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Chapter Text

Will is kidnapped as leverage to stop Intelligence’s investigation of a gang of drug runner’s. They have no leads until one of the gang, who happens to owe the good doctor a favor, calls in an anonymous tip and saves the day. Despite this - is Jay almost too late?

Will was glad Owen was enjoying the park. The two year old was currently digging in the sandpit.

“No, Owen,” Will said, patiently, preventing the little boy from swallowing his handful of sand. “You can’t eat that.”

And his presence was fortuitous when he heard a scream and then a commotion over by the monkey bars. Scooping up Owen, he hurried toward the scene. It was a young boy, curly hair filed with the wood chips the park favored, cradling his arm. The shoulder was distended and he had a cut on his forehead that was bleeding.

Entrusting Owen to a woman nearby whom he knew, Will instructed another of the women to call 911 before kneeling beside the boy.

“Hey, you’re gonna be ok,” He promised. “My name’s Will. What’s yours?”

“Diego,” The child whimpered. 

“You’re gonna be ok, Diego,” Will promised again. “I’m just gonna take a quick look at that shoulder, buddy, is that ok?”

At the boy’s nod, Will gently felt around the shoulder joint; as he suspected, it was dislocated.

“Ambulance is on the way,” The woman who had called informed the red headed doctor.

“Did they say how long?”

“They mentioned rerouting - 15 minutes?”

Adding up the numbers in his head, it would be a good half hour to 45 minutes before the boy would be in the ER. 

“Diego!” Will looked up to see a Hispanic man approaching, street clothes indicating possible gang affiliations. Will had seen enough of them in the ER bleeding out to know. The man slid to his knees beside Will asking aggressively, “What’s wrong with him?”

“His shoulder’s dislocated,” Will told him, “the laceration on his head looks minor, it’s only bleeding so much because it’s on his forehead. The ambulance is 15 minutes out.”

“You a doctor?” The man squinted at him, suspicious.

“Yes, trauma surgeon at Chicago Med,” Will told him. 

“Then can’t you fix him?” 

“I could, but it’s safest -

“Fix him!” The man demanded. 

Will took a deep breath, looking back down at the kid, who was hiccuping quietly. “OK, but you have to help me hold him, do you understand?”

“Understood.”

Will directed the man on how to hold Diego down properly. Then he started to gently manipulate the arm, figuring out the quickest, safest way to reset the bone in the socket. 

“I’m going to count down from three,” Will told them, “You can close your eyes, ok, Diego?”

Sniffling, Diego closed his eyes, gripping hard on the man, presumably his fathers’, shirt. 

“Three, two, one—!”

Steady and sure, Will manipulated the arm, and within 15 seconds, there was an audible pop as the bone slid back into the shoulder joint, accompanied by a pain filled yell from Diego, giving way to clearly relieved muscle relaxation as Will pulled back. Quickly checking the joint to make sure it was done properly, Will was happy to give the boy a clean bill of health.

“It looks good,” Will told the man. “Though he should still go to the hospital so they can make sure. And they’ll clean up that cut.”

The man didn’t look like the type who often thanked anybody, but he did now. “Thanks. Doc.”

“It’s no trouble,” Will said, digging through his pockets, pulling out a lollipop. “Here, Diego. You were really brave.”

Smiling now, Diego took the lollipop, sticking it in his mouth with his good hand. 

Turning to the man, Will complimented him as well, “You did good, man.”

The man just nodded, keeping all his attention on his son. That was when Will went to reclaim Owen. Maybe they’d just go home and watch cartoons for a while. He’d had enough excitement for his day off.

——————————

Jay was being taciturn - more than usual, anyway, when Will met up with him at Molly’s the next Friday.

“You doing ok?” Will asked his little brother.

“It’s just a case,” Jay told him. “The details of which I am not at liberty to discuss.”

“Ok, Jay,” Will said. “I won’t push. But try to relax, ok?”

“Ok.” Jay said, lifting his beer with a little smile.

——————————

It was a gorgeous mid-Autumn day with rain clouds on the horizon. Will had gotten coffee on the way to work, to combat the slight chill that was starting to pervade the air. The parking garage was quiet as he made his way to the staff elevator.

There was the slight sound of scuffling feet behind him and he started to turn.

He never saw the men who took him.

————————

Jay pulled up to the hospital in his work vehicle, he needed to interview the latest witness who had ended up in the ER.  Everyone knew him so he barely had to flash his badge. 

On his way out after an unsuccessful interview with the victim (who was also one of the perps), he was surprised not to run into Will. He was sure his older brother was working. Usually he couldn’t wait to come and rib Jay about something before he left. This time, he’d probably joke that it was nice to see Jay in the ER while not in a hospital bed.

“Jay!” He turned to see Natalie hurrying towards him. 

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Have you heard from Will? His shift started half an hour ago and he hasn’t called in,” Natalie spilled out in one breath.

“No, he hasn’t called me since I saw him at the bar last week,” Jay told her. “Why don’t we go see if his car is here?”

His feeling of foreboding only grew when they found Will’s car parked in his reserved spot. Circling the car to the drivers side, Jay froze as he took in the familiar green messenger bag discarded carelessly on the ground, a cup of spilled coffee beside it. 

When he finally found his voice he took out his phone, speed dialing Voight.

“Voight.” Came the terse voice that sounded like the man smoked three packs a day (though Jay knew for a fact that he didn’t). 

“Sarge, someone took Will.”

“You at the scene?” Jay was glad to hear even the tiniest bit of concern from his Sergeant for Jay’s brother. Voight didn’t often show it, but he cared about his detectives and that extended to their families. It also helped that Will had done Voight a few favors.

“Yeah, his cars at the hospital but he’s not … And there are signs of a struggle.”

“We’ll be there in ten.” And Voight hung up.

“Try calling him again,” Jay told Natalie, starting to circle around the scene to see if he’d missed anything. And that was how he found Will’s phone, vibrating behind the back wheel of the car, Natalie’s name on the home screen. 

By the time Voight arrived, Natalie had fetched Goodwin. 

“Do you know what this is about, Sergeant?” Goodwin asked.

“My guess, it has something to do with a case we’re working on,” Jay interjected.

“Maybe.” Voight shook his head. “But we won’t know for sure unless they reach out.”

Jay’s stomach turned, knowing what it meant if any of the gangs they were currently cracking down on had his brother. The message would be bloody, brutal, or both. Will didn’t deserve any of this, he was just a doctor, for Christ’s sake. 

“Hey,” Voight said, suddenly in front of Jay. He had that hunched over, earnest look he got when he told the truth. “We’ll find him.”

“Sure,” Jay swallowed, looking away from Voight to the phone on the ground. “I’m just worried about what kind of condition we’ll find him in.”

“You’re brother’s tougher than he looks,” Voight said, clapping a hand on Jay’s shoulder while he went to make some more calls.

“Yeah.” Jay agreed, gut churning, hands clenching as he tried to push down the fear and focus it into rage to fuel his search. Yeah, Will was tougher than he looked.

And he’d find Will, Jay vowed. Alive.

——————————

Ramon Ramirez knew his boss’s nature. He wasn’t the comforting type.

“I got the food,” He announced, after being let into the run down house that served as one of the gangs main headquarters. 

“Man, they were out of Chili dogs again?” One of the guys complained as he searched through the bags.

“They’re back,” the lookout said from his position at a hole in the window curtain. 

Ramon watched as the boss came in, followed by two other gang members who were huffing under the weight of an unconscious body.

“Who’s that?” 

“The brother of one of those detectives who’s been after us,” The boss said, grinning smugly at the unconscious captive. “Pig won’t be investigating us no more once we send him proof that we have his brother.” He motioned at the men carrying the captive. “Put him in the basement. Make sure he stays put. And cover his eyes with tape or something, don’t want him to know our faces. Ya feel me?”

As the poor bastard was dragged past the table, Ramon glanced at the man’s face, and he froze as he recognized him. It was the doc who’d fixed his little brother Diego’s arm at the park a few weeks ago. 

Turning back to his food, Ramon pushed down the niggling feeling of guilt in his stomach.

——————————

Several hours later, they still didn’t have any answers. While the security cameras had given them footage of the kidnapping, they’d covered their faces and the plates they ran had been reported stolen.

They had nothing.

“Maybe this wasn’t about the case?” Adam ventured after a few hours. “Maybe we should look into Will. Did he clash with any patients lately, things like that.”

“It’s worth a shot,” Voight shrugged. The phone rang and he answered it. Jay watched as the sarge’s face got even more serious and he put down the receiver without saying a word. “Platt has something.”

‘Something’ was a a small box with Jay’s name on the front. Jay waited impatiently as the box was inspected by his colleagues and pictures taken of it, before he donned gloves and opened the box. Inside was a stack of print outs. The pictures were grainy but clear enough to see his brother.

His brother.

Will’s hands were tied, the top of his scrubs torn. Jay could make out a few bruises but no obvious blood. There was duct tape wound around his head, keeping his eyes covered. Jay winced internally in sympathy; that was going to be a bitch to get off later. The room he was being kept in looked like any generic basement in Chicago - dirty with a chipped cement door and bare walls.

If there was a later, he reminded himself, fruitless agony slicing through his chest at the thought.

At the very bottom of the pile was a note written in sloppy block lettering. ‘Stop investigating or you will never find his body.’

Jay looked up to see the team looking at him sympathetically.

“We’re not stopping,” Voight said firmly.

“We’re not stopping,” Jay agreed.

They would find his brother - and they would find him alive, if it was the last thing that Jay ever did.

———————————

Ramon was fighting an internal battle. It had been years since he had joined the gang, and usually he was down for anything. But it didn’t sit right to see the doc hurt. He’d seen the boss go down to the basement when word came back that the detectives weren’t stopping their investigation, despite the box they’d received. He’d heard the occasional sound from the basement, faint cries from the captive drifting up the stairs.

“Send that,” the boss said, handing the fresh printouts to one of the guys. “Same as the last time. We’ll see if the pigs get this message.” 

Ramon managed to look at the picture over Marco’s shoulder. They decided him.

He needed to make a call.

———————————

“The call came from a phone booth,” Mouse had said before they left the station. “Anonymous tip.”

So they were rushing to the address on the East Side, rundown buildings speeding by the windows. SWAT met them at the address. It was a typical gangbangers’ house, diseased looking and decrepit. 

“I’m taking point,” Voight said.

“But —

“No ‘buts’ Halstead,” Voight was firm. “You can’t help Will if you rush in without thinking.”

So Jay followed him in, SWAT penetrating first, clearing the rooms in a volley of shots, screams and semi-controlled mayhem. Then they were going down to the basement. There were shots inside the room and SWAT got the door down fast.

“Clear!”

Jay’s heart was in his shoes as he finally got into the dingy room where his brother had been held prisoner. There was a body by the door and another by Will’s feet. Kneeling by his brother’s bound form, his heart broke when Will flinched, jerking back from his gentle touch, pressing himself back into the wall, trying to hide from what he couldn’t see.

His brother’s scrub top was gone, a crumpled pile of red in the corner, just like the last batch of pictures had indicated. Bruises dotted his torso, dried blood that had dripped from a cut on his collarbone, making his pale skin look paler in the dim light. They’d taken his shoes. 

“Will, it’s ok,” Jay said, tears clogging his throat. “It’s me, it’s Jay.”

Will slumped into his touch. “Jay?” His voice filled with hope.

“Yeah,” Jay said. “Let’s get this tape off of you.”

“Is Ramon ok?” Will asked suddenly, like he’d just remembered.

“Ramon?” Jay asked, confused.

“He shot the guy who was gonna shoot me,” Will said. 

Jay looked at Voight, who’s eyebrows had shot up at this information. 

“He was right in front of me,” Will continued, unaware of the silent exchange above his head. “Told the other one that if he wanted to kill me he’d have to go through him. Is he alive? I can’t see anything,” Will asked, frustrated.

Voight checked the pulse of the man lying at Will’s feet. “I’ve got a pulse,” He rasped. “Get those medics in here, we need this one alive.”

“Thank you,” Will said in the sergeant’s general direction, cringing as Jay tried to work on the tape. “Jay, just wait for the paramedics, they’ll have the equipment to get the tape off - maybe even with minimal damage.”

“You and your hair,” Jay joked. He managed to get the tape off his brother’s eyes, ripping off the ends so someone else could get the sticky mess out of the bright red hair.

“Don’t you know it,” Will grinned back, tiredly. “You can still get my hands free, though?”

“Oh yeah, sure,” Jay said, getting to work. 

He’d get the whole story later. For now, it was enough to know Will was ok. He wrapped his arms around his brother once his hands were free, crushing him gently to his chest, relieved to feel his heart beating. 

Will was okay.

The nightmare was over.

When they tried to get him to his feet, Will cried out, right leg giving out beneath him.

“What is it?” Jay asked, feeling over his brother’s body. “Are you ok?”

Will breathed heavily, hands clamping down on fresh blood that was coming from his leg. “Might’ve gotten a little bit stabbed?” He said, sheepishly. “It stopped bleeding earlier, moving probably wasn’t a good idea.”

“Stabbed!?”

“Jay, I’ll be ok,” Will tried to assure his brother, even as his breath became notably shallow and he leaned his head against the dirty wall, scrunching his eyes shut. “I’ll be okay, it’s a minor wound.”

“I’ll call in another ambulance,” Voight rumbled, kneeling beside the two brothers. “You good, doc?” 

“I w- will be,” Will said, letting out a shuddering breath. “I haven’t eaten in almost two days — I’d kill for some water.”

“I’ll take care of that,” Voight stood, forestalling Jay, who’d begun pressing his hands against Will’s leg, looking sickened at his brother’s distressed grunt of pain. “You keep him awake.”

“Copy that,” Jay said, keeping pressure on the wound, one hand going up to Will’s face, where his eyes were fluttering shut. “Will? Hey, Will, stay with me, man!”

“Just,” Will panted, opening pain filled eyes, “Adrenaline crash.”

“Okay,” Jay said, using his free hand to cradle his brother’s face, stroking his thumb over the cheekbone. “Okay.” Calling over his shoulder. “Where’s that ambulance?!”

“Medic’s are on their way down,” Voight said, having been speaking into his radio.

Jay saw that is was Gabby Dawson and relaxed a little, knowing Will was in good hands.

“Jay,” She greeted them. “Hey, Will. What’s going on?”

“Got stabbed,” Will said, Jay shooting a panicked look at Gabby when the words started to slur. 

“Okay, Will,” Gabby said. “Is there anything else we need to know? Are there any other areas that are causing you pain?”

“Back,” Will panted. “Ribs. Leg.” He grunted as Brett ripped open his pants leg, getting better access to the wound.

“What’d they do?” Jay snarled, his angry tone juxtaposed with the gentle hand he ran through is brother’s sweaty hair.

“Well,” Will grunted, relaxing a little as Gabby pushed morphine, “That one guy had some serious anger issues.”

“Salvadores?” Jay asked.

“They didn’t tell me their names.”

They. He could imagine his brother, alone, blind-folded, and getting beaten on by multiple perps. Will could’ve died. Because of Jay. Or more specifically, Jay’s job. Jay allowed the anger to simmer deep inside him. Will needed him right now. He’d take care of the scumbags later. From the look on Voight’s face as they carried Will upstairs on the backboard, his boss wouldn’t object to Jay having a few minutes alone with the ringleader. 

Riding along in the ambulance, looking at the bruises on his brothers torso, Jay knew he would enjoy every minute of it.

————————————

“How is he?” Voight asked, voice contained to an even lower rumble than usual after he had motioned Jay out of his brother’s hospital room.

“Good. He’s good,” Jay said, bruise-shadowed eyes and the blood streaked shirt he was wearing adding to his tired look. “But they beat him pretty bad, sarge.”

“I saw the statement,” Voight said calmly, glancing over Jay’s shoulder again. “Did they say if he’ll have any permanent damage?”

“No, he should be fine,” Jay shook his head. “Except for the stab wound, which didn’t hit anything vital, it’s mostly bruises or superficial. He’ll be out of here in a day or two.”

“Good.” Glancing again into the room, before telling Jay, “I was just heading to Ramon’s room. The one Will said saved his life.”

“I’ll come with you,” Jay said, glancing into the room as well. He saw that Will had fallen asleep, so he figured he was good to go.

Ramon’s room was like Will’s, except for the cuff chaining him to the bed and the policeman guarding the door. He watched them enter the room, not saying anything.

“So, Ramon,” Jay said, hands in his pockets, standing loose, as if relaxed, though he was anything but relaxed. “My brother says you saved his life. Why don’t you tell us what happened?”

“You the doc’s brother?” Ramon’s voice was more accented by the pain he was still in despite the meds.

“Yeah.”

“I owed him.”

“Why?” Voight interjected. “What did Will do for you?”

“A few weeks ago,” Ramon explained. “My little brother Diego fell when we were at the park. He dislocated his shoulder. The doc fixed it. Gave Diego a lollipop. So like I said - I owed him.”

Jay shared an incredulous glance with Voight, not surprised that Will would be a Good Samaritan, but surprised that Ramon had paid the debt. 

“Look, I’m not proud,” Ramon continued, “Of a lot of the things I’ve done in my life. But the doc’s good people and the nurse when Diego was at the hospital after, said that if the shoulder had been left dislocated for as long as it would’ve taken for him to get to the hospital, that he would’ve needed surgery. Your brother is the reason why Diego isn’t in a hospital bed still. So yeah,” He sank back into he bed, having obviously exhausted himself. “I owed him. And what the boss did to him -“ He shook his head, cutting himself off.

“Okay,” Voight said. “We’ll make sure yours and Will’s statements match and then we’ll see what we can do about getting you a lighter sentence.”

“Thank you,” Ramon said, his eyes drifting shut much like Will’s had a little while earlier.

“It’s funny,” Voight commented as they stood, once again, outside of Will’s room. “How many coincidences there are in life. In this case, it’s better not to look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“That’s always been Will’s way,” Jay sighed, leaning back in the uncomfortable visitors chair. “He makes friends wherever he goes.”

“Well, in this case, it’s a good thing,” Voight said. “If Ramon hadn’t called us …” 

“Yeah,” Jay said, sick to his stomach at the thought of Will, dead eyes staring at him from a ditch, dead because of Jay’s job. “Yeah, this could’ve ended a whole different way.”

“Thank God it didn’t,” Voight said, standing as his phone buzzed. Walking away to take the call.

Jay went into Will’s room, pulling up the chair, holding his brother’s hand around the IV (ugh, needles) content to watch his brother sleep. He catalogued the bruising he could see, knowing all too well what instruments made each kind of mark. Earlier, Will had clung to him while the Forensic photographer got the evidence, standing stiffly, slumped into Jay’s shoulder as the belt marks on the red-head’s back were photographed. There would be a file at the precinct of his brother’s injuries. 

Jay knew that once he was back at the office, he’d have Mouse make copies for him, and he’d stare at them on the worse nights, when he couldn’t sleep for memory, blaming himself and drowning his sorrows. He hadn’t been able to prevent this - and he was (obliquely) the cause of this - so he settled in for the long hall. No one would get past him. He would guard his brother’s sleep.

After all, that’s what Ranger brothers were for; to destroy the monsters.

Chapter Text

The last words Jay had said to Will, no, shouted at him, had been cruel and unjustified. So when he walks into a crime scene and catches a glimpse of the victims bright red hair, there’s a moment when he thinks it’s Will lying on the pavement in a pool of his own blood. Turns out, it’s not Will, but that guilt and fear leads Jay to Chicago MED, and he apologizes. Because Will is all he has and Jay loves him a lot. More than he can say. But he should try to say it more.

Jay knew he shouldn’t have blown up at Will. His brother had just been trying to help. Hell, he’d driven Jay’s drunk ass home from Molly’s last night. That didn’t mean Jay intended to apologize. Nope. What was the point? He hadn’t exactly said anything knew. And Will should leave well enough alone. Sometimes sleeping dogs should just be left to lie. But then he remembered the look in Will’s eyes when he’d yelled, not responding to Jay’s hissed accusations with any of his own, like he’d known Jay didn’t mean it, like he’d …

Nope. Jay was not going to apologize. Anyway, it’s not like he’d said anything that hadn’t been said a thousand times before.

“What time did you leave Molly’s last night?” Erin asked as they exited the car, picking their way through the docks to the crime scene. “You were still going strong when I left.”

“Late,” Jay grinned, squinting against the too bright sunlight. “Will drove me home.”

“Taking advantage of his good nature, huh?” Erin smirked, ducking under the yellow crime scene tape.

Jay let out a short breath through his nose. She had no idea. “Yeah, maybe a bit.”

“What have we got?” Erin asked Adam, slipping on her gloves as they approached the victim, the body half obscured behind some metal containers. 

Adam exchanged a glance with Kevin, one that Jay didn’t understand. And then Erin stopped abruptly, halfway into her usual crouch to look at the body, twisting to look up at the others, question on her face.

Ok, now Jay was getting antsy.

“What’s going on?” He demanded.

“It’s not him,” Kevin assured Erin.

“Who isn’t who?!” Jay asked, desperately wanting clarification. The headache that he’d been resisting starting to crowd at his temples. He stepped forward to get a good look at their victim.

“The victim,” Adam clarified, eyeing him cautiously, making room for Jay to see the body, “He isn’t Will.”

Jay’s first thought was, at the first glimpse of bright red hair and a slim build, that he would’ve thought it was Will, too. His second; the corpse smelled terrible. More terrible than usual.

He threw up his stomach contents (which wasn’t much) several feet from the victim, Kevin steadying him as he swayed, the headache pounding now as a result of the dry heaves. 

“Hey,” Erin said, leaning down next to him, a comforting hand on the small of his back. “You ok?”

“Not really,” He admitted. “It’s not Will?” Jay asked, desperately, having to make sure.

“Yeah,” She assured him. “It’s not Will. I checked for you.”

“Okay,” Jay breathed. “Okay. I - I gotta - go.”

“Jay,” Erin said patiently, “You can’t drive like this. Let me, okay?” And once Jay nodded shakily after another burst of dry heaves, she asked “Where are we going?”

“Chicago Med.”

———————————

As Will worked through a pile of paperwork, he almost wished he’d drunk more last night. Though Jay had drunk enough for the both of them. He sighed, pressing his palms into his aching eyes. Sometimes, he wished Jay would just talk to him. Sure, he had no idea what it was like to be a soldier and he should’ve been there when their mother died - but he was here now, wasn’t he? Why did Jay have to keep pushing him away?

His pager beeped and he glanced at it before heading out of the office, paperwork forgotten. Expecting a patient, he was surprised to see Erin standing outside the curtains of one of the ER rooms.

“Is Jay okay?” Will blurted, heart racing as he scanned the room for this brother.

“He’s fine,” Erin rushed to assure him. “He’s in there.”

“Okay,” Will said, confused. “Has he seen anyone? Do you need me to get Rhodes? You know I’m not allowed to work on him.”

“No, it’s just -,” Erin began. “He’s -,” She took a deep breath, trying to explain. “You guys had a fight last night?”

Shouting; drunken accusations; he’d left, keys clenched in his hand. “Sort of.” Will shrugged, crossing his arms defensively. “He was drunk.”

“Right. Well, we went to our crime scene this morning,” Erin explained. “And the victim looked almost exactly like you. Jay threw up and insisted I bring him here. I think he wants to apologize.”

Will barely heard the last sentence as he pushed aside the curtain to reveal a miserable looking Jay, sitting in the consultation chair.

“Will,” Jay breathed as he rose, rushing over to his older brother and latching onto him. “You’re okay.”

“Yeah, I’m okay, buddy,” Will assured him. “Erin told me what happened.”

It was Jay’s next words that took him breath away.

“You’re not allowed to die,” Jay said, voice muffled in his brothers neck, clinging to Will like a limpet. 

“I’m right here, Jay,” Will said, hugging his brother back just as fiercely. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Jay sniffled, pulling back enough to look Will in the eye, not releasing his grip on Will’s arms. “I’m sorry for what I said last night. I didn’t mean it, I swear.”

“I know,” Will said. “It’s okay.”

“No, it was stupid,” Jay insisted, diving back in for another hug.

Will huffed a relieved laugh. Trust his brother to be stubborn to the end. “Okay, so it’s not okay. Just buy me some drinks at Molly’s next time we go. We’ll put it behind us.”

Jay’s arms tightened around him again, “…okay. Deal.”

“Deal.” Will’s pager went off again, ending the moment. “Jay, I gotta go deal with whoever just came in. Let Erin take you home.” He looked over his brothers shoulder at Erin. “Make sure he drinks at least two glasses of water and some Gatorade - and he should sleep.”

“Got it,” Erin said, sliding up to take Jay’s arm, gently tugging at him. “Come on, partner. Will has work to do.”

Jay was slow to let go, but when he did, he tried to smile at Will. “Molly’s? Next Saturday?”

“Yeah,” Will grinned. “And you’re buying me at least three beers.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

“Okay,” Jay conceded, his own smirk shifting into his serious face again. “We’re cool?”

“We’re cool.”

Will watched until he couldn’t see them anymore before hurrying to his next patient, glad that their latest dispute had ended so quickly and so well.

In the end, the only one who hadn’t benefited from the situation was the corpse. 

And that was the limit of Will’s philosophical musings for the day.

Chapter Text

Will borrows Jay’s car while his is in the shop. He’s still living at Jay’s apartment. In a case of mistaken identity, Will is attacked in the complex parking lot. He tries to hide the injuries but of course, Jay finds out. Cue guilty Jay, stage left.

The odd thought that came to Will’s mind when he was shoved violently back against the side of Jay’s car, his bag of groceries falling to the cement of the parking lot of the complex where the brothers lived, was that he should’ve expected this. There was no time for him to protest that he wasn’t his brother (he assumed, quite logically, that none of his patients were out to get him) and it was likely they wouldn’t have believed him anyway.

But as he grunted at the blows to his ribs, trying to curl forward as hands held him upright, the darkness of the late evening and the covering of the parking lot obscuring their faces, his next thought was this; he’d rather it was him then Jay. Jay had enough pain in his life and if this would save his little brother another trip to the ER, then he was okay with that.

He let out a strangled shout as he was slammed upright against the car again.

Okay, though maybe the beat down part still sucked. 

“Think he got the message,” One of the men panted.

“Wait a’minit,” another one said, leaning closer in the dim light, Will trying to shrink back farther against the car, though there was no where to go. “This ain’t right.”

“What?” One protested from Will’s other side. “It’s that pig’s car, man.”

Will winced, turning his head away from the phone light suddenly shining in his eyes. Barely aware of the uneasy mutterings and startled curses coming from the men surrounding him.

“Shit!”

“It ain’t him, man!”

“Then who is it?”

“Hey,” Will flinched away, moaning as his hair was grabbed and he was forced to look into the light. “Why you got that pig’s car, man?”

“Borrowed it,” Will rasped, seeing no advantage in lying. 

“Yeah? What makes you so special?”

One of the other’s had dug through Will’s jacket pockets, coming up with his wallet. “Yo, check it out!”

Will closed his eyes, trying to ignore the hand still in his hair as his ID was examined. “You his brother?”

“Yes,” Will rasped. “Detective Halstead is my brother.”

“Well, pretty boy,” The leader said. “When you see your brother, tell him this is a message from the Saints.”

The onslaught started again, a savage hit to the solar plexus driving Will to the ground, the hands falling away, allowing him to curl up. More kicks came, driving his already non-existent breath from his body - he felt something crack. Another to the face and he was out.

He didn’t hear the order to load him in the car. He didn’t wake up when he was dumped out onto the pavement outside of the Chicago MED ED, the car wheels screeching as they abandoned him, orderlies shouting after the getaway car.

He didn’t hear the cries of shock and recognition. 

—————————————

Conner Rhodes would be the first to admit, whether he liked it or not, that Will Halstead was a damn good surgeon. Almost as good as him, in fact. They’d butted heads from the start, but it had developed into a grudging mutual respect and then a good working relationship. They’d come a long way from their first encounter, and Rhodes would go so far as to say that they were friends.

So it shook him, seeing the red head who was usually so full of life, slumped on a gurney, covered in bruises. 

“What happened?” He asked the orderly.

“He got dumped outside the ER,” he was told. “The car took off.” 

Connor took out his penlight, lifting Will’s eyelid to check response time. One of the pupils reminded dilated.

“Definite concussion,” Rhodes commented, putting on a glove before he prodded at the blood caked on Will’s temple. His poking drew a low groan from his patient. “Will? Will, can you hear me?”

Eyes opened, squinting against the bright light of the ED, Will looked up at him, clearly out of it. For a second, Connor thought Will recognized him, then he recognized the look of nausea as Will struggled to turn onto his side on the gurney. Rhodes had just enough time to grab a basin before Will upchucked his stomach contents.

By the time he was done, Will was sobbing, tears trailing down his cheeks as he tried to cradle his ribs.

“Easy, Will,” Rhodes said, working with the orderly to lay Will back out on the gurney. They needed to get him to a real bed as soon as possible. “Easy. You’re okay.”

“‘Urts,” Will slurred, giving up struggling against their hands. Panting, he looked up at Connor. “‘hodes?”

“Yeah,” Conner said, relieved that he was coherent. “You’re at MED.”

Will was quiet as they transferred him onto a bed, Conner drawing the curtain closed, leaving him and the orderly to do their jobs. 

It wasn’t good.

With an experienced eye, he catalogued all of WIll’s injuries. Concussion, head wound, deep tissue bruising and - he winced in sympathy as Will gave a chocked off cry as he examined his torso - at least two broken ribs. 

“Ok, Will,” Rhodes told his friend. “You’re gonna need x-rays to confirm but I'm 99% sure you have broken ribs. I’m gonna need to report this.”

“No,” Will protested, trying to sit up, collapsing back into the pillow. “Don’t tell Jay.”

“Will,” Rhodes tried to be reasonable. “You know he’s gonna find out, one way or the other.”

“Was supposed to be him,” Will admitted, teeth clenched at the pain. “They said the message was for Jay.”

“Who said?” Connor asked, drawing morphine to inject into the IV the orderly had set up.

“Saints.” Will slumped back, muscles relaxing as the morphine began to work. “Was a message.”

And he was out.

After he scheduled Will for x-rays, updating the paperwork on his iPad, Rhodes made a call. He knew Will hadn’t wanted Jay to know, but he hoped that once his concussion was better, Will would see the wisdom in Rhodes’ going against his wishes.

So he made the call.

————————————

Jay entered the dark apartment, turning on the lights and going to the bedroom to put away his badge and holster. 

“Will?”

He frowned when there was no answer. It wasn’t that late. And his car was down in the lot, he’d seen it when Erin had pulled up, so Will wasn’t at MED. He approached his brother’s door, knocking before he opened it.

Will wasn’t there.

Something wasn’t right. He headed downstairs to his vehicle after he’d confirmed Will wasn’t in the apartment. And he stopped in his tracks, stunned, at the sight of the scattered groceries. As he surveyed the mess, he saw Will’s phone among the groceries.

Before he could take out his phone to call Erin back and then Voight, his screen lit up.

“Halstead.”

“Hello, Detective. This is Doctor Rhodes at Chicago MED.”

Jay immediately made the correlation. “Is Will okay?”

“No,” Rhodes admitted. “And he was rather adamant about my not calling you. He’s getting x-rays right now.”

“What happened?” Jay demanded.

“He’s been in and out of it,” Rhodes’ voice was dry. “But he mentioned a message. And something about Saints?” The word was capitalized when he said it.

“Shit,” Jay breathed, the last two weeks of investigative work fresh in his mind. “Okay, I’ll be there in 15 minutes. Can you make sure there’s a guard on his room?”

“Can do.” And Rhodes hung up.

“Fuck,” Jay breathed. Before getting into his car, he took preliminary photos of the scattered groceries and his car, scooping up his brother’s cell phone and the key’s that he discovered behind the front wheel. Tires screeching as he pulled out of the lot.

He called Voight as he drove.

“Voight.” Came his boss’s usual greeting.

“Sarge, I’m on my way to MED. Will was dropped off there badly beaten about half an hour ago. They grabbed him at my place. I took photos of my parking spot where it happened.”

“Do you know who did it?” Voight asked, concern in his voice. Will had done him a few favors in the past.

“Rhodes said he mentioned the Saints.”

“Alright. I’ll meet you there. Atwater and Ruzek can take over the preliminary crime scene.” And he hung up.

——————————-

Jay hurried through the corridors to his brother’s room. He arrived just in time for another bout of dry heaves. Considerately, the nurse moved out of the way with the bowl, leaving room for Jay to approach his brother, who was barely supporting himself on a shaking elbow.

“I told Rhodes not to call you,” Will mumbled as Jay cradled his face, looking at the cuts and bruises.

Wiping stray tears off his bothers face with his sleeve, Jay joked, “And when has he ever listened to you?”

Will huffed out a pain filled laugh. “Never.”

Jay helped Will lie back, heart sick as his brother groaned through gritted teeth.

“Who did this?”

“I didn’t see their faces,” Will shook his head. “It was too dark.”

“But you’re sure it was the Saints?”

“That’s what they said,” Will gave a sort of stilted shrug before thinking better of it. 

“What else did they say?” Jay knew that his brother was hiding something. “Did they say why they went after you? Besides you being my brother.”

“They didn’t say anything,” Will insisted.

But Jay could tell he was hiding something. So he fixed his brother with what Will called his ‘sniper stare’ and waited him out.

It worked. Finally, Will sighed and admitted, “They thought I was you.” Looking up at Jay’s stunned expression. “They didn’t know who I was until they got out my ID. Did you find my hospital badge, by any chance?”

“No,” Jay said hoarsely, blinking at the new information. It should’ve been him in the bed right now.

“Hey,” Will said. “I know what you’re thinking. Don’t. You can’t blame yourself.”

They were interrupted by a knock on the door, it swung open to reveal Voight and Erin.

“Hey, Will,” Erin smiled, joining Jay by the bed. “How you doing?”

“I’ll be okay.”

“Mouse is running through the security footage for the ER now, should be able to get a plate on the car that dropped you off,” Voight added. “Glad you’re ok, doc.”

Will’s grin was lopsided because of the bruises. “Thanks.”

——————————

That grin was on his mind as Jay and Erin waited for their suspects to come out of the house they were watching. Mouse had been able to get a plate and it was traced to one Walter Caine, who ran with the Saints. 

Voight hadn’t said anything, but Jay was counting on five minutes alone with a few of these guys. They’d hurt Will; they were going to pay for it. So once they’d sorted out the guys they’d rounded up, Jay watched through the glass as Voight talked to one ‘Lil Dicky’. 

“I didn’t do nothin’, man,” The gangbanger was protesting.

“Yeah?” Voight said. “Then why’d we find this in your coat?” Sliding Will’s hospital badge across the interrogation table.

“Dude must’ve dropped it,” Dicky smirked. “I ain’t never seen him before in my life.”

“Now,” Voight said, “We both know that’s a lie. You did see him. You and several of your associates put Dr. Halstead in the hospital. So start naming names.”

Dicky spat on the table, sneering at Voight.

“Wrong answer,” Voight said calmly, watching as Olinsky, who’d been leaning on the wall behind the gangbanger, moved forward. Dicky’s nose gave a satisfying crunch as his face hit the table.

“The hell, man?!” Dicky protested, cuffed hands coming up to cradle his nose. “That’s police brutality!”

“The cameras are off, wise guy,” Voight warned him. “Now, tell me straight: who hurt Dr. Halstead?”

It didn’t take long for Dicky to name names. And that was how Jay ended up in the Cage, looking down at the cuffed black man who went by the name ‘Hummer’.

“So,” Hummer looked up at Jay, not giving an inch. “Pretty boy was your brother, huh?” Grunting as Jay pushed him up against the chain links.

“That’s Dr. Halstead to you, scumbag,” Jay hissed. 

“He’s lucky we didn’t get a taste before we dumped him,” Hummer sneered, unrepentant. “Bet he would’ve looked even prettier down on his -.”

Jay saw red and he lammed into the gangbanger. The thought of Will in the hospital bed, and worse, forced to do - that - he gave himself up to rage. It took both Olinsky and Voight to pull him off the nearly unconscious gang member.

“That’s enough,” Alvin’s voice was gentle where his grip was not. “He’s had enough, Jay.”

“No,” Jay spit, though he stopped trying to get out of their grips. “He hasn’t.”

“Probably not,” Voight agreed. “But I’m not loosing a good detective over this. So go cool off.”

“…. yes, Sarge.”

Voight huffed out a breath through his nose. “We’re done here. Halstead, go to the hospital and keep the doc company, I don’t want to see you again until Monday. You’re on paid leave.”

Jay swallowed his protests, taking one last look at the bloody man in the Cage before he left the room. 

“… yes, Sarge.”

——————————

Jay struggled against the hands holding him back - holding him back from helping his brother.

Stop it! He screamed. Leave him alone!

But they didn’t stop.

Jay begged, forgetting about his own dignity as Will was forced onto his stomach; his clothes were gone. The faceless man knelt behind him, getting himself -

And -

Will screamed .

“Jay!” Someone was shaking him. “Jay, wake up!”

Jay opened his eyes, panting as the nightmare receded, seeing Will, fading bruises all too visible on his face, leaning over his bed with a concerned look.

“It was just a nightmare,” Will reassured him, carding his fingers through Jay’s sweat soaked hair.

Jay sat up, tugging his brother to sit beside him on the bed, mindful of Will’s still healing ribs. Will allowed himself to be manhandled, sitting back against the headboard, drawing Jay into a hug.

“That’s the third time you’ve woken up with a nightmare,” Will observed. “What’s going on, Jay?”

“It’s nothing.” Echoing screams in the dark.

“Jay,” Will wasn’t backing off. “It’s not nothing. Tell me.” Continuing to gently comfort his brother. “Please.”

Jay sighed. “The guy who was behind the attack on you. He - said some things.”

“Things?”

“Things.”

“Mmm.” Will appeared to know that he wouldn’t get anything more out of his brother. “What about I sleep here with you tonight? Maybe that’ll help.”

“… okay,” Jay agreed, secretly grateful, though he still had a hard time showing it.

In the dark again, comforted by Will’s steady breathing, Jay allowed himself to relax. No one would hurt Will again, not on his watch. He curled into his brother’s side, slinging an arm over to keep him close.

And he’d make sure that no one ever hurt Will like that.

Chapter Text

Their father is admitted to the hospital. Will is notified and Connor notices he’s not happy to hear his dad is there - admittedly, it’s not good news, but Will’s panic isn’t normal; its fear. The conversation with pops doesn’t turn out well and Jay turns up to comfort his little brother. Also the backstory.

—During Chicago Fire when Jay and Gabby were a thing—

Antonio Dawson could always tell when Gabby had the hots for someone. And he liked Jay Halstead well enough. Had to, since they both worked in Intelligence now. There were rumors through the grape vine that Voight was up for parole but that wasn’t his main concern right now. His current concern was the phone call that had made Jay step outside of the diner they were getting lunch at. The call that was making him pace the sidewalk, tightlipped and growing more agitated as the call continued.

“Business?” Antonio prompted his younger colleague as he finished off his sandwich, taking large gulps of root beer to wash it down.

“Maybe,” Jay said noncommittally, shoving the last of his own lunch into his mouth, not elaborating on the subject. 

So Antonio waited him out as they went about their day, the only sign that something was bothering Jay was his own increasing terseness. But, when they were signing out, Jay approached him as they went to their cars.

“Can you help me out?” It looked like it pained Jay to say it. “I need some backup.”

“Sure,” Dawson agreed easily, glad that the kid was trusting him. “Anything you need, you know that.”

“Okay,” Jay said, “I’ll text you the address.”

The address turned out to be a house that could use a new paint job in Canaryville. Jay parked in front behind a beaten up pickup and waited for Antonio to join him on the sidewalk. 

“What’re we doing here, Jay?” Antonio asked.

“That phone call earlier,” Jay started, uncharacteristically hesitant. “That was, uh, my little brother Will. He said our dad got his number and he’s been calling him every day for the last two weeks.”

Antonio was starting to put the pieces together but he decided to let Jay spell it out for him. “I take it you’re not on good terms with your father?”

Jay huffed out a strangled laugh. “Nope. And he’s not supposed to try to contact Will - there’s a restraining order on him to that effect.”

Dawson felt his eyebrow’s rise, “And is there one for you, too?”

“Nah,” Jay grinned, sharklike in the dying light. “He knows better than to try to break a mirror with my head. Believe me.”

Well, that just raised more questions than it gave answers.

“What do you need, Jay?” He asked, choosing a safe question. 

“I need you to make sure I don’t put him in the hospital,” Jay said bluntly. “And maybe help me put in the paperwork on the down low if I need to get another restraining order.”

“I can do that,” Antonio said, waving Jay up the walk in front of him.

The man who opened the door didn’t look like the monster Antonio was expecting — but they rarely did, in his experience.

“Whatta you want?” The older man grunted, the open door revealing a ratty couch with the tv blasting, a pile of beer cans beside it.

“For you to stop being an abusive asshole, but we both know that’s not going to happen,” Jay shot right back at him. “Stop calling Will.”

“I can call my son if I want to,” the elder Halstead bristled.

“No, you can’t, dad,” Jay reminded him. “It’s all on that piece of paper that was read in court, remember? No contact: at all. So stop calling him.”

“And what are you going to do if I don’t? Sic your dirty cop friends on me?” Gesturing at Antonio, who was on the lower steps.

“Actually, he’s one of the good cops I know,” Jay smirked at his father. “And I think we both know that I don’t need help to put you on your ass.”

“You ungrateful, son of a—,” He was cut off by Jay’s swift punch to his father’s windpipe. Not enough to truly hurt him, but enough to shut him up.

