Chapter Text
Chapter Two
"Chief, I got Casey," Severide says into his radio. "We're going to need…" He has to pause for a second, casting his eyes over the debris trapping his friend. "We're going to need cribbing, the air bags and saws."
And that's just the start, he thinks grimly. It's going to be a tough rescue. The big beam pinning Casey to the wall is also what's stopping the rest of the debris crushing him. One wrong move and the shattered concrete and broken wood will come down like a stack of cards. They've faced worse odds, he's sure of that, but damn it, he can't think of any right now.
"How you doing, Matt?" He lifts a couple of chunks of concrete off the blond man, throwing them aside. He gets his first proper look at the other lieutenant and what he sees makes him want to tear into the mess with his bare hands.
One eye is swollen shut, crusted with blood. The other is barely open, blood clumping his lashes together like some macabre mascara. There’s a bruise blooming on his jaw, and a nasty gash on his forehead which is still bleeding. The turnout coat hides the lieutenant’s torso but Severide guesses at broken ribs, just from the hitch in the other man’s breathing. He unfastens the coat, pushing it back and Casey shudders as the cooler air hits him. More blood stains his polo shirt but Severide can’t tell where it’s coming from.
"Been better," Casey answers, and the rasp in his voice makes Severide wince. "What happened?"
Footsteps on the ladder save Severide from answering. He glances over, expecting Dawson, but it's Brett and he's simultaneously relieved and worried. Relieved because Gabby doesn't need to see her husband like this, and worried, because he knows what it's like to be watching and waiting on the outside, relying on scant updates to tell you the person you love is still clinging to life.
"Hey Matt," Brett says, passing a bag to Severide. "Give me a minute and I'll see if I can get you a bit more comfortable." There's a cervical collar in her hands and she slips it into place on Casey's body, hands careful but brisk at the same time.
"I'd appreciate that," Casey says, and none of them mention the tears that are cutting tracks in the dust on his face.
"Boden is holding Squad back for now. They're shoring up the back wall so nothing else comes down on us," Brett says and nods at the bag.
Severide opens the bag, one handed, because Casey is still hanging onto him and he can't bring himself to break the contract. “What do you need?” he asks.
"Trauma shears," she says and takes them, chomping through Casey's shirt in a few snips.
Severide had seen it done a thousand times and yet it suddenly seems weirdly invasive, intrusive. He wants to cover Casey back up and the urge is so strong he has to bite his cheek to stop himself from reaching for the blanket.
Brett sets up the monitor, sticking the pads in place with careful hands. Casey's ribs are already black and blue, a darker imprint showing where his radio had been. There are a few nasty cuts, some still bleeding slowly, and she tapes dressings over them, feeling him flinch under her touch.
"Any trouble breathing?" Brett asks. "Where else are you hurt?"
"No," Casey says, tugging his hand free to gesture at his chest. "Hurts here, though. Left arm is bad, too. And my hip is fucking killing me." His voice is rough, words grating over each other.
The language makes her pause. He's a hot head, both lieutenants are, but he usually doesn't swear unless the situation is dire.
"Looks like you broke some ribs, bud," Severide says. He's been there and knows how much it hurts.
Brett frowns at the monitor, wagging her hand when Severide catches her eye. Casey's sats aren't the best she's ever seen but they're not terrible, given the situation he's in. A bag of fluids will help, but that means getting him out of his turnout coat.
"Matt, I need to put a line in. Once it's set, I can give you something for the pain. I need to get you out of that coat first, okay?"
"Okay," he says. He's cold again, and the injuries are wearing on him. "I'm married, though," he mumbles and huffs a laugh, taking any distraction that he can. He blinks his good eye and everything suddenly goes dark. Panic grips him. "Brett, I can't see," He says, voice high and tight.
Severide shines his torch on the blond man's face. "Hey, hey Matt, it's okay. Give us a second here, bud." He grabs the bottle of saline wash Brett offers him and soaks a pile of gauze, using it to wipe the crusted blood from his friend's eyes. As if being trapped isn't terrifying enough without being blind too, he thinks. "Blink for me?"
Casey blinks again, the breath leaving him in a rush when he can see again. It makes him cough, and Brett slips an oxygen mask over his face.
"Deep breaths, Matt. This is going to suck but we'll be quick." She pats his good shoulder and stands as best she can, carefully maneuvering the coat off. It's difficult, and all three of them are sweating when it's finally done.
Casey has his eyes jammed shut, good hand clenching at his side as he tries to ride out the wave of agony the jostling has caused. Crimson spots dance at the edge of his vision, threatening unconsciousness, but he drags in another breath and they recede.
Warm fingers touch his arm, the sting of the needle lost in the sea of torment washing over him.
"Just hold on, Matt," Brett says. "Morphine is in. Just keep breathing for me, okay?"
Severide unfolds the blanket and drapes it over Casey. It's cold in the basement and the blond man is wracked with shivers. It's shock, he knows, and while he's seen it, this is his friend who is suffering and that makes it hard to bear.
Brett finds a spot to hang the bag and reaches for a splint, stomach rolling as she lifts Casey's left arm and spots the compound fracture, bone sticking out of a nasty wound just above his wrist. The pulse in his hand is weak and she swallows hard, knowing the fracture needs to be reduced. Knowing just how much that’ll hurt, but if she doesn’t, he could lose the hand.
“Hey Matt,” she says, meeting Severide’s eyes over his head. “I need to reduce this fracture because it’s cutting off the circulation to your hand. I’m not going to lie, it’s going to hurt like hell, but you’ll be a lot more comfortable when it’s done.”
“Just fucking do it,” he says, on an uneaven breath.
He jerks under her hands, screaming, as she applies traction to his hand, feeling the sick muted pop as the bone slips back into place.
Every nerve, every cell in his body feels like they’ve been rerouted to his wrist and doused in nuclear fire. It’s agony on a scale he didn’t know existed before and he would be quite happy to go back to not knowing it. The noises coming from him sound like they belong to some wounded, dying animal and yet he can’t make them stop.
Severide has his hands on Casey’s shoulders, holding him steady, mouth pressed close to the other man’s ear, talking nonsense that he hopes is vaguely comforting. Both of them are shaking.
Brett slips the air cast into place, carefully resting it against Casey’s chest. “All done,” she says, and flexes her hands inside her gloves, palms slick with sweat. She’d been a touch conserative with the morphine and she gives him a little more, feeling him relax as it washes through him.
He blinks sweat and tears from his eyes. There’s more blood in his mouth, and a new raw patch where he bit his cheek. “I never want to do that again,” he says, unsteadily, and drags his free hand over his mouth.
“Me either,” Brett says, and rubs his shoulder.
Her hands brush over his torso, assessing his condition. She can just reach his pelvis under the debris and she feels carefully for any bleeding, or obvious fractures.
He jerks, a hoarse scream ripping from his throat even under the influence of the morphine. Severide grabs his good hand again, giving him an anchor. Casey hangs on with desperate strength, each breath hissing through his teeth as he fights for control.
"Just breathe, bud," Severide says, eyeing Casey with growing concern. The blond man is pale and drenched in clammy sweat, exhaustion written plain on his body. They all need this to be over sooner rather than later.
"We need to get him out of here," she says. "if that's a fractured pelvis, he could bleed out internally and we couldn't do a thing to stop it."
"Got ya," Severide says and keys his radio. "Chief, send Squad down. We need to get Casey out ASAP."