Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of this work of fiction, and no profit, monetary or otherwise, is being made through the writing of this.

Warnings: Mentions selling of children and women, but not in great detail, and that does not happen in this story; there is no underage sex or sexual abuse of a child in this. A child is kidnapped, drugged, and held for ransom. There is some violence. That might be a potential trigger for some readers. There are character deaths, off-screen, and no main characters.

A/N: This is AU and features Steve as the leader of a team of guns for hire (like Expendables, but not out to save the world, they are out to make a personal profit). Steve is not a nice guy, but Danny does work his way into the man's heart, which does not excuse Steve for anything that he does or has done. Danny is a kid in this, and Steve is a kidnapper who has a change of heart after kidnapping Danny. I have no idea where this idea came from, but, because I've been struggling with writing lately, I opted to write rather than not. My grammar is imperfect. I do not condone violence toward children. This is a work of fiction.

Steve's been watching the family for a couple of weeks now. In particular, he's been keeping an eye on Daniel Williams, oldest son of a fireman currently working on an arson case that's been in the news. The suspect is from a wealthy family, and it's a high profile case. The arsonist's daddy doesn't want his son to go to jail, even though there's ample evidence against him, and his fires have killed people. Some of them young children. It's the fireman's testimony, though, that will make or break the case, and Steve's been hired by daddy dearest to make it so that the man won't testify against his son. Steve doesn't pass judgment on the people who hire them, as long as they pay. The arsonist's daddy hired Steve's crew to take the fireman's oldest son as leverage, and that's what he's going to do.

'A son for a son,' the man had joked. Steve hadn't laughed. It was just a job, and he was getting paid for it. He didn't buddy up with men like that.

After watching the family for the past two weeks, Steve knows their routine pretty well, and figures that the best way to snatch the kid is on his way to school, because, with winter approaching, the kid leaves when it's still dark outside. The kid doesn't meet up with any friends until he gets closer to school, about a half a mile into his walk, and, if Steve plays this right, no one will even know that six and a half year old Daniel Williams is gone until early afternoon, giving Steve and his crew enough time to get him out of the state.

It's easy, taking him. The kid puts up a fight, but Chin's right there with the drug, sinking a needle into the kid's neck just as Daniel slams an elbow into Steve's gut, knocking the wind out of him. He backhands the kid, ignoring the scowl on Chin's face, and takes some pleasure in the blood that wells up in the corner of the boy's mouth before his eyes roll to the back of his head as the drug takes effect, making him easier to move.

Chin and Steve usher the boy into the back of the SUV, and as soon as the door shuts, Kono speeds away from the curb, almost, but thankfully not burning rubber. That would leave a trace, and in all of their years doing this type of work -hired guns, kidnappers, mercenaries - they've never left a trace of themselves behind. They aren't going to start doing so now, even if this is a relatively small job with a minimum payout, provided that the man who hired them keeps up his end of the bargain. They've got half the pay now, and will get the rest, if the kidnapping scheme works. If it doesn't, they don't get the remainder of their fee. Usually, it works. Steve doesn't count on usually's though.

Steve regards the unconscious child dispassionately. The boy's blonde hair is short, slightly curly. He snaps a couple of photos of the boy, knowing that, if the demands aren't met, he can still get paid. He knows people. Knows that he can get a good price for the little boy in one of the countries south of the border, where blonde-haired, blue-eyed boys are considered to be a special treat.

According to Chin, the boy is the oldest of three children, with another on the way. Slim, yet muscular, Steve notes as he strips the boy down to his underwear and binds his feet and wrists, snapping another photo that will, if the need arises, serve dual purposes.

He puts a piece of duct tape over the boy's mouth, takes another picture, and places a cloth sack over the boy's head, knowing that all of this would disorient a grown man, let alone a six and a half year old kid. He takes another picture, for good measure, and then rubs the spot in his gut where the kid had caught him with his elbow.

"That ought to hold him," Steve says, patting the boy's knee.

Chin raises an eyebrow and runs a hand through his hair. He smirks at Steve and then turns to look out of the window. Steve doesn't care if his second in command approves of his actions or not. The elbow to the gut had hurt, and the kid needs to know that he doesn't have a chance in hell of escaping.

In twenty miles they'll exchange their SUV for a moving van, and in another hundred, they'll ditch the van for a trailer, camp out in the woods for a few days, and then head down south, toward the border of Mexico, stay in a small, secluded town in Southern California while the ransom scheme plays out.

The ransom demands have already been set up, and will be delivered in precisely twenty two hours and ten minutes, plenty of time for them to get things rolling on their end, and give them enough time to get away with their hostage.