“You don’t talk about her,” Antonio heard him hiss, before Jay straightened up and went down the stairs, Antonio following him down the walk to their cars. “If you call him again, I’ll be back,” Jay warned his father, ignoring the middle finger he received as his wheezing father slammed the front door.

As Jay put himself together, Antonio leaned against the car, surveying the neighborhood, several curious heads that had turned their way ducking for cover.

“Sorry you had to see that,” Jay muttered, leaning against the truck.

“You handled it better than I probably would’ve, kid,” Antonio assured him. “Want me to buy you a drink?”

“Nah, I got a bottle at home.”

“Alright,” Antonio said, clapping a hand to his friends shoulder before turning away. “See you tomorrow.”

As he drove away from the house, Jay’s car going in the opposite direction, Antonio thought about what had just happened. Tomorrow, he decided, he was going to get the brother’s contact information and a copy of the restraining order, as well as dig up all the dirt he could on the old man. Jay was his partner and he would always have his back.

Always.

———————————

—After The Chicago MED Pilot that was slipped into Chicago Fire 3x19—

Though he’d been involved in a small part of the family drama and he’d kept a copy of the court case involving the relevant restraining order, Antonio had never met William Halstead. He was taller than he’d thought.

“Guys, this is my little brother, Will,” Jay grinned, steering his brother over to their table at Molly’s. “But if he tries to make you call him doctor you slap him upside the head.” The little grin he threw at his brother and then the glare he shot at the table when Will wasn’t looking dared them to take him up on his offer.

Since Jay hadn’t made any references to the bruises on his brother’s face and the split lip, they ignored it. Gabby was soon talking to Will about the different ways to intubate a patient in the field and the general controlled chaos of Molly’s gave Antonio a chance to get a good look at his friends brother.

Like he’d noted - the man was tall. He was also very thin and underneath the bruises, deep blue bags indicating troubled sleeping patterns were evident. Looking to the right, he saw Jay watching him observe his brother, jerking his head to follow him. They ended up in a corner, nursing their beers.

“We gonna need to have a word with the guy who made those bruises?” Antonio asked, looking back at their siblings.

“Already taken care of,” Jay told him. “He’s staying in Chicago. Got that position at MED - ED trauma surgeon.”

“Your dad going to be a problem?” Antonio asked.

Jay shook his head. “Probably not. But if he is, I’ve got you all to back me up, right?”

“Right.” And they headed back to the table. Antonio knew Jay was right — Voight was big on family. He grinned into his beer. He’d pay money to see Voight go up against Patrick Halstead. The man needed to be brought down a peg or two.

—————————————

Connor Rhodes still didn’t know Will Halstead outside of work very well, but his reaction to him telling him that his father was in the ED for chest pains, that he’d been brought in after he collapsed at his home, was not what he expected.

“Did you tell him I was here?” Will asked, his hand shooting out to grip Connor’s forearm, face going paler than normal.

“No,” Connor shook his head, frowning. “Though Maggie might if we don’t warn her.”

“Damn it,” He let go of his colleague’s wrist, reaching into his pocket to dial his brother, ignoring the concerned look Connor was giving him. “Can you let Goodwin know that either my father will need to be moved to another floor or I need the rest of the shift off?” Cutting off anything Connor might have replied when he answered his phone. “Jay? It’s Will. Dad’s in the ED, possible heart attack.” He listened for a bit and then held out the phone to his confused colleague. 

“Hello?”

“This is Jay Halstead, Will’s older brother,” A firm voice came over the phone, Connor remembering a glimpse he’d gotten of a self assured man, dark haired and pale eyed. “Our father is not legally allowed to get within 25 feet of Will. Can you make sure they’re kept separated while I get down there? I’m probably still listed as our dad’s medical proxy.”

“Sure, I can do that. I’ll talk to Administrator Goodwin and get your father moved to a more secure room out of the ED once he’s stable. Do we need to put security on him?”

“I’ll know after I’ve talked to him.” There was a pause, before Jay asked. “Does he know Will’s there?”

“I didn’t tell him,” Connor repeated himself, looking at Will. “But Maggie might have.”

“I’ll be there in twenty,” Jay hung up abruptly.

Handing the phone back to Will, Connor pulled him along, gently, by his white coat. “Let’s go see Goodwin, okay?”

Will nodded, not saying a word as they navigated the halls, finally arriving at Goodwin’s office.

“Come in.”

Connor pulled Will in after him, shutting the door behind them. 

“What can I do for you, gentleman?” Goodwin asked, looking between them. It wasn’t often that they were together voluntarily.

“Will’s father, Patrick Halstead, is in the ED for chest pains - possible heart attack - and I just got off the phone with his brother Jay who made me aware that there is a restraining order,” He looked over at Will for confirmation, who nodded, “which makes any contact between them illegal. Jay also said he’d be here in twenty minutes.”

Goodwin sat back in her chair, looking at Will. “Dr. Halstead, do you want to take the rest of the shift off? I can arrange for your father to be placed in an isolated room where he will have no contact with you.”

“I don’t want to,” Will said, looking more shaken than Connor knew he would ever admit too. “But I think Jay will insist.”

“Then I will make the relevant arrangements. You can wait here while I meet with your brother in the ED and take care of this.”

“Yes, Miss Goodwin.” Connor had never head Will sound so defeated.

Though he didn’t say anything, Connor was worried about his colleague. “You gonna be okay?” He asked, watching as Will sat in one of the office chairs. 

“Eventually,” Will muttered. “You don’t have to stay.”

“Then I’ll go meet your brother,” Connor said, turning to leave.

“Don’t you want to know what happened?” Connor paused, hand on the door handle, at the question.

“You’ll tell me when you want to,” Connor said before he left the room.

Jay was exactly as he remembered, gun at his side and another detective with him.

“Antonio Dawson,” the man introduced himself.

“Has there been any contact between them since we last spoke?” Jay asked, getting down to business.

“No,” Connor assured him. “And Administrator Goodwin has stepped in personally to see that your father is moved to an isolated room with reliable security.”

“And Will?” Jay asked, striding towards the ED doors.

“He’s in Goodwin’s office,” Connor said, keeping pace. “Goodwin has given him the rest of his shift off.”

“Good.”

Patrick Halstead’s reception of his eldest son was even colder than any of the greetings he’d gotten from his own father (who was also a prick). Connor had hung back a moment to console Maggie for slipping up and telling the man Will was there - she couldn’t have known about the restraining order. 

He was just in time to hear the man utter a gruff: “What’re you doing here?”

“Waiting to dance on your grave, dad, what do you think?”

“We’re here to make sure you do not violate your restraining order,” Antonio told him in a calmer tone. “Be advised that if you attempt to make contact with Will that you will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law,” Eyes flicking at the bedridden man hooked to various monitors. “And if that requires cuffing you to the bed, we will do that.”

“Thought you said he wasn’t your dog?” Pat spit at Jay.

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t bite you,” Jay quipped. Before leaving the room to talk to Goodwin. Shaking her hand. “Thanks for your understanding.”

“Dr. Halstead is an asset to my ED,” She told him. “And I happen to care about his well being.”

“We all do,” Connor said.

Jay looked at them for a moment. “Thanks.” Blowing out a deep breath. “Can you take me to Will?”

Connor volunteered to show them the way, leaving Goodwin and Dawson to sort out all the paperwork. Will was where they’d left him, slumped in the chair in Goodwin’s office.

His head snapped up and a small smile appeared on his face when he saw his older brother. “Jay.”

“Hey, buddy,” Jay said, pulling his brother in for a quick hug. “You’re boss is kick ass, you know that?”

“Goodwin’s the best,” Will agreed.

“You wanna grab your stuff then I’ll drive you home?” Jay said, pulling his brother to his feet. “There’s a Jets’ game on tonight.”

“You’re not going to get Hawaiian again, are you?” Will wrinkled his nose.

“I happen to like Hawaiian, Will,” Jay rolled his eyes, grinning at his little brother.

“It’s an abomination, Jay,” Will said, Connor guessing that this was an old argument between them by the way Jay rolled his eyes.

“No, it’s ham and cheesy goodness.” 

Jay kept up the light prattle while Connor led them to the break room so Will could get his stuff and then led them out of the hospital, watching as Jay led Will to his work SUV, Antonio soon joining them.

“Thanks, man,” Jay shook Connor’s hand before they left. “I owe you one.”

“It’s no trouble,” Connor brushed it off. “And for the record, I happen to like Hawaiian, too.”

“Blasphemy,” Jay snickered. “Thanks again.”

“Anytime.”

And Connor watched as the car pulled away, wishing him and his sister had a bond like that. Though he was grateful that their bond wasn’t forged in the type of pain that had made the brothers bond as strong as steel. 

—————————————

It was a slow day at the gym. Engrossed in paperwork, Antonio didn’t see Will Halstead come in. Looking up when the kid tapped gently on the desk. Why he called him a kid, he wasn’t sure — the redhead was a doctor and only a few years younger than Jay. Maybe it was the way he carried himself, like he was carrying something on his shoulders, hunching into himself despite his stature. And even with a bit of scruff, he still looked younger than he was. 

As it was, he could tell Will wanted something. “Hey, what’s up, man?” Rising to shake the kids hand over the counter. “What can I do for you?”

“Well, it’s just,” Will scrubbed a hand on the back of his neck, “I thought it could wait a while? I didn’t think I’d run into d - him - so soon after I got back. Jay’s been wanting me to learn how to defend myself, ya know? And it’s not like I can’t take a punch,” his eyes glazing with memories. “But when it comes to him I just ..” Holding his hands out helplessly, “Freeze — like I’m ten again and he’s the biggest man in the world.”

Jesus, Antonio thought, though aloud he said, “I can help you, long as you’re willing to put up with me. Has Jay taught you anything before?”

The red head shrugged. “How to break a hold? But it’s been a while.”

“Then we’ll start with that,” Antonio said, motioning the kid to follow him towards the ring, glad to see that Will had dressed for the occasion, wearing some exercise clothes. When he took off his jacket, Antonio could see just how thin he was; leverage might be a problem. Maybe he’d focus on stance at first …

Since Antonio wasn’t one to keep secrets, he told Jay after the second session. Jay seemed glad that his brother had approached him. “There’s only so much I can do for him before he starts seeing me as the overbearing older brother.” He told Antonio wryly as they drank at the bar.

“Don’t I know it,” Antonio replied, waving at Gabby. “But I think he knows you mean well.”

“Yeah,” Jay took a deep breath, looking at his beer bottle. “It was never that bad until we were older, ya know? I’d do my best to protect Will, but there was only so much I would do. But I have the temperament to stand up to him — Will was always so intimidated.”

“Understandable,” Antonio said, thinking of Patrick Halstead’s height and build.  

“I didn’t see how he had it in for Will,” Jay continued. “Not until later on. I thought he’d stopped and then I found Will hiding bruises. I got out of there as soon as I was legal — joined the army. Then I get a call for a family emergency; Will was in the hospital with a broken arm and several fractured ribs. Dad had thrown him down the basement stairs. Since it was clearly an abuse case and I was his only other close relative who could take care of him, I got emergency leave and custody until Will turned 18.”

“Hell of a situation,” Dawson said, understating it, thinking of Jay, 21 at most, having to provide for his younger brother. 

“But we made it,” Jay said. “He went off to med school and I went back to the army to finish my tours. Dad was in prison for about six months. I only barely managed to convince Will to press charges.”

“Will seems like a forgiving person,” Antonio commented.

“He’s the kindest man I know,” Jay said. “It makes him one hell of a doctor.”

“But it scares the hell out of you,” Antonio guessed, “Knowing how many people there are in the world who would take advantage of that?”

“Yeah.”

Finishing his bottle, Antonio stood up to leave, clapping Jay on the shoulder as he did so. “I’ll make sure he can hold his own.”

——————————————

“Hello, mom.” Will smiled softly, sadly, as he knelt in front of the tombstone. “Hard to believe it’s been 15 years already.”

Fifteen long years.

“Jay’s doing good. He’ll probably come visit later. They caught a big case, so I’m not sure where he is right now. I’m working at Chicago MED. Had a hell of a first day,” He laughed a little, “But it’s going good. My coworkers are wonderful doctors and better people. There’s always new challenges.”

Rambling on for a while until the cold had bitten through his thin coat, not having changed out to the heavier weather one, he finally stood, brushing the gravel from his pants.

“I’ll come back soon,” He promised, taking one more look before he turned away. 

Right into a fist.

Grunting, cheek slamming into the gravel, Will sprawled in front of his mother’s grave, sent there by his father’s drunken rage. And he was drunk, Will could tell by the way he was slightly swaying, eyes bloodshot.

“What’re you doing here?” Will blurted out, feeling foolish as he tried to scramble to his feet, the action halted by a clumsy but hard kick to his side, sending him down again. Yelping as his father’s hand yanked his hair, following the pull as he was slammed into the headstone. A harsh backhand sent his face to the side and he froze, hand going to his cheek as he did what he’d told himself he’s never do again — cower at his father’s feet.

“What’m I doin’ here?” Pat Halstead slurred. “What’re you doing here, you ungrateful runt?”

Will had the detached thought that the moniker didn’t fit him since he was actually taller than Jay, keeping silent as his father staggered back a step before finding his footing. “You’ve been back in town for a while now. Should’ve come'n said hello to your old man.”

As his father turned away, muttering to himself about ‘pigs’, Will rushed to his feet, trying to run. But it was futile as his father grabbed the back of his jacket, pulling him and then shoving him to the ground, more gravel tearing at Will’s face. Kicked onto his back, Will put up his hands to defend his face as his father fell on him, hitting and punching as much of Will as he could reach.

Antonio was going to be disappointed in him, was the odd thought that came to Will. All those lessons and he was still getting beaten up by his old man. 

Suddenly, the punches stopped, and when he dared to peek around his arms, he saw the paler washing over his father face and the grip he had on his chest. Toppling forward with a groan, Will had the breath knocked from him by the sudden weight.

Heart attack, the clinical part of Will’s brain thought, kicking into gear. Wiggling until he was clear of his father’s weight, he checked the man over. Yep, heart attack. Digging out his phone, grateful it hadn’t been damaged in the struggle, he called 911.

“911 what’s your emergency?”

“I’m at the cemetery on Fourth and Pine and my father is having a heart attack,” Will reported.

“Alright an ambulance is being routed to your location. Can I have your name and the name of your father?”

“Will Halstead, I’m a doctor at Chicago MED,” He felt the need to add. “My father’s name is Patrick. He’s 62 and has had a history of heart trouble within the last six months.”

“Thank you I will notify the medics and responding officers. Do you wish to remain on the line Dr. Halstead?”

“No, I need to call my brother. Thanks.” Hanging up, Will called Jay. As much as it killed him to do it. 

“Hey, Will,” Jay sounded happy. “What’s up?”

“I’m at mom’s grave,” Will told him, glancing again at their father. “Dad showed up.”

“What?” Jay asked curtly, all the laughter gone. “Are you alright?”

“I’ll live. But Jay, dad had a heart attack. I’m waiting with him till the ambulance gets here.” No need to explain over the phone what he’d know when he got a good look at Will. “Please, get here?”

“On my way.”

Then Jay hung up and Will was left alone with their father, who’s breath was getting shallow as he face stayed grey. Luckily he was unconscious. By the time the ambulance got there, the caretaker had also showed up, helping the medics find the plot while Will stayed with his father. Watching as his father was loaded into the ambulance, Will tried to answer the questions of the officers.

“Had you two been fighting?” Officer Whitman asked.

“Did you see any defensive wounds on him, officer?” Will asked tiredly. “He attacked me, I did my best to defend myself.”

“We’re just trying to get the facts,” The other officer said, placatingly.

Will was just so tired, spilling his whole life story to them, the jar where he kept his feeling springing a leak, while he waited for Jay to show up and save the day. “The facts are that I’ve had a restraining order on him since I was 17. Today is the fifteen anniversary of my mothers death and I was visiting her grave. He approached me, violating the restraining order and tried to cave my head in. And that’s what happened, officers.”

They shifted, Officer Whitman looking a little contrite, but Will ignored whatever he said next because he saw the Intelligence SUV careen into the little cemetery parking lot. 

“Will!” Jay shouted, sprinting to where he sat in the open back door of the squad car. Plowing to a stop, he knelt down, hands going up to gingerly examine the cuts and bruises on his little brother’s face. “Are you okay?”

“I will be,” Will said, “Come’re.” Drawing Jay in for a hug. Jay wrapped his arms around his little brother tentatively, afraid to hurt him more, slowly tightening his grip until Will grunted, discomfort obvious.

“What’d he do to you?” Jay hissed softly, vehement, hands gently running up Will’s rib cage.

Will allowed the examination, knowing it was quicker to let it happen. “Nothing that won’t heal, Jay.” Flinching away as Jay pressed on a certain rib. “Ow!”

“Did anyone call another ambulance?!” Jay shouted to the vicinity in general, making the pounding ache growing in Will’s skull ratchet up exponentially. Wincing, he put a hand to his head, trying to sooth the ache, blinking as he looked at the fresh blood on his hand. He looked up to see Jay’s lips moving — but he couldn’t hear the words.

————————————

Assured that Erin was calling another ambulance in, Jay turned back to his brother, panic growing as Will stared at the blood in his hand. “Will — Will you okay, buddy?”

Will just looked confused, blinking owlishly at Jay like he couldn’t figure out the right channel to turn to.

“Why?” He mumbled, almost too soft to catch. 

“Why what, Will?” Jay asked, reaching up to catch Will’s hand, stroking the other through the red hair, red hair that was now decidedly blood drenched. 

“Why’d he have to do it in front of mom?”

The pain in Will’s voice as he whispered it cut at Jay’s heart which was already tearing into ragged pieces. But before he had a chance to reply, Will’s eyes rolled up into his head and collapsed forward — right into Jay’s arms.

“Erin!” Jay shouted. “A little help here!”

Looking over to see her partner struggling under his little brother’s weight (though skinny, Will had several inches on his older brother), Erin hurried over to help him lay Will down gently on the ground, raising his feet into her lap while Jay pillowed his kid brother’s head in his own lap.

“Head injury?” 

“Think so,” Jay concludes, grim as he shows her his hand once he’s passed it through his little brother’s fiery red locks. Showcasing the streak of blood. He addressed the officers who are hovering nearby. “Did he say what went down?”

“Said they were defensive wounds.”

When Will doesn’t wake up, despite their tapping on his face and saying his name, Jay ends up joining him in the ambulance to check him out. And with his being so close to the case, he’s not going to be working it in any official capacity, anyway, so it’s not a conflict of interest. Though it’s not like Erin could have convinced him otherwise, she knows. 

“Voight.”

“We’ve got a problem.”

And he listens as she tells what she knows.

———————————————

Though … Voight’s particular brand of justice isn’t needed.

Because Patrick Halstead dies the following morning without regaining consciousness, years of smoking and drinking having finally caught up with him.

Jay breaks the news to his little brother, who lays in his own hospital bed, having woken up during the night. He’d been diagnosed with a grade 2 concussion. Though there should be no residual side effects, provided he actually rests. (Goodwin had given him more than enough time off, Jay really liked her. She was good people.)

While he’s not the best at communicating his feelings on a good day, Jay knows he needs to make an effort. “Are you okay?”

His little brother blinks at the ceiling. “Does it make me a bad person?” He whispers, not looking at Jay. “If I’m glad that he’s gone?”

Heart breaking for his little brother, Jay approaches the bed, gathering up the lithe body in a careful hug, waiting until Will slumps into him, relaxing into the hug, to speak. “If he had loved us - loved you like a father should, then yes. But he wasn’t a good father to us. He hurt you, Will. Repeatedly. He’s the reason you’re in a hospital bed right now.” He draws back to meet his brother’s teary gaze. “So - no. You’re not a bad person.” He rubs a comforting hand down his little brother’s back, hating that he can feel the ridges of his brother’s ribs. He really needs to take Will out to eat more often. “But … if you continue to have trouble with it all, go see Dr. Charles, okay? I know he’s good people.” He runs a playful hand through his brother’s hair. “Though we both know we don’t like talking about our feelings.”

Scowling at Jay’s messing up his hair, Will still looks grateful for his honestly. “Thanks, Jay. Maybe I will.”

But that is a problem for another day. For now they have each other.

And it’s more than enough.

Chapter Text

Marlon has it in for Severide. Casey’s wound is a bit more serious than in the series and Severide pushes a bit too hard. Time for the other pair of brothers (cause Kelly and Matt are brothers in everything except blood.)

Casey was bleeding

As the gangbanger kicked him in the ribs, air driven painfully from his lungs, Kelly only had eyes for Casey. 

Casey was bleeding. 

“Casey!” He gasped out once the other banger had driven his friend back.

A groan was his only answer. Severide tried to scramble to his feet, crawling towards Casey when another kick to the ribs flipped him onto his back.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” The second banger was trying to pull back the first. “That’s enough man. Let him look at blondie.”

The Psycho’s eyes were wide, looking put out at not getting another go at the downed fireman, but he stepped back, motioning with his gun. “Fine. Get ‘im up.”

The police sirens were wailing as Kelly finally made it to Casey, pulling up his grey Captain’s shirt to inspect the bleeding coming from his ribs. He hissed in sympathy as the damage was revealed. Bruises were already starting to form around the graze. It was deep and sluggishly bleeding. As Casey shifted uncomfortably, Kelly thought the bones moved.

“Ribs …” Casey gasped. “Think they might be broken.”

“Yeah, think you’re right,” Kelly agreed, stiffening as a gun was again placed against his head, just behind his ear. 

“Get him up, we’re going back in to the others,” The more reasonable of the gangsters demanded.

So Kelly got Casey up, trying to ignore his friends groans and hurt him as little as possible as they were forced back into the common room, halting just outside the doors. Boden had the look he always got when one of his firefighter’s was down.

“Someone called the poh-lice,” Psycho told Turk, pushing his gun forcefully into the back of Kelly’s skull. “I wonder who might’a done that?”

“What were you thinking?!” Turk yelled, upset at the sudden interruption of their escape plans. They’d almost been gone! “We have enough going on without you killin’ somebody!”

“What was I supposed to do!?” The Psycho yelled back, gun still firmly affixed to Kelly’s skull.

Kelly met Boden’s eyes as best as he could, then glanced to the side to see the cold sweat that was forming on Casey’s face as his friend leaned nearly his whole weight on the Squad Lieutenant, blood still slowly dripping through his fingers. 

“If you fire another shot the police will come in here,” Boden warned Turk. “Show them some good faith; release Casey.”

Turk looked like he was considering it, looking at the blond fireman’s pinched expression and the blood staining his clothes. 

“Hey, bro, look at me,” Making Casey meet his eyes. “You dyin’?”

Casey took a deep breath, though he didn’t straighten. “Bullet didn’t hit anything vital but I need to stop the bleeding.”

“Ok,” Turk decided. “You, fireman, take blondie to the back. Have that ambo lady look at it.”

Kelly supposed that that was the best they were going to get and as he was forced down the hall towards the bunk room, he caught a glimpse of the others worried faces. They all cared about them - and especially Casey. The blond had charisma, as much as Kelly clashed with his friend, he had to give Matt that.

“Oh my God — what happened?!” Kidd exclaimed as Kelly got Casey through the door without bumping him. 

“I’m fine,” Casey tried to say as the Psycho waved his gun around.

“He got shot, what’s it look like?” Psycho motioned for Kelly to put Casey in the bed a few over from the wounded gang member who Kidd was already working on. “You,” pushing against Kelly’s skull again with the gun. “Patch him up.”

“JB, get him some gauze out of the bag, please,” Kidd ordered the scared looking kid with his own gun. 

The kid went to do it but was stopped by the Psycho. Kelly ignored them as he grabbed scissors from the bag, cutting through Casey’s shirt to get a better look. 

“Come on, Casey,” Severide tried to be gentle, “Let me see.”

Biting his lip at the pain, Casey moved his hands away, allowing Kelly to prod gently at his ribs, the usually stoic Captain choking down a cry as bone shifted. “Yeah, ones definitely broken,” Kelly told his friend. “Maybe more.”

As Kidd monitored her own patient, Kelly worked on pressing the gauze pads to his friends ribs, the bleeding slowing gradually.

“Come on, Casey,” Kelly told his friend, “Let’s get you up so I can wrap it.”

“Okay,” Casey said hoarsely, face more pale than it was before, but allowing Kelly to help him sit up, even holding the end of the bandage while Kelly wrapped it around his torso.

Psycho came over as he was laying Casey back down.

“What did you even do it for? Was a stupid move, bro,” He goaded the injured fireman.

“That was his wife in the ambulance, what do you think he was gonna do?” Severide responded for his friend, though with a bit too much attitude for the gangbanger because an elbow clocked him in the ear, and Kelly doubled over, cradling the new hurt.

And then the psycho was distracted by the wounded man’s breathing. 

“He’s developing a tension pneumothorax,” Kidd tried to explain.

“In English, lady,” The psycho was clearly nearing the end of his already short amount of patience.

“The bullet is pushing against his lung,” Kidd said, pulling out the appropriate needle from her kit. “So air is getting into his lungs but it can’t get back out.”

“Whoa, what’re you doing?” Psycho asked, freaking out at the size of the needle.

“She’s trying to save your friends life!” Kelly spat, moving to get between him and Kidd. “That’s the needle that you have to use to let the air out of the lung.”

“Oh, now you’re a paramedic too?” Psycho hissed, getting up in Kelly’s face, gun under the fireman’s jaw, pushing his head up.

Kelly met his eyes steadily, “I’m not but I’ve seen it done enough times to know that that’s the needle you use to relieve the pressure of a pneumothorax. Your friend will be fine - if you allow my friend to do her job.”

The Psycho stared at Kelly, flashing over the fireman’s shoulder to observe the ambo lady. “He telling me straight?”

“Yes.” Kidd said. “Yes, it’s a common procedure, I’ve done hundred’s of them. Please -,”

“Alright,” Psycho said, Kelly having a second of relief as the gun was removed from his jaw, before he was spun around and the gun was pressed into his shoulder as he was forced to his knees by the bed. “But if anything goes wrong, your friends gonna wish he was dead, you feel me?”

“Yeah,” Kidd met Kelly’s eyes, “I understand.”

As Kidd saved the wounded gangbanger’s life, Kelly knelt, floor hard against his knees, gun hard against his neck, shoulder, or head; the Psycho couldn’t seem to decide where to point it. Those places were sights of maximum damage if the Psycho fired the gun. And despite the police still outside and his leader’s orders, Kelly was sure that the man was crazy enough to kill him if he thought his friend was gonna die. So if Kelly was gonna die, he’d rather die looking at his friend. Kelly looked over at Casey, who was still lying on the bed, sweat on his chest and brow, tense, watching the drama. Even though it wasn’t obvious, Kelly knew Casey was afraid.

Kelly was afraid, too. He could die here, on his knees, in the place he considered more home then his actual home. 

Then the air hissed through the needle, the catatonic banger took a deep breath, and the crisis was averted.

“JB, you keep an eye on them,” the Psycho told the younger gangster (who didn’t seem enthusiastic about his role). “They try anythin’ you take ‘em out, understood?”

“Yeah,” JB said, shakily.

“I’m taking Hero, here,” Psycho tugged Kelly back to his feet, gun in the small of his back, “Back to the others. Don’t want him causin’ any more trouble.”

So Kelly was forced out of the room, leaving Casey and Kidd with the kid who looked like he was about to bolt. Maybe Casey and Kidd could figure out a way to talk the kid down, now that Psycho wasn’t there to escalate things. Maybe they’d all get out of this without anyone else getting hurt. 

Lost in his thoughts, Kelly was surprised by the harsh shove that nearly sent him to his knees.

“Move, fireman,” Psycho taunted him, enjoying his power. “You know, that ambo lady sure is fine, ain’t she?”

“Don’t you touch her!” Kelly growled in warning, stopping and looking over his shoulder at the gangbanger.

“Yeah? What’chu think you can do about it, Hero?” Psycho grinned, eyes crazy with his own self-importance. 

Kelly had met his type before - volatile, power-hungry, manic, and with a hair trigger. Well, better him then Kidd.

“I know she isn’t into two-bit punks, Psycho.” 

Kelly knew he was pushing it, but it wasn’t in his nature to back down. And he was rewarded by the gun hitting him across the temple, sending him to his knees, a kick to the stomach (apparently one of the man’s favorite moves) sending him all the way down. Kelly protected his head with his arms as best he could, the kicks continuing, turning to agonizing stomps on his legs.

Then it stopped and he felt the now familiar sensation of a gun prodding his shoulder.

“Get up, fireman,” The gangbanger hissed, the look in his eyes almost more frightening than the fires Kelly waltzed into on a near daily basis.

Trying to sort himself out, Kelly flopped onto his stomach, getting his knees under him as he slowly pushed himself up. Looking down the hall, he saw Boden, forced into inaction by the leader’s gun. Kelly felt the wetness of blood running down his face as he made the final push to his knees, staring defiantly up at his tormentor.

“You know,” He panted, hugging at his ribs protectively, “You’re only proving my point, man.”

“You think I won’t shoot you, Hero?” The Psycho asked, whites of his eyes bulging.

“I think your boss was clear about the not shooting bit he said earlier,” Kelly commented, spiting blood onto the polished floor. “And the police outside make it a bad idea.”

“Guess you got it all figured out,” Psycho said, tongue poking out the side of his mouth, thinking. 

Eventually, Kelly saw an idea come to him. He tensed, wondering what the Psycho had thought of now.

“Maybe I can’t shoot you, Hero,” Psycho grinned. “But how about I go back down the hall and check on your friend. Now, he wasn’t looking so hot …” He trailed off meaningfully, sick glee in his eyes.

“You leave him alone!” Kelly hadn’t considered that. Maybe the Psycho was smarter than he looked. 

“What’chu gonna give me not to?” The Psycho asked.

“I..,” Kelly stammered, coming up empty, blind panic setting in. “What do you want?!”

“Beg me,” Psycho grinned, almost panting in excitement. “Beg me not to hurt him, Hero.”

Now, Kelly might be the leader of one of the best Squad’s in the city, he might hold his head high as was his nature, he might be God’s gift to women (he wishes); but he had one weakness — he would do nearly anything for Matthew Casey.

So he begged.

“Please,” Kelly begged, hands automatically reaching out in front of him. “Please - don’t hurt Casey.”

“Now,” Psycho grinned. “That wasn’t so hard, was it, fireman?” Eyes hardening as the gun drifted between Kelly’s eyes. “More.”

“Please, he’s already hurt. He was just trying to save his wife. Please, man, please.”

“More.” The gun was pressing into the skin between Kelly’s eyes and he couldn’t see anything, tears starting to make the world misty.

“Please, I’m begging you.”

“Marlon!” The barked command from the leader, Boden’s rumbling tones in the background, made the Psycho pull the gun away from Kelly’s face. He doubled over, panting like he’d run a marathon, a few tears escaping as his world shifted and then settled. 

Not Casey.

“Don’t move,” Psycho hissed, before going off to talk to the leader. Kelly remained where he was, trying to catch his breath, heart still racing. By the time he was able to sit up again, Marlon (it was easier to call him Psycho) had returned, gun loose in one hand, a roll of duct tape in the other.

“Now, you gonna sit still for this,” Psycho said, shaking the tape. “And if you don’t, it aint’chu whose gonna pay for it, ya feel me?”

“Yeah,” Kelly rasped, wiping a hand across his eyes, before allowing the Psycho to pull his arms behind his back. “Yeah, I hear you.”

He was half dragged, half pushed down the hall, forced to sit by the door. He was in the open area between the common room doors and the doors to the truck bay, along with Boden and the leader. 

You alright? Boden’s look seemed to say.

Was he? Kelly really didn’t know. Boden seemed to sense this, because he chanced crouching down by his Squad Lieutenant, placing a gentle hand on his face. “You’re okay, Kelly.” It came out almost like an order.

Kelly sniffed, nodding against the kind hand, a welcome change after the Psycho’s gun. “Yes, Chief.”

“Aww,” Psycho’s voice caused Kelly to flinch against Boden’s hand, and he saw the chief react to that, standing to put his body between the gunman and his man. “Isn’t that sweet. Why don’t I order us in some flowers!?”

That was when Hermann spoke up, ranting in the way that Hermann did best, telling the truth of the situation in the simplest, bluntest words, his Chicago accent accentuating his indignation. And then Hermann was down - Kelly nearly had his own heart attack as Boden arranged for the beloved firefighter’s release to get treatment.

Not Hermann - without him, and with Casey down, he wasn’t sure the House would ever get back to normal after all this was over. Heartsick, Kelly sat and watched as the drama unfolded.

JB was back from delivering Hermann to the police outside, and Turk kept him around for a bit, the more reasonable gunman having been sent to watch the wounded and Kidd as JB did his ‘chore’. Kelly tried to ignore Psycho as he paced back and forth with the leader, glancing at Kelly, hand flexing and relaxing habitually on his gun. 

When JB’s mother made her plea over the police megaphone, Psycho paced, clearly agitated, as the leader and Boden both tried to make JB do what they wanted. The tug of war ended and it was JB whose pleas got the gun out from under Boden’s jaw. 

They’d finally gotten around to going out to ‘Mad Max’ one of the firetrucks, the leader taking Boden, JB’s (hesitant) gun covering Cruz, when Psycho dashed back down the hall from where he was supposed to get the (more reasonable) gunman and the wounded one from the bunk room.

“They got ‘em, man!” He panted, leaning down to force Kelly to his feet, mimicking the leader’s move with Boden. “Whole bunch of pigs back there!”

“What!?” The leader exclaimed, already forcing Boden towards the door, JB and Psycho following with their own hostages. “Then let’s move!”

On shaky legs, pain-filled gasps escaping Kelly as he was shoved after the others, Kelly had time to feel relieved that Matt and Kidd were safe and everyone in the common room was also alright, focusing on not collapsing as he was manhandled out the door.

They didn’t make it far: SWAT breached the door, seemingly countless guns pointed at the little group. Kelly knew he should be worried when the room suddenly spun, the taste of copper flooding his mouth. He gagged, trying to hunch over and spit it out, Psycho’s relentless grip preventing it, so Kelly spit it up, blood dribbling down his chin and into the collar of his shirt.

“No one has to get hurt!” JB was saying to the leader, having already put his gun down. The kid just wanted it all to end, sickened by the blood coming from the fireman’s mouth, the man’s eyes dazed. Why had he ever gotten involved with the gang? - his mother had been right. 

There was a right way to get justice for his sister. He’d chosen wrong. 

“It’s over!”

“No, it ain’t,” the Psycho said, pushing his gun under Kelly’s chin, making him gag on another wave of blood as he was moved around like a puppet. “If we gonna go out, we gonna go out correct. You feel me!?” He suddenly screamed, looking for agreement from the leader, who still had his gun and Boden. Kelly flinched, swaying against the grip, closing his eyes as the world tilted a little.

Head injury, he thought, dazed. And a prayer came to mind, one he hadn’t said in years as he felt the cold of the St. Florian medal against his skin. Merciful Father of all men, save me from all bodily harm, if it be thy will, He recited, words flowing to his mind as one of his legs buckled, his whole body straining to keep alert through the growing fog, the shouting growing dim and distant.

But above all, help me to be loyal and true, respectful and honorable, obedient and valiant. 

Valiant. Casey was valiant.

Casey …

The gun was digging into his jaw again, and he sagged against the hold, body hurting as the standoff continued…….

Thus fortified by virtue, I shall have no fear, for I shall then belong to Thee and shall never be separated from Thee. 

Then the gun was gone, Psycho bringing it up, swinging towards the police confronting him. Kelly’s legs give out and he fell, Psycho seemingly content to let him fall as the shots rang out.

Amen.

Kelly’s head bounced off the cement floor of the parking garage and everything went silent.

————————-

It was April’s face that he woke up to, the white walls of the hospital room a familiar sight by now.

“Hey there,” she smiled, coming up to the bed rail, gentle hand sliding through his short salt-and-pepper hair. “You remember what happened?”

Kelly frowned, the pain medication making him slow. Bits and pieces; noise, feelings - Casey … Casey!

“Where’s Casey!?” He exclaimed, groaning as he tried to sit up, startling April.

“Hey, don’t move!” April admonished him, helping him settle back down onto the pillows. “Casey’s right there. Just look to your left.”

Kelly turned his head, only relaxing into the pillows once he saw Casey’s sleeping form in the second bed in the room, the heart rate monitor comforting in its steady beeping. “Is he okay?”

“He will be,” April assured him. “He’s a walking bruise, like someone I could name,” She lightly punched his shoulder. “We moved him in here because he wouldn’t settle down without seeing you.”

Kelly grinned. Casey was okay. He was breathing. “He had broken ribs …”

“Yes, three to be exact,” April informed him. “Which I shouldn’t tell you because of patient confidentiality, but I know he’d just tell you himself if he was awake.”

“No lasting damage?” Kelly asked.

“No lasting damage,” April affirmed. “Now I’ll go get Dr. Halstead, he’ll go over your laundry list with you.”

“How long do I need to stay?” Kelly asked, relaxing into the pillows.

“Until I’m sick of you or you stop peeing blood,” April called over her shoulder as she left the room. “Whichever comes first!”

Laughing made his ribs hurt. Kelly relaxed as best he could into the pillows and watched Casey sleep. If this was his happy ending, then he was okay with it.

All was well.

Chapter Text

It was supposed to be a regular visit to the bank - Will and Jay were just finishing up the paperwork on their dad’s estate. Severide was there to get into his safety deposit box. But for our fanfavorite boys of Chicago, no day is ever normal.

“Is that Severide?” 

Will looked up at Jay’s question, recognizing the unique silvery black hair of the Squad Lieutenant. “Yep.”

“What’s he doing here?” Jay wondered.

Will laughed. “Are you sure you’re a detective?” He rolled his eyes, playfully. “This is a bank Jay.”

Jay chuffed out a laugh, smacking his brother on the shoulder. “Smartass.”

Severide waved a hand in recognition when he noticed them. “Hey, what’re you guys doing here?” Unknowingly echoing Jays question.

“There was some paperwork for our dad’s estate,” Will told him.

“Meagre as it was,” Jay mumbled dryly. “You?”

“Had do put something in my safety deposit box.”

That was when the shots rang out.

“Get away from the doors!” Jay shouted, drawing his own sidearm as he kept a line of sight with the two security guards. “Will, Severide, get those people back!”

The teller’s had opened the gate so everyone could huddle behind the counter, one of the girls saying they’d hit the alarm above the noise from inside and outside. Will peered over the counter top with Severide, watching, heart in his throat, as Jay and one of the guards backed back into the bank, several masked men approaching, pushing them back. Will spared a thought to wonder where the other guard was, knowing he probably didn’t want to know. Though he did note that one of the robbers was keeping pressure on his lower side, blood staining his gloved hand. The guards outside must’ve winged him.

One of the masked men had a hostage, probably some woman they’d grabbed on the sidewalk.

“Put the guns down!!” 

“Police! Down on the ground!” 

The shouts escalated as Jay and the guard continued backing up. But the standoff was ended, in favor of the gunmen, when one of them made a sudden dive behind a trashcan, dragging out a little girl. Severide had to grab one of the teller’s as she tried to run around the counter, growing hysterical as the little girl screamed in fear.

“Kelly!” The woman sobbed, Severide startling a bit but holding on, making sure she didn’t get into the line of fire. “Please, not my baby!”

“Put the guns down!” The masked man demanded. “Or the girl gets it.”

“Okay!” Jay said, putting up his gun, motioning for the guard to follow his lead. “Okay! We’re putting them down. Just don’t hurt her, okay?”

“Get down on the ground,” The gunman ordered. “I believe you are familiar with the position.”

So. Now they were trapped in a bank with several - make that four, a few more robbers had backed into the building, the sound of sirens in the distance - armed gunmen; Jay and the guard were disarmed; and they was trapped in the bank along with a group of hostages. Could this get any worse?

“Jay!” The cry was ripped from his throat as one of the gunman shot his defenseless brother in the leg. He came around the counter, despite Severide’s hissed warnings, stopping with his hands raised as the gunmen turned their attention on him. “Please, I’m a doctor, I can look at his leg.”

“He’ll live,” The masked man sneered. “Use his own cuffs,” He ordered one of the others. “You,” Focusing this attention on Will, “Sit down and shut up.”

Slowly, Will did as he was told, sneaking another glance at Jay before he was pushed around the counter, forced to sit on the floor. Severide managed to wrangle the woman down as well.

“Please,” Severide asked, comforting the still sobbing woman. “Can she have her kid? It’ll calm her down.”

“After we get all your cell phones and wallets,” He was told. One of the men had grabbed a bag and started wading through the hostages. “Empty your pockets into that. Everything - and I mean everything - goes in that bag. No heroics!”

Will and Severide exchanged glances as the firefighter helped the sobbing woman empty her pockets. Her purse must’ve been somewhere else. 

This was bad.

“Please,” The woman begged once the everyone had put their belongings in the bag. “Please, let me have my daughter.”

“Okay,” The leader motioned to the one they couldn’t see on the other side of the counter. “Give her her kid.”

“Oh, baby,” The woman sobbed, grabbing her daughter as soon as she was in range. The little girl couldn’t have been more than eight. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, mommy.”

“Keep her quiet,” The leader ordered, before going off to talk to the others.

As the sirens crescendoed outside and one of the men figured out how to turn off the bank alarm, there was tense silence among the hostages. Will was relived that none of them looked old enough for them to have a heart attack, and aside from the little girl, everyone looked physically healthy and fit. 

“Severide, what do you think they’re doing?”

“If it was me,” The fireman’s voice was quiet, shrugging. “Strategizing.”

And so it was because the next order was for the hostages to be split up into groups. With seven hostages, not including the guard and Jay, they were split in half. Severide, the mom and daughter, and the other teller were forced to go to one side of the bank lobby, just out of sight of the front doors. Will, along with the bank manager who Jay and him had been consulting with before this all went down, and the woman hostage who’d been brought in earlier, were forced to the opposite side.

