

“‘M not gonna stop loving you,” Danny says, “just because you don’t think you’re worth it. I mean it. I’d put a ring on you,” Danny mumbles into Rusty’s shoulder, and he really must be high out of his mind, because Rusty knows that Danny swore off marriage after his last divorce from Tess. Still, the statement has him frozen for a second, until Danny speaks again, with a very nice, but not nearly as dignified, offer. “D’you want to have sex?” His hand trails down Rusty’s chest, to his middle, and then lower, to his hips.

“Danny——“

“Or nothing,” Danny mumbles. “Want you to be comfortable.” Still, his hand settles over Rusty’s belt buckle as he speaks. Rusty can’t say he minds.

“You’re high.”

“So are you.”

Fair enough.

Rusty pauses, considers as he lays his hand over Danny’s. This could, very easily, end badly, but it’s been doing that less and less lately. Aside from earlier tonight, he’s been more himself than he’s been in a long time, more relaxed and willing, and everything with Danny has been something he said yes to. Danny, at least, knows when to stop, even if Rusty doesn’t know his own limits.

“Alright,” Rusty says, and shifts so Danny can unbuckle his belt more easily.

Never let it be said you have to tell Danny Ocean twice.