Steve sends the series of pictures to Wo Fat, an associate who specializes in trade of all kinds, knowing that, by the time they reach their destination, Sang Min, Wo Fat's right hand man, will already have buyers lined up for the boy, and some choice words for Steve's damaging of potential merchandise. It's a contingency plan, though. One that Steve hopes he won't have to employ.

Wo Fat's a prick, Steve thinks, but he knows his business. And the boy's kind of pretty, if one goes for that sort of thing. Steve doesn't. He thinks it's sick and wrong, but he pushes those types of thoughts aside because he has a job to do, and that's all that matters now, not 'what if' scenarios.

The trip south goes fairly unremarkably, the boy's not with it enough to try anything to escape. Chin keeps the him doped up, and Kono helps Steve with taking care of the kid's needs, like helping him piss and making sure he gets liquids in him.

By the time they reach the 'safehouse' everyone's exhausted and on edge. Steve settles the kid, Daniel, into the cozy little room that he'll spend the next few days in, shackles the boy's ankles and wrists to the iron bedposts, makes sure the kid's still breathing, and then steps aside to let Chin do his magic with the drugs and the camera. It's time for another picture, this one's geared to motivating Daniel's father into making the right choice. The choice not to testify against the son of Steve's client.

There are no windows, the only source of light comes from the hallway and the space is cramped. If Steve was given to claustrophobia, he'd be clawing at the walls trying to get out. He's seen it happen with others that they've taken, and some of them were grown men. He wonders how the little boy will fare.

"He'll be out until late morning, afternoon at the latest," Chin says, and he squeezes the kid's shoulder before moving past Steve.

Daniel's not the youngest child that they've taken. Not by a long shot, but Steve knows that it will be hard on Chin and Kono if the kid's father doesn't back down and give them what they want. They need to get paid, one way or another. It's always come down to Steve to do the dirty work when shit like that happens, whether or not he can stomach it.

The kid wakes, just as Chin said he would, a little after eleven in the morning. He's confused, and tries to free himself from the shackles, causing a ruckus that Steve can hear from the room he has down the hall.

Steve plays out his hand of solitaire, waits until the boy starts sobbing for his mommy before he gets up and moves to where they're keeping Daniel. He waits just outside the door when the boy's voice cuts off abruptly, and then slowly turns the knob, earning a hopeful shout for, "Mom?" from the boy.

Steve enters the room, and crosses over to the bed. Daniel's eyes are glassy, his face is red and puffy, his cheeks tearstained. His breath is coming out in hiccups and he frowns up at Steve.

"Stop crying, Daniel," Steve says, voice harsh and cutting. He doesn't want the kid to mistake him for someone who cares. It'll be easier that way, no matter how this goes down.

The boy's eyebrows scrunch together, and his chest heaves on a sob. He swallows and bites his lip. The bruise on his cheek from the backhand Steve gave him the day he was kidnapped is starting to fade to a mottled brownish yellow. The kid looks awful, which suits Steve's purposes just fine, though, for some reason that thought doesn't settle well with him.

"My name's, Danny," the boy says, voice raspy from the dehydration and lack of use, but no less fierce with the correction of the name. The kid still has some spark left to him, which is impressive. Most don't at this time. Most are begging and sobbing, getting snot all over the place, and making Steve feel uncomfortable. Danny makes him uncomfortable, too, but for different reasons entirely. He's not used to feeling anything other than disgust, or pity for the people that he kidnaps.

Danny licks his lips, and bites down on his tongue when he tries to reach out to Steve only to be stopped by the shackle, and Steve's hand clamping down on his. The kid's hands are cold, and the boy is trembling, but there's a sense of determination about him that Steve finds intriguing, which makes him feel more than a little unsettled.

"Stop that," Steve says. "You're only going to hurt yourself."

Danny stiffens and Steve removes his hand from him as though burnt. Danny's blue eyes are narrowed on him, and Steve shifts from one foot to the other. The boy's gaze is intense for someone so young, and Steve can tell that the boy is intelligent, that he's weighing Steve in that single, long look that he's giving him.