By spreading out the hostages, the robbers made SWAT’s job harder, Will realized. The police might already have eyes in the bank, but with the two groups and then Jay and the guard placed in the center of the lobby in direct line of sight from the doors (though they’d drawn the blinds) the chances of saving all the hostages in a rush were slim.

Severide had been right; they’d been strategizing.

——————————

Jay grimaced, feeling a slow trickle of blood soaking his pants more are he strained uselessly against his own cuffs. At least he could see Will now, with the other hostages to his left. He managed to catch Will’s eye, exchanging a conversation without words, seeing Will’s panic at how he was bleeding, though he hid it well enough.

You okay?

This? It’s nothing.

Jay.

I’ll be okay.

Knowing that his brother wasn’t convinced but also knowing that Will wouldn’t try anything rash just yet, Jay did a visual scan of his injury. It was a through and through and it was bleeding. Not gushing like it had hit an artery, but enough to know that he’d loose a lot more blood if he didn’t get pressure on it.

“Hey,” He watched as one of the gunman approached Will’s little group, his brother sitting tall as the others cowered back slightly. “You said you were a doctor?”

“I am.”

“Then you’re gonna fix my partner over there,” The gunman demanded.

“I can treat him,” Will told the man. “But will you also allow me to look at the other gunshot victim?” 

Smart, Jay thought, he was giving no indication that they knew each other.

“Maybe once my partner’s stopped bleeding, doc,” The man said, jerking his gun to motion Will to his feet. 

As Will was pushed towards the bleeding gunman, his path several yards from Jay’s prone form, sirens could be heard in the distance. The other gunman were whispering together, the leader joining them while he periodically glanced at Will who was making quick work of the tactical vest the wounded man was wearing.

“Can you see if there’s a first aid kit in the building?” Will called out. “And I need towels and water if you can get it.”

Sending one of his men off to look, the leader approached, standing over Will as he worked, his hands already stained with blood. “He gonna be alright, doc?”

“If you can get him to a hospital within the next hour or so,” Will said bluntly, his harsh diagnosis belied by the gentle way he helped the gunman lie down, folding his own jacket under the man’s head. “There’s no exit wound so the bullet’s still inside of him. It doesn’t look like any of his organ’s were nicked, but these types of gunshot wounds are tricky - could be looking at major blood loss if I can’t get it bandaged.”

Just then, the man who’d been sent for supplies ran back up, dumping a first aid kit, several water bottles, and a roll of paper towels by his brother’s feet.

“Just what kind of doctor are you, doc?” The leader asked as Will immediately started digging through the kit, looking for what he needed.

“Trauma surgeon,” Will said, half distracted, “Chicago MED.”

Part of Jay wanted to be mad at Will for giving up information so easily, but the more rational part of him knew that Will wasn’t telling them anything they wouldn’t find out if they just looked through the wallets they collected. The man who’d collected the wallets earlier spoke up just then. It was either incredible timing or pure bad luck.

“Hey, boss,” he waved the leader over. “You’re gonna want to see this.”

Jay watched, gaze narrowing as the leader looked through the ID’s his man showed him, glancing between him and Will and then at Severide, of all people, before he picked up the ID’s and walked over to Jay.

“So,” He knelt just out of range of Jay’s legs, right to assume that even wounded and restrained, Jay would put up a hell of a fight. “You and the doc?” Jay didn’t say anything. “You’re brothers?”

“… Yes.” Jay admitted with ill grace.

“Huh.” Was all the response he got. Whatever the man was going to say next, he was interrupted by one of the desk phones ringing.

The negotiations were about to begin.

——————————————

Where he was sitting with the mother and daughter, Severide watched the movements of the hostage takers. The woman had stopped crying, now that she had her daughter back and was holding onto the little girl for dear life. The little girl looked close to bawling again, her mother’s mood affecting her own, compounded with the recent trauma of being held hostage.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Severide leaned down closer to the girl. “You wanna know what my name is?”

She nodded, tear shiny eyes turning to him.

“It’s Kelly,” He grinned at her.

“But Kelly’s a girl’s name!” Her confusion was kinda adorable, Severide’s mind flicking to Shay and how she’d wanted kids.

“Yeah, it is, sometimes,” Severide told her. “But my dad decided to call me Kelly. And it rhymes with his name — Benny.”

“It’s still funny,” The little girl insisted, drawing a watery chuckle from her mother, who looked a little less hysterical now that she was watching the interaction.

“Maybe a little bit,” Severide whispered to the little girl, like he was sharing a secret. Looking up at her mother, he held out a hand. “The names Kelly Severide.”

The mother shook his hand, weakly. “Patience Waters.”

“Good to know you,” Severide said. “Just wish it was under better circumstances.”

“You don’t seem scared at all,” She commented, tremor still in her voice.

“Oh, I am, believe me,” He assured her. “But I’m a fireman — high stress job.”

“Oh.” Patience turned to watch as Will was escorted over to the wounded gunman. 

“We’ll get out of this, Patience,” Severide told her, also watching the little medical drama unfolding. “I know that guy - he’s a good doctor. And the one on the floor. Let them take the lead.”

The phone began to ring and Severide was hopeful that the man would listen to he negotiators. But as Jay was dragged unceremoniously towards where his brother was treating the wounded gunman, leg leaving a streak of blood as it dragged against the fancy bank floor, Severide wondered if he’d be forced to eat those words. 

———————————

“Jay!” Will called anxiously as his brother’s bloody form was dropped by his side, freezing as he felt a gun barrel against the back of his head. 

“Treat my man first, doc,” The leader said, coolly, gun never wavering. “Then you can see to your brother.” Then he turned away to answer the phone, which was still ringing.

“You okay?” Jay asked as the man answered the phone, listening to the hostage negotiator.

“I’m not the one who’s shot, Jay,” Will scolded him, not looking up from the man he was bandaging.

“Fair enough.”

So Jay took the opportunity, now that he was close to his brother, to get another look at the situation. It wasn’t good. The hostage layout, the number of gunman - this could end badly. 

Outside, Voight was thinking the same thing. Being called to a hostage situation on a Wednesday afternoon was never a good thing. Though he really couldn’t say that it would be better if it had happened on a Saturday …

“That’s Jay’s car,” Erin had said as they climbed out of the SUV. Voight squinted at the truck, recognizing it as well. 

“I’ll go talk to Lyle,” Voight said, jerking his head at the negotiator who’d set up behind one of the patrol cars. “See if he has any positive identities of the hostages yet.”

He’s just in time for the hostage negotiator to put the call on open mic in the back of the van, giving Voight the courtesy of listening in.

“I know how this works,” The voice says. “I’ve got two of yours in here - three, if you count the fireman. So I want options.”

They haggle over the details a little, getting nowhere. From a distance, they can see one of the gunman pulling Jay into the line of sight of the snipers they’ve set up, confirming that they have the hostage they say they have.

“This could get ugly,” Lyle warning Voight after they’re abruptly hung up on after a generic demand to ‘be given a car and half an hour’s head start, or they’ll start killing hostages.’ 

“These guy’s have seen too many cop movies,” was Voight’s comment. “Mind if I put my girl up on the roof?”

“Appreciate all the help we can get.”

Voight’s reputation always went a long way.

“On it, sarge,” Erin says, already going to the van to retrieve her rifle.

————————————————

The bank is quiet and getting warmer. The air conditioning has been cut off. On a mid-June day in Chicago, that can get uncomfortable quick. It certainly wasn’t doing Jay any favors, the wounded officer breaking out in a sweat as his leg periodically throbbed.

Dividing his attention between the wounded gunman and his little brother, Will can feel the sweat dripping down his back, getting absorbed in the slowly saturating waistband of his jeans. He really wished he was at home enjoying a beer with Jay instead of stuck here. They’d only meant to finish up the paperwork and then get out - but fate, it seemed, had other plans.

Glancing at the gunman who have huddled over by the desks out of sight of the glass front doors, he cals over softly. “We could be having a beer right now.”

“Burgers,” Jay mutters, pressing his face into the floor to feel the comforting cool of the fancy marble. “Pretzels.”

“The best melty cheese,” Will grins a little. Their next stop was going to be their favorite take out joint. It had the best greasy game watching snacks in the city (in Will’s humble opinion). 

“And the trifecta is complete.”

“We listed four things, Jay.”

“Ssshh. I’m busy drooling over here.”

Any reply Will might have made is interrupted by the leader’s shout. “Hey! Shut up!”

Ducking his head, Will exhibits the most docile mannerisms he can. Because he’s not the man with a gun, is he? And his little brother is currently bleeding on the floor. It’s sluggish, but he hadn’t been able to stop in completely. 

Their captors are just as, if nor more, frustrated than their captives by the wait and the heat and the tension because, without warning, despite Will’s efforts, the man kicks Jay’s leg, causing him to let out a sharp cry, biting his lip as he curls into himself.

“Jay!”

“You stay.”

And Will freezes as the gun is pointed at him. He hates this part. He really does. 

“Hey,” Jay says, pushing through his own pain, defending Will, like he always has ever since they were kids, even though Will is older. “Pick on someone your own size.”

As the man’s drawing back for another kick, the phone rings.

Saved by the bell.

—————————————————

From his position around the counter, Severide watches this all go down. These guys are really getting on his nerves. But he’s not about to risk the civilians surrounding him. Besides, any rash actions he might take are curtailed when the decision is made for him. Slamming the phone down on the receiver, the leader calls his men into a huddle, obviously laying out the game plan. Judging by the various glances thrown his way, as well as at the Halstead brothers, Kelly is about to become part of the plan. 

“Get up,” he’s ordered, the little girl, mini-Kelly, burrowing into her mothers side to hide. So he does, hands raised placatingly. 

“I’m going.” Kelly says, keeping his hands raised as he’s shoved over to the others, “I’m going.”

The gunmen have collected their bags and, with a final mumbled word to the man on the floor, the leader grabs Will while another grabs Jay, hauling him, wincing to his feet. Severide is last and he’s forced to let the guy bind his hands behind his back as a gun gets shoved into the small of it.

“Let’s move!”

And they’re slowly emerging into the sunshine, stopping several yards before they reach the barricade, the doors shutting behind them. Voight steps forward with a megaphone.

“You have our car?” The leader asks.

“I do.”

Now they’re heading towards an unmarked van just to the left end of the barricade, parked half on the sidewalk. Severide can feel the tension like a blanket in the air. Any wrong move is going to set off a powder keg. He can see how hard Jay is working to keep up with his captor, blood dripping freely down his leg once again, not helped by the occasional shove he is subjected too.

There’s two gunshots, so close they almost sound like one. The two men holding Jay and Will - they’ve jerked ungainly and there’s a cloud of misted blood that covers the back of the brothers necks and shoulders.

“What the f-,” He hears the scream directly behind them and then he’s falling down under the sudden dead weight of his own captor. Luckily, he manages to turn his face before he breaks his nose on the sidewalk.

Jesus Christ. Is it really over?

Now, he’s not usually one to actually voluntarily get medical treatment, but he doesn’t protest as he’s helped to his feet and he’s guided to a seat at the back door of a familiar ambulance. That’s when he realizes that the hands which guide him are also familiar.

“Casey?” He blinks, startled by the blond and blue becoming clear in his vision. “What’re you doing here?”

“Voight notified Boden about the situation and then I snagged a ride on the ambulance the city sent in case it went bad.” Casey frowns at him as he stumbles on even ground. “Easy. Easy. Are you alright?”

“I.” Severide announces as he finally sits on the open end of the ambulance, smiling at Foster. “Am a very lucky man.”

“Yeah,” Casey peers at him, looking back at where there’s a huddle around the Halstead brothers. “Yeah, you are.”

There was more than one pair of brothers who had needed to be reunited, after all the hubbub.

———————————————

Naturally, once Will gets away from Maggie’s mother-henning about his minor injuries, he arrives in Jay’s hospital room in time to see him sitting at the edge of the bed, just reaching over to jerk out his IV line.

“Whoa, Jay,” He says, hurrying over. “I know you wanna blow this joint - but you can’t just yank it out.”

Gently, he makes sure the line is still secure, looking up to grin fondly at his little brother. “Just can’t keep out of mischief, can you?”

“Hate hospitals,” Jay muttered, semi-petulantly.

“I know, buddy,” He says, running a hand through Jay’s freshly washed hair - they’d both gotten showers to get rid of the human debris they’d been exposed to. “But wait to jump ship until I give you the signal, okay? Or I’ll just have to bring you back again later when you collapse.”

Pouting, Jay lays back down, letting Will gently lift his braced and bandaged leg back onto the bed. “Promise?”

It would never cease to be hilarious how young Jay sounded when he was on certain meds and in the middle of an adrenaline comedown. It was very endearing. “Just hang in there. Once I think it’s okay to sign you out, we’re going to Molly’s to get some of that soul food.” 

“Beer?” Jay asks, perking up as he wiggles against the pillow to make himself comfortable.

“It’ll mix with the pain killer, Jay,” Will scolded him, knowing that his brother knew this already.

Jay thought it over for a minute, his eyelids fluttering. “I get two burgers then.”

“I’ll pay for it,” Will promises. “Sleep, Jay.”

And his little brother is out for the count.

Will can only shake his head in fond exasperation. What a stubborn little shit.

Some things never changed.

———————————————

“There’s the hero of the hour!” Hermann shouts jovially as Will keeps the door open while Jay hobbles in on crutches. “Heard you fellas had a big day.”

“We did.” Will affirms, blatantly hovering over Jay (who allows it, for once). “So we came for your finest burgers and pretzels.”

“With extra dipping sauce,” Jay huffs as he sits at one of the tables, carefully arranging his leg just so.

“You got it.” Hermann declares. “Though uh, I can only give you half off - given the occasion -,”

They wave him off, not in any mood to haggle, as Hermann sometimes is willing to do, so the older man hurries off. Severide and Kidd are next to arrive, fashionably late.

“Guess we all have the same idea,” Kelly says, pulling out Kidd’s chair before he takes his own seat. “Hermann give you a heroes welcome?”

“Half off and everything,” Will grins.

“Maybe we’ll get lucky, too, then,” Kidd raises her eyebrow with a grin.

(They don’t, but the food is good all the same.)

“Hey, pipe down folks,” Hermann yells over the hubbub latter in the night. “Pipe down! We gotta drink a toast - to Kelly Severide and Will and Jay Halstead, for calmness of mind and aiding the public welfare. Cheers!”

“Cheers!

And the stars roll on.

(Jay also managed to steal most of Will’s fry’s in retaliation for not being allowed to drink a nice cold beer. Will let him think he was being sneakier then he actually was. Because sometimes harmony comes with compromises.)

Chapter Text

Will doesn’t come out of the bombing unscathed but he soldiers on. Meanwhile, his actual soldier brother ends up with an armful when Will faints on him later. 

“OPEN THIS DOOR, NEW YORK!!”

Well, he couldn’t argue with that, Will supposed and he knew he couldn’t do everything by himself. The looks on the fireman’s faces when he said to black tag their unconscious friend flashing in front of his eyes. 

So he opened the door.

“Firefighter in trauma bay 4, do what you can for him,” Will said, locking the door again.

“I’m on it.”

The room was still smokey and the remaining firefighter’s had managed to make the chaos a controlled chaos. Will looked around, trying to see who needed help first, shifting too fast, surprised by the sudden sharp pain in his back and side and the familiar feel of blood dripping down previously unmarred flesh. Because he knew it had to be blood, given how this shift was going. Lifting open the front of his jacket, he grimaced at the jagged tear in the blue material, automatically pressing a handful of his jacket into the wound. 

There were a few options; option one, he could get Dr. Tramble to bandage him and let everyone in the ED know that the only other doctor on scene was injured, option 2, he could bandage it himself and get it looked at later. He went with option two, Jay’s voice in his head the entire time.

Can’t you see anything through? Chicago’s not that bad.

There was gauze in the small medical closet he managed to sequester himself in without anyone noticing in the chaos and he pressed it to his wound, not bothering to truly see the extent of the damage. He could tell it was long and in an awkward position, but that it wasn’t very deep. That was enough to triage himself. He could still work. With a whine, he tightened longer bandages around his middle, trapping the pads, making sure nothing would shift while he saw to his ED full of patients. 

Ok - deep breaths; think positive.

And he was out in the chaos again, responding to the dark haired lady fireman’s call for a doctor.

————————————

Tell me you’re not in there.

Why was that the first thing he’d said when Will picked up? He could’ve asked if he was alright. But training kicked in and when he and Adam had gotten the call, all he could see was Will’s face on the torn up bodies of his fellow soldiers in the sand of a far off desert. Will was a doctor, for christ’s sake — he was supposed to be healing people, not getting caught in a blast zone in the middle of Chicago! But here they were.

“Hey,” Jay jogged over to Casey where he was talking with some of the other firefighter’s who’d finally been released from the ED. “Have you seen my brother? Dr. Halstead. Red hair, about yay high?” Holding up his hand to show his brother’s lanky build.

Casey’s eyes lit up in recognition. “He’s your brother? Yeah, last I saw he was talking to one of the worse off victims — got the bomber’s ulna in his chest.”

“So just in there?” Jay said as he hurried towards the now open doors of the ED.

“Yeah.”

The jog to the ED doors seemed interminably long. Jay dismissed the bomb burns on the walls, the sparking electrical cords in the ceiling and the all too familiar stench of blood, death, and terror, searching for his brother. 

He wasn’t there.

“Hey,” Jay flagged down a familiar face, April’s curly hair falling from it’s normally immaculate ponytail. “Have you seen Will?”

“I think he went outside,” April said. “Probably needed a breath of air.”

So he went outside again, searching more carefully, looking for the familiar shock of red hair. And he found him. Will was slumped against one of the concrete columns, out of the way of the busy bustle of first responders who were still going in and out of the now cordoned off crime scene. Slowing down, Jay took a moment to watch his brother before he disturbed him. Will looked like hell.

There was blood on his coat and his face. His hair was a mess, out of the perfectly styled coif that he liked to tease his brother about. But he was alive.

He was alive.

“Hey,” Jay called, feeling a little concerned when Will barely moved from his slump, turning his head slightly, half opening his eyes to watch Jay approach.

Will tried to give him a smile, but it came out more like a grimace.

Gently, Jay pulled Will away from the column, looking over his brother, checking for damage before pulling him in for a gentle hug. Will leaned into it, turning his face into Jay’s neck, seeking comfort after the trauma he’d suffered.

“Hey, brother,” Will said softly, holding on just as tightly. 

Eventually they pulled back, though Jay still kept his hand’s on Will’s shoulder and waist.

“Do you know why he did it?” Will asked, staring at the ED doors, eyes lost in the memories.

“Lone wolf suicide bomber,” Jay said succinctly. “To quote his words — ‘I will turn where American’s come for help into a dying ground.’ — end quote.”

Will chuffed, shaking his head, pulling away from Jay’s hands to rub at his face, further messing up his hair style. “Unbelievable. All that, just for a bit of media coverage? We’re lucky nobody died. That firefighter — Severide — made sure of that.”

Jay’s heart skipped a beat, thinking of what could have been; if Will had been closer, if he’d come to find his dead body in the ED instead of the living breathing flesh under his hands …

“Voight’s gonna want a statement from you,” Jay said instead. “You wanna do that now?”

“Might as well,” Will said, allowing his brother to lead him back through the chaos towards the command tent.

“Sarge,” Jay called, getting the older man’s attention. “Do you want to take my brother’s statement?”

“Doc,” Voight rasped, shaking Will’s hand. “Hell of a first day.”

“Yeah,” Will agreed, letting Jay guide him to a chair. “Wish I was seeing you again under better circumstances, sir.”

Jay stood behind the chair as Voight got the statement, listening as Voight gave the occasional prompt, asking the questions that cleared up all the relevant details. They’d been outside the whole time, unable to truly assess the scene, Will’s statement would be instrumental to the whole case. Though it was cut and dry, they still needed to know what had went down. Gut clenching as Will described the chaos, how they’d fought for Severide’s life, the fire in the ceiling, the bomber’s last words …

Soon enough, it was done.

“Here,” Jay said, handing Will an uncapped bottle of water, which his brother took with a trembling hand. “You alright?”

“Yeah, it’s just the adrenaline wearing off,” Will shrugged off his concern, water dribbling down his chin as he drank. “Are we done?” He asked Voight.

“You can go, doc.” Voight affirmed. “Halstead, you wanna help the crime scene boys catalogue the evidence in there?”

“Sure, Sarge,” Jay said, knowing that this was Voight’s way of giving him the ability to keep an eye on his brother. “Ready, Will?” Frowning at how Will’s eyes had slid shut momentarily.

In lieu of answering, Will went to stand, staggering a little before he found his footing, saved by Jay’s steadying hands on his waist and shoulder.

“Hey, you sure you’re okay?” Jay asked, worried as Will slumped against him, the water bottle falling, forgotten, onto the floor.

Pulling back sluggishly, but making no attempt to shrug off Jay’s hands, Will blinked, looking increasingly confused. “I’m - I don’t -,” Jay’s hand was wet so he lifted it up, looking at the blood on it over Will’s shoulder, looking at Voight, holding it up to show him the blood.

Frantically, Jay used that hand to push open Will’s stained, smokey coat, pushing up his scrub top, catching his breath when blood soaked bandages were revealed. Barely aware of Voight calling for a medic, frozen as he looked at the bandages. It was Will’s voice that brought him back from the edge, “Jay,” pain filled brown eyes met blue, “Don’t —,” he huffed, “— feel so good.” His eyes rolled up and Jay moved, catching Will, lowering him to the ground, automatically putting pressure on the wound.

In between then and wherever he went in his head, Brett and Mills appeared, kneeling beside him — beside Will’s body — and Jay tried to fight the hands pulling at him, trying to separate him from Will.

“Jay,” Voight’s voice and his hands were impossible to ignore. “You gotta let them work.”

Struggling for a few seconds more, Jay went still, muscles straining from his forced inaction, Voight stepped off, leaving Jay in Antonio’s grip, something Jay could more easily accept, frozen as he watched them work on his brothers unresponsive body, medical terms floating in the air around him.

Blood loss, trauma to the left side, shrapnel — god damn shrapnel, the bodies lay smoking in the sand — then Antonio was helping him follow the gurney back into the hospital, ending up in one of the trauma bays, evidence of Severide’s surgery still remaining, the firefighter’s shirt in a pile in the corner. Not that Jay noticed, because the glass was still between him and his brother, Antonio making sure he didn’t get in the way, hands gentle but firm. Antonio had a boxers hands. 

“He said he was fine,” Jay muttered brokenly. Antonio laying a comforting hand on his shoulder instead of a restricting one. 

“He said he was fine.”

—————————————

The familiar scent of antiseptic was the first sense that came back to him.

Will felt heavy, almost like he was drunk, but he knew he wasn’t. Flashes came to him. Smoke, blood, death — terror, he tried to sit up, the alarms blaring, the haze pushed back by a flood of adrenaline. Not that he got far, weak as a baby despite the adrenaline. All he succeeded in doing was alerting the nurses that he was awake. But Jay was there.

Jay. He closed his eyes, remembering collapsing on his little brother. He must’ve been worried.

“Hey, brother.” Jay’s smile was brittle as he stroked a hand through Will’s hair, echoing back Will’s earlier words. 

Will relaxed into the touch, the monitors going back to their original wave lengths, the nurse coming in to check and then popping back out without disturbing them. He was sure Dr. Tramble would show up soon, to give him the run down. 

“So,” Jay began, eyebrow raised. “Were you ever planning on telling anybody you were hurt?”

Will gave a weak shake of his head, closing his eyes as he swallowed, his throat so dry, croaking as he opened them again, “Had to keep movin’.”

Jay’s hand moved down to cup Will’s cheek, stroking along the bone, feeding all his relief into the touch. “Don’t do it again.” Making him stay as Will rolled his eyes. “I mean it.”

Looking up at his brother, Will sighed, knowing his brother’s limits. “I promise — the next time someone blows themselves up in the ED, I’ll make sure to get examined right away.”

“Does that mean you’re staying?” Jay asked, feeling a surge of hope, ignoring the possibility of this happening to his brother again. Will didn’t belong in a hospital bed - he ordered people into them, not the other way around.

Will didn’t answer, hand coming up to remove Jay’s from his face, gripping it weakly against his heart. Jay let his brother pull him down till he was practically lying on his brother, shifting to fit himself into the bed with Will, careful of the monitors and lines.

“I was worried about you,” He admitted, clutching his brother to him.

“I know,” Will said, flopping an arm around Jay. “But I’m okay.”

“Or at least, he will be,” Dr. Tramble chose that moment to breeze back into the room, holding up a forestalling hand, “No need to move on my account. Seems like you got yourself in trouble already, New York.”

Jay got off the bed anyway, uncomfortable with the scrutiny, catching Will’s sad little smile as he did though he hid it quickly. “Detective Jay Halstead.”

“Dr. Tramble,” She said, shaking his hand quickly before going back over her chart. “You’ll need to stay in bed for the next day or so and then you should be good to go home. Goodwin signed off on your next two weeks of medical leave.”

“Thanks,” Will muttered, looking anything but. Jay knew he loved his work and how he’d be upset too if he was sidelined. 

“Looks like you’ll be crashing at my place for a while yet,” he gently ribbed his brother. 

“Thanks, Jay,” The gratitude was genuine this time.

“Good, then I’ll leave you a copy of your charts and I’ll be on my way,” Tramble said, halting when Will grabbed her coat in a feeble grip.

“What happened to Jim? The guy with the bone in his chest?”

“He’s going to be fine, he’s down the hall resting,” Tramble assured him, untangling his hand from her jacket, holding it gently. “And I didn’t get a chance to say it earlier, so I’ll tell you now — you did a good job today, Will, our team is lucky to have you.” Placing his hand on the bed and with a pat on his shoulder, she was gone.

There was a short silence, Jay gathering his jacket to leave, stopping with his hand on the door when Will called after him.

“I’m sorry for scaring you, Jay.”

Turning back, Jay went for a hug before he left the room.

“I know.”

——————————————

The familiar scent of blood filled the air. Moving through the ED doors, Jay felt his chest tighten, seeing the first bodies. The people who had come to be healed but who had been murdered instead, ignorant of the sin they had committed to be killed in such a way. A senseless bombing that solved nothing. 

His team was with him as they examined the bodies, looking for survivors; they found none. And it wasn’t until he looked closer that Jay realized what was bothering him. The corpse he’d just turned over had his brother’s face, blood trickling from gray lips, eyes blank in the stare of death. So he hurried to the next body and the next and the next — they were all Will: dead.

Will was dead.

He woke to a tentative hand jostling his foot. Sitting up abruptly, he saw Will, alive, and then he fought with his covers to get to the bathroom. Slamming to his knees in front of the toilet, he unloaded his guts into it, painful retching filling the silence of the early morning hours. Slumping back against the wall when he was finally done, he was aware of Will, a glass of water appearing in his peripherals.

He drank it, shivering as the air hit his sweating body, feeling beyond tired.

“You were having a nightmare,” Will said, leaning against the bathroom counter.

“Yeah,” Jay said, agreeing with the obvious.

“Wanna talk about it?” Will’s voice was gentle, no judgement in it.

“… not particularly.” 

“Okay,” Will said, continuing to lean against the counter. Jay had almost thought he would drop it when he continued. “You were calling for me, Jay.”

Jay determinedly didn’t look at him. “It was just a dream.”

“Was it about what happened today?” Will pressed his luck.

“Just leave it alone, Will,” Jay had not wish to get into his many mental issues with his still hurt older brother in the bathroom that smelled like vomit at four in the morning. But being his life and his luck, Will wouldn’t leave well enough alone.

“I can’t, Jay.” If Jay had had the guts to look, he knew he’d see that expression on Will’s face, the ‘I’m a doctor but I can’t fix you if you don’t let me’ face. “Please … talk to me.”

Jay thunked his head back against the wall, forcing himself to swallow down a bit of bile as he remembered the dream.

“All the bodies had your face,” he admitted, determinedly not looking at Will.

In the silence, Jay waited for rejection. He’d always found it hard to talk to anyone about his issues, especially Will, who always wanted to fix things — Jay knew that this wasn’t something that his brother could fix. And if he couldn’t fix Jay, he might decide to walk away again and Jay wouldn’t see Will as often as he secretly wanted to.

Because that’s what Jay wanted; for Will to stay. He wanted Will around, despite the past and the mistakes and the hurt — because they were brothers and with the way their dad was, they were all each other had left. He needed Will to stay.

“Oh, Jay,” Will sighed, before carefully joining his brother on the bathroom floor, sitting back against the wall next to him, slinging a careful arm around his little brother’s tense shoulders. “I’m sorry I worried you.” Repeating the words he’d said earlier.

“You’re supposed to be safe,” Jay blurted out before he could stop it, Will’s hand tightening around his shoulders at the words. “I’m the one who’s supposed to get blown up and shot at — not you.”

“And I wish you didn’t, sometimes,” Will admitted, “Get shot at, I mean. But I’ve been cleaning your scrapes since you were little — I’m not going to stop now.”

“Thought you were going back to New York,” Jay muttered, almost sulkily.

“Yeah, about that,” Will said, making Jay finally look at him, hope blossoming in his chest. “I talked to Goodwin yesterday: I accepted the ED trauma surgeon position. I’ll be back to full shifts once my two weeks medical leave is over.”

Will was staying. Jay felt happy and anxious at the same time. His brother was going to be working in the same place where he had almost been blown up. But —

Will was staying.

The mantra repeated itself in his head as he got up, helping Will back to bed and sliding in after him, comforted by his brother’s steady breathing after he fell asleep. For a while longer, he kept watch over his brother.

That was his job. Because if Will was going to stay, Jay was going to make sure the city was safe for him to be there. He might not going to catch everybody, but he’d do his best. And now Will was close enough for him to keep an eye on him.

Sleep claimed him, the warmth of Will’s body beside him lulling him to sleep.

Will was staying.

Chapter Text

Doing the right thing often comes with unpleasant consequences. Wherein Jay's job gets Will in trouble. Again. (Because I'm evil?)

Though he couldn’t see anything - he could smell. Wherever he was, it smelled awful. Awful in the sense that there were recreation drugs being used in his vicinity, probably often, but not awful in the sense that there was a dead body nearby. That, at least, was a relief.

What wasn’t a relief was the blindfold he had been woken up in, and the zip ties on his ankles and his wrists, securing his hands behind his back. And he was cold. The pipe he was secured to was also cold, whatever had flowed or did flow through it was not warm and the freezing metal hurt his skin, so he tried not to let his wrists rest against it for long, opting to lean forward towards his knees, resting his side against the wall to keep upright.

He was woken from his doze by the sounds of a struggle.

“—think Voight isn’t gonna come looking?!” It was Jay’s voice, furious and comforting. But also troubling - because how had Jay ended up here? Will, at least, had the excuse of being just another regular civilian, while Jay was in the elite police Taskforce. Whoever these people were, they had to be trouble. “Will?” Jay’s struggles continued and got more violent, if he was hearing it right. “What the fuck is this?!”

Will kinda zones out, remembering, suddenly, that he has a head injury. He should’ve remembered it before. All this shouting was loud. He groaned, turning his face into the cold wall. Seeking relief from the residual coolness of the brick. Winter in Chicago never disappointed, on the cold front. By whatever Grace, Jay had evidently been attached to the same pipe as himself, because he becomes aware of a pair of hands clutching at his, rubbing a small circle into his palm, trying to draw his attention, to comfort in any small way that the owner of the other pair of hands could.

“Will?” Jay’s voice is low, scared. “Talk to me, man, please.”

It’s the ‘please’ that does it. “Cold.” He mutters, clenching a few fingers with faint strength around his brothers comforting ones. “Jay.” 

“Yeah,” Jay sounds congested - he’s either sad or had his nose broken again or both - “Do you know how you got here?”

“Mmmm,” He mumbles, remembering flashes of the sequence of events that had brought him here. “Whazzat work? And there was a … car.”

There’s a low curse behind him. “I’m gonna get you out of here, Will. Hang in there.”

Will tugs at his zip ties fruitlessly. “Not going anywhere, ri’now.”

Jay’s fingers tightened around his. “You wanna move around a bit? We could get closer.”

Leaning against Jay sounds nice, so he slowly turns towards Jay, following his voice and the hands on his, wishing he wasn’t blindfolded. He’s pretty sure they’ve taped surgical pads over his eyes underneath it, so even if he could get it off, he’d still be unable to see anything. As Jay leans into him, nudging him around till they’re both comfortable, he has some idea of what his little brother’s face must look like. Jay always has a certain look, whenever Will gets hurt.

Will hates what look.

(Though, to be fair, Will always gets really strung out when Jay is hurt, too.)

“Whadda they want?” He asks once he’s sorted through the different sensations and flashes of thoughts that keep slipping from his grasp right as he’s cognizant enough to try to catch them. 

Jay swallows, he can hear it near the ear he has laid on his little brother’s chest. He’s very comfortable.

“They’re human traffickers. We found some of the … merchandise and liberated it.”

Ah … well, this could get ugly. And as much as Will has had a fairly adventurous life, being trafficked was never on his ‘To Do’ list.

“They wanna know where you guy’s got’em?”

“… Yeah.”

“And…” Will’s brain sorts through all the data: Their captivity, his injury, Jay’s injury. “They’re gonna use me to get you to talk?”

Jay flinches and Will’s heart hurts.

“This isn’t your fault, Jay,” Will tells his little brother, instinctively knowing what the other needs to hear. “Never apologize for doing the right thing.” He licks his lips, dry from a long period without water. “I’m guessing they had kids?”

“Yeah.” And he can hear the rage in Jay’s voice. 

Anything more that they might say is cut off by the sound of a door opening, somewhere above. Will had already guessed they were in a basement. It was cold enough and with the walls the way they were and the exposed pipes, it was the most logical conclusion. As Jay stiffens, his breath quickening nearly in-perceptibely, Will leans into his warmth, knowing that they would soon be cruelly torn apart - he expected it. Will has always known he was Jay’s weak point, as Jay was his own weak point. He’d just hoped that it would never be used against Jay like this. Jay had enough regrets in his life - he didn’t need this on top of everything else. So he leans into his brothers warmth for as long as he’s able, barely struggling as rough hands free him from the pipe and take him from his brother.

He’s aware of shouting and rough handling, but his head hurts and he can’t sort everything, especially since he’s down one sense. Though, if he was able to see at the moment, he was sure he’d have thrown up by now. 

If he’d been fully aware, the ease with which he’s held by his captors would embarrass him. As it is, with his head injury and general weakness, his wrists are secure in larger, rougher, crueler hands, his shoulders also held as he’s forced to remain on his knees. The conversation going on above him and around him is largely mumbles coming from a deep well and, as the first strike sends his head to the side, wrenching his already sore neck muscles badly, he is determined not to make this worse for Jay.

He resolves to be as silent as possible. 

A resolution made increasingly difficult as the blow come, sporadic and violent. But also coldly clinical. They’re meant to cause pain without unnecessary damage. But his head it already spinning and it doesn’t take long for him to throw up, the hands bending him forward in time so that he doesn’t get too much of his own mess down his shirt front. They take advantage of it, punching him in the stomach until there’s nothing left for him to throw up, waves of pain making him slump bonelessly against the hands holding him up, wishing that he could just curl into the cold floor and disappear. Everything hurts.

Eventually, by some signal that Will isn’t aware of, they pull him back to the pipe, securing his wrists behind him again, letting him slump to the floor, presumably at Jay’s knees, his own wrists forced into an awkward angle which he doesn’t currently have the strength to rectify. 

“…ill. Talk to me Will!” Jay’s pleading finally breaks through the fog. 

As much as he longs to disappear into the near heavenly coolness of the floor, Will makes an effort to reassure his brother. “… ‘ay.”

Jay’s voice is full of distress and self-blame. Will’s heard that tone often enough to know. “God, Will … Can you sit up?”

He could try. And he needed the comfort as much as Jay did. With a low groan, he tested his various parts, flinching at tender spots. But he does manage to sit up, in time, leaning gratefully into Jay’s shoulder, like he had before, turning his head into his brothers neck, vaguely feeling a heart beat through skin, reassured of his little brother’s tangible presence. 

“No’ur fa’lt,” He reminds Jay.

Jay sniffs. “Sure feels like it.”

“Gla’ I can’t see ‘em.” Will mutters. “Think I’d be mo’ scared.”

That draws a small snort from Jay, and Will counts it as a small victory. 

“Help com’in?” He asks.

“Voight will have connected the dots by now, especially since I haven’t checked back in, but they’re gonna have to work to narrow a location down.” Jay says, worry in his voice.

“Then we gotta hold out for a rescue.” Will says. Though there was one thing that was bothering him. “How’d they know … know ab’t me?”

Jay shakes his head, “If they have a mole in the office, that’ll make it harder.” He presses his cheek against Will’s hair. “Think you can hold out for a bit longer?”

Will nodded weakly, in lieu of answering. He could feel the energy draining from him. And despite his best intentions, he drifted off, succumbing to unconsciousness.

——————————————

Jay had always worried this day would come.

And now, Will’s unconscious body leaning against his chest, those fears were coming back to haunt him. 

It’s not your fault.

Will’s statement from earlier kept repeating in his mind. But how could he not blame himself as he was forced to watch his brother being hurt because of the case he was working on. Finding the truck full of trafficked kids had been mostly an accident, but once they had them, they were going to keep them and make sure they got to their families, and barring that, to good homes. The youngest girl had been nine and she’d already been … Jay shook his head, clearing away the cobwebs. 

He couldn’t think - why couldn’t he think?

The answer lay against his chest, not moving. And it was wrong, on so many levels, to see Will like this. His older brother was always moving, always helping someone, unlike Jay who always brought death — but he could’t think like that. It wasn’t productive at the moment. Their captors hadn’t truly hurt his brother (the image of Will throwing up from the blows to his head and stomach notwithstanding) and he knew it could get much, much worse before this was over.

And if they really did … things … to Will in front of him, would he be able to remain silent? 

Don’t apologize for doing the right thing.

He knew that Will wouldn’t want Jay to talk, didn’t expect him to. And, thinking logically about it all, he knew that if he did talk, their captors had no reason to keep them alive. And Jay was under no allusions that he would be killed after he was no longer useful. But he wasn’t sure about Will: he was a trained trauma surgeon, and someone who people in the underbelly of society would go through a lot of trouble to get their hands on. And the thought of Will being sold off to the highest bidder, to do back alley surgery for the rest of his life made him want to hurl.

That couldn’t happen to Will. He wouldn’t allow it. 

It seemed like, every time Will got hurt, it was connected to Jay’s job. And there didn’t seem to be a damn thing he could do about it. The amount of times his brother had been assaulted, and the amount of times he’d been called ‘Pretty Boy’ all seemed to come from the elements that it was Jay’s job to deal with, not Will’s. Objectively, he knew Will was attractive. And his job called for a more empathetic character than Jay possessed. It scared Jay sometimes, just how much Will cared. How easy it was for him to give his heart to strangers.

The men came back before Jay was prepared to endure watching Will be hurt again. Not that he’d ever truly be prepared to see Will get hurt. And he could only watch at Will was freed and dragged to the center of the room, Jay putting up a fight as best he could, because how could he not?

“Don’t touch him!” He writhed against his restraints, feeling fresh blood seeping down his hands. “Don’t you fucking touch him!”

Predictably, they ignored him, making Will kneel like they had the last time, the leader jerking Will’s head back by the hair since he had no strength left from the previous ordeal. Smirking, the leader held a hand out to one of the others, Jay blanching when he held the object up for him to see.

Though not so much an object as much as a gallon jug of what Jay hoped was just water.

“You want to talk now?” The leader asked, popping the cap and taking an absent minded swig (definitely water, then).

Jay’s nostrils flared and he searched for a way out of this without giving up the kids. But there wasn’t any way out of this. 

“You’re funeral,” The leader shrugged. “Guess we’ll start easy.”

Turning to Will, the man tugged his captives head back, tugging out red strands, “Keep his mouth open.”

“Stop!”

The man pours the water into Will’s open mouth, who has no way to prepare for the sudden onslaught, given his blindfolded condition. And he sputters and jerks as the water doesn’t stop, the man behind him holding him still. Any hopes that Jay held that this might be a one off thing are in vain as several more men appear with water gallons. And another man takes the soon empty first bottle to go fill it up in an old sink in the corner.

Jay doesn’t look away from what follows.

——————————————————

He was never going to be able to forget those sounds for as long as he lived. 

Fuck-Face (that’s what Jay had decided to call the ringleader) continued long after Will lost conciseness, once again. Jay felt like he was made of molten lava and if only he could actually get his hands on the man, the leader would melt beneath his grip. Pushing his luck, Fuck-Face come over to his other captive, dumping the dregs of a recently emptied gallon over Jay’s head. Taunting.

“You’d better think about how you’re going to respond when I come back.” He smirks. “It’s not fun when the toy keeps checking out.” He leans in close, meeting Jay’s seething challenge. “And water will be the least of his worries next time, pig.” 

Uselessly, Jay lunges at him, teeth snapping uselessly on air, relishing the sharp pain of the hit to his jaw. 

“I’m going to kill you,” He promised through gritted teeth.

“I’d love to see you try,” the man smirked, leaving with one last whack to Jay’s face. 

To Jay’s relief, Will was dragged back to the pipe and secured to it again, his hands in front of him, allowing them to huddle. Though that would have to wait until Will woke up. As he waited, Jay examined the damage. Blood was streaked down his jaw, his lips split in two places and his eyebrow as well, barely visible above the blindfold, bruises darkening from the first session. They’d been here for at least six hours, he was sure. While he didn’t have a watch, his internal clock wasn’t often wrong. 

