Chapter Text
Chapter Eight
It takes him three days to open his eyes again. They've been taking shifts so he's not alone and Severide is dozing in the chair by his bed, exhausted by a tough shift. There's an old copy of Boating magazine on his knees that falls to the floor as he sits forward, gaze fixed on his friend's face as he wills him to repeat the motion.
"Hey, Casey?" he says, uncertainty.
Casey's hand jerks and Severide responds instinctively, taking hold of it. "Hey, bud. Good to see you awake. Just relax. I'll get the doctor." He hits the call button.
Casey's fingers tighten around his friend's. He's still on the vent and the tube feels like torture device. He can't stop the surge of panic that washes over him, spiking his pulse. He can't move, and that makes things worse, because for a second he's back in the rubble, in the dark and it's too much. He yanks on Severide’s hand, struggling with desperate strength.
"Hey, Matt. Just look at me. You're okay," Severide says, just about to stay slow deep breaths when he realises that probably isn't the best advice. "The Doc will be here any second." He rests his other hand on Casey’s cheek, hoping the contact will be enough to calm him.
There had been talk about taking him off the vent but his doctor was being cautious. Damn it, Severide thought, this is what Gabby warned him about this morning.
The argument had been fierce and neither of them had come away satisfied. The fact neither of them was wrong hadn't helped.
"What's going on?" Dr Clarke asks. "I'm stepping in for now. Dr Adams is in surgery," he explains, before Severide can ask. "Hey, Matt. Good to see you awake." He scans Casey's vitals, nodding a little. "Give me a couple of minutes and I'll get rid of that tube for you. That okay?"
Casey blinks, hand folding into a tired thumbs-up. His eyes are still wild, but he's calming.
"I know it's uncomfortable but just try to relax," Dr. Clarke says and gathers the supplies he needs. He deflates the cuff on the tube, disconnecting it from the vent and turns the machine off. "Okay, it'll feel weird but deep breath and cough for me."
Casey does, and Dr Clarke slides the tube free. It takes a moment for Casey to catch his breath. Long wracking coughs shake his body, and they hurt, jarring every injury without mercy. He bites his lip, clamping down with all his will and manages to get the cough under control.
Dr. Clarke slips a nasal cannula into place and the extra oxygen helps, taking some of the strain off his aching chest.
"How long?" Casey asks, voice hoarse. His throat feels raw and he's in dire need of a drink. Severide holds a cup of water up and he swallows a few mouthfuls.
"Four days," Severide says. "You just missed Gabby. We ordered her home to sleep and eat because she hasn't left your side. Want me to call her?" He asks and Casey nods.
Severide slips out of the door to make the call leaving Casey and the doctor alone.
"How bad?" Casey asks. It feels bad. He's still fuzzy from the drugs but pain is creeping in. His fingers play over the cast on his wrist but it's his hip that hurts the most, a deeply unpleasant ache that speaks of long surgical intervention. What if I can’t go back to work? The thought threatens to send panic through him but he wrestles it down, shoving it away for later, when he hurts less and he’s clearer.
"Fractured ribs, two fractures in your pelvis and a broken wrist that needed plating. You got off lucky, considering."
"Doesn't feel like it," Casey says, and shifts, trying to find a more comfortable position. It gives him a jolt as he remembers trying to do the same under the beam.
"Pain getting bad?" Dr Clarke asks, a sympathetic frown wrinkling his face.
Casey nods. "Yeah." His entire body is throbbing like a bad tooth, and he feels sweat break out along his hairline. The few mouthfuls of water he’d swallowed churn uneasily in his stomach and he swallows, wincing because his throat feels like he’s been using ground glass to gargle with.
"Hold on, bud," the doctor says, and adjusts something on the autodose machine. "Now you're awake, we'll get you on a PCA machine. Is it the hip?"
"Yeah," Casey says again. He knows it's short but he's not really up for conversation. He’s exhausted again, eyelids suddenly made from lead and it’s a struggle to keep them open.
"Pelvic fractures are super painful but we can do things to help." He grabs the spare pillows from the chair and uncovers Casey's legs. "Getting your knee up will probably help. Ready?"
"Go for it," Casey says, glancing over hopefully when he hears the door open. It's Severide and while he's glad to see his friend, he's disappointed it isn't Gabby. Part of him knows that’s unreasonable- it takes time to reach the hospital, but the bigger part just wants to see her.
"Hey Kelly, wanna help?" Dr Clarke says and hands him the pillows. "I'm going to lift Matt's leg. You get the pillows under his knee."
He lifts gently. It's agony, and Casey has to bite his lip to stop himself screaming. Severide's quick with the pillows but it's too much and he can feel himself fading. He blinks, fighting against the pull but it’s too strong and he surrenders to it, letting himself fall into the darkness.
"He okay?" Severide asks, worry jumping in his chest. I hate this, he thinks, and can’t stop himself from patting Casey’s arm, eyes fixed on the slow but steady rise and fall of his chest.
"He's okay. He'll probably be in and out for a while. The remaining sedation needs to leave his system." He grimaces. "And moving his leg was probably extremely painful."
Severide frowns. "Then why do it?" he snaps, hands flexing. He’s helpless, unable to fix anything, to make it better, and he loathes the feeling. He became a firefighter because he couldn’t bear to stand on the sidelines and watch, and being forced to do just that is torture.
"Because he'll feel a damn sight better next time he wakes up," he explains. "This is excellent progress, Kelly," he says. His beeper goes off and he slaps Severide's shoulder. "He's on the mend, I promise. I gotta take this. If you're worried, hit the button."
He ducks out of the room, leaving Severide staring down at his friend. You just keep making progress, bud, he thinks. We need you back, fighting fit. I need you back.