Chapter Text
Chapter Fourteen
He dozes without meaning to, the phone clutched in his hand. Eight hours have passed without any news and it's too long. A text startles him awake but it's just advertising spam and meaningless. He finds himself tapping his good foot and a sense memory of being trapped shivers over him, sending his pulse racing.
He freezes and that's worse, reminds him of being trapped even more and he sighs, disgusted at himself and his weakness. He's freaking out over a few memories when his friends are in God knows what sort of trouble. He scowls and unlocks the phone, navigating to the contacts. Whoever had set the phone up has imported all of his old stuff and the contacts list is full with numbers he can ring. He closes the menu, not wanting to risk being a distraction, and reopens the browser.
There's no updates since the last time he checked on the news sites and nothing else is holding his attention. He tips his head back against the pillows, instincts warring with his anxe, and just breathes until he has something like control over his emotions.
The door opens and he looks over so fast he feels something pull in his neck. It's one of the nurses, a tall blonde who's name he can't recall. "Sorry, did I wake you?" she says and walks over to the bed to do his observations.
"Can you find out if anyone from my Firehouse has been brought in downstairs?" He asks and the strain in his voice is clear.
"From the train crash?" She frowns. “Heard it was a bad one.”
He nods. "Yeah. My friends got called back in last night and I haven't… There's been no news from them."
"I'll see what I can find out," she promises and hangs a new bag of antibiotics. "This is your last one," she tells him and while normally he'd have cheered, the news just doesn't seem important right now.
"Good," he says, because she seems to be expecting an answer from him.
"Everything looks good, Matt," she says and leaves him. "Let me go and check for you."
He nods his thanks, wishing he could get up and pace, do something other than lie in bed like a useless lump of flesh. The not knowing is wearing on him and the irony of the situation doesn't escape him. He'd been the one causing his friends to worry too few nights ago.
The phone vibrates in his hand and he unlocks the screen to see a Facebook notification from a post he made Before… Before he fell, before everything went wrong and it's jarring. He deletes it without looking at the post and makes a decision, sending a single text - Sit rep? - to Boden before locking the phone.
Slow warmth steels through him and he feels some of the gnawing tension ease under his timed dose of morphine. It pulls at him, like he's an anchored boat and it's the oncoming tide and he bows to it, lets himself drift, halfway between sleep and wakefulness. Fragments of memories drift through his mind and he blinks back to awareness minutes or hours later.
A glance at the clock tells him he's been out for almost ninety minutes and he scrambles for the phone.
No new messages.
The feeling in his gut deepens. There's no reason his people should have been out of contact for so long unless something has happened. Years of experience is telling him that. He debates sending another text, then gives in and rings the Firehouse instead, counting eight, nine rings before someone picks up.
"Firehouse 51, Andrews speaking," the voice says.
Casey blows out a breath in relief. He knows Andrews, though not well, but he's not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. "It's Matthew Casey. What's the situation?" he asks, putting an edge on the words without really meaning to.
Silence, then Andrews clears his throat. "No one told you?" he asks and Casey's heart about crawls up his throat. "It's bad, man. They've called in all relief. Damn Cesna came down in the tracks, derailed an Amtrack."
He knows that much, though the extra detail sends a shiver down his spine. "How are our people?"
"Cell towers are down in the areas, something to do with the crash. Radio is spotty too, but as far as I can tell they're pulling the shift from last night and sending fresh guys in," Andrews says. "Look, I better get off the phone, just in case."
"Alright," Casey says but he's talking to dead air. He wants a radio, a vehicle and a healed body so he can go and do something. He's not likely to get any of those things soon and he sighs in disgust, debating sending another text when the door opens.
It's Severide and he looks like hell, one wrist in a cast, a nasty gash over his cheek, exhaustion painting deep circles under his eyes.
Casey feels his eyes widen. "Jesus, Kelly!"
"I'm okay," Severide says, which is clearly a lie and limps over to the easy chair, slumping down on it with a heartfelt groan. "We're all okay, bar some minor bumps and bruises." He lifts his casted arm. "This is probably the worst."
He swings his feet up onto the stool with a muffled curse.
"Gabby?" Casey asks. "Sylvie? Stella?"
"All fine. Ambo is stuck at Lakeshore but they weren't hurt. Stella needs a few stitches and a scan, so they're keeping her in the ER for now but she sent me up to update you because we knew you'd be going stir crazy."
Severide blinks, and yawns, exhaustion eating at him. It's been a long while since he's pulled such an awful set of shifts and he knows it'll take some time to sort through, but right now all he wants is a few hours of solid sleep. He shakes his head a little, rousing himself, knowing that he owes Casey the story.
They share a look and Casey nods, just a little. "It can wait. Sleep," he orders his friend and the other man nods, shifting and closes his eyes. There's a spare blanket just in his reach on the bed and he tosses it at Severide, the other man blearily opening his eyes as it lands in his lap. The movement reminds Casey in various ways that he's nowhere near healed and he has to bite back a groan.
The phone buzzes again and he picks it up, finding a text from Gabby. She's sent him a photo of her and Brett, both filthy and exhausted but safe. He replies, the relief of seeing her unharmed almost making him giddy and tips his head back against the pillows, the long night weighing on him.
My people are safe is his last coherent thought before he falls asleep.