Before Will woke up, Jay took the chance to wallow in his fears and self-blame. Looking at his brothers face, all he felt was pain. This was his fault. He was the reason Will was being tortured. Whenever Will got hurt, it always seemed to connect back to Jay’s job. It just wasn’t fair.

He noticed that the blindfold had started the loosen, the pads beneath had lost their stickiness because of the water. Leaning over, he managed to get the edge of the cloth between his teeth, pulling up, hoping Will wouldn’t wake up too soon and interrupt him. He shifts a little but, otherwise Jay is able to pull the first layer of the blindfold off. Right now, he doesn’t care if this move draws some punishment from their captors: he can’t let this end before seeing all of Will’s face, at least once more. And Will wouldn’t object, he’s sure, if he was awake. He had some idea of just how terrifying the situation was for his brother, made more so by the lack of such an important sense. 

He had been right about the pads taped to Will’s eyes, underneath the blindfold. They were starting to come loose, a few sides already disconnected from the skin. So he used his teeth again, doing it quickly, Will starting to wake up at the odd sensation of sensitive hairs being removed along with the medical tape. 

A harsh gurgle forces itself from Will’s throat, confusion on his face when he’s able to see Jay.

“I got it off for you,” Jay tells him, guessing that Will won’t be able to talk from the ill-treatment he’s lately received. “Is it better?”

Will smiles and nods, moving to what is now his accustomed position, leaning against his little brothers chest, turning his beaten face into where the others neck meets his shoulder. It’s comforting for both of them. They can feel that the other is alive and warm. 

“Do you remember …” Jay starts, talking about everything and nothing, dwelling on the good memories, trying to distract himself and Will, hoping to pour out as much love as he can before Will is taken from his forever. Because he can only guess and dread what will happen the next time Fuck-Face comes back.

He can feel the cold sweat on Will’s forehead, his labored breathing as a result of the beating and the makeshift waterboarding, and he knows that the violence the leader had promised could easily kill Will or at least scar him for life, physically and/or emotionally. Jay’s never going to forget the things he’s seen in this horrid little room. He won’t ever let himself forget what has happened here.

He hopes Voight and the others get here in time.

Before …

Just … before ….

Naturally … they have more bad luck before the good. 

————————————————————

One of the Halsteads disappearing might have been a coincidence.

Both Halstead brothers disappearing - now that made it a pattern (especially given the fact there are only two of them, notwithstanding the fact that a pattern usually mean three or more, the leap in descriptive terms can be excused in this instance).

Hank Voight hates coincidences as much as he loves them.

He loves them because it often means a break in a case. He hates them because it usually means a trail of bodies and blood. He hopes this doesn’t end with the latter option.

“The kids are okay,” Erin assures him. “I just got off the phone with the off list shelter and it doesn’t seem like they were followed.”

“That’s one load off my mind,” Voight rasps. “What’ve we got?”

“Administrator Goodwin said that yesterday was Will’s day off - nobody knew he was missing until we called and asked if he showed up this morning.” Adam says.

“And we all know that Jay didn’t show up this morning,” Kim follows him. “Looks like he never made it home from Molly’s last night.”

Olinsky’s number flashes across Hanks’s screen. 

“Voight.”

Hermann’s been helping me look through the camera footage he has in the back lot - show’s Jay going to an alley and not coming back out. Must’ve found out where the cameras were. I’ll look into any cameras that might show the other entrance of the alley.

“You do that.” Hanging up, Voight issues his next set of orders. “Listen up. We all know the score. It is highly likely that Jay was grabbed by whoever has been trafficking for kids we found last Friday. Run down all the leads we have in that case. Adam, go help Olinsky look for the cameras that might help us see who abducted Jay. Kim, follow up at Will’s apartment - see if we missed anything the first time around.”

Pausing, Voight meets all their eyes individually, summing up. “We all know what at stake here - what kind of people we’re up against. Work fast but be thorough. Let’s nail these sons of bitches.”

And the game begins.

————————————————

“They intercepted another ‘shipment’” Erin says the next day. “Same as the last one we stumbled on.”

“Which means whoever has Jay and Will isn’t gonna be waiting around for us to find them,” Olinsky says, looking at his old friend.

Hanks’ silent, but deadly.

Eventually, it’s Kim who comes up with the breakthrough. “Sarge - they got one of the drivers, alive - he could be able to give us a solid lead.”

“It’s worth a shot. Get him transferred to our custody.”

—————————————————

Predator met predator - but Hank could walk in the daylight. The amount of tattoos on the driver of human merchandise (various unsettling symbols included) indicated that here was a man best suited to the night.

The Sergeant felt a certain measure of satisfaction when he and Olinsky finally broke the man down.

“We have an address.”

—————————————————

(NOTE: Yes, it’s kinda dramatic and terse, but I often feel, watching episodes, that certain things just line up and voila - it all gets wrapped up in a neat little package. Now — back to the boys!)

—————————————————

The cigarette’s had been worse than the water.

Mostly because Jay could smell it lingering in the air.

(The smell had lingered like that in Afghanistan, too. Once he’d smelled it long enough … it had never truly gone away.)

They’d left them alone again, the session cut short by the abrupt entrance of one of the henchmen. Will hadn’t passed out this time, but the red patches were raw and covered extensive sections of his inner arms, throat, and near his ears - all the sensitive areas. Areas that the leader had singled out with telling precision and callousness.

“Hey, brother,” Will’s smile was wobbly, but he tried, seeing Jay’s distress. They’d tied his hands in front of him this time, thank goodness.

Jay shuffles closer, letting Will slump into him, getting as comfortable as possible, relishing the warmth. They’re silent for a while, till Will mumurs: “What do you think made them leave like that?”

“Whatever it was, it can’t be good,” Jay muttered.

And he’s not wrong. Because not an hour later the door slams broken and feet thunder down the stairs.

“Get them up!” 

The leader growls, waiting impatiently as the two brothers are untied, retied, and then dragged over to be dumped at his feet. Jay’s blood goes cold when he sees the gun.

“Looks like your friends stole another shipment, pig,” The leader spits, tapping the muzzle against his leg. “Though that’s bad for you.” Leaning closer to Will who doesn’t have the energy to flinch back anymore. “Because they need to be sent a message, if you know what I mean.”

Pointing off to the right, he barks, “Start the video.” Pulling as mask over his face, the others following his lead as unfriendly hands clamp onto the brothers.

Jay never wants to see a gun pointed at Will again. Guns pointed at himself, he’s used to (he does’t like it, but he is fairly used to it) but this isn’t Will’s world.

He’s supposed to be safe.

Predictably, Jay goes ballistic as the gun is shoved against Will’s forehead. The red-head pales, any blood left in his face draining as his chest heaves with fear.

‘Click.’

“You son of a bitch!!” Jay screams as Will is allowed to lean forward a little as he dry heaves from the shock and the terror.

Oh god.

The second time it’s pressed to Will’s chest, over his heart.

‘Clink.’

God please.

Jay is screaming and yelling, his world narrowed only to the gun and his brother, everything else fading at the edges as he’s forced to remain in place, restrains biting into his wrists with how hard he is fighting, hot blood flowing freely to drip down his fingers.

Again. A gut shot this time.

There’s a distant commotion.

‘Bang.’

No. No, please, no.  

There’s shouting as Will’s body falls simultaneously with the door to the basement being kicked in. The calvary has arrived. But is it too little too late?

Someone, Erin maybe, cuts his wrists free and he crawls to Will’s slumped form. His brother’s eyes are closed as blood pools beneath him, adding to the collage of fear and grime staining the cursed basement that has been their prison.

“Please,” He gasps, hands automatically applying pressure to the entrance wound, “Please wake up, don’t do this to me, man!”

But Will doesn’t wake up, even as time crawls and then leaps forward as the medics eventually arrive. Though he’s still breathing - that’s the only thing that is keeping Jay from giving up completely.

His own hurts are nothing - his own bruises, trauma, and cracked ribs are nothing compared to Will’s wounds - but he’s surprisingly docile as he’s lead to the ambulance, sitting in a daze as his wrists are hastily bandaged, watching the other medic tracking Will’s blood pressure while they streak down the highway, siren wailing.

When the doors separate him from the operating room, it’s Maggie who leads Jay to an empty bed, checking him over as he remains mono-syllabic. It’s still later when Rhodes stops by, blood still on his scrubs from the surgery he’d just performed on a colleague.

“Here,” Rhodes says, putting an object in Jay’s hand, curling his fingers around it. “I thought you’d need it.” 

When he’s gone, Jay unfolds his fingers, revealing the Celtic cross necklace that their mother had given Will for his first communion. The metal edges bite into his flesh as Jay bows under the wright of his grief. And the wave breaks on the shore.

Eventually, Jay cries himself to sleep, aided by the IV Maggie had used to sneakily administer certain drugs into his system.

—————————————————

It doesn’t really hurt. Waking up.

Will draws in a breath, feeling a vague pulling in his stomach, glancing down to see a tube sticking out of his side. Obviously he’s on the good drugs, because he knows he should be in pain. The second thing he notices is the dark head topping the body half slumped on the side of the bed.

His little brother had captured his hand, the one free of any IV’s and needles, hugging it to himself as he sleeps. The memories come to him, but he stays calm. That, too, is probably medically induced. Because terror is sure to hit him again later. Probably at three o’clock in the morning in a dark room. But nothing can be done about that now.

Wiggling his fingers, he hopes to wake Jay up. Jay’s nose eventually wrinkles as he shifts, Will’s efforts finally creating a reaction. 

Just a little bit more.

Finally, it works, Jay blinks and he sits up abruptly, scanning his surroundings. His eyes trace their clasped hands, up his brother’s arm, up to Will’s eyes. Watching him.

“Will!” Jay stands, leaning over his brother to run a hand through his hair. “You’re awake.”

Will sinks into the sensation.

“Hey, brother.” He rasps, coughing a little.

Jay reaches to the nearby table, still not letting go of his hand as he holds the flimsy paper cup to Will’s lips, helping him drink. “Better?”

“Much.”

Will looks at his little brother. He’s been worrying about him. Will would be worried about himself, too, if the med’s weren’t making him feel so floaty.

“You okay?”

“Am I -,” Jay sputters. “You got shot, Will!”

“Not your fault,” Will points out. Because he may be high as a kite, but he’s sure of that much.

As long as the sky is blue, as gravity works, as Jay likes his coffee with an unmanly amount of sugar - Will knows that his little brother will never jeopardize Will’s safety on purpose. (Or even tangentially, if he can help it.)

Seeing that Jay doesn’t believe it - he knows his little brother too well, the guy has a guilt complex a mile wide - he tugs his hand as best he can. “Co’mere.”

Eventually, Jay leans in, wrapping Will with a hesitant hug, sinking into it as Will wraps his arms around his little brother as best as he can. “We’re gonna be okay, Jay.” He feels the tears begin to fall as Jay breaks down against his neck. “We’re gonna be okay.”

Chapter Text

Will gets mugged on his way to meet Jay at the precinct; the mugging gets personal so Jay takes it personally, too. Intelligence is more than happy to help.

He barely made a noise, his shocked gasp releasing a cloud of breath into the freeze of the air around him. Shoved up against the dirty brick wall of the alley he was aware of the sharp tip of a blade poking through his thick winter jacket. Glancing towards the entrance of the alleyway, he was aware that, given the almost negative temperatures, it was unlikely for a good Samaritan to come by in time to startle off his attacker.

Plus, there was a second man who he hadn’t seen at first, keeping watch nearer the entrance of the alley, looking back at them intermittently. 

He was so screwed.

Just minutes ago, he’d been beating himself up about not purchasing a car yet - at least he could’ve driven in a heated cabin instead of taking the L-train and trudging through the haphazardly shoveled sidewalks to the 21st. Though, statistically speaking, his brain whispered as he felt his breath speed up from the surge of adrenaline and fear as the man shoved him further into the brick wall, the odds of getting into a car accident in this weather were probably higher than being mugged. Though it was Chicago, so maybe the numbers were a bit skewed in favor of muggings, at that …

He gave a chocked off gasp as the quick slide of the knife under his coat and across the skin of his back lower made pain lance through his torso.

“So what’ve you got?” The man asked rhetorically, sounding cool and collected as he ignored the pain he’d just caused and searched through Will’s back pockets, coming up empty. With an impatient noise, he took some of his weight off of Will, a firm hand pulling him around by his shoulder, shoving him back against the wall. Seeing the wisdom in not fighting, Will closed his eyes as the man unzipped his jacket, searching through the inner and outer pockets, giving a little noise of triumph as he came up with Will’s house keys, his wallet, and his phone.  

Will shivered, his eyes again closing involuntarily as the man, features obscured by a winter cap and muffler pulled up high, laid the knife against his cheek, his own blood smearing on his face at the light pressure.

“Put your hands behind your head,” came the command, “And stay put. No funny business or I might actually have to stab you.”

Shakily, Will did as he was told, inhaling as deep as he could to steady himself, watching as the man stepped back a pace to rifle through the wallet, giving a pleased noise at the several twenties Will had withdrawn earlier before getting on the train. He’d promised Jay he’d treat him at Molly’s later. 

“A doctor, huh?” The man asked, looking from the hospital ID card to the trapped man before him. “What’s your specialty?”

“Trauma surgeon,” Will rasped out, wondering if he was going to need his own services before this was over.

The man whistled, “Big leagues, huh?” Ignoring Will’s lack of response as he continued to rifle through the wallet. 

Then he froze, looking at a few cards Will kept in his wallet. Swallowing nervously, Will glanced down at what he was looking at: it was Jay’s business card. He always kept a few in his wallet in case he needed to hand them out in the ED - several weeks ago he’d passed one on to a woman he suspected was the victim of domestic abuse. The question now was; how was his mugger going to react?

In answer to that question was swift and brutal: the hilt of the knife was driven sharply into Will’s stomach and he gasped, another large cloud of breath drifting in the frozen air around them. The blade at his throat again froze Will in place, his torso sparking with agony, fresh blood oozing where his back was pressing against the brick wall. 

“Guess this just isn’t your lucky day, doc,” The man hissed, hardened eyes searching Will’s wide ones as he put more pressure on the knife.

Will gritted his teeth, a whine escaping him as the knife drew blood. As a surgeon, the dangers of the blade being so near his jugular flashed through his mind. Was he going to die? 

He heard the sound of hurrying footsteps as he pressed his eyes closed, hoping for it to be over soon.

“What’re you doin’, man?” The lookout must’ve come back when he saw his partner getting unnecessarily violent. “We’re just here for the goods!”

The knife was still tight on his neck. Will pried his eyes open, seeing the first mugger holding out Jay’s card to the other. “Doc’s brother is Voight’s boy, man.”

Well, Will thought, slowly feeling hysteria build in his gut, there was something you didn’t hear everyday. This really wasn’t good. 

“We don’t wanna mess with Voight, dude!” The lookout hissed. “I’m outta here!”

Out of the corner of his eyes, Will watched as the man ran down the alley, pulling his mask off as he did, revealing a curly mop of hair. But his attention was soon brought back to bear on his main aggressor when the man punched him in the crotch, hurling Will back against the wall when he doubled over with a tear filled cry.

Hiccuping through the unexpected and humiliating pain, Will felt a tear escape and freeze against his cheek as the man’s breath warmed his ear, leaning in close, the knife resting just under his ribs. Gone was the cool and collected mugger — here was a man with a vendetta.

“You know what they say about snitches, doc?” The knife slid slowly over his stomach, opening up what Will hoped was a shallow wound, his stomach muscles twitching as he pressed his head back into the bricks and gritting his teeth, pain searing through him. “They get stitches.”

Another blow to the gut, right on the cut, sent Will to his knees on the dirty alley’s floor, the smell of old trash muted by frost filling his nostrils. Belatedly trying to cover his head with his arms, he jerked under several harsh kicks to his torso, curling up sluggishly as the man stomped on his legs for good measure, drawing back, heavy breathing the only sound in the silence of the alley. 

Huddling further into the wall like a scared rabbit, Will put up a feeble fight as hands dragged him to sit up against the wall, slapping his face as he tried to flinch away, forced to stay still as the man gripped his coat collar. 

“Tell your brother, that the Bloods say hello,” Will could tell that the grin hidden by the muffler didn’t reach his eyes, shifting his hands in the illusion of gentleness to smear the blood dripping from the corner of Will’s mouth down his chin. Will closed his eyes against the violation, flinching as the man shoved him down again, spitting on him before he walked off. Will curled up again like a pill bug.

The parting laugh echoed in Will’s ears as he lay there, hurting and afraid.

Sometime later, Will pushed himself up, groaning as he slumped back against the wall, hand cradling his ribs. Cold bit though the slice in his shirt and his fingers were going numb as was his ass against the cold pavement. His entire body hurt and the frozen blood on his face itched uncomfortably, reminding him that he probably looked a mess. 

“Well,” he muttered to himself, “That could’ve been worse.”

And it wasn’t depreciating on his part - the man could have actually stabbed him or outright killed him, but instead, he’d toyed with him. Now he was supposed to deliver the message. This sparked an internal debate; should he just call a cab and get himself treated without telling Jay anything? His phone was right there. 

No, he grimaced, that wouldn’t work. He was supposed to meet Jay at 5:30 and a quick check of his cracked phone screen told him that it was several minutes after 6. It was surprising that Jay hadn’t called him already. 

So that was out; he’d have to continue the three blocks to the precinct, which felt like several miles, and face his little brother in all his vengeful glory. Deciding on the plan of action was different then carrying through - but he did realize that he didn’t have anything to pay a cab fare with. And he also knew that if Jay found out (make that when Jay found out) then he’d just have a whole other set of problems on his hands.

It was tempting just to go to another precinct to report the crime. But they’d tell Jay anyway. There was no way out of this without telling Jay. And, he winced as he shifted again, fresh pain lancing through him as he did so, there were too many cuts in awkward places to bandage himself.

It was just … the look on Jay’s face whenever Will got hurt — Will hated that look. Now, he knew he didn’t handle Jay getting hurt any better; but when Jay found out that the simple mugging had turned into a beat down because he had some of Jay’s cards in his wallet, his brother was going to go into full Ranger mode. Plus, Will knew Jay would feel guilty.

Grunting, Will got himself to his feet, leaning heavily against the bricks while he straightened himself out, trying to look less like someone who’d just gotten mugged. Luckily, the damage was mostly confined to his top half, so once he’d wiped at his face a bit with his slashed shirt, he zipped his jacket up, enjoying the little bit of extra warmth it provided. Retrieving his beanie from the ground, glad it wasn’t too dirty, he practiced walking, hand on the wall until he was ready to head out. 

Pausing as he left the alley, letting the rays of the dying sun warm his face, he took a deep breath, regretting it as he coughed, clutching at his ribs. Sighing, he headed towards the precinct, resigned to the inevitable.

Sergeant Platt was working her desk as usual, residing over her court with a firm, sarcastic hand. That was actually something he liked about the woman - she was to the point and didn’t take shit from anybody. He remembered Jay’s horrified amusement when he’d gotten the drop on her about her ‘hickey’. Approaching the desk slowly, like he was going to his doom (which, in his mind, he was) Will addressed her, glad his voice didn’t waver.

“Sergeant Platt, could you let Jay know I’m here?”

“Oh good,” the sergeant said without looking up, no doubt about to make them the butt of a joke, “It’s the other one —,” She looked up and did a double take, seeing the blood he hadn’t been able to wipe off and the bruise forming on his face. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Uh,” Will swallowed, voice scratchy from exhaustion and growing pain. “I might’ve gotten mugged?” It came out like a question, as if he still didn’t believe it had happened.

Platt just looked at him with that astonished/disbelieving look she’d perfected that blatantly spelled out ‘You dumbass’ before she blinked, a bit of concern well hidden in her eyes. Eyes which didn't leave Will, who’d hunched further into himself, as she dialed a number with practiced ease, waiting for the other party to pick up.

“Chuckles? Get down here; your brother got mugged and he’s making a mess on my freshly waxed floor.”

Numb, Will fixed her with a sort of tired-resigned-betrayed expression on his face, practically broadcasting his feeling of impending doom to the experienced desk sergeant as feet pounded overhead and then they both turned their heads to look as the gate to the intelligence department clanged open, causing an audible pause in the activity of the entrance area. Still facing the sergeant’s desk, Will straightened as Jay skidded to a halt next to him, staring fixedly at the floor like it held the answers to the world’s deepest philosophical questions, such as; how many cops does it take to screw in a lightbulb? And … how disappointed was Jay going to be when he knew that Will had barely fought back?

He wasn’t weak, he wasn’t, Will told himself as he sniffed, feeling a traitorous hint of moisture at the corners of his eyes.

“Will,” Jay said, a note of pleading in his voice as he hesitated to touch his brother. Taking note of the defensive posture, and how Will wasn’t looking at him. “Will, talk to me, man.”

When Will didn’t move, just hunching over a bit from his stiff stance, Jay gently laid hands on him, turning Will to face him, hooking gentle fingers under his brother’s chin, feeling a tell tale tacky wetness as he did so. Pain filled brown eyes met his and then shifted down, not meeting his gaze.

It wasn’t pretty. Moving Will’s head gently to the side, the cuts on his neck were revealed despite the jacket collar, drawing a few muttered expletives from Adam and Antonio, who’d followed Jay downstairs. Reaching up to take off Will’s hat, he paused as his brother flinched, almost unnoticeably, freezing before he went for the hat again, slowly this time. Hat off, another forming bruise by his hairline was revealed as well as several shallow scrapes, like Will’d been shoved up against something. Handing the hat off to Antonio, Jay kept the grip on his brother’s chin while he ran the other hand through his brother’s bright red hair, checking for bumps and abrasions. It seemed okay. Satisfied that Will didn’t have a head injury, Jay drew back, gently but firmly moving Will’s head so he had to to look at him, still holding his brother’s chin in his hand.

Jay waited patiently until his brother met his eyes, still obviously reluctant. “Will, who did this to you?”

Will shifted in his grip, uncomfortable with the scrutiny from the officers hovering at a polite distance away, grateful when Platt barked something about people moving on about their business. “Guy said to tell you that the Bloods say hello.”

“Jesus,” Adam cursed, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“Will,” Antonio said, keeping a careful but hovering distance from the two brothers. “Where’d this happen?” 

“The alley, about three blocks from here,” Will said, not moving in Jay’s gentle grip, moving just his eyes as he looked at Antonio. Anywhere but at Jay seemed like the most comfortable option right now. His little brother was doing that unnerving sniper stare of his, eyes boring through Will as though he could see all the hurts Will was trying to hide. “I was coming from the L-train.”

“We got this,” Antonio said, clapping Jay on the shoulder as he led Adam from the precinct. 

“Will,” Erin asked gently, having come down a bit behind the others. “Are you hurt?” She gently laid a hand on Jay’s arm, getting him to move his hand down from Will’s chin, now he was holding his brother’s arm, tugging him towards the gate to the intelligence bull pen.

“Yeah,” Will admitted, grateful to have Jay’s arm to lean on as he forced himself to climb the stairs. By the time they got to the desks he was out of breath and his ribs hurt like hell, the cuts on his chest stinging as they rubbed against his shirt. He felt cold, despite his jacket.

Shock, the doctor part of Will’s brain supplied the diagnosis.

Mouse was waiting for them with a first aid kit he’d dug up and a few water bottles and towels. The cap already off, Mouse handed Will a bottle which he accepted gratefully, ignoring how it shook in his hand, the others also kind enough not to comment on it. Once he’d drunk about half the bottle and paused, Jay, who’d leaned against the desk whose chair Will was sitting in, spoke up.

“Are you gonna need help getting your jacket off?”

“I might,” Will admitted, holding the cold water bottle against the side of his head where he knew bruises were forming. Gently, Erin took the bottle from him and let Jay unzip his brother’s jacket, carefully easing Will’s arms from the sleeves. He muttered a curse as the bloodied shirt was revealed. 

“Shit! Will, were you stabbed?!” Jay asked, alarmed as he pulled up his brothers shirt.

“No,” Will said, staying still as more of his chest was bared to the room. “He just sliced me a few times.”

“Will,” Hank’s voice came from behind him as him and Olinsky came from the tac room. “Heard you got in a bit of trouble.” He stopped behind Jay, also surveying the damage. Asking Erin, “What’s the score?”

“Guy said it was a message to Jay from the Bloods, Sarge.”

“Hmmm.” Voight grunted, blank faced in what Jay had come to identify as his pissed off face, though it had taken him a while to be able to read Voight.

“Antonio and Adam went to look at the scene,” Erin continued as she handed Jay a pair of scissors to get the shirt off without causing Will any unnecessary pain. Also figuring that Will had been around enough knives for one day.

“Did they take anything, Will?” Hank asked.

“Just my wallet,” Will said, feeling goosebumps forming as Jay got the last of his shirt off. Cringing internally as Jay’s dark expression got darker when he saw the full extent of the damage. And it got even angrier when Mouse pointed out the damage to Will’s back.

“I think you’re gonna need some stitches, man,” Mouse told Will.

“We’re going to the hospital,” Jay said, standing, “You need medical attention.”

“I am medical attention, Jay,” Will pointed out, staring at his hands.

“Well, you can’t do stitches on your own back, now, can you?” Jay snarked, eyes sparking.

“Guys, we don’t need to fight about this,” Erin cautioned. “Will, do you need to go to the hospital?”

“Yeah,” Will admitted, defeated. “But we should clean the wounds first and steri-strip the deepest parts to keep the edges aligned and help them start to close cleanly.”

“We can do that,” Erin said, casting a warning gaze at Jay.

“I’ll help,” Mouse volunteered already searching through the kit for disinfectant and gloves.

“Jay,” Erin said, motioning with her head to get him to follow her out of earshot. Jaw clenched, Jay watched as Mouse began to work on Will’s back. “You can’t just order him around right now - he’s got to already be feeling pretty helpless about all this.”

Jay deflated a little. “I know, it’s just — it’s Will, Erin.”

“I know, Jay,” Erin’s heart went out to her partner. “But that doesn’t mean you can walk all over him either. He just needs somebody who’ll listen right now.”

Jay’s hands clenched and unclenched a few times and Erin could see him visibly shake off something before he blew out a deep breath. “Okay. You wanna go bring the car around?”

“Yeah, I’ll buzz you when I’m out front.”

So Jay went back to his brother. Taking a wet towel from Olinsky, he started cleaning off the drying blood on his brother’s face, gut clenching at the knife lines near his brother’s jugular. Will was a doctor — he had to have known how bad a slice in that location would be. Imagining his brother, shoved against a wall, held at knifepoint, threatened simply because he was related to Jay; he hated it. Someone was going to pay. 

Drawn out of his thoughts as Will shivered, little tremors going through his body, Jay ran his hands gently up and down his brother’s arms. 

“You okay?”

“Cold.” Will muttered, hugging at himself gingerly.

And there went his heart again. “Once we get you dressed you can have a blanket, okay?” Jay told his brother.

“Okay.”

Jay didn’t like monosyllabic Will. But he knew now was not the time to badger his brother. Soon enough, the wounds were disinfected, Jay’s heart breaking at his brother’s hisses and cut off groans, and he was given one of Antonio’s long sleeve shirts to wear (they found exactly one that was a button up) and then they got Will’s jacket back on him. Eventually, they’d take it for evidence, but for now, he was going to go to the hospital with it. 

As they were getting ready to leave, Antonio and Adam came back.

“We found the place,” Adam shrugged. “Not much to go on there, but we did get access to two cameras that have a view of the entrance to the alley.”

“One of the owners nearby said he saw a guy run out of there about half an hour ago.” Antonio added. Eyes darting to Will, who Erin was helping towards the stairs. “Said there was another guy who came out not long after that. He wouldn’t have thought anything of it, except the first guy pulled something off his head - maybe a mask.”

Two guys. Damn it. Okay,  Jay took a deep breath. Okay. “Thanks.”

“No sweat,” Adam said. “We’ll take care of things here.”

“Go with your brother,” Antonio ordered.

And so the little party got down the stairs, past Platt and into the waiting SUV. Voight drove, Erin up front with him, taking occasional glances in the rear view mirror as Will slumped against his brother’s side in the back seat, exhaustion creeping over him.

“I called Maggie,” Erin twisted back to speak lowly to Jay. “She said she’d have a room ready to look at him.”

“Good.” It warmed Jay’s heart to know that people cared about Will. Chicago MED was a good fit for his brother. And if anything ever happened to Jay, he knew they’d be there for Will —  his intelligence coworkers would lend a hand. Even Voight. The man might be rough and often use barely legal or definitely illegal means to get what he wanted, but he cared about family. 

Will was family.

Said brother was slumping further into Jay’s side, the paler making the forming bruising stand out more on his face. In any other situation, his brother’s sleepiness might’ve been adorable. 

“Hey, Will,” Jay said, slinging a careful arm over his brothers shoulders, patting him gently on the cheek. “You need to stay awake, buddy.”

Jerking upright then groaning as sore muscles protested, Will forced his eyes open. “‘M awake, Jay.”

Jay chuckled, “No you’re not. If you’re not careful, I’ll tell the doctor you like Hawaiian pizza.”

“But I hate Hawaiian,” Will glared, clearly rallying.

“I know that and you know that,” Jay said. “But the doctor doesn’t.”

“Try to give me Hawaiian pizza and I will give you that flue shot you’ve been avoiding some morning before you’ve had your coffee, Jay.”

Erin watched as the color dropped from Jay’s face, the ex-ranger grinning nervously. “You wouldn’t.”

“Yes, I would,” Will glared at him, huffing as he slumped back into the seat, energy fading with the argument. 

Erin could tell Voight was decidedly amused about the conversation. They listened as Jay kept up a constant stream of chatter to keep his brother alert until they got to Chicago MED. She’d texted Maggie when they pulled up, so there was a wheel chair waiting by the bay doors. It was significant that Will didn’t fight them about the wheel chair, docilely allowing Jay to help him sit, arm guarding his ribs as he was pushed to the exam room.

“Hey, Will,” Connor Rhodes smiled at his colleague, pulling on a pair of gloves. “Heard you had a big day.”

“Did it have to be him, Maggie?” Will complained to his friend. Jay frowning at how tired he sounded, tone almost petulant. 

“Behave,” Maggie ordered, helping Jay get Will to sit on the bed and remove the jacket and shirt, the nurse making a noise of displeasure as the cuts and bruises were revealed.

Jay hovered by Will’s side as Connor worked on the cuts, flushing them again with disinfectant, giving Will locals while he placed the stitches. As much as Jay hated needles, he hated leaving Will alone when he was hurt more, so he held Will’s hand as the stitches went in, focusing on his brother’s face, ignoring the needle going in and out of fragile flesh.

“That should do it,” Rhodes said, having placed antiseptic and bandages over the various other cuts and bruises that didn’t need stitches. “I don’t think he’ll need a prescription - ibuprofen and Tylenol should be enough to handle the pain. I’ll also schedule an appointment for removing the stitches.”

“Thanks, man,” Jay said, helping Will lay down on his side, carfuleZ of the IV line as he did so. A little panicked at his brother’s sudden loss of consciousness until he realized what must’ve happened. “You snuck him a sedative?”

“Yes,” Rhodes was unapologetic. “With no serious head trauma it seemed like a good decision. Now we’ll make sure he’s kept warm and monitor his vitals.”

Jay huffed a breath through his nose, looking down at his brother on the hospital bed, bandages white against his pale skin. “Well, we already have some leads. Guess you’re right. And he needs the rest.”

“Then I’ll leave you alone,” Rhodes said, leaving along with Maggie, who ran a gentle hand through Will’s hair before she left.

————————————

It was weird. Holding a case file with his brother’s name attached to it. Worse, to see the pictures inside it. The hospital light made the long cuts on his brother’s body look worse. Jay hated it — knowing that his job was the reason his brother was hurt. Will was a doctor — he was supposed to be safe.

And as illogical as the method was to determine his own guilt, Jay knew that he’d still feel guilty. So, he had a mugger to catch.

“I want everybody asking round,” Voight rumbled as he stood in front of the white board with pictures of Will and the crime scene attached. “Hit the streets, ask your CI’s if anybody in the Bloods has been sounding off about this. We’re not letting this rest until we find the guys.” He paused surveying his men, meeting Jay’s eyes last. “Will’s family; and we take care of our own.” Jay felt warmth bloom in his chest. 

“Dismissed.”

————————————

“You know what they saw about snitches, doc?” The man’s face was in shadow, light glinting off the knife as he pressed it to Will’s chest. He started to pull downward, deep and agonizing. 

“They get stitches.”

It wasn’t until the man allowed him to fall to the ground, chest a blaze of agony, that Will saw Jay already laying there, his eyes fixed in the death stare that Will knew so well. 

He screamed.

Jay sat bolt upright as an agonizing cry filled the apartment. It took him a moment but then he realized what he’d heard.

Will!

Scrambling to get out from under his covers, he dashed to his brother’s room, slamming open the apartment door to reveal Will, thrashing around in his bed, covers half kicked off. He got to the bed in a flash, then paused, before deciding to shake his brother awake.

“Will!” He said, gently trying to hold his brother’s shoulders down as he continued to thrash, in the grip of a nightmare. “Will! It’s just a dream. Wake up!”

With a chocked off gasp, Will did, chest heaving under Jay’s hands.

“Jay?” He croaked, eyes darting around the room and back to his little brother’s face.

“Yeah,” Jay moved to sit beside Will on the bed, hands changing from restraining to comforting. “You were having a nightmare.”

Will’s face crumbled. “Oh.”

The silence in the room was disconcerting after the screaming. Jay took a deep breath before he asked, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Will shook his head, swallowing back tears as he blinked is eyes at Jay, moisture in the edges. “Not really.”

Jay couldn’t exactly push him, knowing his own habit of keeping his nightmares to himself. But it made him sad and angry at the same time, knowing his brother was hurting and there wasn’t anything he could do about it. Maybe, he thought, biting the inside of his lip, this was how Will felt when Jay refused to talk about his nightmares.

“Okay,” Jay said carefully. “Do you wanna go back to sleep?”

Hesitant, Will bit his lip before asking. “Can you stay?” Looking up at Jay who’s heart had clenched at the request. “Please?”

“Yeah,” Jay said, patting Will on the shoulder. “Yeah, I can do that. Just let me get something from my room okay?”

Will nodded pulling away to burrow back under his disarranged blankets. Leaving the room, Jay didn’t punch the wall until he was back in his, taking a calming breath; this wasn’t what his brother needed right now. Retrieving his off duty weapon and his cell phone, Jay returned to Will’s room.

“Budge over,” He said after he’d put his things on the side table. Then he burrowed in next to Will, throwing a comforting arm over the thinner man. “Go to sleep. I’ve gotcha.”

“Thanks, Jay.”

—————————————

“His name’s Curtis Chapman,” Antonio said as they all looked through the glass into the interrogation room. “He was the lookout.”

“Alright,” Voight grunted, gazing intently through the glass. “Get me a name.”

“On it, sarge,” Adam said, following Antonio into the room.

Since it was Will, Voight had taken Jay off the case, knowing the legal problems of having family working on solving a crime. And with the way Jay had reacted to Will getting hurt, he knew better than to let Jay anywhere near their current prisoner. But, he smirked, satisfied as he watched the man in the box give up his accomplice, he might let Jay have a few minutes with the guy when they found him.

“Marcus Adams,” Antonio addressed the bull pen sometimes later. “Chapman said he’s the one who attacked Will. Got a rap sheet going back about seven years. But, get this, Jay picked him up for possession and distribution while he was still on the beat; sounds like he still has a vendetta.”

“Sounds like we have a scumbag to track down,” Voight said. “You know the drill; I want him found.” He paused, asking Lindsay, “Any updates on Will?”

“Jay said he’s had a few nightmares, but other than that, he’s recovering well; no complications with his injuries.”

“Good.” Voight said, crossing his arms as he looked at the others. “We find this guy and we send a message: You don’t mess with Intelligence. And what’s more — you don’t touch our families.” 

“Now go.”

———————————————

Standing with Antonio, Jay observed the man in the box. Marcus Adams was built like a boxer - which he was at one of the small gyms in town - body deceptively tall and spare but muscular. His nose had healed crooked and his hair line was starting to recede. Jay recognized him. Back when Jay had still been on patrol, the man had made a break for it and once he was cornered, tried to fight his way out, Jay had taken him down quickly, despite the man’s skill.

Looking at the man, Jay imagined his brother in comparison; it wasn’t pretty, the thin, mostly un-combative doctor against a bruiser with a beef? Will hadn’t stood a chance. Jay was angry and he knew it.

“You’re going away for possession,” Voight was saying to the cuffed man his voice clear through the speakers. “You know the drill. But I need to know - why’d you target William Halstead?”

Adams scoffed. “Didn’t know who he was until I looked through the wallet. That pigs card was in there.” He laughed, the sound cold and harsh - mocking. “The doc squealed like a little bitch.”

“Shut up.” Voight leaned over the table, a hand coming up to point at Adams. “We can add another five years for assault just from that statement.”

“Whad’do I care, pig?” The man spat, eyes blazing. “You think you some kind of king?”

“Well,” Voight said, leaning back, observing his prey. “Not a king — but not someone you mess with either. You hurt one of my family; you’re going to pay for it.”

“Prove it.” Adams sneered. Commenting as Voight stood and Olinsky opened the door, undermining his bravado. “I should’ve done more than get the doc in the nuts — that was one sweet little ass if you know what I mean?”

Jay heard the words drift down the hallway and through the speakers, Antonio barely catching him in time as Voight and Olinsky left the room, closing the door without a reply. Listening to Adams’ tinny voice come through the speakers.

“He’s listening isn’t he? Hey pig, if I ever set eyes on your brother — the things I’m going to do to him! Pretty little white boy — there’s nothing like a sweet virgi—,” Olinsky shut off the speaker before they could hear the whole phrase, but they knew what he was going to say.

“Jay,” Antonio begged, still holding Jay against the wall. “Jay you gotta calm down man.”

“I’m gonna kill him,” Jay raged, though he wasn’t struggling as hard as he could have, since he didn’t want to hurt Antonio. “Just give me five minutes!”

“Maybe I will,” Voight said, laying a hand on Jay’s shoulder when Antonio had him pinned. “But you can’t do it now — you’re too hyped up.”

“Don’t give that blood-sucker the satisfaction,” Olinsky chimed in. “We don’t want him getting out of this because of ‘police brutality’.”

Letting himself be herded back to the bull pen, away from Adams and the temptation to knock all his teeth in, Jay slumped in his desk chair. “Sarge,” Jay shook his head helplessly, looking up at Voight, “If he’d done - that - to Will …”

“Then he would’t’ve made it in here alive,” Voight said, his own jaw tight with restrained anger. 

“Thanks,” Jay said, voice muffled as he ran his hands through his hair.

“Go,” Voight said, squeezing his shoulder again before he headed to his office. “Take care of your brother.”

Alone in his car, Jay buried his head in his hands, trembling with rage. And what he identified as fear. It was one of his worst nightmares, to see someone he loved abused and beaten down. Had Adams threatened Will? The guy had mentioned hitting Will down there — but had he said something that Will hadn’t mentioned? Turning the key in the ignition, releasing the clutch, Jay headed for home, determined to ask Will about what had happened and make sure he’d left nothing else out.

When he got home, Will was doing what Jay called stress cooking, the pot on the stovetop smelling heavenly and several steaks sitting on the counter, waiting to be seasoned and cooked. Will didn’t hear him come in, and Jay hadn’t called out, so he had the opportunity to watch Will humming as he cut up some vegetables to add to the pot.

He looked calm, content, the only sign that he wasn’t totally healthy the healing cuts on his neck and the yellowing bruises. 

“Hey,” Jay said softly, making Will startle a little, looking like a deer in the headlights. “Is that mom’s chili?”

“Jesus, Jay,” Will huffed out a relived laugh. “You startled me.” Jay moved closer as he gestured as the pot. “Yeah, it’s moms recipe.”

“Smells great,” Jay said, smiling falling as Will went back to his work. “Will?”

“Yeah?” His older brother asked, distracted.

“We got the guys.”

The knife clunked against the board, Will turning to look at Jay.

“They won’t be coming after you again,” Jay promised. “We’ve got them on various charges that will send them to prison.”

“You don’t need me to identify them?” Will asked, brow scrunching in confusion.

“They both admitted to the assault,” Jay said, watching Will’s expression as he talked. “And we have one of them on security footage of the alleyway; he gave up his accomplice.”

Will blinked, processing the information, turning to pick the knife back up. “Well, that’s a relief.”

Watching Will, Jay waited a bit before he dropped the next question, knowing that he was ambushing his brother — but he needed to know. “Will … the guy said he’d hit you in the nuts?” 

The knife stopped as Will froze, obviously remembering. Finally, he gave a small nod, determinedly not looking at Jay. 

“Did he do anything else that you left out of the report?” Jay pushed, hating himself, but needing to know.

“No,” Will’s voice was small, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “He didn’t do or say anything else.”

“Are you sure?” Jay pressed, even though the knot of tension had loosened at his brother’s words. “Because that really wasn’t a curve ball I expected in the interrogation.”

“It was embarrassing,” Will admitted. “And not something I wanted to have written down in some file somewhere. Besides,” He looked at Jay out of the corner of his eyes, gauging his posture. “I didn’t want you to know.”

Jay scoffed, tension building again as he moved closer to Will, noting how the hand had tightened on the knife handle. “You didn’t think it was relevant to tell me that you were basically sexually assaulted?”

“You’re blowing it out of proportion, Jay —“

“No, I’m not!” Jay hissed, moving still closer. “If you’d heard what that guy said —“ 

“Wait, does everybody know?” Will interrupted, turning to look at Jay, eyes blown with shock and humiliation. 