"Where's my mom?" the boy asks. "Who are you? Why'm I all locked up? What did I do wrong? Am I under arrest? I didn't mean to break Mrs. Morgan's crayon, honest, mister. And my Aunt Trudy's vase with all the flowers in it wasn't my fault, Matty was the one who threw the ball after I told him not to. And it was my fault that ma's favorite picture fell off the wall, and crashed to the floor, 'cause I slammed the door too hard, but I was angry, and I didn't mean to break it, and I 'pologized right away, and didn't get any dessert for a week." Danny's voice is going a mile a minute, and for a few seconds after the boy's voice trails off, chest heaving with what could be righteous indignation or fear, Steve blinks down at the boy, mouth hanging open before he clamps it shut. The boy's hands are opening and clenching, his arms jerking in the shackles as though they'd be flying all over the place if they were free, articulating his words with gestures to match what he's saying.

Steve's heart clenches uncomfortably, and he frowns down at the boy who has confessed to things that would never be considered crimes in any sane world. It's absurd, and Steve has half a mind to tell the boy just that, but Danny's blue eyes are open wide and filled with tears, and Steve isn't sure what to do, or what to make of the boy's babble.

Most of the time, the kids are too afraid to talk to him - he's tall and scary, and he's perfectly okay with that, it's important in his line of business. Not only does he scare the kids, but he's damn good at scaring the adults, too. Most just beg him to let them go. This one, though, Danny, not Daniel, is talking and looking at him in a way that makes him feel uncomfortable, and confused, thinking that he, and not Steve, has done something wrong. It's like putting his shoes on the wrong feet.

"Your mom's not here," Steve says, mouth dry, palms sweaty. "You're not under arrest."

The boy seems to relax a little at that, though he jiggles the shackles and frowns up at Steve, eyes shadowed by long lashes. Steve feels small under the boy's scrutiny, like he's under some kind of microscope.

"I arrested Matty once," he says in a whisper, and Steve leans forward as though compelled. The boy's eyes are once again narrowed, and the fingers of his left hand are gesticulating as he speaks. "It was the right thing to do," Danny says, and Steve doesn't doubt it, though why such a young child would feel the need to arrest his kid brother is beyond him.

"Were you playing cops and robbers?" Steve asks, in spite of himself. He's on a slippery slope and has a feeling that he's just gone over that proverbial edge, and he's sliding down the hill at breakneck speeds.

Danny shakes his head, and his lips twist slightly, there's a spark in his blue eyes that causes something in Steve's gut to clench, and his lips quirk upward though he doesn't give them tacit permission to do so. The little boy is clearly a fighter, and he's got a firm understanding of what is right and what is wrong, and Steve knows that he's on the side of what is wrong in that whole equation, but he's not sure that Danny understands that, or why the thought that Danny seeing him in that light bothers him.

"He was causing a disturbance," Danny says, voice quiet, yet firm.

"What did you do to him?" Steve asks, curious, leaning forward. He feels like he's petering on the edge of an abyss, and is about to fall in it. The problem is that he's not sure that it's such a bad thing.

The boy shrugs, eyes lowered, fingers twitching in the shackles. "Handcuffed him to the monkey cage." Danny's voice is so low now that Steve has to lean even closer to hear him. The boy's blue eyes are murky with what Steve can only assume is guilt, and he stifles a laugh, because he doubts that the little boy will respond very well to that.

"I'm sure he forgave you," Steve says, because he doesn't know what else to say, and when Danny glances up at him, eyes still clouded with guilt, he wishes that he did know what to say, but he's never been good with kids. Hasn't needed to be good with kids, with people outside of the close knit group he works with, and Catherine, his off and on again girlfriend.

"I'm hungry," Danny says in a whisper, fingers plucking at a loose thread on the pillow case. "Thirsty, too." His stomach grumbles. He blushes and hides his face against the pillow.

"I'll get you some water," Steve says, fighting the insane urge he has to run his fingers through the boy's hair to soothe him. He's never liked children, and this reaction to the boy is throwing him off. Kids are too needy. Too vulnerable. Too noisy and weak.

Steve silently curses as he leaves the room, purposefully turning a steely glare on the boy that makes the kid shiver and look away. He shuts the door behind him, locking the kid in the dark. It's necessary. Part of the routine that they've established over the years. Breaking the kids down just enough so that, when the time comes for them to be videotaped, or put on the phone, they'll be terrified enough to say what needs to be said, and look pathetic and sickly enough to pull at their parents' heartstrings and pocketbooks, or in this case, consciences.

He pulls a bottle of water from the fridge, takes a sip from it, and drops a sleeping pill, and a Vicodin into it, lets it sit for awhile so that the pills will dissolve before he brings it to Danny. The boy's got to be wondering if he's coming back by the time that Steve does return to the room a half an hour later. Another tactic to keep their hostages on the edge, and remind them of who has the control.

