"Can't." Steve says it easy. Another single, solid word. But all traces of that rough humor gone.

As simple as any unbrookable denial Danny were asking, or telling him, to back the hell down on a case when he knows.

That something is wrong. That someone is playing him. That someone is still in mortal danger. That he needs to be alert. Needs to be focused. Needs to not take his eyes off the people in danger. Needs to be more than human, more than a cop, whatever it takes to do the job. Needs to keep digging, keep hitting harder, going further. As far he has to go until his gut stops saying he has to.

And he does. Know. Maybe not exactly. Not the words. Not what is happening in Danny's head. Not the specifics. If this is what regret looks like on Danny. Like a trip and trigger of every single tic the man has gone, not icy, no, but absent. Empty. Taking him somewhere Steve's hands can't reach. Even when Danny's hand is getting tighter and together on his forearm. Making Steve sure the last thing he should do is listen.

At least to the words. To Danny telling him to shut up, to go to sleep, to let go, to leave it alone.

"Hey." Steve nudged Danny with his nose. Voice low, with only the faintest note of uncertainty being smothered more in its sleep, with strong armed, forced certainty, because someone has to be. "Come here." Words that are being said as Steve lets go though. Pulling his hand free from under Danny's side, even as he's tugging at Danny. "Turn around."

Toward him. Not away from him. Before he starts believing it's the one out Danny actually is clinging to.