“They know that he likes ‘pretty little white boys’,” Jay spat, knowing he was hurting Will but not able to keep the words in, a part of him dying as Will dropped the knife in shock.

Staring at his brother, Will wiped his hands on the towel, slow and deliberate. Absolute silence reigned. “Make sure to add the peppers in five minutes,” he said in a monotone as he left the room.

Cursing himself for his insensitive words, Jay waited five minutes, putting the peppers in and stirring the pot as he considered his next move. Then he went to find Will. He followed the sounds of retching, waiting for the toilet to flush before knocking.

“Will? You okay?”

Will opened the door, looking tired and resigned. So different from the humming, happy man he’d arrived to see only ten minutes before. Folding his arms, Will leaned against the doorframe, not looking at his brother.

“I’m sorry,” Jay said, sincere. “I should’t’ve sprung that on you.”

Will snorted, “It isn’t nice dinner conversation, to be sure.” Pausing, considering his words. “I should’ve told you.”

“Yeah.”

“… I’m sorry.”

Those two words broke Jay’s heart. Drawing Will in for a hug, the older man stiffened before clinging to his brother.

“So,” Jay said into his brother’s hair. “We’re having steak for dinner?”

“Thought it’d go well with the chili,” Will shrugged, surreptitiously wiping at his eyes.

“You up to eating right now?” Jay asked, remembering the retching.

“For you, Jay,” Will said, heading past him back to the kitchen. “Anything.”

So Jay followed, to food and good company. 

Will would be alright.

—————————————

By the time there was a soft knock on the door, Jay’s phone vibrating with a text to say that Voight was headed over, the brothers had eaten and retired to the couch to watch a hockey game. Jay didn’t move as the key turned in the lock; Will had fallen asleep against his shoulder and he didn’t have the heart to move him. 

Voight came in followed by Olinsky, nodding at the finger Jay put to his lips, gesturing at Will’s sleeping form.

“Just wanted to let you know that Adams is going away for a while,” Al said, hands in his pockets as he watched Will, Jay’s hand running through his hair as he stirred restlessly at the sound of their low voices.

“Should’ve let me take care of him,” Jay said, a little rebelliously, though knowing he wasn’t going to win this argument.

“Better that you’re not involved,” Hank stated with finality, face hard. “He got what was comin’ to him.”

Jay looked from them to Will, who’d huddled closer to his side, leaning into his touch. While he would’ve liked to teach the man a lesson himself, he knew that Adams had been taken care of by people he trusted. And that was enough for him.

“… thanks.”

With another look at Will and a few claps on the shoulder, Halstead’s personal avengers went back into the night.

When the door had closed and their footsteps outside had faded, Will stirred and open his eyes. “…Jay?” He muttered, still half asleep. “Was someone here?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jay told him, thumb running through the short strands at the base of his brothers neck. “Go back to sleep.”

“But someone was here?” Will muttered drowsily, slumping back into his brothers side.

Jay smirked. “Just Batman and Robin.”

“Always wanted,” Will yawned, settling down. “A bat mobile.”

Chuckling at the picture of Voight in a cape, Jay repeated himself, “Go back to sleep. They’ve got this - even without the batmobile.”

And it was true, Jay knew, Voight was the terror in the night; and the brothers could sleep soundly, knowing that they were looked after. Until the next Bat-signal filled the sky. Jay just hoped that it didn’t take his brother’s blood to get it up there again.

Chapter Text

Marcus Adams, Mack to his friends, was finally out of the joint . And he had a red-headed query to hunt.

He’s had eight months to ponder the events that had led to him being imprisoned. It all came back to the Halstead brothers. So as he sat in his cell, or he sat in the yard, or even as he sat in the contraptions that served as shitters in the government funded establishment he was quartered in - he planned.

Some desires only become more warped with time.

——————————————

Nothing good ever happened at four o’clock in the morning.

“Ello?” Will mumbles into his phone, swiping to answer without opening his eyes, completely on autopilot.

Silence comes over the line. And then heavy breathing.

Clearing his throat, squinting at the darkness, Will says again, “Hello?”

The call ends.

… that was weird.

But sleep is calling to him so he rolls over - he still has another two hours before he needs to get up for his shift.

———————————————

It’s another week until he gets a call again, and again it wakes him at four in the morning.

“‘Ello?”

There’s breathing, faintly.

“Who’s —” He cuts himself off abruptly as the call ends.

————————————————

The periods of time between calls become shorter until he can’t sleep but for the phantom ringing in his ears. 

A voice speaks after nine days straight of phone calls.

“Hey, doc,” And that’s when Will knows exactly who’s been tormenting him. “You should be more careful, pretty little white boy like you.”

Will hangs up, tossing his phone to the end of the bed, watching it like it could bite him. And it still might. The rest of the night is spent sitting up on the couch, clutching a baseball bat with the phone on the foot table. 

Because Will remembers the man’s hands and the cuts and the words.

You know what they say about snitches, doc? 

They get stitches.

Knowing he should tell Jay, Will goes to work like he always does, wound tighter than a violin string. Even Maggie can tell that, as tense as he’s been the last few weeks, today is even worse.

“You should go take a break outside,” The head nurse says. Holding up a finger when Will draws breath to protest. “You have ten minutes to put your head on straight. Go!”

So he goes, because he knows he needs the break, but he also knows that calming the tension in his gut will take more than just ten minutes. If he still smoked, he’d be doing that now, the late autumn breeze rattling the leaves in the area beside the emergency entrance. Not completely out of sight of the action but not in most people’s immediate line of sight. Leaning against the wall, he watches the dancing leaves.

Then a shadow falls over him and he turns to see —

“Hello, doc,” Mack smiles. It’s not a nice smile. “Happy to see me?”

Frozen, Will can only listen, bile rising in his throat as the man looms over him. “Got a light?” Will can’t even shake his head, swallowing as the man digs in his pocket for a lighter, the smoke soon coming out of his cigarette. To anyone looking at them, they would’ve looked like two regular people taking a smoke break. But Will’s heart was rabbiting and he only begins to flee when the other man gets closer, blowing smoke in his face. Kept in place by a large hand biting into his shoulder, Will coughs from the fumes, eyes watering in fright and irritation. Like the last time, his head is slammed into the wall and he groans, feeling crosseyed. 

Then the man’s hand dips lower and lower still, having put the cigarette in a corner of his mouth to free that hand as well, and Will jerks, electrocuted by the invading touch.

“In prison,” The man tells him, voice even, hard eyes studying every minute reaction, “There’s a lot of pale, skinny, little guy’s like you.” He leans closer still and Will can only close his eyes against the pain, a whimper leaving his lips as the man’s fingers twist. “I got a lot of practice in, waiting for this.”

When Will opens his eyes again, his assaulter is gone.

……..

He needs help.

He needs Jay.

Handing shaking as he dials, putting it on speaker when it connects, he’s never been so glad to hear his brothers voice. “Hey Will, what’s up?”

“Jay.” His voice trembles. “Jay.”

“What is it?” Jay’s switched to alert mode. “Will - what’s wrong?”

“I’m at work - there was —” And the words won’t come. But he has to say it and the words eventually come tumbling out. “That man who mugged me last year - he was here.”

His brother’s curse echoes down the line. There’s a sound of him talking to someone - Erin, probably - and a door slamming. “Did he hurt you!?”

The shaking continues. “No — yes — I —”

“Will?” Ethan’s standing a few yards away. Maggie had probably sent him out to bring Will back in after his ‘break.’ “What happened?”

The tears start to fall and Ethan takes the phone from his faltering hands, talking quietly to Jay as Will curls in on himself, tugging anxiously at his hair. 

Sometimes it just sucks to be alive.

——————————————————

Bursting into the ED, Ethan beckons him over from just outside of an exam area, the curtain closed. Putting up a hand to stop him barging straight in, the ex-Navy doctor warns him, “I just got him calmed down. You don’t wanna make it worse.”

“Did you see anything?” Jay presses, hands on his hips, trying to bleed out some of his anxious energy.

Choi shakes his head. “No.” Adding, “And we don’t have any cameras on that corner - I’m sorry.”

When Jay eventually pushes past the curtain, it’s to the sight of Maggie sitting next to Will, holding his hand, the red-head connected to an IV. Maggie pats Will’s hand and slips out, leaving the brothers alone. Questions can wait, Jay decides. Right now he’s just gotta be there for Will.

He’s been in this position all too many times, since Will came back from New York. For all Jay’s team keeps the city safe, he can’t keep his big brother out of trouble. And he knows that Adams is doing this to get back at Jay for arresting him this last time. (He’d put Erin on tracking down the man’s last known address as well as finding out how the hell they weren’t notified the man had been let out of jail.) Also, he remembers what the man had said when he’d known Jay was listening in on the interview.

Hey pig, if I ever set eyes on your brother — the things I’m going to do to him! Pretty little white boy — there’s nothing like a sweet virgi—

The rough material of his jeans creaks under Jay’s clenching fingers. When this is over, he’s going to finally get a few hits in. He’s sure Voight would let him, this time around. Especially if the man makes good on his promises. No, shaking his head. He’s never going to let Will get hurt like that - not on his watch.

All of our worse nightmares come from the darkness he fights daily.

When he eventually looks up, Will’s eyes are slitted open, watching him.

“Hey, brother,” Jay croons, rising to lean over Will, taking his hand. He’s never going to let Will go again. 

“You came.” The simple words make Jay want to cry. But he’s a professional, so he doesn’t.

“Always.”

There’s little trouble involved in getting Will out to his car, Jay driving him home to his apartment. In his absence, Erin has developed a game plan: up to and including a plain clothes officer who will be stationed at the ED to keep an eye on Will. Because he still has to do his job.

When Jay had tried to suggest Will stay out of that for a while, Will had refused, shaken but not defeated. And Jay can’t bear to cage Will, so he agrees. Though he hates it. Because Adams is still out there. Though they do put a recording feature on Will’s phone which picks up things Adams says when he calls at four o’clock in the morning.

Your tears were so sweet, doc, The voice croons, making Jay’s hair stand on end. Don’t worry - I’ll be back for more.

And again.

Got a police man with you now. A dark chuckle. You like to play hard to get.

And again.

And again.

Jay can only be grateful that Will doesn’t actually listening to any of this, only answering and letting the recording device do its work. It’s Jay and the others who have the displeasure of evaluating the recordings and keeping them in evidence.  

They make Jay’s blood boil.

But Adams is a tricky bastard and their CIs aren’t helpful: Adams has gone to ground, having started this knowing the risks he was taking. That made him all the more dangerous.

——————————————————

Wherever he is, it’s cold and dark. The silence is broken by a familiar dark chuckle and there’s a hand on his thigh. That’s when he realizes that he is naked. 

Will sees the face of the man above him and he tries to move tries to do — anything, really but his limbs won’t obey him and the floor is even colder against his bellies helpless skin, juxtaposed by the hot tears that are streaming down his cheeks.

“Don’t do this,” he sobs, “Please!”

“Made a promise, doc,” The man says, his hand drifting lower — deeper — electric pain crawling up Will’s arching spine. “Gotta deliver.”

He feels — he feels — Will screams.

“Will!” Jay is shaking him when he fights the tangled sheets, sweat covering his whole body, going cold as he’s exposed to the air. “Will! It’s okay. It’s okay.” And Will can only cling to his little brother, his strongest guard, and he can feel the phantom fingers on him — inside him — and he can’t stop crying.

For all that he’s held it together the past month as he’s shadowed at work, never left alone at home, and never doing errands by himself, this dream has unraveled his stores of self-control. He’s frightened by the dream, by the stark images of what he knows Marcus Adams wants from him, of the violence the perp wants to inflict on his flesh and his spirit. And he’s just … tired.

So very, very tired.

When he comes back to himself, Jay is gently rocking him.

“Sorry.” 

The word is a dry croak, forced through weary lips.

“It’s okay,” Jay says. “You’re under a lot of stress.”

Stress that flares up again when the phone begins to ring. And Will can’t take it anymore. With a strength he’d thought exhausted, Will scrambles from the bed, answering the phone.

Hey, doc —

“Don’t you ‘hey, doc’ me you fucking son of a bitch.” Will hisses, dodging Jay who’s trying to wrest the phone from him.

There’s a startled laugh from the other end. White boy’s got teeth, huh?

“You want me, Adams?” Will says, laying it out in the open. “You know where to find me.”

He hangs up first, allowing Jay to pry the phone from his suddenly nerveless fingers.

“Jesus,” Jay breathes, looking at Will like he’s grown two heads. “And people say I’m the reckless one.”

Will decides he needs to throw up now. 

So he does.

———————————————————

There is something within the human species which has evolved with us, certain instincts, (perhaps derived from a former animal form), instincts which cause the little hairs to rise on the back of ones neck. Jay has honed this feeling to an art form, first in the Rangers and then as a police officer. Until now, he’s never guarded a more precious object or person, and ever since Will had surprised both of them by calling Adams out, he’s been glued to his brother’s side. 

That preparation all comes to nothing when a man unknown to Jay gets him with a taser in the middle of a chaotic hospital hallway, smoothly helping Jay’s sluggish body to sit in a handily prepared wheelchair. There’s a sharp prick in Jay’s neck and he’s out like a light.

————————————————————

The feeling of the gentle buzzing of his cell phone in his scrubs pants pocket makes Will freeze on his way back from the break room. He hasn’t seen Jay in a hot minute, the thought occurs to him. Shaking off the thought and the feeling, he scolds himself, getting a phone call does’t mean its Adams. There are literally hundred’s of other people who could be calling him right now.

Though it’s all turned to dust when Adams’ voice invades his ear.

Hey, doc, I have your brother. Check your messages so you know I’m not lying to you. And when Will does, he opens the photo of Jay zip-tied to a wheel chair, out for the count. 

“What do you want?” Will whispers, glancing around, hoping that someone is watching him. But now one is.

“We both know what I want,” Adams says, sending a shiver of dread down Will’s spine. “So come to the elevators. I’m waiting for you.” Warning him, “Don’t hang up until I tell you to.”

And there’s really no choice, is there?

…. Will goes to his doom.

(Rhodes sharp eyes notice something amiss.)

——————————————————

“Anything you do,” The man warns when Jay wakes up, groggy and zip-tied to a wheelchair, “Mack will take out on your brother.” He grins with yellowed teeth. “And that boy has been waiting a long time for this.”

So Jay can only sit and watch. And wait.

“Will!” The cry escapes him as his older brother is pushed into the room and then pushed again as the door shuts, hard enough that Will falls to his hands and knees.

“You get one warning,” the second captor tells Jay. “Keep quiet, pig.” Waving his gun around at a safe distance. 

Biting his tongue, Jay watches as Adams pulls Will up roughly by his hair, shoving the good doctor onto the padded medical exam table on his stomach, crowding in close behind him, his hands roaming the defenseless flesh like a deranged octopus. One look at Will’s face (Adams had laid him out so he’s facing Jay) tells him that his big brother has started to check out of the situation, that gracious switch that often lets the human psyche retreat to a hidden place, protecting us from trauma, flipping on before his eyes. He’d thought that look would be enough to break him.

But then, Adams starts stripping Will out of his scrubs. Divesting Will of his layers until his pale skin and freckles are laid bare for all the world to see.

Checking out the goods, Adams snorts out a laugh. “Guess you’re a red-head everywhere, huh doc?”

Tears are tracking silently down Will’s face. He doesn’t answer. But that doesn’t deter Adams. 

“Stop it!” Jay pleads, having struggled uselessly this whole time. “Please!” Unknowingly echoing the dialogue in his brother’s dream. “You don’t have to do this — hurt me instead!”

The other man shakes his head. “I warned you, man.”

Thin fingers scrabble at the large hand clutching around Will’s throat, squeezing until Jay’s brother is wheezing, face slowly turning red. While this is happening, Adams indulges in a little monologuing. 

“Like I told the doc, I’ve been planning this for a while. Not much else to do in prison, then think on what you’ll do when you get out. And I had some good daydreams of pretty boy here, all spread out for me - even practiced some, before I was released.” He runs a hand down Will’s exposed body, Jay’s own eyes following the hand, glad he can’t see the entirety of Will, who’s still pinned on his belly by Adam’s larger bulk - though even this is sickening and intrusive - “But the real thing is mighty fine, isn’t it?”

Finally, once Will’s eyes are starting to roll back into his skull from lack of oxygen, Adams lets go, smirking when Will hacks and coughs, the abuse making him pliant (though not willing) as Adams starts in again after another warning glare in Jay’s direction.

And it’s worse than anything Jay could have ever dreamed of, seeing Will be violated like this. While he can’t see exactly what Adams is doing, he can tell he’s hurting Will, who still struggles occasionally, like a fish flopping in a net that’s been on the dock for too long. 

“Jay.” Will mumbles, harsh little breaths falling from his lips as his body is manipulated. “Jay.”

There isn’t anywhere on this earth that Adams will be able to hide from him, Jay vows as he’s forced to watch Will cry out in shock, eyes blowing wide as Adams does something Jay can’t see from this angle. Nowhere in heaven or hell. 

Adams is just reaching for his own belt, apparently satisfied with how long he’s been tormenting his victim, when the alarms begin to sound.

CODE SILVER. PLEASE EXIT IN AN ORDERLY FASHION. STAFF WILL EXECUTE THEIR ASSIGNED DUTIES. CODE SILVER. PLEASE EXIT IN AN …

Adams just looks annoyed, his fly half open, but the other man is in a panic. “You said we’d be gone before they pulled this shit! I’m leaving.”

Adams shrugs, “If you think you can get out without being noticed, be my guest.”

Whatever odds had been against them up until now, Jay can only hope that this is what will tip the scales. Though, after the other man leaves, Adams gags Jay.

“Can’t have you shouting for help, can we?” There’s something beyond vengeance in his eyes. Here is a man who is going to finish his mission: whatever it took.

That meant pain for Will.

Screaming against the gag, fighting the zip-ties, Jay can only watch as Adams finally goes to make good on all his threats, slapping Will’s flesh, watching the resulting panicked wriggle with a manic grin.

“Jay.”

He can’t hear Will’s words but he can see his brother’s lips move and he meets Will’s knowing eyes, ignoring anything Adams is up to in the background, knowing that this is the only support he can give at this point - all he can do is hope Will can draw strength from the fact that he’s here. Even if he is useless, tied up and used as bait.

But at least, Jay thinks as Will’s eyes never leave his own. At least Will isn’t alone.

….

….

There’s a shot, a spray of blood, and a body slumps to the floor.

———————————————————

Ethan Choi has seen violence and gore and the many, multiple effects of trauma during his tours in Iraq and Afghanistan. But nothing ever prepared him for the sight of his friends naked, abused body and the helpless rage on Jay’s face where he’s trapped in the wheelchair.

Because they all know what happened here. If not the exact specifics, then they can all guess the intent. The dead man’s open fly and position on top on Will says more than enough. 

“He’s in shock,” Choi reports, grabbing a spare blanket from the counter which he hurriedly wraps around Will’s nakedness, the red-head still staring at his brother, who’s team is working to get him loose from his bonds. “Get me a gurney!” Because he’s not going to examine Will here on the same bed he’d been assaulted (or almost assaulted) on. Choi can only hope it’s the second option.

Jay’s trailing along behind, flanked by Dawson and Erin, and Choi doesn’t make them leave as he keeps Will covered, testing his base line stats, even letting Jay help Will drink water as he slowly looses his dazed expression. An expression which is gradually replaced by a deep hollowness. 

Exchanging a look with Jay, Choi says, “I’m gonna need some privacy for the rest of us.” Looking down at Will, he asks. “You want Jay to stay?”

Eventually, Will nods. Choi knows that’s all he’s going to get right now.

So Choi starts cataloguing the injuries, the bruises and trauma and even takes a detour in the session to bandage Jay’s wrists when Will looks distressed when he notices the deep lacerations from Jay’s own struggles. 

“Will, I gotta ask, I’m sorry,” Choi prefaces as he works his way down the standard list on the form. “Were you penetrated?”

Swallowing, Will speaks for the first time, studiously avoiding looking at either of them. “Just fingers. He didn’t —” cutting himself off, shame suffusing his face, blood rising to the surface of his skin.

The other doctor knows better than to ask him to complete the sentence, noting it down for the record. 

“You know I should check, Will,” Choi says next, slipping on a fresh pair of gloves. “If we miss something, it will only be harder to fix later.” Seeing the panic in Wills face. “I’m sorry, man.”

Giving a shaking nod, Will clings to Jay as he tries to maneuver onto his stomach on the table, helped by his brother. But Choi has barely laid a finger on Will’s backside when the red-head bucks away, exploding off the table to huddle in the corner.

All the words he must’ve been bottling in during the actual event come spilling out of him. Pleas and garbled cries, echoing anguish in all four corners of the room and beyond. It hurts Choi’s heart.

Jay sits on the floor a little ways away, starting to talk softly to his brother, whose cries eventually die off, devolving into tears and misplaced shame. Ethan slips out as Jay finally enveloped his big brother in a much needed hug, the traumatized man clinging to him like he’s going to be taken away at any moment.

Choi can finish his examination another day.

———————————————————

Later on, when he’s cradling a sleeping Will on Will’s own couch, both having insisted that they never leave each other’s sight, Erin tells him how they’d done it. 

“Rhodes noticed Will get the call and we looked through the cameras. Saw them get Will to the room and figured you were there, too.” Glancing at Will, “Once we’d sounded the Code Silver we caught the second man. Used the heat signature scope to figure out who was who through the door. Antonio took the shot.”

“I owe you guys,” Jay says, still seeing Will’s pain playing on repeat in his minds eye. “Next time I’m at Molly’s, the rounds are on me.”

“We’d never not come running, Jay,” Erin give him a sad little half smile. “You guys’ve grown on us.”

Jay let’s her give him a gentle kiss on the forehead before she leaves, feet silent on the floor. The brothers are left alone.

A few days pass. Jay knows Will is having nightmares. He’s moved into Will’s apartment temporarily, guarding his brother’s sleep and propping up his own cracked state of mind. When the good doctor has nightmares, Jay slips into the bed once he’s shaken awake, listening to Will’s breath becoming even again, curling into his baby brother’s side, clinging to him, trusting him to keep the monsters at bay.

And doesn’t that just break Jay’s heart? Because he’d failed when it mattered - he’d been the bait to trap Will. He’s been the one to put the feud into motion. It was his job that had made Will a target. Sometimes he didn’t understand why Will didn’t just run far away, leaving all this behind.

Eventually, he dreams his own dream as he keeps guard over Will’s sleep.

It takes him a moment to place himself in the dream, because he can see himself, so he’s not in his body. The feeling of an invading touch on his flank, making his muscles jump and twitch, hot breath on the back of his neck, making him cringe, he looks down to see long, pale-skinned fingers clutching at starched hospital sheets.

Jay realizes that he’s Will in this dream - he’s the one being assaulted, bruises blooming on his flesh and tears starting to fall down his face. More tears fall when Jay realizes that his own body is dead.

Adams conclusive thrust is almost liberating.

It’s the punishment Jay thinks he deserves. Because he’s failed.

He’s failed Will so badly. The least he can do it take the pain in Will’s place. And he falls farther into the dream.

It’s Jay this time who’s clinging to Will, whose alarm at whatever Jay’s been doing in his sleep is plain on his face.

“Hey, brother,” Will scratches through Jay’s short hair, comforting him, “You were dreaming.”

Jay blinks. And blinks again, realizing what had just happened. For the first time since all this had started, something has settled within Jay.

“Let’s go fishing.”

It’s Will’s turn to blink, but it’s replaced be a genuinely pleased expression. “Only if you gut them.”

“You’re a doctor,” Jay teases his brother, sitting up. “But it’s fish guts that get you?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Will huffs, “Laugh it up.”

It heals some of the jagged edges inside of them both, sitting on the dock, sharing beer and snacks as they huddle against the wind. Winter is coming and soon ice fishing will be the activity of the next crowd coming through. But for now, they have this. And it’s what they both need.

The day comes when both of them no longer dream of it.

———————————————————

Will goes back to work after three weeks, having been alone with his thoughts long enough. And its different … while somehow still being exactly the same. 

But he does it.

Just gotta take life as it is, day by day. 

Chapter Text

3x05: Mountains and Molehills Episode divergence: What if the bug doesn’t start to paralyze Will for a while longer? His legs go dead after he’s home watching a Jet’s game with Jay. Cue concerned Jay and lots of love and angst and brotherly bonding. Come for the angst - stay for the feels!

When Will keeps staring off into nothingness, not truly taking in the game on the screen, Jay know’s something’s up.

“Hey,” he says, startling Will into looking at him. “Everything okay?”

Letting out a frustrated groan, Will reaches for another beer. “It’s just this patient we got today - it’s the strangest thing any of us has seen.”

“Spill.” Jay demands as he pauses.

“Long story short - the patient is slowly loosing all feeling in their extremities - given enough time, the paralysis will reach their organs.”

“So … they’re going to die and you don’t know why?” Jay sums up, reaching to mute the television, silent figures continuing to toss the ball across the screen. 

Will nodded, slumping further into the couch, nursing his beer.

“That sucks, man,” Jay can only say in commiseration.

“Yeah.”

Eventually, they go back to the game, Jay indulging his brother’s silence, cheering enough for the both of them.

Later that night - or rather, early that morning - he wakes to his phone vibrating on the bedside table. “Wassit?” He mumbles, squinting into the dark without reading the caller ID.

Heavy breathing. “Jay?”

Any remnants of sleep leaves him as he sits up in bed. Why in the world is Will calling him if they’re both in the same apartment? “What’s going on?” He’s already heading towards the other room.

Barging in without knocking, he halts, phone still to his ear as Will looks up at him from the floor. His next words coming both through the phone and also not through the phone.

He gulps. “I can’t feel my legs.”

Lot’s wife’s got nothing on Jay, frozen in the doorway by the words. But unlike Lot’s wife, who remained a pillar of salt, Jay is composed of more than one type of molecule. Therefore he eventually moves, galvanized by the contained panic on Will’s face as he hangs up the phone, his own clattering to the floor as he slides to a stop on his knees by Will’s slumped form.

“What do I do?” Jay asks, because this is beyond his purview.

“Better call 911.” Will advises, mouth set in a grim line.

And while Jay does just that, Will starts poking at himself, clearly testing the extent of the problem. Rattling off terms for Jay to relay to the ambulance, Doctor Mode activated, even when the patient was himself.

Leaving his brother only long enough to grab necessary items and then later on to guide the medics to the right room, Jay tries to remain calm. But it’s hard. It’s hard to see Will like this, helpless in the face of something he can’t defeat with words or guns or warrants.

“I’m riding with,” Jay declares, going so far as to flash his badge.

And Will doesn’t protest his pushiness for once, which shows exactly how freaked out he is by all this, clutching Jay’s hand the entire trip to MED.

Jay’s not gonna let go. He’s got promises to keep.

—————————————

Will is both glad and afraid when it’s Dr. Abrams who appears to greet the ambulance, watching with his usual poker face as Will is unloaded from the stretcher to a gurney.

“Dr. Halstead,” Abrams gets right to the point. “What do you have?”

“Same symptoms as the case we got yesterday afternoon,” Will confirms. “No feeling below my thighs on either leg.”

Abrams lets out a humm, which could mean … anything, really, coming from him. “Then let’s start the tests.” 

“Let Jay come?” Will asks, glancing at his brother who’s hovering to the side of the gurney among the subdued bustle of the night shift in the ER. “Please?”

After a long moment, Abrams nods. “Just don’t get in the way.”

“I won’t,” Jay promises, sticking close as they wheel Will to a private room, depositing himself in a corner, watching with eagle eyes.

For once, Will really appreciates it.

Because the tests, as they go on and on, are not encouraging. And he and Abrams both know it. 

“I’ll leave you alone, now,” Abrams eventually says. “I’ll make sure you get access to everything.”

“Thanks.” Will says, meaning it. Because he feels helpless enough already without adding radio silence to the mix.

Immediately after Abrams is gone, Jay comes to the bed, taking his hand again.

“You doing okay?” 

Will shrugs, suddenly exhausted as he sinks further back into the pillows. “As well as can be expected.”

“Will,” Jay’s tone of voice makes him look up at his little brother. “What kind of time line are we looking at, here?”

Sucking in a breath and letting it out slowly before he replies, Will admits, “Given the rate of paralysis of patient zero, I’ve got about two days before it reaches a critical point.” Looking up to see Jay’s stricken face. “I’m a lot bigger than the original patient so I have so wiggle room, time wise.”

“Fuck.”

Will chuckles, grimly. “That about sums it up.”

Eventually, Jay falls asleep in the bedside chair. Will had convinced him that, since they hadn’t as yet discovered the mode of transmission, that he shouldn’t keep holding his hand for now. While his hand tingled with a heartfelt ache for the human connection, he was a realist enough to know that he couldn’t put Jay at risk, too. Whatever it was, they didn’t know how it got transmitted, yet.

He must’ve also fallen asleep at some point because he’s woken up by a soft hand stroking his face, opening his eyes to see Natalie hovering over him with tears in her eyes.

“Oh, Will,” She breathes, “What’d you do to yourself?”

“I’ll just,” Jay motions awkwardly, “Go get coffee.” Leaving them alone.

“Don’t think it’s my fault,” Will defends himself with a weak smile. “What time is it?”

“9. Abrams told me when I came in. How are you doing?”

“Well,” He equivocates, “I haven’t had a chance to look at my chart again.” Sighing as he admits, “I’m scared, Nat. We don’t even know what it is.”

“Then we’ll find out.” Natalie declares, determined.

“Clocks ticking,” He jokes, with morbid humor. Regretting it a little when Natalie buries her face in his shoulder. “It’s gonna be okay,” He soothed her, glad that his arms were still useful as he rubbed her back comfortingly. 

He says it because he needs to believe it, too.

But they’re both professional enough to know that it’s a comforting lie.

The future is not set in stone.

————————————————

Jay is grateful that Dawson comes along with Voight, following up on his early call explaining the situation. He accepts the stack of paperwork he’s handed, it’s a good compromise so he can both distract himself and stay by Will’s side while being productive.

“You okay, kid?” Voight asked.

“Will thinks he’s going to die, Sarge,” Jay reveals, looking more lost than either of the other men have ever seen him. 

“It’s that bad?” Antonio asks, moving closer to lay a comforting hand on the his younger partner’s shoulder.

“They don’t know what, why, or how - but he’s slowly losing feelings in his extremities,” Jay sums it up for them again. “Once it reaches his organs, especially his heart or brain —,” Stopping abruptly then spewing out the last bit. “There’s not much they can do.”

“Cum’ere, kid,” Voight says, bringing Jay in for a quick, but firm hug. Pulling back he says, “We’ll field any of the bureaucracy - take all the time you need.”

Chocked up, Jay can only nod. He really does appreciate it. He leads them to Will’s room so they can stop in for a minute and he watches as Antonio does what Antonio does best. Mainly, make everybody comfortable with enviable ease. 

But the feeling of normalcy is lost when they leave the brother’s alone again. Though it's not until after Natalie has stopped by for a brief visit between her patients and gone away again that Will speaks up on something that matters.

“When this is over,” He says, a small smile on his face as he watches the door Natalie had just left out of, “I’m gonna ask her to marry me.”

Despite everything, Jay’s face is split with a grin. “You still have the ring?” The one their mother had left them, to be used by whoever got married first.

Will nods, shifting so he’s looking at Jay, now. “You’re gonna be my best man, right?”

“I’d like to see someone try to stop me.”

Though the joy ebbs. Thoughts of the situation edging back in even as they discuss they discuss the ‘legendary stag party’ that Jay insists he is going to put together. He’s sure Mouse will help him with some of the technical stuff if they set up an obstacle course. Because the idea of a tipsy Will trying to walk a straight line is inherently hilarious.

“Hey,” Will’s voice draws him from his thoughts. His older brother’s look is knowing. “Stay here with me. I’m not done yet.”

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Jay nods, taking his brother’s hand. “Yeah. Okay.”

—————————————————

Connor Rhodes has been in enough sick rooms to know when the occupants are expecting death. Because he can reassure and smile and prescribe - but in the end he’s only a buffer against loss and he’s unsuccessful more times than he likes to admit. 

But he tries. And he does care.

Especially when the patient is a certain red-headed pain in his ass. Because Connor likes Will - admires his drive and his heart and how he seems to get along with everybody. He’s a good man. And to see him brought low like this … it’s humbling.

Jay is asleep in the bedside chair when Conner eventually has time to visit again, alone, in the wee hours of the morning. Interrupting Will’s watching his brother with a sad look on his face.

“Hey,” He calls softly, getting the other doctor’s attention.

Will looks at him, question in his eyes, “Hey.”

“I see you’ve run the gamut,” Conner comments as he leans on the edge of the bed, instinctively smoothing the bedspread and checking the monitors surrounding Will.

“I can’t move my hips anymore,” Will admits.

Real fear flashes through Connor. Because that’s not good.

“Don’t.” Will begs as he goes to push the button to summon a nurse. Relaxing when Conner withdraws his hand. “You both know there’s nothing we can do about it - let him rest a bit longer.”

Connor says what they’re both thinking. “You’ll have to go on a ventilator by tomorrow night.”

“Yeah.” Will acknowledged. Turning his head back to his brother. “So let him sleep while he can.”

And as Connor knowingly deviates the conversation, catching Will up on the latest hospital gossip, he knows he can’t go against his colleagues wishes. So he stays for as long as he can before going back to his floor.

——————————————————

Will doesn’t look like he’s dying. Though Jay knows that that’s not an indicator of illness and he’s seen enough healthy men die of relatively small bullet holes to know that outward appearances mean nothing. This train of thought doesn’t help as he stands, frozen to the side of the room where’s he’s retreated from the mass of doctor’s and nurses gathered around Will, drawn by the blaring alarms. They throw out jargon and urgent but calm orders and he watches as they force a tube down Will’s throat and some of the monitors cease their blaring, going back to the sedate pace of regular human activity.

He watches as the doctors - Will’s colleagues and friends - postures relax as they react to the good readings. That’s when he moves back to the bed and none of them try to stop his progress. It’s Conner who put’s Will’s hand in his, placing the limp but warm extremity in his palm, guiding his fingers to feel the pulse that is still evident. 

“Hey,” He looks up to see Connor watching him with concern. “He’s still here.”

And Jay can only nod as he falls into the chair that Conner drags closer for him, so he can sit and still hold his brother’s hand, grounding himself by the feel of the steady pumping of blood.

“Stay with me, Will.” He whispers as the others trickle from the room, giving the brothers privacy.

Stay with me.

——————————————————

“That’s it?” Jay asks, incredulous.

“That’s it,” Natalie confirms, showing him the petrie dish she’s trapped the tick in. Turning back to Will. “He should wake up, now.”

“Really?” Jay has to ask - has to be sure.

Natalie’s smile is kind and her own eyes are tearing up with relief and joy.

“Really.”

——————————————————

“Hey,” Jay says as Will’s eyes blink open two days later. He’s slept little and eaten less. But it’s worth it to see Will awake. 

His big brother blinks, confused, gurgling around the ventilator tube still deep in his throat, and Jay gently stops his hand from reaching to feel. “That’s what’s been helping you breath, Will. I can call the nurse if you want to get it out?”

There’s a weak squeeze of the hand he’s trapped in his, so Jay pushes the call button, bending down to give Will a hug before he needs to get out of the way again. Rhodes comes in, smiling when he sees Will watching him.

“Hey, man,” Conner says, leaning over his colleague after checking the monitors. “You gave us all a scare.” He nods to the nurse who’s with him. “Let’s get that tube out of him.”

Once it’s over, Jay holds a cup of water to Will’s lips, helping him drink from the straw, supporting his head, the muscles still weak from his ordeal.

“You figured it out?” Will rasped, looking at Connor.

“Actually, Natalie did,” Jay tells him.

“Patient zero picked up an exotic tick while they were vacationing in Australia,” Rhodes explains. “Once we got it off we just had to wait for the poison left in you to run it’s course.”

“How long was I out?” Will asks, still clinging to Jay’s hand. 

“Two days.”

“Oh.” Will really doesn’t know how to react to that. “Is Natalie here?”

“Yep.” 

“Do you have the ring?” Will asks Jay, as Rhodes looks on.

“Yeah,” Jay pats his pocket.

“You wanna help?” Will asks Rhodes, who’s face breaks out in a giant grin.

“I can’t think of a better way to follow good news - than to add more good news. Give me fifteen minutes.” And he ducks out the door.

“She’s gonna say no,” Will panics a little as Jay helps him sit up in the hospital bed. “I’m a mess.”

“Hey,” Jay says. “Breathe.” Waiting till his brother calms down again. “If she can’t take you like this - she’s not right for you, man.”

Gulping, Will nods, calming down. Shooting Jay a grateful look. “Thanks.”

By the time Natalie comes in with Rhodes, everything is ready. Jay is even recording in a corner as she disregards her surroundings and goes up to the bed, hugging Will tightly.

“Oh, Will!” Drawing back to run reassuring hands down his arms, clutching at his hand. “Do you feel okay?”

“More than okay,” Will’s smile is nervous but bright. Swallowing, he pulls the little box from under the hospital blanket, Natalie gasping into her hand with wide eyed surprise. “Now, I know this probably isn’t the kind of proposal you were expecting - but if I try to get on one knee right now I would fail miserably.”

Drawing her closer, opening the box up to show her the ring.

“Natalie Allison Manning - will you marry me?”

And Natalie puts her hands to her mouth, tears starting to flow freely. “Yes!” Flinging herself on Will, nearly driving him back into the pillows. “Of course I’ll marry you!”

“Careful,” Jay jokes after a few minutes, turning off the video. “He’s not as young as he used to be.”

“Shut up, Jay,” Will groans good-naturedly as Natalie keeps him steady. 

“Not a chance,” Jay grins. “And I call dibs on telling her all the embarrassing stories I know - and I’m saving the best ones for my best man speech.”

“How do you know I won’t have Conner be my best man?”

“You wouldn’t.”

Will pulls back, Natalie hiding her happy smiling face in his shoulder. “Nah, I probably wouldn’t.” Looking over at Rhodes. “No offense.”

“None taken.” And he excuses himself. “I’ll leave you all to it.” Pausing at the door. “And I’m glad you’re okay, Will - the place wouldn’t be the same without you.”

“Huh,” Jay says after he leaves. “And you said he doesn’t care.”

Will rolls his eyes. 

“Why do I keep you around, again?”

“My charming good looks?”

And they banter on, Natalie drawn into their little family. It would take more than a little bug to keep them down.

Chapter Text

Jay finds out that it wasn’t all parties for Will in New York. We get to find out why Will didn’t come home for their mother’s funeral.

The red-headed victims always got to Jay. Especially when they looked like Will. The latest face they’d pinned on the board was shorter and of a stockier build that his older brother, but the similarities were there.

Down to the nursing position the man held at an old folk’s home on the West Side.

He and Erin had been combing through unsolved murder/assault cases and they’d come up with two within the last three years - all medical professionals of some kind, beaten, raped, and dead due to an overdose of insulin. All with red hair.

Jay sat back, giving up staring at the board in favor of stewing in his growing frustration.

“Hey,” Erin leaned against his desk, holding out a steaming cup of coffee. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Jay held the coffee to his lips, blowing on the top. “Fine.”

It was clear she didn’t believe him. “I noticed they look a lot like Will.”

“It’s just the hair,” Jay shrugged it off, not wanting to have this conversation. “Let’s try to find out if these three victims are connected in any way.”

“Alright, partner,” Erin left it alone, going to sit on her side of the desk, pouring through the folders again.

Jay buried himself in paperwork, determined to work through his hangups, making himself not look at the faces on the board.

A determination that didn’t last long, because after several hours of fruitless searching, he called Will.

“Hey Jay,” Hearing his older brother’s voice over the phone made a little of the tension drain from Jay’s shoulders. “What’s up?”

“Hey Will,” Jay said, not acknowledging Erin’s knowing look. “I was wondering if you could help me with something case-related.”

“I’ll do what I can. What do you need to know?”

“So I have three victims going back six years; all of them are in the medical profession. I’m trying to find a link between them but we’re coming up with nothing,” Jay explained, leaving out the part where they all looked like Will.

“What were their medical occupations?” Will asked, clearly thinking. 

“One worked at a nursing home, another was a doctor at one of the emergency clinics here in Chicago, and the victim of the oldest connecting case was actually a veterinarian.”

Jay listened to Will give a hum of acknowledgment, clearly thinking. “There’s not a lot of crossover between the human and animal medical fields,” Will told him. “Although …”

“What?” Jay prompted when his brother trailed off. “What did you just think of?”

“It’s just-,” Will explained. “It’s true there’s not a lot of overlap between the fields - but there are some medicine’s that can be used on both people and animals. Maybe your victims attended some of the same pharmaceutical conferences?”

Jay dashed down the information. “Okay, do you happen to know any that have been in town recently?”

“There’s one in town now, actually,” Will told him. “Though I didn’t draw the short straw this time. Natalie went with another doctor from oncology.” And he gave Jay the name of the conference and the event center it was being held at.

“Thanks Will,” Jay told him. “Take care of yourself.”

“I will,” Will said, before alarms in the background caused him to hang up abruptly. “Gotta go.”

“What’ve we got?” Erin asked once Jay had hung up.

“A lead,” Jay smiled triumphantly, waving his notebook. “Looks like we’re going to be cross-referencing conference attendance logs.”

“Sounds like fun,” Erin said, grabbing her coat and she followed her partner out of the bullpen.

Jay had a spring in his step as they left the station. They had a murderer to catch!

———————————

It turned out, that over the last six years in Chicago, there were only seven pharmaceutical representatives who were at all of the conferences the three victims had attended. Three of whom were currently in town.