Danny sucks in a deep breath and a tear spills out of his eyes when Steve enters the room, and when he says, "Thank you," after Steve tilts the water into his mouth; his voice is small and trembling, but he's smiling, and Steve feels like he's been suckerpunched.

Food will be withheld from the boy for the duration of his stay, whether he'll be returned home or not. He won't starve to death in the week or two that they have him. The lack of food will make the boy easier to manipulate, though, as will the drugged water.

Steve wonders when this became his life, he used to be a reputable man with a respectable job. He used to save people, but an injury, and being discharged from the military had ended his career in short order, and he'd been bitter at first, which is why he'd gone into business with Wo Fat in the first place. Now that he runs his own business, he isn't any happier, but doesn't dwell on the thought as he helps Danny take sips of the doctored water until the drugs kick in.

By the end of the day Danny will be covered in piss, sheets reeking, and the humiliation will settle in, making the little boy even easier to manipulate. It's all part and parcel of what he, Chin and Kono do. He shouldn't be having misgivings about it now. This isn't the first little boy that they've kidnapped.

None of this is easy, but it helps if he doesn't think of them as children, or people, but rather a means to an end. Money. Danny, Daniel, whatever the kid's name is, that's all he is, and Steve doesn't care one way or another what happens to the kid once the time limit has expired - if the boy's father still testifies, the kid goes to Wo Fat, because Steve, Chin and Kono need the money, and sometimes that's what tips the hand, and what convinces the parent or lover, or whoever, to pay up, or give into whatever demands have been made. What happens to the boy after that is none of Steve's business. All that matters is that he'll get paid. Danny Williams is nothing more than a paycheck. None of them are.

"Mist'r?" Danny's voice is weak, and his eyes are swollen from crying. The tips of his fingers are blue, and his head rolls on his neck when he turns toward Steve and the water bottle. Three days, and the kid's still talking to him, still offering him weak smiles, and asking if he's done something wrong, and why he's locked up. The kid doesn't get it. Doesn't understand that it's not about him. It's about money.

"Drink this," Steve says, holding the water up to Danny's lips. Danny's forehead crinkles, and he shakes his head.

"'M not thirsty," he says. "I wanna go home. I promise I'll be good." His voice is raspy.

Steve rakes a hand through the boy's hair and pushes the water bottle at the kid's lips. Danny purses them and turns his head away. It's his first real act of defiance, and Steve wonders if he's got the combination of drugs wrong, if he shouldn't have given Chin and Kono a few days off after all, because usually it's Chin who usually drugs the water, and keeps the kids subdued.

"Danny, drink the water," Steve says.

"No." Danny keeps his head turned away, refusing to look at Steve, refusing to drink the water. "I wanna go home."

"Well, you can't go home," Steve says, exasperated as he grabs Danny's chin and forces the boy's mouth open. "Now drink the damn water."

Danny's eyes well up with tears, and the boy glares at Steve, but Steve pours the water into his mouth before Danny can say whatever it is that he's working himself up to say. Danny sputters, and chokes, and for several heartbeats Steve worries that he might've accidentally drowned the boy, and wonders why that thought terrifies him. Danny's father is still going to testify. The pictures of his son, the video that Chin took of the boy lying emaciated on the bed, awash in piss and sickly looking had only seemed to motivate the man to bring the arsonist down.

The thought of it makes Steve sick, and watching Danny's fingers and legs twitch, Steve starts to wonder what the point of any of this is.

It hasn't even been a week, and the kid's fate has been decided by men too stubborn to back down from their own convictions. It isn't right, but Steve doesn't make the rules, and there's nothing he can do, apparently, to convince Danny's father not to testify. Steve's already made the call to Wo Fat. Danny's being sold to a man in Venezuela who specializes in selling little boys; he'll be collected by Sang Min in the morning.

Steve tips more of the water into the little boy's mouth, brushes the hair off his forehead, and ignores the glassy blue eyes that seem to stare into his soul, eyes that find him wanting. He leaves the room, shutting the door firmly behind him as he moves on to plan the next job, struggling to put all thoughts of Danny out of his mind.

Except it doesn't work. He's haunted by blue eyes, curly blonde hair, and a hope filled voice. The boy's somehow managed to break through his barriers, and Steve can't bear to think about what will happen to the six year old in Venezuela. He's heard stories, seen the end results of such sales. None of them are pretty. Almost all of them end in death, or worse. Steve doesn't want to see that happen to Danny, and he doesn't understand why, because he's not had a problem with handing children, or women over to Wo Fat before. It's part of the plan. A part that, if the target has half a heart, usually works. At best, Danny will only be down south for a few weeks, at worst...Steve doesn't even want to think about it. He always pushes unsuccessful hostage negotiations to the back of his mind, locks them away so he won't have to examine them too closely.