“Sarge,” Jay told Voight who was looking at the board. “I called Will down here to look at the photos. I figured he might know some of these people. They have these conferences in New York, too.”

“Fine by me,” Voight said, going back into his office. “I’ll call Benson to see if they can find some more cases up there.” Glancing at the pictures of the victims. “There can’t be that many unsolved cases where all the victims have red hair.”

Jay pursed his lips, frowning. He was just glad Will hadn’t been to this most recent conference.

It was another thirty minutes before Sergeant Platt called to say she was buzzing Will up.

“I mean, how many red-headed men can there be in Chicago?” Ruzek asked rhetorically, addressing the bullpen at large.

“More than you might think,” Will answered him, ambling up the stairs in time to catch the query. Standing in the sudden silence, all eyes on him, Will asked, “What?”

“Nothing,” Jay said, going over to clap his brother on a back, drawing him into a casual, but much needed, hug. “Just another psycho. You know, a typical day on the job.”

“Hey,” Will huffed, drawing back from his little brother. “Better you than me, man.” He looked over Jay’s shoulder at the board. “That’s what you have so far?”

“Yeah,” Jay said, turning towards the board. “We placed all three victims at the same pharmaceutical conferences where these seven suspects were at and then we narrowed it down to the three on the left -” He stopped as Will stiffened under the hand he still had on his brothers arm. 

He turned his full attention on his brother, alarmed by the sudden paler coming over the good doctor’s face. “Will?” He asked, moving the hand up to his brother’s neck, rubbing a soothing thumb along his jaw. “You okay, man?”

Will flinched back, bumping into he desk behind him, drawing his arm protectively against his ribs as he looked around. “I - uh- it’s,” Will mumbled. Jay didn’t like how pale he was getting. “Gonna be sick.”

Jay had just enough time to grab one of the desk trashcans before Will bent over and was sick into it, helping his brother sit down when he was done, kneeling at his brother’s side.

“Will,” He asked urgently, taking Will’s hand, the one not clutching his stomach. “What’s wrong?” That gut feeling was back and he had the creeping realization that this was going to get worse as Will finally looked up at him, eyes filled with pain, shock, horror - and worst of all, shame.

“You know how I missed mom’s funeral?” Will croaked.

“Yeah?” Jay said, swallowing his own reaction to the memory of days spent sitting by his dying mother, his still healing wounds from Afghanistan punishing him more than the dying woman in the bed. Calling and calling Will but getting no answer.

“Well,” Will said, looking back over at the board. “I might not have told you the whole story.”

The alarm he was feeling was a full blown klaxon now, though Jay tried to keep his panic from his face. “Who, Will?” He asked, trying to be gentle, reaching up again to cup his brother’s face, making him look him in the eye. “Who did you see on the board?”

Will look a deep breath before letting it out again, looking Jay in the eye and the look in his own broke the detectives heart.

“Horatio Cranford.”

———————————

“It’s past the statute of limitations,” Will told Voight, tired voice emphasized by his defeated posture, as they sat in the sergeant’s office. Jay sat beside him, trying to ignore the rest of the team, separated from the little conference by the windows and closed door. “I don’t think it’ll be much use to you.”

“Any information is always useful, doc,” Voight told Will. “And if this happened in New York, then it’ll give my friend down at the NYPD more to go on when they look for more cases in their archives.” He looked at his best detective - his pseudo-son, really - “Jay, you know I have to take you off the case.”

Jay didn’t like it, but he understood. So he nodded, before reaching out to Will again, rubbing a soothing hand through his brother’s longer hair, the doctor leaning into it. 

“I’ll take down your statement,” Voight said, pulling out the form and a pen from his desk. “Whenever you're ready, doc.”

Will took a deep breath, glancing at Jay before focusing his attention on a corner of Voight’s desk. “It was a week before our mother’s funeral. I was a few months into my residency for plastic surgery when there was this party. Cranford was there. After the party, he followed me out of the hotel and he injected me,” Will swallowed uncomfortably, naming a medication that Voight paused to get the spelling right, before continuing. “He got us in a cab, told the driver I was drunk, and then checked us into another hotel. I was lucid the whole time, but I couldn’t talk. And once the drug went into full effect … I couldn’t move either.”

Will drifted off, somewhere in his head for a few moments. Jay recognized the look, reaching out to hold Will’s hand, trying to comfort him. “It’s okay, Will.”

“Yeah,” Will said, trying to smile at his brother but failing miserably. “He, uh, he took off my clothes …” Will glanced at Jay quickly than away. “And he - assaulted - me.”

“Can I ask how he assaulted you, doc?” Voight asked, in the way he could be gentle. “And for how long?”

“The sun was coming through the blinds when he left,” Will said, shifting in his seat. “It was oral - and …” Another look at Jay, trying to pull his hand free, before giving up in defeat. “And anal.”

Jay couldn’t help tightening his grip on his brother’s arm, swallowing down the bile he felt rising in his own throat. To think he’d blamed Will for missing the funeral, without getting the whole story … and all the time, Will had been hiding a horrific assault.

“I tried to fight him,” Will said, “Once the drug started to wear off.” Will looked up at Jay again, and away. “ He, uh.” Clearing his throat. "He laughed.” Jay wasn’t sure if his brother was going to throw up again. “He rolled me off the bed, kicked me in the ribs and broke my arm.” Flexing his hand against the arm rest. “That was when he injected me with insulin, got dressed and left me there.”

There was silence in the office as Voight’s pen scratched against paper. He slid it across the desk when he was done. “Here doc. Look through that. If it’s correct, sign it.”

The sergeant watched Jay as he watched his brother, knowing he needed to get Olivia to pull Will’s case file for him, before Jay did it himself. Eventually taking back the signed statement, Voight told the brothers, “While Jay is off this case because of familial involvement, I can assure you both that Mr. Cranford will get what’s coming to him. This statement, while outside the statute of limitations,” He explained to Will, “Is still enough to arrest Cranford, and hold him for up to 72 hours. This should be enough time for my friend in New York to dig up more dirt on him.” Voight leaned over the desk. “He will not get away with this again, I promise you that.”

Will sniffed, hastily scrubbing at a stray tear. “Thank you.”

“Jay,” Voight said, getting his detectives attention. “Take your brother home. You’re on a week’s paid leave, you got me?”

“Yes, sarge,” Jay said, helping his brother stand. “You’ll be in touch?”

“I’ll be in touch,” Voight affirmed.

And he and the rest of the team watched the brothers leave, the other detectives smart enough to wait until they heard the clang of the metal door before they converged on the Sergeant.

“What’s going on, Sarge?” Ruzek asked. 

Voight handed Olinsky Will’s witness statement. “We’ve got legal cause to arrest and detain one Horatio Cranford.”

Olinsky looked up at his old friend, anger clouding his forehead as he read through the statement. “Halstead is on paid leave?”

Voight nodded as Olinsky passed the statement to Ruzek. “Yeah. And I’m gonna go call Olivia again, see what she can get on her end.”

“Oh man,” Adam muttered, Erin reading over his shoulder. “Should we go pick him up?”

“You can have the honors,” Voight told them. “I’m gonna make sure that we get more than enough information from New York to bury this son of a bitch.” Squaring his jaw to demonstrate his inner anger. “Go!”

The team scattered and as he was left to himself, Voight took a moment to sit in silence, looking at the statement again.

It was always different when it was family.

————————————

Will had shut down as they drove home, Jay driving, trying and failing to talk to his older brother.

What could be said? It was all so fucked up.

“Come on,” He told Will, gently pushing him towards the bedroom.

Will obeyed, moving to sit on the bed, staring at his feet. Jay knelt, taking off his brothers shoes, pushing him back into the bed before repeating the motions and crawling in after him. Drawing his brother in tight, Jay waited him out.

“I should’ve told you,” Will mumbled.

“Damn right you should’ve,” Jay said, ignoring his brother’s flinch at the anger in his voice. “But we’ll get that son of a bitch. You’ll see.”

“Maybe if I’d talked before,” Will rambled. “Maybe those guys wouldn’t be dead.”

“Hey,” Jay said, “None of this in on you.”

“I couldn’t say anything,” Will said into his brothers shoulder. “You know how much money Cranford donated to the hospital? I was just a resident and he used a condom - I couldn’t - it wouldn’t-” and he finally broke down, sobbing his heart out into Jay’s shoulder.

“Shh,” Jay tried to comfort his brother, his own eyes prickling with unshed tears. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Jay held his brother until he fell asleep, physically and emotionally exhausted. Dozing a bit himself, Jay woke to a text from Voight.

Be over in ten.

Disentangling himself from his brother’s lanky form, Jay went to the kitchen to make coffee, staring at the steaming cup until there was a low knock on the front door.

“Will okay?” The sergeant asked, taking in his detective’s shoeless feet.

“Yeah,” Jay told him. “He’s sleeping. You got Cranford?”

“We got ‘em.” Voight motioned for Jay to sit before slapping the folder he was carrying on the table. “Benson faxed all the files they found so far. This is Will’s case file.” He started towards the door, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll call if I need you for anything. And drinks are on me, when this is over.”

“Thanks, Sarge,” Jay called after him. As the door shut behind him, Jay eyed the file like it was poison. And in a way, it was. Once he looked at the file, he would know exactly what had happened to his brother. He got up to get a beer, leaving it open beside the file while he read.

Minutes or hours later (he wasn’t sure) one beer bottle turned into three empties on the table, Jay had gotten through the whole file. He had to give the NYPD one thing - they were very thorough. 

The pictures of Will’s injury’s looked worse in the harsh hospital light under which they had been taken, bruises and medical terms in the attached physicians report dancing in front of his eyes. 

However, the file is blank of any statement besides Will’s signature indicating that he didn’t press charges. Jay knows that meant it was filed under assault, but it would have gathered dust, with no leads to follow. Because the bastard had been thorough - there was no semen samples and Cranford’s DNA hadn’t been in the system for any skin samples he might’ve left. Will had been made immobile by the drug, so he hadn’t scratched - had barely been able to fight, for most of the time.

But Jay wasn’t helpless. And he’d like to give Cranford what was coming to him. Remembering Voight’s face, their gazes meeting as Will had read through the statement before he signed in. They’d shared a desire for justice. Jay because Will was his brother. Hank because he liked Will in general. And because he would’ve done it for any other victim, even if he hadn’t known him before the report had come across his desk. Because while his methods were often unorthodox or violent, Hank truly cared about the people who’s cases he was put in charge of. When you had Voight in your corner, you knew there would be an answer eventually.

The rising noises from the bedroom finally caught his attention and he bolted for the bedroom, pages of the files fluttering to the floor when he knocked it off the table in his haste.

“No!” Will mutters, tangled in the sheets as he fights an invisible foe. “No, please -”

Approaching his brother, Jay knees by his side on the bed, trying to get him untangled and wake him up at the same time, grabbing his brothers flailing hands by thin wrists when Will starts to lash out, pulling him to his chest.

“It’s okay, Will,” He promises, pressing a kiss into Will’s hair, “You’re safe.”

And he can tell when Will comes back to himself by how his struggles gradually lessen and he draws a deep wailing breath. “Jay.”

Help me.

Rocking side to side, Jay holds onto his brother, guarding him against the monsters of the night.

Yes. Cranford will get what’s coming to him.

———————————————

“You want him to what?!” Jay hisses as Dawson, Voight looking on, though he seems no more happy about it than Jay is.

“We need Cranford to confess,” Antonio repeats himself. “We’ve found matching outstanding cases, both here and in New York - but we can’t make them stick without DNA -”

“Of which we have none,” Olinsky points out.

“Or by an official confession,” Antiono finishes. “We don’t like it any more than you, Jay. But maybe … we should leave it up to Will to decide.”

“But -”

“I’ll do it.”

They all turn to see Will emerge from the back room, obviously having been listening in to the others men’s conversation. Squaring his shoulders at their scrutiny, pale and troubled. “I’ll do it. I can’t let him do this again.”

“You’re not letting him do anything,” Jay protested.

“You know what I mean,” Will gives a little shrug. He looks between the other three officers in the room, varying shades of admiration and pity on their faces. “What do I need to do?”

————————————————

“William Halstead.” 

The syllables of his name coming out of Horatio Cranford’s cursed mouth makes the good doctor feel physically ill.

But he’s in this little room, several people watching through the two way mirror for a purpose. And he might be many things - but a quitter wasn’t one of them.

“Cranford.”

The man’s face flashed a look that made the hairs on the back of his neck rise, because he knew a snake when he saw one. “That’s Dr. Cranford.”

“Not by the time we’re through with you,” Dawson speaks up from the chair beside Will. “You won’t be licensed to shoot up a street bum.”

Will can tell that Cranford wants to say something to that, but he settles for scowling before he adopts what he obviously thinks is a suave expression, addressing Will again. “What did they offer you to lie about me, son?” He asks Will. Lies, lies, lies. “We both know you are where you are because of that tight little ass of yours.”

Flaring up, pushing down his disgust, Will fights fire with fire. “Oh yeah? Well, we both know you aren’t where you are because you have a big dick.” And he remembered that much and he knew where to hit a man with Cranford’s ego.

It hit a target. Cracks began to appear.

So Will presses on that rupture as the blood rushes to Cranford’s face. “In fact, it really wasn’t special at all.”

“You little bitch!!”

And could it really be that easy? Will wonders, blood pounding in his ears as Cranford stands, shoving his chair backwards, going to round the table as Dawson also rises to respond to the threat.

A cold certainty falls over Will and his voice is steady when he says, “You wouldn’t even make it to the top 100 - you’re just a joke. A small-dicked, third-rate quack -”

There’s an incoherent scream and Cranford is spitting and cursing as Dawson forces him to bend over the table, getting one of his arms behind him to restrain him. The vitriol spewing from the others man’s lips is poisonous and acidic and Will is frozen, now that they’re getting what they wanted.

“—‘ve killed you — bitch — show you small —” Bucking against Dawsons hold. “Show you this time — the noises you made —” He grins, bloody spitting dripping down his chin, making Will stumble back as filthy promises from the man’s lips. 

Because he remembers the hands and the hurts and he can’t —

“Get you to make the prettiest little noises for me. Those squeals you made when I got balls deep —”

“Okay,” Jay comes in before Voight, pulling Will behind him. “That’s enough.” Glaring at Cranford, who seems to realize exactly what he’d done. Realizes that he has nothing left to lose.

“Next time I get my hands on you,” The soon to be ex-Doctor promises Will, “I’ll make sure you’re dead.”

“I don’t know about that,” Voight says, forcing the man to look at him. “Where you’re going, there’s not gonna be a lot of opportunities to see the sky, never mind the good doctor, here.” Leaning still closer he growls, “And we take care of our own. You come for him - you come for all of us.”

And whatever else is said doesn’t reach Will’s ears as Jay quickly escorts him out of the interrogation room, secreting them in a corner, pulling a water bottle from his pocket, making Will sit and breathe.

But he never lets go of Will, keeping contact between them in one way or another the entire time, murmuring encouragement and praise as he slowly calms. Sometimes, Will feels like he’s the younger brother - even though it’s the other way around.

“It hurt so bad.” Will says, burying his face in Jay’s shoulders with a shudder. The words he’s been saving up spilling out all at once. “And he liked when I cried. God, Jay,” He sobs out, “How do people get so twisted?”

“I dunno,” Jay soothes him, clearly fighting his own tears. “But there are more good people than there are bad people - though I know it’s easy to forget that, what with all the evil we see in our jobs.”

“I’ve got you, brother.” Jay whispers as Will cries himself out, eventually slumping in his brothers hold.

“I’ve got you.”

It would always be them against the world.

Chapter Text

Will approached Hank first, when he got the diagnosis: he needed to make sure Jay was looked after, once he was gone. (I’m sorry but this is a really, really sad one.)

Will’s first thought, when several weeks of aches and pains, along with general tiredness, ended with him getting a nosebleed in the hospital bathroom, was that he was going to die like his mother had. But he shook off that thought — a nose bleed didn’t necessarily mean that he’d gotten what his mother had — the assiduous poison that had killed her.

But he had to be sure.

“Connor,” He approached the other doctor when he got off his shift. Their shifts didn’t always overlap. “Do you have a minute?”

Rhodes looked at his colleague, who looked dead on his feet, turning off his tablet and giving Will his full attention. “Yeah, what’s up?”

“I, uh,” Will leaned against the wall, rubbing his eyes, “I’ve been feeling off for the last few weeks. Thought it was just stress, ya know? But - I’ve been retaining bruises and I got a nosebleed in the bathroom earlier today for no apparent reason and -” He cut himself off, looking at Rhodes, who was starting to look concerned. “And my mother died of leukemia.”

Connor stared, startled by the curveball thrown at him, but more than willing to help out his red-headed colleague. “I’ll schedule you for some tests,” fingers flying over his keyboard. “We can get the bigger tests done tomorrow - you have the day off, right?” Tapping more keys when Will nodded. “But I can do some preliminary blood work now?”

“Okay,” Will said, pushing himself off the wall to follow Rhodes into an empty exam room, not catching how Maggie had been watching the two.

The nurse, who had made Will an honorary member of her family, hurried over as Rhodes moved to pull the curtain closed.

“Will, is everything okay?” She asked over Rhodes’ shoulder.

“That’s what we’re going to find out,” Will smiled tiredly. “I’ll let you know in a bit, okay, Maggie?”

She nodded, seeing how exhausted he looked. He’d always been pale, but right then he was nearly paler than the sheets he was sitting on. “Alright. Just let me know if you need anything, okay?”

“Okay.”

Throughout the various tests, needle sticks, and x-rays, Will felt like an automaton. He hadn’t allowed himself to face the possibilities once he’d realized he wasn’t feeling okay, over a week ago. Laying back on the bed, under the clicking x-ray, he thought about how his family would react if the tests came back positive.

And Jay - God, Jay would be devastated. He was there for their mother at the end. Will had only seen her a few times, in the middle, sick but not outright dying. And then she’d been in a box lowered into the ground. 

This would break Jay.

That’s when he had the idea.

“Hey, Will?” Rhodes was trying to get his attention, not liking how out of character Will was acting. “I’m all done. You can sleep here for a bit, if you want? I still need to fill out all the paperwork.”

Will nodded wordlessly, pulling up the hospital blanket to roll onto his side, trying to fall asleep. It was easier, now that he had a plan. And the tests tomorrow would cement them, if they came back positive.

The red head was asleep when Maggie peeked back through the curtain, dressed to go home, carrying her purse. Rhodes looked up from his tablet, which he had been staring at for several minutes without seeing anything. Maggie came into the room, going over to Will to run a gentle hand through his hair.

“What’s going on, Dr. Rhodes?” She asked, not looking up from Will’s peaceful face.

“We’re running some tests,” Connor hedged, not sure what Will would want him to tell Maggie.

“Let me see,” Maggie demanded, holding her hand out for the tablet, which Connor eventually handed over, knowing better than to refuse.

She scrolled through Will’s information, looking at his appointments, struggling to take it in.

“He thinks he has cancer.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes,” Rhodes was blunt, taking the tablet back. “And given the test results I just got back, he might be right.”

“Oh, no,” Maggie whispered, going back to Will.

“Yeah,” Rhodes scrubbed a hand over his suddenly misty eyes. “It always happens to the good ones, right?”

“Dr. Rhodes,” Maggie met Connor’s eyes when he looked up, smirk clashing with the heart-broken look she still sported. “If I didn’t know you better I’d say that was a compliment.”

Rhodes ignored her, rising to join her by the bed. “Can you drive him home?”

“Yeah,” Maggie agreed, “Send me the information about his appointments. I’m off tomorrow as well. I’ll make sure he gets to all of them.”

Rhodes watched as his still groggy colleague was woken by the dark skinned nurse, ignoring Will’s grumbles as he helped her get him off the bed and walking, watching till they were out of sight down the hall.

Two minutes. He sat and gathered his thoughts. Two minutes. Then he was a professional again.

————————————

“You look like hell, doc,” Voight said bluntly as Will slid into the booth across from him.

“Thanks for meeting me,” Will said, avoiding the question in the statement as he fussed with the menu, ordering coffee to start when the waitress promptly appeared.

Voight studied his best detectives brother. He hadn’t been too impressed with the doc at first, but he knew Jay loved his older brother. Then there was the Clinic bombing and the doc had come through when James Charles needed off the book surgery on his own kitchen table. The red head wasn’t a soldier like Jay - he didn’t have the temperament - but he wasn’t afraid to speak his mind and he had a steady hand under pressure. And, Voight thought as Will nursed his coffee, clearly working up the courage to talk, the brothers brought out the best in each other. 

“What does Jay mean to you, Sergeant Voight?” Will finally asked the question.

Voight’s eyebrows raised, caught off guard.

“Jay’s told me that your team is family,” Will rushed on, “How much of a family?”

“We’ve got his back, if that’s what you’re asking, doc,” Voight rumbled.

“And if Jay ever decides to drink himself to death and his PTSD ravages his mind?” Will pushed. “Will you stand by him if he looses everything and becomes a shell of himself? Mouse isn’t here, not this time - there aren’t many people he trusts enough to let that close. But I think you’re one of those people.”

Voight listened, studying the doc as he talked, low and earnest. And what he saw wasn’t encouraging. The doc’s hand was shaking around his coffee cup and he quickly put it under the table once he noticed. He really did look horrible - tired, the bags under his eyes like dark bruises in his paler than normal face. 

“What do you mean ‘not this time’, doc?” He asked as gently as he could. Will met his eyes, something lost and frightened in his face, looking too old for his 35 years. 

Will took a deep breath, visibly trying to calm himself down, “Has Jay, uh,” Running a shaking hand absently through his hair, sleeve lifting enough to show a large bruise on his forearm. “Has Jay ever told you about our mother?”

Voight blinked. Blindsided again. “No, I can’t say he has.” 

“When Jay was oversees, her cancer came back,” Will told him. “She had leukemia. When Jay was honorably discharged, he came home and took care of her. I was off in Sudan, with a medical charity. I wasn’t there for Jay then and he’s always blamed me for it.”

Voight wasn’t a detective for nothing. 

“Do you have cancer, Will?” 

The doc nodded, sniffing loudly as he stared down into his half empty coffee cup. “Yes.” Looking almost relieved to say it out loud. “I got the biopsy reports back a few days ago.”

“How bad?” 

“It’s bad,” Will looked up at him then. “I have stage three leukemia. It will require an aggressive course of radiation and chemotherapy to even start treating it and that’s only if it doesn’t get into my bones -.”

“Hey,” Voight stood, going over to the doc’s side of the table. He wasn’t a comforting man, but he sensed Will needed something - anything - to keep him grounded. “It’ll be okay, Will.”

Will leaned into the sergeant’s stomach, shaking, though no sound escaped him.

“I guess it’s true what they say,” Voight said as Will gradually calmed. “That doctor’s make the worst patients.”

“That’s only because we know the odds,” Will croaked, eventually pulling back from the Sergeant. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Voight had seen worse reactions to bad news. “Do you want me to help you tell Jay?”

Will nodded, clearly grateful. “Yes, please. And I need you to make sure he doesn’t go on a bender - not that I don’t trust Jay, but - given his track record -.” 

“I get it, doc,” Voight held up a forestalling hand. Blinking as he registered what he was seeing. “Doc, you’re bleeding.”

Will automatically reached up to confirm the blood dripping from his nose, “Ah, dammit!” He muttered, pulling disposable napkins from the table’s dispenser. “I’ll be fine in a minute, sergeant.”

“Okay,” Voight said as the good doctor leaned back against the seat, pinching his nose. “I’ll go settle the bill. Once the bleeding stops, I’ll take you home. You took the L-train?”

“Yeah,” Will rasped.

So Voight settled the bill, fielding the concerned questions from the server before helping Will, whose nose had stopped bleeding, up and out to his car, making sure to grab another pile of napkins on the way.

Before he drove off, Voight texted Erin. 

Make sure Jay doesn’t get back to his apartment before 5.

Sure. What’s up sarge?

Just bring him over after shift.

Okay.

Knowing he was being even more terse than normal, which wasn’t his usual way with Erin, he promised himself to make it up to her later, before he concentrated on the road.

———————————

“What’s going on, Erin?” Jay finally asked as they left the district. She’d insisted on driving him home. “You’ve been weird ever since Voight texted you.”

“I have not been weird,” Erin protested without any heat, pulling out her phone to send a message before they left, warning Voight that they were on their way.

“Yes, you have,”Jay insisted in that specifically blunt sarcastic way he was the master of. “So spill.”

“Alright,” Erin finally conceded after they were on the road. “Voight asked me, specifically, to make sure you didn’t make it back to your apartment until after 5.”

“Why?” Jay asked, looking suspicious.

“He didn’t say.” Erin fielded the look she got. “He didn’t.” She insisted.

So Jay was left to stew over the possibilities. 

Finally, they got back to his apartment. Jay saw Voight’s SUV in the visitor parking and his thoughts got more wild and off the wall as he tired to think up scenarios that had his boss at his apartment. Will had to be home - this was his day off, right? The apartment was unchanged when they entered, Voight rising from the couch, putting his phone away as they closed the door behind them.

“Where’s Will?” Jay asked.

“He’s in there.” Voight thumbed at the room behind him. “I got him to sleep a while. He was pretty keyed up.”

“What’s wrong?” Jay asked, “Why’re you here?”

“Jay,” Voight said, as gently as he was able. “We’ll be out here if you need us. But right now, you need to go talk to your brother, alright?”

Without another word, breaking off his tense standoff with his boss, Jay hurried to his brothers room, shutting the door gently behind him as Will stirred, rolling over then sitting up at the sight of him. Will didn’t say anything as Jay approached the bed, taking in his brothers exhausted visage. Will looked up at him when Jay stopped next to the bed, hand automatically coming up to run through Will’s hair, which lay limp against his skull, as bereft of life as Will seemed to be in that moment.

“Will?” The question came out hoarse, afraid; a thousand questions in one word.

“Sit down,” Will said, patting the bed next to his hip. 

Jay sat, feeling winded without cause as he glanced over at the side table to see bloody napkins, looking back at Will to see some flakes of blood on his brothers nose. 

“What’s going on, Will?” Jay asked again.

“I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you,” Will told him, taking his younger brother’s hand, rubbing a thumb over it soothingly, his white ones, pale and long fingered, a stark contrast to his brothers tanned, freckled, work worn hands. “Ever since I got the test results back on Tuesday.” It was Friday, Jay thought in a disconnected way. “I met up with Voight, cause I know you’re gonna need a lot of support …” Will broke off. “He’s a good man: Hank. He drove me home.”

“Tests?” Jay felt like he was drowning. “Will, what tests?”

“I haven’t been feeling well for a while,” Will admitted to his brother, rubbing his hand along Jay’s arm, comfortingly. Comforting whom, was the question. “Then I started to get nosebleeds so I had Rhodes run the tests. I got the biopsy results back -.” 

Jay’s eyes were ringing, almost too loudly to hear the next sentence.

“I have cancer, Jay.”

Will’s hands never stopped comforting him. “Same as mom had.”

He met Will’s eyes, his own hands coming up to grab Will’s arms, stopping his habitual movements. “I’m so sorry, Jay.”

Their mother, lying on a hospital bed, a shell of herself, only her eyes, Jay’s blue-gray eyes, alive in the face of skin and sweat and death … Not Will.

Please, God, not Will!

“You can treat it, right?” Jay asked desperately, his hands tightening around his brother’s arms, something he didn’t protest. 

“I’m scheduled for radiation on Monday,” Will told him. “It’s an aggressive treatment given my prognosis.”

“Okay,” Jay gasped, finally shifting his hands to wrap his brother in a hug, “Okay. We’ll get through this, Will. You’ll see.”

“Yeah,” Will said, hugging Jay back. “It’ll take more than this to kill a Halstead, right buddy? We’re stubborn as mules.”

Jay chocked on a half-hysterical laugh. “You got that right, brother.”

Hearing the distant murmur of the others out in the kitchen, Jay helped Will lay back down, sitting against the headboard beside him, stroking a hand through his brother’s hair, just being there for him. Jay knew from experience that the news hadn’t really sunken in yet, but he stayed, comforting his brother. Will curled up into his brothers side, hand clutching at Jay’s pant leg, Jay not trying to move away, maybe needing the comfort even more than Will did. Needed the reminder that Will was there. He wasn’t dead. 

Not yet, a traitorous part of Jay’s mind supplied.

God, what would he do without Will?

The thought came to him, but he did his best to push it aside. Maybe the chemo and radiation would do its job. Will would be fine. He had to believe that Will would be fine. But all he could see was the dirt thudding on the lid of his mother’s casket on that rainy day nearly ten years ago …

So he held his brother close, for however long they had left together.

——————————————

“There’s nothing more we can do,” Connor Rhodes tells Jay, looking like he’d rather say anything else but the unfortunate truth. “It’s progressing too fast. Any course of treatment we might try would only …”

“Kill him faster?” Jay asks, sounder calmer than he feels. But all he feels is emptiness, not rage. Maybe rage will come later.

“… yes.”

Tears in his eyes, Jay clenches his jaw, looking at the figure resting in the bed, thin and pale. “Does he know?”

“He’s always been too smart for his own good,” Rhodes smiles, tears in his eyes as well. “You can move him home, if you want. But … he’ll probably be most comfortable here.”

Among people who love him.

Jay nods. He has no objections. He knows how hard it is to take care of a dying person by oneself. He remembers his mother and how feeble she had been. And she’d always apologized for being a burden. But she’d never been a burden - not to Jay.

He also knows he can’t do it alone - not again. So he signs the papers and then settles down at his brothers side. Voight had given him indefinite leave, once he’d called to explain what was going on. Not that his boss didn’t know already.

That had been the hardest part of the whole process, seeing the hope slowly dying in the faces of all their friends as Will got weaker and weaker. Putting on brave faces. But they all knew that Will was living on borrowed time.

He wakes, half slumped onto the hospital bed, Will running a hand through his older brother’s hair rhythmically.

“Hey, brother,” Will smiles. His hair is long gone, but his eyes are the same, gentle and full of a dying light.

“Hey,” Jay captures his brother’s hand, gently rubbing it to try to impart some of his warmth into the others hands. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay, considering.” Will signs, fiddling with the length of tubing that trails up to the gidget in his nose, supplying him a clean supply of oxygen. “Conner talk to you?” 

Jay can’t bring himself to answer - because to confirm would be to make the diagnosis real. And he can’t accept it yet. Not really. (Maybe death was easier in a land of sand and bullets - it was at least sudden, often quick, and easily verifiable. Here he can only watch as Will slowly disappears before his eyes.) 

“Get up here,” Will says, patting the bed next to him. 

Hesitant, but not unwilling, Jay joins him, helping Will get comfortable next to him, changing the TV screen in the room to a Chicago Blackhawks game. “Let’s watch awhile,” Will says. “Haven’t had much time just to enjoy something together like this lately, have we?”

And it’s almost like death isn’t hovering over them waiting to pounce as they heckle the players on the screen, bantering and laughing and booing in turn. 

It’s nice.

… up until Will goes still.

“Will?” Jay asks, hugging the body closer. Will’s head is against his shoulder and there’s a little smile on his lips. “Will?”

But it doesn’t matter what he says anymore. The heart monitors have gone quiet.

“Don’t do this to me, man.” Jay croaks, “Don’t leave me, too.”

But Will won’t answer him again. He’s in a better place now. But it’s small comfort. Jay wants him here, watching a Blackhawks game, messing up his hair with a grin. 

“Oh, Will.”

From somewhere far away in his mind, Jay knows that the nurses and staff must have been notified of the change in the monitors. But no one comes to check on them. Because they’ve all been waiting for this to happen. Jay is glad to have more time with Will. Because he can’t let go - not yet, even if it’s not really Will anymore.

And he’s not crying, he’s only sitting with what’s left with his brother, seeing happy memories in the air.

After an eternity of grief, it’s interrupted by a familiar voice at his side.

“Oh, Jay,” Erin husks next to him.

Jay refuses to look at her, because he’s not ready to let go yet. He can’t. He can’t.

“It’s time to let go now, Jay.” Hank’s voice breaks through the fog. “You gotta let him go.”

“Sarge.” Jay bawls, hugging the body tighter, burying his face in Will’s shoulder. He can’t bury them in the red locks anymore. They’ve been gone for months. “I can’t.”

“But you have to.” Hank insists, though if Jay had been able to look up, he would’ve seen how much this was hurting Voight, too. “He wouldn’t want you acting like this, Jay.”

But they don’t actually try to separate him. Instead, Hank comes closer, and then closer still, finally enfolding Jay and the body in his embrace. “Let it out, son.” He encourages. “Let it all out now.”

He cries until he physically can’t anymore. He slumps and the world goes away for awhile.

——————————————

Jay visited the three graves at the same time every week, rain or snow, gloom or shine. When he goes, seven times out of ten, someone else has been there too. 

The gravestone is always as colorful as Will had been in life. There are notes from patients, stuffed animals from friends, flowers from Jay - the grave is loved by so many people. His older brother had done so much for people, once he’d finally gotten his act together. 

But he’d had so little time, in the scheme of things.

“Blackhawks won today,” Jay updates his brother. “27-3.” He sits in front of the grave, like he always does, hugging his coat closer to him again the wind. 

“I’m doing okay,” He assures Will. “Hailey’s been a good partner for me. Keeps my feet on the ground, ya know?” He’s silent for a while. “Think I’m gonna ask her to marry me. Got mom’s ring, too.” Leaning forward, he sets his forehead against the cold stone. “But we both know it should’ve been yours.”

Eventually, he leaves. Because that’s what Will had wanted him to do.

He had wanted Jay to live, in memory of him.

And Jay had never been able to say no to his brother, in the end.

Chapter Text

The throbbing of his burnt hands, glistening with cream, exposed to the air; the throbs march in time to the charted heartbeats on the monitor. Jay still haven’t woken up, not before surgery and not after it, lying disturbingly quiet. The bandages wrapped on his little brother’s head are too close a color match to Jay’s pale skin to be a comfort.

It had started off as an ordinary morning …

———————————————————

“You should invest in a real car, Will,” Jay tell his brother as he holds Will’s coffee cup until it’s safe to pass it over. “This clunker is a classic - but in a bad way.”

“Hey,” Will protests without any real heat. “Don’t hate on the Ford.”

“You’d think New York would’ve given you some taste.”

“You can take the boy out of the Midwest …” Will wiggles his fingers for his drink, accepting it happily. “How do you drink it like that?” He asks as Jay gorges himself on pure sugar.

“After the thin grease-water at the station - let me have this, man,” Jay whines, gulping down the creamy concoction.

Eyes on the road again, Will rolls to a safe stop at the intersection. There was a thin layer of frost on the roofs where the sun hasn’t yet melted it. It’s early though there’s still some early commuter traffic, Jay’s own car is in the shop - for a steering issue, not because of bullet holes (for once).

The echoes of their bantering are still in their ears when a muscle car careens around the bend, overshooting the division line and slamming into their trusty Ford. The muscle car, built for looks and not protection, apparently, starts to smoke once the heavy vehicles stop moving and the tinkling glass settles on the cold asphalt. The occupants of the Ford are still, down for the count. The owner of the muscle cars fate is a mystery. Though there is an overall lack of traffic, two more cars still manage to get involved in the accident, the bend in the road contributing to the statistical probability of such an occurrence. 

Oil is leaking in a steady stream and coolant is added to the inflammatory mix. Flames start to lick at the bellies of both vehicles. The other two on the peripherally are relatively unhamrmed, their owners already struggling with belts and doors to leave their own cars.

Luckily, a bystander calls 911.

———————————————————————

Someone must have said the much hated phrase which uses a word that rhymes with ‘diet,’ because a whole shift with no emergency calls suddenly ends with news of a four car pileup. 

The feeling of nerves and anticipation that Severide has spent years acclimating to rises as they approach the scene, sirens wailing. Consulting Casey, they split up their teams, the medics already examining the people who have managed to leave their vehicles. 

“He’s dead,” Casey confirms with a grim look, examining the crumpled front of the muscle car.

That’s when they approach the Ford that’s barely crumpled compared to the Sports Car. 

It’s Cruz that says aloud the prickling feeling of unease that had flashed through Severide’s mind when he first got a look at the Ford.

“Isn’t that Will Halstead’s truck?”

That adds an additional layer of urgency as Severide hauls himself up the side of the tilted Ford, the passenger side door lying flat against the asphalt. 

“Yeah — both Jay and Will are in here!” He calls back. We need to get them out.” The smoke is starting to get thicker from the muscle car. “Cruz, get up here?”

“Severide?” A sudden call comes from the man hanging from his seatbelt like a marionette. Coughing. “What happened?”

“Car accident, Will,” Severide tells the good doctor. “Anything broken?” 

“Head hurts,” Will calls back. “Think I’m alright, overall.” Sev can see him shifting, looking down at his brother. “Jay?” And again. “Jay?”

“What about him?” Sev asks.

Will’s voice is calm and professional with a tremble underneath it.  “Head trauma. Possible broken arm. Ribs are compromised.”

“Get me a backboard!” The Fireman yells to Cruz. “Can you get out of your seatbelt, Will?”

“Already done,” Will says, the Ford barely shaking as Will moves around so he doesn’t land on Jay who is underneath him inside the truck’s cabin. “Jay, com’mon man.”

Jay doesn’t answer. 

Naturally, that’s when the car actually catches fire. Someone is going to get a strongly worded letter about whatever manufacturing problem that makes it happen so fast. Smoke will be the biggest problem for the Halstead brothers right now, the older Ford withstanding the collision fairly well. But there’s always the possibility of fuel leaking down and pooling underneath the truck’s cabin. Which is what Severide suspects to be happening right now.

“Hand him up to me!” Severide tells Will, glancing across at Cruz, who’s come up on the other side. 

“Give me a cutter!” Will calls back. “The seat belt release isn’t working.”

Tossing it down, Severide is soon treated to the sight of Jay’s head emerging from the smoke, expression loose and his face stained with blood. “We got him!” Severide tells Will as he and Cruz get their friendly neighborhood cop onto the backboard, Cruz going down with the others while Severide peers into the cabin again.

The smoke is getting thicker.

“Get out of there!”

Will tries to do just that, clambering up the awkwardly sideways cabin, no doubt standing on the cupholder between the front seats, Severide grabbing his hand when it appears at the edge of the door frame. 

Bucking back with a cry as flames appear from the side, there’s an explosion that jolts them both. Will was half out of the door and Severide takes him backwards with him as the concussion throws them like rag dolls and they hit the asphalt, debris raining around them.

Due to the helmet, Severide is mostly protected and he rolls over with a groan to check on Will. The doc’s down for the count.

“Get me another gurney!” Casey shouts as he checks Wills pulse and then gives Severide a hand up.

Looks like they’re all headed to MED.

They blow the sirens as they escort the ambulances carrying Will and Jay to the emergency room.

—————————————————

The ED was quiet. 

Not that anyone was dumb enough to say so out loud - but they were all thinking it. 

“We’ve got an ambulance coming,” Maggie reported, putting down the phone. “It’s got a police and fireman’s escort.”

Looking at each other, Choi and Rhodes exchange a look, deciding who’s taking point. Rhodes takes the lead out of the emergency doors, waiting for the vehicles to appear. It’s a couple minutes until sirens can be heard in the distance, echoing around and causing confusion as to the direction from which they emanate. But they are definitely headed closer. Because they all know a police escort means that whoever has been hurt is probably someone they’ve worked with - part of the extended emergency services family. When one string was affected it shook the spider’s web.

Thinking they’re prepared to see the approaching carnage, they rush to the ambulance doors, the medics calling out stats and both doctors freeze when they get their first good looks at the patients faces.

“Male, thirty-five, possible concussion and burns on his extremities.”

“Male, approximately twenty-nine, severe head trauma, possible flail ribs —”

Those jagged descriptions matched Will and Jay Halstead, respectively. The brothers, covered in blood, smoke, and burns are pushed through the ED doors side by side, Maggie’s hand going to her mouth as the victims are revealed.

“What happened?” Rhodes asked for all of them. 

Severide answered. “Four car pileup. Looks like their car was the first one hit and the others followed after that.”

It’s up to Rhodes to shake them out of it, calling out orders, sending everyone to their stations. The sooner they patched the brothers up, the sooner everything wold go back to normal. (He hoped.)

It always hit harder when it was family.

Knowing Jay will need the most care, Rhodes takes him to an exam room, Choi starting in on Will’s prone form in the room next door. The young cop is a mess. The medics had been right about the flail ribs, so once Jay is stable enough and has been given enough fluids, Rhodes moves it all upstairs to an operating room. Opening Jay up is the last thing he wants to do - but he’s a doctor, and this is what he needs to do. As the ribs take back their proper forms under his highly-skilled hands, he can hardly spare a thought for his colleague next door. Luckily, Will’s hurts had appeared more superficial than Jay’s so his colleague has that going for him.

Surgery done, Rhodes sags against the wall outside, pulling off his cap with freshly scrubbed hands, a little tremor going through one, making him clench his fist to hide his own emotional reaction from himself. 

It always hit harder when it was family.

Will’s eyes are open when Rhodes enters the other room, scrubs making Will look paler and sicker than he probably is.

“How’s Jay?” Will demands, tense on the bed.

“If it’s okay with Ethan you can go sit with him once he’s settled,” Rhodes tells the red-head. “He had flail ribs.”

Will’s voice is steady as he meets Connor’s eyes. “I know. Ethan told me.” Hesitating a moment after shifting to let his legs dangle off the side of the bed. “Thanks for taking care of him for me.”

“All part of the job, Will,” Rhodes assured him, bending to help Will don the hospital slippers. “And … Will?”

Will meets his eyes, tired and stressed and probably battling a migraine from his concussion. Conner can see the pinched look on his face. “He’s under very heavy sedation. There was head trauma as well. We had to bring down the swelling before I could do surgery. So just …” He hesitates, knowing that this is just another blow on top of everything else. “Be prepared, alright?”

Conner sees Will swallow. But the other doctor nods, accepting Connor’s helping hand as he limps down the corridors. That, more than anything else, shows Connor the red-heads state of mind. And he feels Will’s rigid tension under his helping hands and hears Will’s intake of breath when he sees Jay for the first time. Because it’s not a pretty sight. There are machines crowded around the policeman’s bed and the sutures are evident on his chest where he has recently been opened, and bandages are wrapped around his head. The brace keeping his right arm immobile is kept raised by a light weight prop, since it can’t be strapped down, given the state of Jay’s ribs.

Both doctor’s know that it’s a waiting game now - its up to Jay to come out of his hibernating state by himself. Even when the mind is willing the flesh is weak. They both know that Jay is young and fit, the odds are in his favor. But they both know that things don’t always turn out the way you want them to, in their profession. Despite the advances in medicine and surgery, there are still patients who slip through their fingers.

Helping Will to sit in a chair by the bed, pulling it still closer to Will can reach Jay’s hand, though he’ll have to be careful of the IV, Conner grabs a blanket, tucking it around Will’s shoulders. He’s sure he must be cold. “I’ll be back with some food,” he says, pausing at the door. “I know it feels like you can’t right now, but at least drink what I bring you, okay?”

He gets a terse nod in response. With that, he leaves the room. (He knows there’s only so much he can do.)

———————————————————

Natalie is worried about Will. And she’s worried about Jay, too, but she knows that her future brother-in-law is getting the best care possible. The amount of time Will is spending at his brother’s bedside shows how much he cares, but the tension is taking its toll. When she stops by before, during, and after shifts, she sees that he’s loosing weight and sleeping badly, fitfully, in that chair by the bed.

It’s been four days now, since Jay has been asleep on the bed. Sleep is how the body recovers from severe trauma, Natalie knows, and all the tests and monitors confirm that its working - Jay is on the mend. But knowing is a small comfort compared to actually looking someone in the eyes. Will needs Jay to wake up. Natalie knows that if Jay doesn’t wake up soon, Will is going to worry himself sick. The hollows under Will’s eyes attest to his degrading appetite and growing listlessness.

All she can do, as his fiancé, is be there for him. Be there for both of them.

“You need a shower,” She announces, feeling the greasy texture of his hair. “Go - use the one in the locker room. I’ll keep an eye on him for you.” Insisting, when he looks like he wants to resist. “Hurry if you have to, but you can’t take care of Jay if you don’t take care of yourself first.”

Eventually acceding the point, Will leaves after squeezing Jay’s hand, whispering something Natalie can’t hear into his little brothers ear.

And what else is there to do except talk to the man in the bed?

“I’d known Will for three years before he told me he had a brother,” She tells Jay, reminiscing back to their college days and the whirlwind of residency and exams. “One day he’d come in, smiling fit to beat the band and told me that you’d been promoted. Said he’d always known you’d go far, especially since you were the most stubborn person he knew, besides your father.” Though the less said about Patrick Halstead, the better. “It took me a while to see it, but his whole life revolves around you, Jay. He loves you. Very, very much. So please,” She presses a kiss to the top of Jay’s head, avoiding the bandages. “Please wake up. For him. For yourself. For all of us.”

She keeps watch with Will after he returns, his hair still damp from the shower. They keep vigil, supporting a small flame of hope.

—————————————————

There is darkness first and then a pale light. 

When Jay opens his eyes, becoming gradually aware of the feel of draping cloth, vaguely heavy against his skin. He is divorced from himself, he finds, a familiar feeling of strong pain relievers separating him from a pain filled world. It is familiar to him - familiar for the layer it adds to the mind. Awareness ebbs and flows, but he stays tethered to his body, eventually falling back into himself.

The last thing he remembers is … coffee … and laughter. And then, nothing.

Will is here too, beside the bed. The thought of moving drifts to him and then glides away, a gondola following will-o’-the-wisps deeper into a paddy covered with lily pads. But Jay can watch Will sleep, can examine the shadows under his eyes, and the worry that is evident, even in sleep. From the pain killers, Jay knows he must be very hurt, a suspicion further evidenced by the brace on his right arm. 

Eventually, Will’s eyes blink open.

“Jay!” He springs from the chair, touching Jay’s arm, his face, his hair. “It’s good to see you, brother.”

For all his concentrated effort, Jay only manages a small smile. He’s grateful when Will holds a cup to his lips, letting him sip slowly. Everything is slow right now.

Licking his lips. “‘Ill.” Forcing the sounds out of clumsy lips. “Will.”

He’s glad when Will goes for a hug. There’s no place he’d rather be then safe in his big brothers arms. 

Slurring out the words as Will holds him as close as he can, given the impediments of the cast and bandages and wires. “I’m okay.”

“No,” Will sniffs, pulling back with a faintly exasperated smile, wiping, “You really aren’t Jay.”

“Could still take you,” Jay gives him an lop sided grin.

Will really does laugh at that. “Sure you can, little brother.”

Wrinkling his nose at the moniker, though it actually doesn’t bother him much, Jay turns his attention to his own body, taking in the bandages and the arm propped on the padding. “What’s the damage?”

Sighing, Will starts to list Jay’s injuries. “You got tossed around a lot when the crash happened —,”

“Wait,” Jay doesn’t remember that part. “We crashed?”

“No,” Will amends, immediately realizing the problem. “A car went over the line and rammed into us. Your side ended up on the pavement. I,” He swallows, remembering. “I had to cut you out of your seat belt.”

“Maybe I’m not the super hero brother after all,” Jay grins, poking Will in the ribs.

“You wish,” Will rolls his eyes. “Anyway, the impact broke your arm. You also hit your head and you had numerous broken ribs - flail ribs, to use the technical term.”

“… I know what that is.” 

Because he does - it’s part of his time in Afghanistan where there were so many things to die of (boredom not being one of them). A part of his life he’s kept shuttered from Will, not wanting to burden him with further hurts. But the words slip out of him.

“Buddy of mine. He chocked on nothing - long before the medics could make it to us.”  

It takes him a minute to understand the expression Will is making and why he’s gone so still. But Jay can’t take back the words now. They’re out in the open for all to see. Though he’s grateful when Will sets the words aside, whatever he might say interrupted by the entrance of Dr. Rhodes.

He smiles when he sees that Jay’s awake. “Jay. You gave your big brother here quite the scare.”

There’s nothing he can do but try to smile. “Sorry.”

The tests to check his motor functions, cognition, and memory don’t last long, but by the end of it all, Jay feel like he’s run ten miles. 

“Sleep, Jay,” Will says, stroking his hair. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

The darkness swallows him.

—————————————————————

While Connor can’t claim to understand exactly what Will is going through right now, he can still sympathize. He’s watched many patients come to terms with sudden loss or wallow in grief as they lose a precious person.

But Jay is alive - Will will not have to grieve. 

“Do you ever think you know someone, and then they say something and you realize that you’re missing whole pieces of their life?” Will asks, eyes still on his brother.

Well … that sounds complicated.

Conner draws up another chair, sitting next to his colleague. “You’re worried about him?”

“It’s just,” Will begins, taking Jay’s hand on autopilot, keeping himself grounded. “He was so young when he joined the army. We both wanted to get out of here - I had the grades to get into med school, he took the tried and true route.” Mouth turning down at the corners, he continues, “But he was an adult, so there was nothing I could do. And I knew he’d be good at it … but I knew he’d come back … different? Ya know?”

“I keep seeing the little kid who followed me around until he was seven, wanting to do everything I did; and see the kid who I learned to cook for, the first time my mom got sick and our dad started going out to drink away his sorrows; I see the kid who knew he wanted to run far away but didn’t want to hurt our mother, so he chose the military. I see …” Leaning forward to press Jay’s hand to his forehead. “That I’m the luckiest big brother in the world.”

And Connor can only lay his hand on Will’s shoulder, offering silent support.

“I’m not the best at this,” Connor admits, relishing Will’s quiet snort, the corner of his own mouth twitching when he realizes what he’s said, but he pushes on. “Comforting, I mean. But … Will …” Looking at the sleeping man on the bed. “Anyone who’s known you two for all of five seconds knows that either of you would do anything for each other. And honestly? ... I envy that.”

There is only the beeping of the monitors and Connor to witness Will’s private grief. Eventually he has to go back to work. Though Will calls to him when he’s at the door.

“Connor?” The other doctor turns, hand on the handle. “… thanks.”

Rhodes leaves with a nod, understanding that there’s not much else that can be said.

But he knows that the Halstead boys were going to be alright.

—————————————————————

Jay can’t begrudge Will the hovering.

It’s been five days since he woke up and three since he was allowed to go home. Watching Will putter around, making sure he’s comfortable, making far too much food for just the two of them (and sometimes Natalie and little Owen), his big brother reminds him of their mother.

Some days he misses her so much it hurts.

Showing his own emotions is something he has difficulty with, but he’s learning.

“Will?” He calls, patting the couch beside him when his brother comes over. “Sit. You’re giving me anxiety.”

While he does make an annoyed face, Will does sit, settling back while Jay flips through the channels until he finds a game they can both root for. This time, it’s Jay who watches Will sleep once he’s relaxed enough to slip off to Neverland. 

Jay doesn’t know what he’d do without him.

Soon enough, the TV making background noise, Jay falls asleep as well. In their dreams, they’re young again, playing in the yard without a care in the world. And when their mother calls them in to dinner, Will takes his little brothers hand, tugging him along.

'You always be here, ‘ill?' Dream Jay lisps through a missing pair of front teeth.

Mussing Jay’s hair, Will smirks when Jay tries to get away from the teasing touch. 'You’ll have to try every trick in the book before you’ll get rid of me, Jay-Jay.'

Wrinkling his nose at the old, nearly forgotten nickname, Jay trudging along behind on shorter legs as they go up the porch steps.

'Promise?'

His older brother’s smile is genuine this time.

'Promise.'

Because anyone who has known the brothers for more than five seconds immediately becomes aware that the Halstead boys would do anything for each other.

(Up to and including chasing away the Reaper with a spoon.)

Chapter Text

Sergeant Hank Voight was one scary SOB — but Jay would follow him to hell and back. And he had done, last year when they stormed the beaches of Normandy. 

But right now they were entering an Allied occupied town, their patrol having recently been assigned to scout around and report back. Their little band was a close knit group, sharing food, bedrolls, and stories of their lives. (And the occasional infestation of lice, because keeping clean was a chore amongst the general squalor of war, mixed with the recent start of early spring rain which turned the roads to mud.) 

“Go get your rations,” Voight rumbled, Olinsky at his side. “We’ll go report to HQ.”

“Yes, sarge,” They all chorus and the group splits up, hunching their shoulders against the waxing and waning winds that blew through the lines of tents set up just outside of the town. 

“They have aid center here, don’t they?” Ruzek asked after they’d picked up what they could get, adding to the burden of their packs and ammunition stores. “Think they’d have the water purification tablets we need?”

Jay shrugged, the most senior among them when Voight and Olinsky weren’t present. “Worth a look.”

Sharing a hurriedly split open can of peaches, they walk, munching on their portions, glad for the taste of sugar. Though it would never be as good as anything their mothers or wives could make at home … home was such a shining thing, in their minds. Like everyone else, they’d much rather be stateside than in the middle of France … but it wasn’t like they had it better than anyone else who was here with the Allied Forces. All you could do was grin and bear it.

Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag

And smile, smile, smile …

Someone was singing the tired refrain in the distance. And then …

“Jay?”

He knew that voice. Turning, he saw a red-head in a scruffy, mostly clean doctors coat, who’d taken shelter under an awning by one of the larger tents marked with a Red Cross. It was quite the treat for his companions, who saw Halstead smile so rarely and be largely self-contained, to laugh genuinely in this instance, rushing to meet the doctor halfway, practically lifting him off his feet in a bear hug.

“Will?! What’re you doing here?”

“Slumming,” The red-head’s voice reaches their ears as they form a sort of huddle under the awning as the two men break their embrace and retreat back into its shelter. “What do you think I’m doing here, Jay?”

“Apparently pulling the wool over everybody’s eyes,” Jay teases, ruffling the red-head’s hair familiarly. “They must think you’re a doctor, or something.”

“I am a doctor, Jay,” The red-head’s smile is fond. Though he notices the looks they’re getting from the others, making him prompt his brother, “Introduce me to your friends?”

And Jay looks up, having apparently forgotten about them. “Ah - this is my squad. Ruzek, Dawson, Roman …” Listing them off quickly before throwing an arm around the red-head’s shoulder, pulling him close, which the other man’s lets him do with a pleased, quiet smile. “This is my big brother, Will - he got all the brains in the family.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, little brother.” Will says, addressing them all. “It’s good to meet you all. Hope he hasn’t ben giving you too much trouble.”

“Nah,” Ruzek snickers, “He’s a big softie.” Ducking with a laugh as Dawson cuffs him absentmindedly upside the head.

“We were hoping to get some water purification tablets,” Dawson speaks up. “Supply was out.”

“I can get some for you,” Will nods. “And I can probably do you one better - I’ve got some cans stashed away that I can share.” There’s a quick discussion between the brothers which resulted in a promise to meet up later on after Will was off duty with the promised goldmine of food.

“I didn’t even know you had a brother,” Roman speaks up later on as they trudge to their assigned tents. 

Giving a one-shouldered shrug, Jay hums, noncommittal. 

And they leave it at that.

Though the boys thoroughly enjoy seeing the brothers interact. Jay looks years younger than he usually does, shoulder to shoulder with the doctor, who’s quieter but still has the same ability as Jay to throw out stinging one liners during the course of any given conversation. 

It isn’t until about a month later that Hank and Will meet.

“You’re going to medical, Halstead,” Hank growls at his man, though they all know that his terseness hides genuine concern. “If I have to get Olinsky to drag you or not.”

“I’m fine!” Jay insists, “It’s just a scratch, Sarge.”

“From barbed wire,” Olinsky points out. “It needs to be cleaned.”

Eventually, Jay is cajoled, threatened, and then escorted to medical by Hank, Olinsky, and the others who tag along to help corral their friend. Though the others understand why Jay would want to avoid it - he doesn’t want to worry Will. But Will is the first one they see when they enter the tent.

“Jay!” Rushing up to the little group, gently but firmly grabbing Jay’s arm where the hasty bandage shows through ripped fabric. Demanding as he does; “What happened?”

“Got himself on barbed wire,” Dawson explains while Hank blinks at the doctor examining his best man. “We did our best - but we’re not medics, doc.”

“No, it’s a good job,” Will says, already making Jay sit on a cot before he can protest, slipping off his brother’s jacket. “But I’d better clean it out again - barbed wire is tricky at the best of times.” Telling them as he unwraps the bandage, “At least it was his arm, we had to sew up a guy last week who caught a faceful of it.”

There’s a collective wince at that image.

“Halstead,” Hank rumbles, watching as Will fusses and Jay becomes resigned to the situation. “You wanna fill me in?”

Glancing at Will, who’s now looking between the sergeant and his little brother, Jay makes long-overdue introductions. “Sarge, this is my older brother, Will. Will this is the Sarge, Hank Voight.”

“Sergeant,” Will nods, quickly getting on with his work. “William Halstead.” Making no offer to shake hands, since he’s already gotten to the meat of the injury. “Stay still,” He admonished Jay as he starts to clean out the wounds.

Voight is definitely amused, they can all tell as they watch Jay get fussed over. Though he does send most of the squad out, barring Olinsky and Dawson. “Whatta you think, doc?” He tilts his head in that way he has. “He gonna live?”

“Yes,” Will says, though he can also comprehend the humor of the situation. “But, Jay,” He bites his lip, knowing that Jay won’t like what he’s going to say next. “I’m going to need to sew up a few places - it went really deep.”

Glancing at the others, Jay looks like he’d like to flee, but he swallows instead, squaring his shoulders. “… okay.”

Realizing the problem, Dawson makes eyes at the others and Voight gestures them out, leaving the brothers in peace. They all know that no one wants to be watched while they work through their personal fears. Though they never would have guessed that Jay disliked needles …

“Hey,” Will pauses a moment, blocking Jay’s fixed gaze on the needles beside the bedside on a tray. “Breathe — it’s okay.”

Looking away, feeling the slow crawl of shame, Jay doesn’t respond, though he relaxes an infinitesimal amount when he can no longer see the needles. Leaning into Will’s hand as his older brother strokes it comfortingly through his hair. 

“You could close your eyes if it helps,” Will suggests. “Just … you know I’d never hurt you?”

And Jay knows - he knows this but his brain refuses to be calmed. “I know,” bites out, shifting uncomfortably. “I just —”

“Not every fear is rational,” Will agrees. Clearly thinking for a moment before confiding something to Jay. “The first man I treated when I came here - it wasn’t pretty. He’d gotten shrapnel wounds and there were burns on his hands and face. I’ll remember his screams till my dying day. But …” He trails off, tilting Jay’s chin up.

“But I held his hand until he died, because he was crying out for someone to care. ‘Tommy - Tommy!’ He kept saying until he drew his last breath.” He swallows, lost in the memory. “I found out later that Tommy was his kid brother. He’d been killed earlier that month in the Pacific.” 

“So, after that, I treated every patient as if I was treating you - because, if you … if you …” Will can’t say the word and its Jay’s turn to squeeze Will’s hand to comfort him. “I just … I hope there’s someone there to hold your hand and to comfort you … if I’m not there.”

Letting that sink in, Jay eventually mutters with a strained grin. “Still don’t like needles.”

Huffing out a teary laugh, Will smiles down at his little brother. “I know. But it needs to be done.”

And isn’t that the way of the world, nowadays?

“Okay.” Jay nods. Bracing himself, taking a deep breath and turning his head away, electric with returning tension. “Okay.”

Then, Will begins.

—————————————————————

The war continues on all fronts - the winter snows continue to fall on Stalingrad (1) and the scuttlebutt tells of victories in Italy and of rising death tolls in the Pacific. But here in France it is deathly cold. 

As their unit gets moved further forward, fluctuating with the divide between the Axis and Allied powers fighting over every inch of ground between Normandy and Berlin, Will’s unit also moves occasionally. Luckily, Jay manages to be relatively nearby or at least to obtain news of the doctor when he can’t see him in person. 

Bastogne is a frozen wonderland which contains a menagerie of horrors. They’ve hunkered down with the Airborne in the woods surrounding the little town in Belgium. A town where Will is - the hospital is there. Jay would like nothing more than to catch a ride and go see the good doctor, but it’s a pipe dream. With the supply lines cut and the rations running low, they’re all spread thin. 

The German’s have been shelling the Allied line, upping the intensity after they’d tried to get General McAuliffe to surrender. News of the big man’s one word answer: ‘Nuts’ spread like wildfire, feeding the dwindling fire in their hearts, which had been hitherto flickering in the winds of winter surrounding them. (‘Nuts’ became the man’s nickname after that celebrated reply.) (2)

“I wonder if they have real food in the town?” Ruzek muttered as they sucked on the butts of their cigarettes, just appreciating what they had left, most of them leaving them unlit to enjoy the sensation of having them in their mouths. 

There wasn’t much else to do in this godforsaken place.

Dawson shakes his head. “When we took Torres back for treatment they didn’t even have any bandages they could spare.”

That’s when they all hear engines high overhead. Crouching on instinct, they peer out from under cover. There are planes passing high above. The relief they all feel as no bombs drop on them is quickly negated by the sound of distant thunder. Soon, they can see smoke rising above the tree line in the distance.

“Those fuckers,” Roman’s voice is filled with horrified comprehension, saying what they’ve all just realized aloud. “They’re bombing the fucking town.”

Will. Jay thinks, white noise blocking out the sound of distance explosions and the fading away of the engines. Will is in that town.

And though they had stationed a few guns there, the civilians and other military personnel are basically defenseless.

“Go,” Voight says when he sees Jay’s face, the Sarge fading in and out of his tunneling vision. “Go find your brother.”

Jay runs all five miles between them and the town. When he arrives the hospital and most of the surrounding buildings are piles of rubble. Through the screams and fire and still ringing noise in his ears he wanders among the other lost souls. While he stands still after an interminable period of walking and seeing nothing, the bustle continues around him. Just when he’s given up hope, he spots a familiar back, the back of someone who is also looking dazedly at the rubble in front of them. 

“Will!” He screams, running forward, roughly grabbing his brother’s shoulder when he reaches him, cupping the blood and soot streaked face. “Will? Are you alright?” Watching as Will’s eyes fill with light again, returning from somewhere far within himself.  

“Jay?” Brow furrowing in confusion, Will asks, “What’re you doing here?”

“We saw the planes and the smoke and —” Breaking off when he finally realizes what his brother is holding in his arms. “Is that a baby?”

Blinking, Will looks down at the precious bundle in his arms. “I … I was helping one of the local women to deliver and then …” He has to think about what had just happened to him. “The ceiling caved.” Turning his head to look at the rubble again. “She’s in there. Under a beam.” Swallowing as he looks at the peaceful face of the child he’s carrying, a baby who knows nothing of the enormity of the loss it has just suffered. “Didn’t even have a chance to name her.”

Death came suddenly for them all these days and sometimes even as a thief in the night. But Jay has not lost Will. (Not yet, anyway.) And he thanks God for it.

“Com’on,” He says, taking his brothers arm, gently this time. “Let’s find somewhere for you to sit down.”

It’s not until after they get the newborn baby girl settled with a nurse who’s out of the action due to a broken leg that Jay ends up helping with the search and rescue.

“I’ll be fine, Jay,” Will tells him, blood still drying on his face from several cuts on his forehead and neck from debris. “Go do what you can. And I will, too.”

And that’s how Voight and Dawson find him later when they come down with some other officers to take stock of the situation. Jay had just found Will and was urging him to take a can of peaches he’d … ahem … liberated from near a strike point. 

“Halstead,” Voight calls. “Doc. Glad to see your both alright.”

Jay answers for both of them as Will stays quiet. “They didn’t try to take the line, did they?”

Dawson shook his head. “You’d have thought so - but no, it’s been quiet.”

“Maybe even they know they were out of line,” Jay muttered, leaning closer to Will as he sees him waver. “Will? You okay, man?”

The can of peaches clanks and rolls when it falls, Jay’s hands instead occupied with the fainting form of the lanky, red-headed doctor.

“Shit,” Jay curses, hurriedly lifting Will higher in his arms, holding him close and then making for the triage tent, hoping to find a free bed. When he does, it’s Voight who hands him a canteen which Jay used to wet a handkerchief and clean Will’s face and neck. The motions eventually rouse the doctor, who tries to sit up and falls back with a groan.

“Easy,” Jay shushes him. “Easy.”

Will sputters, water dripping down his neck and he gulps down the canteen Jay holds to his lips, clearly dehydrated and overwhelmed from how the day has gone.

“Easy,” Jay repeats. “I’ve got you, brother.”

In the end, Will eats the entire can of peaches, at Jay’s insistence. Then, as always, they have to part, not knowing when they will be together again.

Truly, sometimes it seems like they are experiencing the end of days.

———————————————————

As the road disappears behind them, the jeep bouncing from the speed they are driving at, Will goes over in his head what he has in his bag, knowing that there is a heavily injured man waiting for him, nearly behind enemy lines. When the messenger had come saying that General Maurice Rose (3) had been injured during a barrage, the assignment was volunteer only. Since there was a push on, the hospitals and aid tents were stretched thin and no one knew how the lines would move. Often, a town would suddenly become enemy territory overnight and there was often no way of knowing for sure if you were safe.

Most often, it was better to assume that everything was out to get you, all the time, anytime, anywhere. 

Today was no different, because the jeep rounded a bend and literally ran into a German patrol. Turning the wheel, the driver tried to turn around, the shouts in German soon followed by bullets and the jeep careened back and forth as a wheel popped. When it hit a tree, Will was sent flying several yards where he landed in a bush. 

Once his brain had settled, Will struggled out of the bush, crawling towards the smoking jeep, halting when he got even a cursory glance at the driver. The driver who was very obviously dead. Because no one with that much of their skull crushed inward could still be alive.

Overwhelmed by the crash, the adrenaline and his own spinning head, he bent further forward, vomiting into the grass. Even if he hadn’t been so discombobulated, there was no way that he would have been able to fight off the German soldiers who dragged him back to the road, pushing him to his knees in the dust, at the feet of an officer.

“You are a doctor?” The accented voice asked.

Looking up into a haughty pair of ice blue eyes, Will could only nod, trying to control the trembling of his limbs. He can only hope was for his death to be quick. Thinking of the body that had become one with the tree nearby. Quick and relatively painless. Just because his red cross armband is clearly visible, that doesn’t guarantee anything. He’s known that for a long time now.

But instead of a bullet, his chin is lifted and he is inspected before the man lets’ go, seemingly losing interest.

“I will have use for you.” Speaking in German, the soldiers obey whatever orders have been issued and Will is jerked upright, his bag pushed into his hands. He is then escorted down the road. Those ominous words ringing in his ears.

His heart sinks lower in his chest when they end up at what must be their destination. There is a farm house next to a barb wire topped enclosure. Several men in different allied uniforms stare at the approaching patrol through the gaps in the fence. Waiting docilely as the gate is unlocked, Will is pushed inside, his bag being roughly removed from his person beforehand. He doesn’t turn to look as the gate is locked again behind him.

“Newman, Charlie, PFC,” one of the other prisoners approaches him, quickly taking in his state of exhaustion and confusion. “Let’s get you sat down inside.”

“What is this place?” Will asks after he’s gulped down the ladle full of water that he was handed, siting on a makeshift bed in the piles of straw haphazardly covering the floor of the repurposed shed.

“Between point for POWs,” another of the soldiers explains. “They keep us here for a few days then send us off, deeper into enemy territory.”

“At least, that’s what we figure,” Charlie shrugs. “What’s your name?”

“Halstead, Will, medical core.” He wipes the water that had dribbled down his chin. “I’m a doctor.”

“No fooling?” Charlie asked. “How’d they get you, anyway?”

 And the story comes tumbling out, the others shaking their heads at the end of it.

“Bad luck, that.” A man in British army khakis says. 

There’s really not much else to say about that, is there?

—————————————————

The patrol finds the jeep the morning after Will had been led away. 

“Anything useful?” Olinsky asks as the others scout around the scene seeing if they’ve missed anything.

There’s a chorus of negatives. But then, Jay sees something glinting in the grass. Crouching, he plucks it out of the long grass, holding it to the light. When he recognizes it, he freezes like a statue.

“Jay?” Dawson calls, coming over. “What is it?”

Turning, Jay holds it up for them all to see, the St. Christopher medal on a linked chain with an additional St. Luke patron medal on the necklace. 

“This is Will’s necklace - he was here, Sarge.”

“Are you sure?” Olinsky asks, coming closer to peer at the chain.

Knowing they have to ask, Jay swallows down his impatience, though he speaks urgently. “Yes, my mother had Will’s initials engraved in the St Luke patron medal. See?” And he lets the others take a look. “Someone must’ve taken him, Sarge.”

Crouched still, Jay waits for the verdict, practically vibrating with tension, clutching his brothers necklace close to his heart. Because if he loses Will like this … he doesn’t know what he will do. He can’t let Will’s fate rest in the enemy’s hands - not while he can still follow.

“Dawson.” Voight says, eyes meeting Jay’s. “Start tracking.”

And the hunt is on.

That is how, later that afternoon, they end up watching the way station from a hidden vantage point. But they can’t see Will in the yard with the others.

“Maybe he’s in the building?” Roman suggests.

“Or he’s already been moved,” Ruzek says, voicing Jay’s deepest fear.

“No,” Jay interjects, “He’s here. He’s gotta be here.”

“Easy,” Voight murmurs, squeezing his subordinates shoulder. “If he’s here - we’ll get him out.” Looking back at the way station. “We’ll get them all out.” Briefing the rest of the men, “We’ll strike when it’s darkest.”

The waiting begins.

——————————————————

The fear grows in Will as he’s taken from the enclosure, escorted into the house by a guard. 

Earlier that afternoon, a truck had come and they’d observed the German’s receiving mail from the courier. The truck had also taken several of the prisoners away, leaving Will behind with one other man, a Captain who hadn’t been questioned yet. So, when Will is called to the gate, he doesn’t know what to expect. He’s a Doctor - what information can he have that is valuable? So as the wind blows through the trees accentuating the cold that is forming with the setting of the sun, he follows the guard to the house. 

Knocking at a door, the guard waits for the order to enter, pushing Will into the room carelessly. Regaining his balance, Will stands at attention. Because some habits are easy to fall back on in the presence of the enemy.

The officer from earlier is sitting at his desk, an envelope open on the desk, a downturned letter beside it. He does not speak. Nor does he motion for Will to be at ease. So Will stands. 

Waiting.

When the action does come, Will is taken aback by how fast the officer rounds the desk, the desk chair barely hitting the floor before a harsh backhand send the red-head reeling into the close door. Holding a hand to his slowly leaking nose, he stares at the looming man, cornered and wide-eyed.

What the hell was that for? He wonders, trembling, untrusting of the man’s watchful stillness.

“Perhaps,” the officer says, casually folding his hands behind his back, cold blue eyes following every minute movement of his prey. “You are wondering why I have hit you.” Stepping closer, causing Will to push himself further back into the door. “Tell me,” Comes the demand. “Do you have a brother?”

Jay’s face flashes before his eyes. “Yes.” He breathes. 

That almost seems to give the other man pause. “Is he alive?”

“Yes.”

The officer bows his head, saying in a low voice, “You are lucky, then.” Pointing to the letter on the desk. “Can you guess what news I have been given today?” Moving still closer. “No? In it, I am informed that my two younger brothers have perished on the Eastern Front.” (4)

The thought of Jay dying in an Icy field pierces Will’s heart.

“I’m sorry.”

The man blinks, something in his expression freezing still further at the show of unasked for (but sincere) sympathy. “You are about to be more sorry still.” 

And he steps closer.

The floor is as hard as it looks, Will soon finds. The mans fists are harder still.

—————————————————

His brother had not been escorted back out of the house. Jay’s mind had run wild as he’d caught his longed for glimpse of his captive brother. And then run further still with imaginings of rescuing Will immediately, damn the consequences. But he was a trained soldier, so he lay quiet among the others, waiting for the darkness to become complete.

The German’s would get what was coming to them. Patience was all that was needed. 

Patience and silent feet.

Darkness enveloped the earth.

“It’s time.” 

Voight’s spare phrase catapulted them all into action and they crept closer to the way station, motioning to each other, following their plans as closely as they could. No plan was ever perfect. Especially when human being were involved.

The front door didn’t even squeak when they pushed it open, leading to the silence of sleepers within.

They moved forward. Jay was the one who found the door with light spilling from under the frame into the rug lined hallway. Listening at that door, Jay’s blood began to boil.

It was easy to kick it in.

——————————————————

Once he’d beaten Will bloody, the officer had retreated to the half-curtained window, leaning against the frame to smoke, for all the world as if he was the one who needed to relax after what had just happened. (Wills weary bones begged to differ.)

That was the most terrifying thing about all of this, in Will’s opinion. He was nothing but a fixture for the man to kick and abuse as he pleased. Curling in on his ribs, he spat yet another mouthful of blood on the floor, closing his eyes, trying to escape the pounding in his head. He didn’t have much success.

Having gone through two cigarettes, the smoke cloying heavily on the air, working through a third, the officer spoke again.

“They do not tell us anymore, how they die. Only that they die with honor.” Slowly shaking his head. “Hans was 17. What does he care about honor? What did he gain by it?” Grinding the cigarette out beneath his heel, he crouches beside Will, running an intrusive hand through his hair. Will cringed away, brought up short when the hand fisted and tugged him up to his knees. “It is your fault - the Allied armies, they do not see the inevitable outcome - we will crush you under our heel like the dogs that you are.”

No, Will thinks. You’re wrong. Since you cannot fight against your masters who blame me - it’s easier than true self reflection. But he stays silent, grimacing as his head is wrenched further back, shuddering when the man’s other hand grips his throat.

And then, just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped, his captor standing up and away. Then the kick came, throwing him onto his back, where Will landed with a groan, trying to suck in a new breath and failing. Then pressure started on his out-flung arm and his eyes flew open - free hand clawing at the foot that was pressing further and firmer.

A strangled whine escaped him as he felt the bones start to grind together. The officer bent down, hissing between his teeth. “Do you think they were mangled and broken? And your brother, doctor, will he learn of your. Broken. Bones?!” With each of the last two words he drew his foot back and brought it down. 

Something cracked and fire crawled up his arm. Will screamed.

The door bursts open.

When the pain had reduced to a steady throb, Will raised his head to see that, against the odds of such an occurrence, Jay had appeared and was fighting the German officer. His little brother won, of course. Because while the German army got top marks for fashion, no amount of cloth was going to block six inches of American steel sliding up between the ribs, twisted as it was withdrawn. 

Mouth open in a silent scream, Will’s captor toppled slowly to the floor. 

After a kick to make sure he was dead, (and to vent his own anger), Jay hurried to his brother, the knife dropped next to the red-head while he hovered, trying to ascertain the damage. 

“Will?!” He asked, “Are you okay?”

“Never better,” Will said with a crooked, blood stained, tired grin. Though he knew Jay wasn’t in a state of mind to appreciate his bravado. “He didn’t do anything that won’t heal.” Collapsing into Jay’s chest, cradling his broken arm close to his chest. “How did you get here?”

Fumbling in his pocket, Jay pulls out the necklace, handing it to his brother. “We found the jeep. The tracks led here.”

“I didn’t even notice,” Will muttered. “Thanks,” stuffing it into his shirt pocket. “Jay?”

“Yeah?”

“Can we go home now?”

Though Will knows that’s an odd choice of words - thinking of an army camp as home, it’s the only one they have on this continent. And he wants to be among friends. He wants out of this room and this camp and these woods. Will wants to rest.

“Yeah,” Jay says, rubbing a soothing hand down Will’s beaten back. “We can go home now.”

When they leave the room, Will may be broken, but he’s not defeated. Accepting the greetings of the rest of the squad, Dawson helps him make a makeshift sling. Piling into the German Half truck parked around the side of the house, cutting off the German insignias, they repurpose it to take them home, saving them a walk. As it bumps down the road and into the woods, Will leans against his little brother, reveling in their closeness. Allowing the touch, Jay jokes with the others, all of them coming down from the recent adrenaline rush of the ambush.

The way station disappeared from view and Will left his memories behind him as well. Content to simply be alive. 

Sometimes the small victories were just as important as the big ones.

Chapter Text

Connor has to admit, the middle of France is farther away from Chicago and his father’s reach than he’s ever gotten, but it might not have been his smartest move. Especially as the wounded keep pouring in. In New York, where he’d fled to go to medical school, there had been vagrants and gangsters and down on their luck factory workers with barely any money to pay for treatment, though it hadn’t been all bad. Whereas here, there is chaos and blood and bombs. But he will adjust.

He has to. 

Eventually, he ends up on his way to Belgium, bouncing down a shell cratered road in the back of a staff car along with the rest of the mail and messages. Picturing himself as a package to be delivered gives him something to amuse himself with, thinking of the 'return to sender’ stamp he was sure to get if he somehow mailed himself back to his fathers mansion. Ten years out of his fathers house and it still felt like it was the home he needed to return to. Not that it did him any good to dwell on his losses. 

The rows of tents outside the town flash by, the car headed towards the actual buildings to what Connor can only assume is HQ. Exiting the vehicle, he looks around, stretching his legs. The orders in his pocket say to hand it to one Dr. Clarance Jorgens, so he enters after the courier, hoping to spy someone who looks like they’d know where he was supposed to go. 

The directions get him sent back to the tents, his small trunk set on his shoulder. He hasn’t actually brought much - a small supply of paper, writing materials, a medical dictionary, two of his favorite novels, and several uniforms along with a set of civilian clothes. This isn’t the first time he’s lived out of a trunk. He’d had a lot of practice when his father had cut him off. Living hand to mouth wasn’t easy, but he’d made it, in the end.

In the first tent he enters which bears the red cross on its side, he’s settled by the familiar quiet bustle of a functioning infirmary. There aren’t many patients but the ones who are there are either of one extreme or another. Either they have no clear injuries at all (pheumonia or colds, perhaps) or they are extremely injured (a man stares at him with one good eye, the bandages acting like an eyepatch). This is par for the course with what he’s seen since he’s come to the European continent. 

The stories he’s heard about Normandy …  

“It’s good to have you, Rhodes,” The tired face of Dr. Jorgens tells Connor what he has to look forward to: Mud, blood, and lice, most likely (and in that order). “I’ll let you get settled in, but find the mess hall and I’ll get around to introducing you to the staff.” With a few other niceties, Connor is guided to his new quarters by a male nurse, unpacking quickly so he can explore. 

It’s dark out by the time he emerges from the mess tent, encouraged by the warm welcome he has just received. He still has to encounter a couple of the others who were on duty, but he thinks he can grasp their characters. It’s going to be fine. 

Naturally, that’s when a drunk serviceman runs into him, nearly pushing him down into the mud.

“Sir!” One of the man’s friends salutes while the other two help the man up. They’ve seen the Captain’s bars on his collar along with the medical insignia.

“At ease,” he waves them off. “Get him into a bed, yeah?” 

“Sure thing, Captain,” the blond one says, the others hustling to get out of his sight. But one lingers, watching him with intense pale blue-grey eyes. 

“Can I help you?” Connor asks, hoping he’s not already going to have some trouble. 

“You’re new here,” The man observes, taking in every inch of Connor’s uniform and body.

Raising an eyebrow, “How can you tell?”

“You’re too clean,” Comes the blunt answer. 

Blinking, he looks down at himself and then back at the soldier, taking in the man’s decently clean but worn down uniform and scuffed boots, the gun slung casually over his shoulder and the helmet on his head. Ghostly eyes still peer at him in the dim lights. 

He asks on a whim. “Any advice, soldier?”

The man’s mouth twitches. “Never volunteer for anything. Sir.”

Both bemused and amused at the cryptic answer, he watches with a kind of admiration as the man fades into the darkness with a cursory salute.

(Though he supposed that it’s not bad advice.)

The next day, he makes his first rounds, taking stock of supplies and observing the nurses at work. Nothing much happens. Though, he is puzzled by the other bed in his tent which lies empty, but there is a trunk and personal objects which indicate someone has been living there. And recently.

When he asks, he’s told that it’s the bunk of one Dr. Halstead, who’s been gone several days on an emergency further afield. 

“He’s a really nice man,” One of the nurses says.

“A redhead,” Dr. Jorgens tells him, “Though lacking the traditional Irish temper.” Smiling faintly at the first bit of humor Connor has heard from the head surgeon. 

Since they’re sharing quarters, Connor can only hope they get along. (Though he’d been tempted, and resisted, any and all urgings to look through the other man’s things before his return.)

However, when he finally does meet the good doctor, it’s nothing like he expects. It’s in the early hours of the morning, the time when the cooks are up and some of the officers, as the sun pokes over the horizon, that a half truck come barreling into camp, stopping with a screech of brakes in front of the infirmary.

Where he’d been drinking coffee outside before heading in for his shift, Connor hurries to the car as the soldiers jump out. He gets there just as one man is handed down a limp figure from the bed of the truck, the broad back facing him.

“What’s the trouble?” He asks.

“Doc,” The Sergeant greets him. “We have a patient for you.”

“What happened to him?” Connor asks peeling back a lid when the man turns to face him, revealing the limp body in his arms. Pupils look good. But the arm was obviously broken.

“I told you, didn’t I?” 

The voice makes him look up, because Connor knows that voice. Pale blue-grey eyes stare back at him, full of anger and sorrow, every line of him stiff with tension, though he still manages to cradle his burden like the red-head is the most precious thing in the world.

“Never volunteer for anything.”

After a blink, Connor turns his attention back to the wounded man, the Sergeant speaking up again. “We got him out of a way station where the Germans were keeping prisoners. About six hours ago.”

Six hours. Judging by the swelling of the arm, that’s about right.

“Let’s get him inside,” Connor orders, already turning to go to the tent where a few nurses have come out to see what the commotion was about.

“Dr. Halstead!” One of the nurses, (Manning, if he remembered correctly), gasps. 

This is the man who he’s going to be sharing a tent with?

As introductions went, this had to be the most interesting one in Connors book of experiences. But, setting aside the revelation, he leads them to an empty bed, the soldier setting down the human bundle wrapped in a blood stained army uniform. Immediately, he cuts opens up the shirt, searching for further damage, wincing, but not surprised, at the amount of bruising that is revealed. Eventually looking up after calling for an IV and bandages to be brought, along with antiseptic, he addresses the soldiers who’s gathered close by, watching.

“We’ve got it from here,” Connor tells them. “Please give us some space.”

“I’m not leaving,” The cryptic soldier states, eyes never leaving the man on the bed. “He's my brother.”

“Look,” Connor draws in a breath, impatient — misunderstanding. “I know you guys are all like brothers in the army —”

“No, doc,” The Sergeants rumbling voice cuts him off. “This is Dr. Halstead’s actual brother - Jay Halstead, my sniper.” Stepping forward, breaking Connor’s stare as he registers the information. “We’ll all leave, that’s not a problem — but he stays.”

Wrench thrown in his plans, Connor blinks and then snaps out of it, agreeing quickly to the least disruptive plan. “Alright. He can stay.” Meeting the snipers eyes. “Just give us room to work, alright, soldier?”

“Understood.”

Turning his attention back to his patient, Connor is peripherally aware that the soldiers leave, the pale eyed sniper’s gaze boring into him as he works on the man’s brother.

“How long as he been unconscious?” Connor asks as they get the patient into clean clothes, scrubbing away the blood, dirt, and tears. 