News of the fire - the death of the fireman, and his family, in their home - is all over TV and the Internet by the time that Steve's ready to call the Williams' and let them know of the sale - a last second bid for Danny's freedom. The arsonist fucked up, and Steve wants to punch a wall, or the man who hired them, because he knows that following through on the threat to sell Danny would've been the tipping point, that the boy's father, stoic or not, would have caved. That's what usually happens, and, most of the time the hostages are returned, a little worse for the wear. Steve doesn't know what happens after that. Doesn't care just as long as he gets paid.

Chin and Kono arrive at the safehouse before Steve has a chance to call them. Neither of them say anything. They get to work on cleaning up the safehouse. Removing evidence of Danny and the drugs from the premises.

"I'm keeping the kid," Steve says, the words pulled from him as though he's possessed, and maybe he is, because that thought hadn't even entered his mind until the words had passed through his lips. Maybe the kid's dead family is reaching out through him from beyond the grave, protecting the one remaining member of their family in death.

"Boss?" Kono asks, puzzled, looking from Steve to Chin and back again.

"Are you sure that's a good idea, Steve?" Chin asks.

"He's an orphan now," Steve says, as if that explains the too rapid beating of his heart, the way that it feels like it's being squeezed by a vise, as though the little boy's fingers are wrapped around it. "He's got no home to go back to, no one to -"

Kono nods. "Okay," she says. "Alright. We can do this, right, Chin?" She looks askance at her cousin, and, though he's frowning, Chin returns her nod.

"Sure," he says, and Steve knows the thoughts that are running through Chin's mind. Knows that this is crazy, that Wo Fat won't like it, that he has no fucking idea what to do with a six year old kid whose family was murdered while he was being held captive by a bad man who kept him chained up and drugged.

"We'll have to change his appearance, maybe give him dark hair," Steve says, thinking aloud, thoughts spiralling out of control, but forming a clear, workable plan in his mind.

"Maybe a new name?" Kono suggests.

Steve shakes his head. Can't imagine the kid with any other name than Danny. "No. We just need to give him a new last name, it'll be easier on the kid."

"We need to start putting things into motion." Chin's looking at his watch. Time dictates a lot of what they do. Normally Steve finds that comforting. It's routine, gives him some semblance of normalcy. A measure of control.

Steve keeps Danny drugged. It's simpler. Easier to clean the kid up, tend to the wounds on his wrists from the shackles, the bruises, the bedsores from lying in piss and sweat. He tries not to look too closely. Not to notice that, even in just a week, the kid's nothing but skin and bones, ribs visibly protruding through his skin.

The boy, even drugged, moans and whimpers, and Steve tries to be as gentle as possible, because he doesn't want to hurt the boy any more. He feels a fierce protectiveness toward Danny, the intensity of it is overwhelming, but he doesn't stop to question it, because there's no time for that.

Kono dyes Danny's hair, and cuts it short, dresses him in a brand new outfit that she got at some chain clothing store. Chin erases all of the evidence of their presence there, burns the boy's clothing, the sheets, everything. Steve handles the transportation. Remembers blue skies framed by palm trees, the salty smell of the ocean and the deafening roar of its waves. Home. Hawaii. Danny, he, Kono, Chin - they'll all be safe there, in his father's house. It's in Mary's name. She's abandoned it. Abandoned him and their family after their father's death.

Fashioning a fictional story that will stand up to scrutiny, and become Danny's new reality, is easier than he thought it would be, and harder than anything else he's ever had to do in his life, because it means that he'll have to dial back some on his business. That he'll have to take fewer jobs, and those that are low risk.

He knows, instinctively that raising Danny will be an exercise in patience and terror, because Steve knows that he's going to fuck something up, that it's not right and fair, that Danny deserves better than what he can offer the kid. He's an assassin. A kidnapper. A man with a heart of stone.

And it isn't long before Danny's got him wrapped around his finger, got him feeling like his head's been screwed on backwards, and making changes - subtle at first - in his life. It's not long before the kid works his magic on Chin and Kono too, and then Danny's got the whole island of O'ahu ready to do his bidding.

Before Steve knows what's happening, his life's been hijacked and they've become a family, 'ohana, with Danny at the center of it, dictating everything with the bat of thick eyelashes, or the stubborn jut of his chin, words lashing at him like a whip, taking him to task. Keeping him honest. Or at least as honest as a gun for hire could get.

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