“He fell asleep on the drive.” The man swallows, anxious. “Then he wouldn’t wake back up.”

“Let’s push fluids,” Connor orders, sitting in a drawn up chair to examine the arm more closely. “And we’re going to need to elevate this arm, get the swelling to reduce so the bone can be set.”

Eventually, the man sleeps, relatively peacefully, head haloed on the pillow by bright red curls, slightly longer than regulation. Beckoning the watching man over, Connor gives up his seat. 

“I’m not going to ask you to leave,” Connor says wryly. “Because I know you won’t. Let us know if he wakes up, alright?”

The man nods, taking the unconscious doctor’s good hand, thumb rubbing in a practiced motion. Comforting. 

Connor goes to leave.

“Doc?” 

The call comes, and he turns back.

“Thank you.”

Though he shrugs, Connor appreciates the gesture. “Just doing my job.”

Going directly to Jorgens, he let’s his superior know what’s happened, seeing the alarm on the man’s face when the words ‘Halstead’ and ‘injured’ come up in the same sentence. 

“But he should be alright,” Connor assures the other man. “His brother is sitting with him now.”

“Where you find one, you’ll find the other.” Is Jorgens observation, and he doesn’t protest the unusual arrangement. 

When Connor returns later that afternoon to check in with his patient, Jay is still there, though the nurses have let him push another of the cots over so he can sleep next to his brother. Not that Connor is going to say he can’t — sometimes, human contact is helpful during recovery. And there’s something endearing about seeing the sniper’s intensity worn down by exhaustion. He looks a lot younger than Connor would have first guessed. Younger and infinitely careworn.

With impeccable timing, the red-head’s face scrunches, his eyelids fluttering as Connor’s attention is pulled off of the sniper onto the other doctor. Soft brown eyes blink open, brow crumpling with confusion as he looks around, eventually settling on the face above him.

“Who’re you?”

At least he seems to realize where he is. “I’m your new roommate.”

Blink. Blink. “What?” Hissing as he tries to move and jostles his arm.

“Easy,” Connor says, grabbing his shoulders instinctively, hardly noticing when the man freezes beneath him. “You’re hurt and you’re at the aid station. I just got assigned a duty post here.” Pulling back, noticing, now, as Will’s body relaxes once he’s not restrained. The man’s eyes follow him like a hawk. “We’re sharing a tent  — that’s what I meant by us being roommates.” Pulling back to point at the sniper curled on next to the other man. “He didn’t want to leave you.”

A smile spreads over the red-heads face as he sees his brother. Free hand stroking gently through dirty hair. Jay stirs, but doesn’t wake. 

“William Halstead.” The other man introduces himself unnecessarily.

“Connor Rhodes.” Niceties over. “We should take a look at your arm. The swelling has gone down since you were first brought in.”

The other man blinks, looking down at his arm, his eyes going far away. Connor has the feeling that the man is seeing something inside his head. Gently, he examines the arm, trying to be gentle. “What do you think?” He asks, trying to draw the other man out of his head. “Give it a couple more hours?”

“I guess.” Will shrugs, noncommittal. Reddening when his stomach makes an audible protest. “I could eat a horse.”

Huffing out a laugh, Connor stands, feeling his back pop. “I’ll get you both something. And, Halstead?” The other man looks up, guarded. “It’s good to meet you — though I wish it was under better circumstances.”

“Likewise.” Will says. “We can use all the help we can get out here.”

Perhaps, Connor thinks as he stands in line at the mess. This is the start of a beautiful friendship.

————————————————

While Jay was part of Voight’s squad, he was also sometimes a solo operative. As a trained sniper, he had gone into enemy territory alone several times over the course of their fight to reclaim Europe from the Germans. Silent and watchful, he’d sit high above the enemy. In a tree, in a church tower - wherever gave him a suitable vantage point. Soldiers rarely looked up, he’d found.

Right now, he was grateful for the snow that had begun to fall. True, the wind would soon bite through his layers but with the new snow covering the old, his tracks (if he had left any) would be quickly covered. All he had to do now was sit and wait. The radio sat high on his back and he waited, expecting action on the road that led into another town. 

His patience was rewarded. Cars sped down the road, trucks, and foot soldiers, though most sat in the beds of the half trucks, saving their feet for the real action. Looking through his scope, a part of him sympathized with how tired and cold they all looked. He was not unfamiliar with those particular problems involved with being a foot soldier. But he had a mission: Observe and report back.

From what he could see, it was going to be a command post. The amount of ribbons one of the officer was wearing in another car which came a bit later making him sit up a bit, though he was careful not to move quickly. (Capture wasn’t an option.)

Getting out his radio, after carefully making sure no one was around, he called up the base.

“Queen-7 to G2,” he spoke into the phone. “Queen-7 to G2 - action in sector H11 over.”

“We read you Queen-7,” The answer comes crackling over the phone. “What kind of action? Over.”

“They’re setting up a command post,” Jay tells them. “A general just drove in.”

“Big Bob is planning a push,” The voice tells him after a few minutes of silence, probably consulting with someone else in the room. “Take out that General. We need every advantage we can get for this one.”

“Understood. Over.” Jay says hanging up the phone. “Queen-7 out.”

“Good luck.”

The weight of the assignment settling on his shoulders, Jay runs through his options. He’s going to have to get closer for this one. Unless, by some miracle, the General appears again on the road. The fresh snow, which he had recently rejoiced over, is now a hinderance. Because it will be very hard to escape if he leaves tracks. Once the deed is done, he will need to flee. Because they will turn over every rock until they find him, Jay knows from bitter experience. 

And … it’ll kill Will, if he dies out here. Alone, surrounded by the enemy.

“I just hope that …” He remembers Will biting his lip, unable to say the words aloud. “I just hope someone is there to hold your hand, if I’m not there to.”

Not that he wants Will there if he does get caught (God forbid). Soon enough, he moves, disappearing into the fog and darkness.

While the fog works to his advantage, the General dying with a quiet spurt of blood, the shouts of alarm rising around him as they hover over the corpse, it also hides the men who start to search for him as he works his way back out of the town. Its' bad luck that has a dog, let out to guard it’s owner house, start barking as he slips by. Following the noise, the tapping of many hobnailed boots comes from all directions. Slipping into an alley is his undoing as he stares at the dead end. The only door leading out of it is also locked. (Not that he’d trust the occupant to hide him, anyway.)

‘Hande hoch!’ Comes the command.

There is a second where he contemplates the sidearm he’s carrying and the odds of him drawing it fast enough to put himself out of his misery. But it’s fleeting. If he’s going to face death, he’s going to face it with his head held high. So he turns to face the band of soldiers who have cornered him, face grim, hands held far away from his rifle. 

I’m sorry, Will. He thinks as he’s thrown against a wall, divested of his weapons and helmet, which clanks dully as it hits the brick of the alleyway, I’m so sorry.

The hands which throw him into a chair, which rocks from his weight, a short time later are not kind. He knows this is only the beginning. Straightening, he eyes the watching officers carefully. Smug bastards.

The harsh backhand is expected. He glares all the harder for it.

“This is the brave American who shoots from the dark,” One of them comments in English, standing a few feet away. “We will soon test that bravado.” 

He expects the beating that follows, the chair creaking from the blows, its solid frame taking him with it to the floor when a harsh backhand finally toppling both him and the chair over. Something snaps in his shoulder and he knows no more.

When he wakes, pain spiking through him, he’s been left alone, his hands secured through the back of the chair, wrists bound with tightly pulled ropes. He sits, the secret fear growing as the fog lightens outside the window, the dawn dissipating the mist gradually. The snow still allows a bitter cold to encroach into the corners of the room, despite the stove in the corner where the guard has stationed himself.

Whatever he expects - a knife or a bullet - it’s not what happens. Pulled from the chair long after his hands have started to go numb from how tight his bonds are, he’s pushed roughly into the street and then to the town square. There are civilians here and soldiers stopping to watch the commotion. There is a set of poles set up in the earth where there is dirt and not pavement, a crossbar connecting them. A rope hanging down from that.

Jay has an inkling then, of what is going to happen.

He doesn’t fight as he’s divested of his winter coat, hat, boots and socks, left to hunch against the wind in his regular uniform, shoeless, gloveless, hatless. It was only going to get colder. Maneuvered with re-tied hands, they’re hiked high above his head, the lead thrown over the cross bar, keeping him on his toes. The officer who had talked to him that morning is watching from the side, seemingly pleased with his handiwork. Jay knows exactly who he has to thank for his current position. Biting his lips until blood runs down his chin, his shoulder screams as abused, torn muscles stretch to hold the stress position.

Perhaps being shot immediately would have been more preferable. 

The cold starts to bit into his extremities, his hands soon numb from the weight he’s forced to put on them, and his feet loosing feeling as the coldness of the earth travels up his legs. When the sun is high above, it still provides him little warmth. Drifting off to a half sleep, reality becomes distant as jay retreats into himself, trying to keep up his spirits, trying to think good thoughts. The throbbing in his shoulder goes distant too, as if someone else is experiencing it.

So he thinks of Will, who’s own arm had healed nicely. Of Will, who’s face always brightens with a smile when he sees Jay. Of Will … who’s waiting for him …

The wind blows again and in the mist of flying snow, he sees —

Will is there, staring at him with that look he always gets when Jay is hurt. Jay hates that look.

‘No,’ he gasps, struggling for the first time with his bonds, wrenching his hurts, but uncaring. ‘You gotta - gotta run!’ Looking at the soldiers on the edgers of the square going about their business. ‘They’ll see you!’

But Will comes closer and it takes him a moment, but Jay realizes that no one seems to see the Army doctor with flame red hair standing in the middle of a German occupied town. As a warm hand - impossibly warm, or is he just painfully cold? - cupped his cheek. ‘Hang on, little brother,’ the figment tells him. ‘Hang on - they’re coming for you.’

Jay trusts and so he closes his eyes, long after the warm hand disappears. It’s almost warm in the darkness behind his eyelids.

(Somewhere in the distance, Will jerks awake, gasping, looking around to see what has startled him. He shivers; his hands are cold.

He doesn’t remember the dream …)

A bucket of water in his face jerks Jay awake and he gasps at the sudden cold of it.

Cold. So … so cold. He wants to feel the warmth of his brothers hand, once again.

The officer is smiling a sharks smile, eyes lit up with malicious glee as he watches Jay’s reaction. Pressing firmly on the distended shoulder, the enemy seems to relish the drawn out scream it eventually elicits, the sniper slumping further when he’s finally released. Watching the American wriggling like a worm on a hook under the onslaught of pain - the officer smiles. But he leaves eventually, leaving his victim a bit more bloodied and battered than he had been before he came. When the night comes, Jay’s clothes, still soaked, freeze against his skin. Frost gathers on his eyelashes from the involuntary tears which drip from his eyes, his bodies way of ensuring his eyes are not frozen in his skull, popping and shriveling away to nothing.

Jay’s unconscious before long, chasing the happy dreams. And the dreams keep him.

——————————————————

Dawson and the others have one thing on their minds as they fight through the town: Find Jay. Voight had told them that their sniper hadn’t reported back into after getting the orders to take out the German general. Given that this town would’ve been Jay’s last known location, they were all on the look out.

And they found him.

The dust has settled from the barrage and though there is still the occasional sound of rifle fire further into the town, the skirmish is mostly over, leaving the squad free to pursue their secondary objective. 

“We found him!” Ruzek comes dashing up to where Dawson is with Voight and Olinsky who are consulting with some of the other captains. “Sarge! We found Halstead.”

“Take us there.” Comes the terse order. 

The rest of the squad is still gathered around where their comrade’s body is hanging.

“Is he alive?” Olinsky asks for all of them when they get their first good look.

Roman nods, “Pulse is sluggish, but there. But - Sarge -” He bites his lip, looking back at the hanging man. “The ropes are frozen to his skin. And his clothes …”

“Get him down,” Voight orders, moving forward to hold Jay up himself, giving them slack to cut his bonds. Dawson helps lay the limp body out, making a hushing sound when the man lets out a mangled groan. Then a strangled scream as his arm is jostled. None of them like the look of his shoulder.

“How long has he been up there, do you think?” Ruzek asks, the whites of his eyes still showing, tension in his every movement.

“Too long.” Dawson quips, already working on massaging the younger mans limbs, trying to get the blood circulating. “Help me.”

It seems to help, some color gradually coming back to Halstead’s face, though Dawson knows they need to get him to tremble, and they move him into one of the houses, stripping him and bundling him in blankets they scrounge up. Carefully, carefully, Dawson spoon feeds the still unconscious man broth they’ve warmed, trying not to let the wounded man let too much dribble down his chin. He needs the calories. More than that, he needs something warm inside him.

And it works. A few hours later, Jay’s eyes flutter open and he recognizes them. “…d’son?”

Grinning in sheer relief, Dawson runs a soothing hand through the kids hair. “Good so see you awake, Jay.”

Blinking, it takes a few moments for Jay to remember what happened. “What’re you doing here?”

“We took the town,” Voight tells him, off to the side where he’s already working on paperwork. “You did a good job, Halstead.”

“Thanks, sarge,” Jay has the strength to grin before he drifts off again, still faintly shivering, though at least it’s not rattling the bed frame, now. 

“They’re moving the aid station here, once everything is secure,” Voight says, later that night. “It’ll do the kid good to have the doc looking after him.”

“He just can’t stay out of trouble, can he?” Olinsky comments, wryly.

They all can’t help but agree. But they all know that there’s no helping it, not with the war they are fighting. … though that doesn’t make it fair.

Not by a long shot.

—————————————————

The push had produced  a lot of wounded, Will and Connor and the others working overtime to accommodate everyone. Though there were never enough beds, when it came down to it, some of the soldiers unfortunately having to lie on the ground, on stretchers or no stretchers, waiting for treatment. But they did get treatment, even if it took a while. Will comforted himself with the knowledge.

When a jeep comes roaring up to their tent, he straightens, extinguishing the cigarette. He recognizing the man driving.

“You gotta come, doc,” Ruzek tells him. “We took the town and we’ve got an aid station - but …” hesitating as he finally gets to the point. “Jay’s been hurt.”

Connor is there once the ringing in Will’s ears goes away.

“…append?” Connor is asking, rubbing a hand over his colleagues back, putting his head between his knees to help him calm down.

“He got the General, just like they told him too. But they caught him,” Ruzek informs them. “When we took the town, we got him out.”

“Breathe, Will,” Connor says, still soothing the red-head. “You’ll be no help to him if you can’t get your head on straight.”

“They said it was better not to move him,” Ruzek explains, apologetically. “He was hypothermic when we got to him —”

And that only raises more questions in Will’s mind. But it also clears his head. “I’ll get my bag,” he says, heading off to do just that, only stumbling a little when the blood rushes back to his head. 

Rhodes is still there, talking to Ruzek, having handed him coffee to drink as he waited. “Take care of ourself, Will,” The other doctor says, holding his hand out for a handshake.

Returning the motion, Rhodes helps him into the jeep, standing back so he won’t be sprayed by the wheels, whirring in the sludge as Ruzek guns it. He sends a prayer after then. Then he heads back to the hospital full of wounded men, to do what he can.

Because that’s all anyone can do — what they can.

There’s both too much time and not enough time to process everything as they speed down the road and through several checkpoints. Will can only imagine the state he’s going to find his little brother in and Ruzek’s answer aren’t eliminating much of his anxiety. But it doesn’t sound like Jay is going to die, at least there’s that. And he’s still in no way prepared when he sees Jay on the bed, covered with blankets, sweating and feverish.

“We warmed him up,” Dawson explains as Will sinks to his knees by the bed, checking pulse and laying his head on Jay’s clammy forehead. “And he woke up a little - drank some water and soup - but now …” he trailed off helplessly.

But Will isn’t going to let it end like this. “Get me snow in a bucket and cloth and blankets, whatever you can find.” Turning back to his brother, who’s muttering between dry, cracking lips, bruises still extant on his face, torso, and arms, the bruising especially severe around the joint of his right arm. “You did a good job — setting his shoulder.”

“Thanks, doc.” Roman pipes up. “Just wish we coulda done more.”

And it soon devolves into an interminable period of putting cool clothes on Jay’s brow and pressing snow and ice wrapped in make shift pouches against his groin and armpits, trying to calm the fever ravaging the snipers body. It continues long into the night. And it breaks Will’s heart when the fever peaks and Jay starts to call out his name.

“Will!” Eyes opening, blank and unseeing of reality as he fights their restraining hands with the strength of a baby. “Will! You gotta - gotta run!!”

“Jay,” Will begs, stroking his little brother’s forehead. “Jay, I’m here. It’s okay.”

But it continues until Jay runs out of strength, fainting again. As a doctor, Will knows … they’re reaching the critical period now. The next couple hours will dictate whether Jay will … and he can’t even think the words, lest they become true. So he sits by his brothers side, meticulously changing the cloths, only eating when one of the squad pushes bowls of whatever is available into his distracted hands. And Jay sweats and shivers and sleeps, eyelids twitching behind his lids as he dreams.

Until …

Will has been a doctor long enough to recognize the continental shift that happens when the worst is over, noticing when something indefinable in Jay’s body relaxes. A breathy sigh, perhaps, a different kind of calm rather than the interminable shivering. Because he leans forward, suddenly eager and finds -

“His fevers’ broken.” The smiles splits his face so wide, he’s surprised his jaw can handle it. Turning to the others who are there. “He’ll be okay, now.”

“That’s good, doc,” Voight rumbles, coming over to the bed to watch his best man. “That’s real good.”

And Will can only agree with that assessment.

But then, he stands too fast and the blood rushes to his head. Eyes rolling back, the relief and the tension must be too much, because he crumples like a rag doll, not feeling the hands that catch him before he brains himself on the bed holding his little brother.

They end up putting him next to Jay, pushing their beds together, just like Jay had done a few months before, when Will was injured. It was practically tradition by this point. And the squad watches over them.

There’s probably no safer room in the entire war.

——————————————————

Jay wakes to pain.

But not to cold. There’s a warmth pressed against his side and he shifts towards it, wanting more. It feels nice.

A chuckle disrupts his drifting thoughts and his eyes finally open to see Dawson grinning down at him.

“Hey, Jay,” the man’s grin only grows as Jay tries to smile back. “Easy there, tiger. We’ve been worried about you.” He lifts Jay’s head, helping him drink.

Taking the help gratefully, Jay sips at the cup of water, laying back with a sigh against the pillow. Then a thought occurs to him.

“Was Will here?” Because he seems to remember someone calling him back from the void.

Grinning again, Dawson nods at the space next to him. “He’s right there. Fell asleep when your fever broke.”

Turning, Jay does indeed see Will laying next to him. The warmth he had been enjoying was from his brothers body, who’d tucked himself into his little brothers side.

“He was exhausted,” Dawson told him as Jay reaches out with his good hand, stroking a hand through Will’s hair. “Never left your side for a moment.”

And if Dawson chooses a discreet moment to leave as Will’s eyes flutter open, reacting to the hand in his hair, neither of the brothers are the wiser. Because they only have enough attention for each other, right now.

“Jay!” Will jerks up, automatically checking Jay’s forehead and then his pulse, relaxing slightly when the steady beat pulses under his fingertips. “How do you feel? Any pain?”

“Well,” Jay wrinkles his nose, as if thinking about it. “I do have this one itch, right here.” Pointing to his arm, waiting for the right moment as Will leans closer, quickly and neatly flicking Will on the nose.

“Jay!” His big brother squawks, cradling his nose in shock. But it quickly turns to mirth and they both dissolve into giggles. It’s not very dignified, but it’s sure as hell therapeutic.

They’re going to be okay, Jay thinks as he watches Will laugh, head thrown back, looking years younger than he had when he’d first woken up.

They’re going to be okay.

The war can wait for a while.

Chapter Text

When Patrick Halstead had finally drank himself to death and Will’s savings had run out, and when he had realized that he was not going to be able to afford any of the fancy medical classes he wanted to take, even if he worked his fingers to the bone: he joined the Army.

Though it wasn’t strictly legal, mind you; he was seventeen, a few months shy of 18 (which was legal), but he looked older and he’d slipped past the recruiters who had been willing to look over that little gap. (And Will new that he was a pitiful sight, when it came down to it, thin, gangly, but tall as a weed. Perhaps that had greased the wheels of bureaucracy, just enough to make him a civilian one minute and a soldier the next.)

The man who’d asked him about experience had done him a good turn. Hearing Will’s stuttered explanation of the half a semester he’d gotten in anatomy and the little book he’d drawn from his pants pocket, he’d been set down as a recruit for the medic core. 

Well, it wasn’t exactly what he wanted in life, but he did want to help people, and if this was the way he was going to be able to do so, Will was going to give it his all. So he endured boot camp and the yelling (which was nothing compared to how his father had gotten when he was in his cups) and the lack of privacy. It was worth it, because eventually he sat in an actual medical training course to learn how to bandage and tourniquet and what to use and how many times to give morphine - he absorbed it like a sponge, even begging extra manuals to learn about musculature and nerves and how anesthesia worked (though he knew he didn’t understand it all, it made him happy to learn, nonetheless).

Naturally, he didn’t love everything about it.

The unit he was assigned to lost men, just like everybody’s units did. Some, Will knew that he’d been incapable of saving. Some, Will felt like he should’ve been able to save. They gnawed at him, those deaths. But he kept smiling and kept trying - because that’s all he could do when supplies ran low and there were too many shouts for help for him to get to them all.

He was only human. So pitifully, painfully human.

Then the straw that broke the camel’s back came - Will lost a friend.

When he’d first joined the unit, there’s been a soldier who’d taken one look at him, all knees and wisps of a beard that he still barely had to shave to get rid of and who had apparently liked what he’d seen. Because he took Will under his wing - made sure he ate, slept, and cleaned the blood off of himself on the worst days. And they told each other stories of their home towns. (Will was from Chicago, and Henry was from the Bronx, and it worked, somehow.)  Though it took him a while to understand why it was so easy to get along with Henry, there was a day when Will understood that Henry reminded him of Jay.

Jay would be devastated to know that he’d joined the army. Will had known when the draft first came up and Jay had looked at him when their father came home without wages again and when Will’s coat was threadbare and they shivered together under a thin blanket, that Jay was contemplating what his leaving would leave Will with. But Jay had been called up, and he’d gone - like the good solider he probably was by now. 

The day came when Will ran beside the stretcher which carried Henry, trying to keep the slowly leaking hole high in his shoulder closed, trying to keep the life from draining out of Henry’s eyes.

… Will lost that battle.

As he did when he was much younger and smaller, Will found a place to hide and to contemplate his losses, blood drying and flaking on his hands, arms, and uniform. (Neck wounds always bled the worst.) Henry’s face, pale and slack from blood loss and the condition we all call Death, kept flickering into Jay’s face. Logically, Will knew that Henry wasn’t Jay. But there was a small part of him that felt like he’d failed his older brother, somehow, by not being able to save Henry. And it hurt.

It hurt like hell.

So he cried as the bustle of war continued around him, hiding his face in his knees.

——————————————————

What was Will doing right now?

The thought came to Jay as he trudged alongside his group, Sergeant Voight in the lead. They’d just come off patrol. There were snipers everywhere and they’d had the luck to not run into one, this time. But it had rained and the roads were muddy and their morale could be higher. But hopefully whatever food was in the mess would be warm. Putting a hand to his stomach as it growled, reminding him of his bodily needs.

Maybe Will was working at the grocery until he had to go to class. He’d helped his little brother look up the courses before he left, trying to help him plan for the future Jay had long known was closed to him. His little brother was so smart, sometimes it left him in awe. In the neighborhood, staying honest was hard and getting rich was harder, if done the honest way. Will was the type to do it the honest way. And Jay never wanted to tell Will about the couple of times he’d been forced to get his hands dirty to put food on the table. 

The only satisfaction that Jay had was that Will wasn’t here. He was home in Chicago. He was safe from the skirmishes and patrols and snipers. (Though he knew their father’s ire was a danger more close to home, and unavoidable at times.) Comforted by the thought, he followed the others to the mess, holding out their plates which they stored in their packs, and their cups to catch lukewarm coffee. Then they headed off to find a relatively dry place to devour their food, Ruzek already munching as they watched. Dawson kept an eye on his coffee, meticulously ensuring that he didn’t loose a drop.

Sitting, it was quiet as they dug in, the only sounds were slurping, munching and chewing. Though … Jay frowned, cocking his head. Were those the only sounds? He could swear …

Dawson was looking around too. “Does anybody hear that?” He asked.

“Hear what?” Ruzek asked around a chunk of fatty meat.

“No,” Roman frowned. “I hear it, too.”

Blinking, Jay listens, the squad going quiet as they hear the noise. And then Jay knows what he’s going to find, as implausible as it is, as gut-wrenching as the idea of it is, Jay just … knows. Setting down his plate, he stumbles to his feet, headed towards where the noise is, ignoring the startled calls of the squad.

Jay finds Will smushed between the two rows of crates, crying into his knees. And it can only be Will, he’d know that hair anywhere. He’d know that cry - it was the one sound that had always made him give in to Will, when his little brother was just a little fella. He could’t stand it then, and he couldn’t stand it now.

“Will?” He whispers, frozen at the tableau in front of him.

Jerking like he’d been shot, Will’s head came up, revealing a blood stained face and blotchy skin and familiar brown eyes.

Swallowing. “Jay?”

Against the odds, against the common sense that Jay had thought his little brother had possessed, Will is here in the middle of it all.

But it’s so good to see the kid, even if he’s in bad shape. So Jay opens his arms when Will scrambles to his feet, nearly knocking Jay onto his ass from the force of it.

Jay wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Jay,” Will whispers brokenly, clinging to his brothers uniform. “Jay.”

“I’m here, little brother,” Jay whispers into Will’s fiery hair. “It’s gonna be okay.”

That might be a lie. But it’s a lie that Will needs to hear.

“Halstead.” He looked up to see Voight and the others watching from a short distance away. “Wanna fill me in?”

“It’s my kid brother, Sarge,” Jay fights to keep his voice steady, but had little success. Putting a hand on the back of Will’s head, pulling him closer, the younger Halstead’s body shaking with quiet sobs. The words pouring out of him. “He’s supposed to be home.”

But the questions zipping through his mind can’t be answered right now, not with Will in this state. And something had to have happened for Will to be so distraught. Jay wasn’t about to push his own worry and fear and concern on top of all that.

The Sarge’s eyes flicker from the red-head to Jay’s face (and Jay doesn’t know exactly what kind of face he’s making, but it can’t be pretty) and says, “We’ll guard the door.”

Ushering the others away, Dawson hands him a canteen and a rag. Jay knows he should get Will cleaned up.  Getting Will to sit on a crate is one thing, getting him to let go of Jay is another. The red-head wipes at his tear and blood streaked face, sniffing loudly. It just makes it look worse.

“Hey,” Jay shushes him. “Let me do that.”

And he wets the rag, manipulating Will’s face to the side as he gently cleans the grime away. Touch lingering, still not entirely sure that Will is here. Because the kid was supposed to be safe.

“What happened?” He finally asked, because there’s no other way he knows how to approach the subject, he finds.

Sniffing, Will meets his eyes. “Dad died.” Continuing as Jay’s hands stop. “About six months ago, now.”

It all makes sense now. Though it doesn’t mean that Jay’s happy about it. As the silence extends, and the grime slowly disappears, he moves to Will’s hands and arms, contemplating the numbers. Will’s birthday, todays’ date … 

“You weren’t eighteen when you signed up?” Jay says.

Almost convulsively, Will shakes his head, confirming his older brothers suspicions. “But I had to, Jay! The O’Malley’s were sniffing around and I couldn’t pay the rent and —”

“Hey,” Jay stops him, tipping the red-head back onto his shoulder, holding him close, just reveling in the solid feel of him. “I’m not mad at you. At dad, yeah — but I’m not mad at you.” Squeezing him harder. “We all do what we have to do. And I’m … I’m proud of you, Will. Don’t you ever forget that.”

Snuggling closer, relaxing into Jay’s hold, Will nods, sniffing again. He looks better now, not alright, but just … better. And Jay knows better than to asked what caused the breakdown. For one thing, he doesn’t want to start another round of tears. For another, he only just got Will to calm down. And he has so many questions.

“So, a medic, huh?” Jay smiles, handing over an opened jar of meat he’d pulled from his pack, which Dawson had also kindly left with them. 

Will nodded, cheeks stuffed like a chipmunks as he wolfed it down. For all that he’d sprouted up like a cornstalk, he was as lanky as ever. “Recruiters quizzed me out of the book I had in my pocket - got all the way to naming the individual finger bones before they stopped me.”

Jay snorts. “Too smart for your own good,” He teases, pocking at a chubby cheek, laughing when Will shy’s away. “But that’s good - could help you get into school after, with all the talking about the GI Bill.”

Nodding, Will continues to scarf down the meat. Asking, once he’s swallowed a mouthful. “And what about you? You never said in your letters.”

Patting the rifle that’s always near at hand, better cared for then his uniform, free of grime and stains. “Sniper.”

Eyes blowing wide, Will stares at him. “But that’s so dangerous!”

Lips twitching into a grim smile, “And going into battle without a rifle isn’t?”

Letting out a long sigh, Will moves to sit closer to Jay again, setting aside the now empty can. “Guess it’s all relative, huh Jay?”

Their talk is soon interrupted by Dawson rounding the crates, looking relieved that Will looks better. “We got orders.” He explained. “We’re headed up the road again.”

“Do I have time to get Will back to his squad?” Jay asks, laying a hand on his kid brother’s shoulder.

“We all know you’ll catch up to us,” Voight rumbles as he comes up behind Dawson. “Meet us by nightfall. We’re taking the North road.”

“Yes, Sarge.”

And so Jay helps Will up, making sure he’s presentable and has his red cross bag and helmet. Grabbing his own things before they leave the tent they’d sheltered in. There are cursory nods from the others before the group separates. Jay doesn’t attempt introductions, since he knows they’ll grill him later and Will isn’t up for it, right now. 

“I’m with L-squad,” Will tells him as they fall into step on the side of the road, out of the way of the vehicles coming and going.

“That’s Sargent Banner’s squad, right?”

Will nods. “They’re good guys.”

“They’d better be,” He teases his little brother, reaching over to ruffle the red locks, still uncovered by the helmet Will is carrying in his hand. “Only the best for my little brother.”

“Jay!” Will squawks, though he’s smiling. 

While he’s heard of Banner, Jay’s never actually talked to him in person. The introduction he does get lets him know that Will’s going to be okay with these men. When they appear, one of the others runs up to Will, not even stopping to acknowledge Jay’s presence, looking Will up and down.

“You can’t just run off like that, Will!”

Looking contrite. “Sorry, Pokey.”

Jay can’t help but laugh at the nickname, wondering what inspired it. The noise gets him noticed. “Who’s this, Will?” Pokey asks, slinging an arm over the taller mans shoulders.

“Jay Halstead,” Jay says, reaching out to shake the others hand. “D-squad.”

“Halstead, huh?” They all look up and straighten as the Sergeant approaches, several others coming along behind him. “Voights sniper?”

“Yes, Sarge.” 

They both turn as Will is pulled away by Pokey, back to the others who had turned up, whispering starting among them. “He your kid brother?”

Jay swallows. “Yes, Sarge.”

Banner’s eyes watch him and all he says is, “We’re lucky to have him. He’s a good medic.”

“Thanks for looking out for him,” Jay says and then he knows he has to go. “I have to meet up with my squad —”

Banner waves him off, “Go, say goodbye. And tell Voight that he still owes me ten bucks.”

Jay smirks, “Yes, Sarge!”

Approaching the little huddle around Will, which goes quiet as he does, Jay reaches into his pocket, pulling out the object he needs to give his baby brother. “Will - I gotta go.” 

“Stay safe,” Will whispers, hugging his big brother, taking the object when Jay puts it in his palm. “Is this —?”

“Moms rosary,” Jay confirms. “We both know she’d want you to have it.” Lifting Will’s chin, revealing the sadness on his little brothers face. “Hey. Chin up, yeah?”

And with one final hug, Jay heads out of camp.

Perhaps Will waves, but Jay wouldn’t know.

He doesn’t look back.

(He’s not about to let Will’s last image of him be ruined by the tears that are running from his eyes, barely hidden by the shadow of his own helmet.) 

——————————————————

Bastogne is cold.

Inspecting his bag once again, (because what else is there to do while they wait in their fox holes?), Will hopes against hope that the leprechauns had left bandages in his depressingly empty bag overnight.

The leprechauns had let him down, he finds.

He knows that D-squad, and Jay with them, are somewhere far down the line - somewhere were he’s not allowed to go without special permission. Because he’s the medic, he needs to be there for his own squad when a barrage comes. And they come intermittently, as if the Germans know that on top of the cold and the cut supply lines, they need bits of them blow off by mortar rounds to truly break their spirits. 

Though Will does his best, people keep dying. (He’d stood for a full ten minutes after one barrage, hypnotized by the torso blown to the top of a tree, stuck in the leafless branches. Finally, Pokey had gently ushered him away and stayed with him until Will had come back to himself.)

It’s a cold day in January, 1945, only two weeks before the siege is broken (though Will doesn’t know that) when Will falls victim to the dangers inherent to the foxholes. The whole incident is a haze of pain and vague surprise, blood dripping steadily from his side where the debris had ripped a ragged hole in his flesh. Though it had glanced off the ribs, (cracking two and breaking one), he finds out later, and while it is large and hard to bandage, his organs are spared. But the pain and the shock of it, and the fact that he’s the medic who would usually be handling this, guarantee his transport to the hospital. Though the Germans had bombed the town, several weeks before, the remaining staff have moved what they could, converting other buildings into the units as needed. Will ends up in a long room in what once was a school building, blinking in the light of the window when he eventually wakes up fully in a moment of lucidity.

The medication is only just enough to make him aware of the pain poking at the periphery of his consciousness, and soon a nurse comes over, noticing that he is awake. Helped to drink, he discovers that nothing has ever tasted so good. Drifting, enjoying the sunlight and the blankets, softer against his skin then anything he’s felt in a long while, he’s eventually awakened by the approach of a man in a white coat. The doctor has bags under his eyes but a kind look on his face as he asks the usual questions, inspecting the bandages covering Will’s injury. 

“Is there anything I can try to get you?” The doctor asks before he leaves.

And Will thinks of the pocket anatomy book he’d started out with, which has long cracked at the seams and then was stained beyond saving and he asks on a whim. “Can I get a medical book to read? Something with the muscles and bone names?”

The doctor blinks, looking more closely at the red-head. And then he fires off terms, Will’s brain going zero to sixty as he fires the answers back at him, the information crawling out of the dim corners of his sluggish brain. 

“The number of thoracic vertebrae … parts of the pelvic girdle … where would I find the sphenoid bone … anterior vs posterior views …”

Will answers them all, slumping back into his pillows, exhausted, as the doctor smiles — genuinely this time. 

“I’ll get you that medical book.”

He makes good on that promise and Will struggles to sit straight, propping it on his knees as he reads through the book on basic surgery procedures. It’s fascinating and useful, to know how a surgery goes. Maybe he could convince the doctor to show him basic sutures - then maybe he could save more of his buddies, stop the bleeding long before they get transported to a real doctor. Because Will knows what kind of mystique a medic’s presence carries, among the soldiers. 

His is the last face the dying see, the last person to assure them that ‘its nothing,’ ‘you’ll be back with us in no time,’ and other empty comforting phrases. Because, more often than not, it’s all he can do to make their deaths as close to painless as possible. But he wants to do more - he wants to know more - so he reads and reads and reads again. And the one book soon becomes three, the doctor sometimes testing his progress to ensure comprehension, smiling faintly when Will answers correctly, most of the time.

That’s how Jay finds him, his nose stuck in a book.

———————————————————

Now that the siege is over, Jay had gone in search of L-squad. He hadn’t had word from Will, in any form, for more than two weeks now. Not that it was required for Will to send him messages, buy Jay knew that they made Will just as happy as they made him, proving that they were both alive and well. So when he gets to their section and looks for a head of red locks in vain, the tension rises up in his breast.

“Halstead,” Sergeant Banner greets him. “Guess you hadn’t heard?”

“Heard what?” Jay demands, not bothering with rank.

“Will was wounded - he’s been in Bastogne for two weeks now, at least.”

Wounded. The word rings loudly in his ears. Will was wounded.

“It was a flesh wound - deep but clean, and men have recovered from worse,” Banner tells him, trying to comfort, in his way.

And that’s how Jay ended up in Bastogne after he’d gone back to get Voight’s permission first (now wasn’t the time to go AWOL, despite the temptation). Pacing through the ranks of beds, from makeshift ward to makeshift ward, he runs into a doctor. Well, not literally ran into, but he takes the chance to ask after Will.

“Do you have a red-headed patient?” Jay demands, running out of places to look. “A medic? His names William Halstead.”

Blinking, probably surprised at being stopped by a lowly soldier like him, Jay thinks, the man nods. “Yes.” A smile spreading over his face. “He’s been burning through my medical textbooks like they’re adventure novels.”

Following close behind, his heart in the chest as the doctor leads the way, Jay is finally treated to the first sight of his brother after nearly a month. Whose nose is buried in a book, just like the doctor had said. When the red-head finally looks up, apparently realizing that he has a visitor, he freezes.

“Jay?”

While he can’t speak right then, Jay can feel so he draws Will into a hug, careful of the bandages he can see through the unbuttoned front of Will’s hospital shirt. Sniffing as traitorous tears encroach behind his eyes.

“I’m okay,” Will says, knowing what Jay needs right now. “I’ll be out of here in another week, tops.”

Eventually pulling back, Jay blinking rapidly, wiping the back of his hand over his eyes. “It’s good to see you, little brother.”

Will is the one to initiate the next hug, “Stay awhile.”

“Okay.” Jay agrees. And he does.

———————————————————

With all the sorrow and pain Doctor Connor Rhodes has been a daily witness to ever since he’d come to this continent, it does him good to see the red-headed medic’s reunion with (who he assumes is) his brother. The two look nothing alike, but the way they embrace and the way the steely-eyed soldier relaxes as Will lets him examine him. Every motion indicates to him that they are family.

And he’s all for happy endings.

So when he returns to find the steely-eyes soldier asleep in the bedside chair as Will reads the book on his lap, he only smiles at the sight. Then he pushes the next bed over (which is empty) up to Will’s bed, essentially forming a double bed. Glancing at Will, who’s watching him work with a growing smile, he says, “Why don’t we get him to sleep over here, yeah?”

“Dr. Rhodes,” Will teases. “You do have a heart.”

Looking with exaggerated care over one shoulder and then the other, he leans closer, whispering, “Don’t tell the nurses.”

“I won’t.” Will assures him, though his grin is big and bright. Turning to joggle his brothers knee. “Jay?”

“Wassit?” Jay mutters once he realizes where he is.

“Get over here,” Will pats the bed beside him as Rhodes watches. 

The steely-eyed soldier must be exhausted, because he doesn’t seem to notice Rhodes’s presence as he dutifully plods over to the free bed and practically collapses onto it. His boots are still on.

“Better?” Will says, soothing a hand through his brothers hair.

Jay hums, already slipping away. 

Still watching, Rhodes thinks he should probably actually go work or something and then Will says, still watching his visitor as he falls asleep. 

“He worries, ya know?”

Taking that as an invitation, Rhodes sits on the chair that had been recently been vacated. “Tell me about him.” He invites.

“Well, he’s five years older than me but that was never a problem - he’d watch me when Mom couldn’t, sneak me food when I was naughty, help me with math until I got better at it then him,” Will says, smiling sadly. “He stepped up when our mother died and dad couldn’t stop drinking. Jay is … Jay is the best big brother in the world.”

And Rhodes understands a little, thinking of his own sister and how he’d feel if she was here among bombs and guns and bloodshed. It’s not a nice thought.

“He didn’t know I enlisted,” Will admits, his hand now resting soothingly on the nap of Jay’s neck. Rhodes thinks the soldier looks much younger now that he’s asleep. “So when we ran into each other, I know it was a shock. But … he never told me I couldn’t take it - he just made sure that I knew he cared.”

“Sounds like he’s a good man.” Rhodes agrees. 

That’s when he decides, watching the brothers, that he needs to write his sister, even if she doesn’t respond like the last time. Because now that he’s seen so many people’s lives end messily and arbitrarily, many still with regrets, he knows he owes it to himself to try to solve his own problems while he still has time.

“He’s the best big brother in the world,” Will declares, though the seriousness of it is ruined by a yawn.

“And I’ll bet big brother would want you to sleep,” Rhodes says, taking the medical book off of his patients lap and pulling the covers up under his chin. Watching as Will’s eyes flutter and eventually close, breathes evening to indicate sleep. “Rest, Will.”

Will slips away, face peaceful, and Jay moves a little more to accommodate the change in position, curling in closer to his little brother’s side.

Rhodes decides that he’s gonna have to keep an eye on both of them. … Maybe he’ll have to pull some strings once he’s back in Chicago, to help Will get into medical school like he deserves. And wherever Will goes, he’s sure Jay will too. But that’s a problem for future thought. All he has to do is keep in touch with Will, quizzing him by mail if he has to.

After all, this war can’t last forever.

(And it does end, September of that year, which is still over six months away from this frozen moment in time. Chicago won’t know what hit ‘em!)

Chapter Text

There are finger shaped bruises on her upper arm, on her other wrist and more bruises on her shoulders and other places more easily hidden. Though she wears long sleeves in the mid summer, the cool bottled air inside the passenger airline allows her to be comfortable. Though the bruises ache when she moves the wrong way, she still feels relief well inside her as the plane gets closer to Chicago and farther from New York.

Jennifer Halstead is leaving all her problems behind. All her most important possessions, things she truly couldn’t bear to part with are packed in two large suitcases and the backpack which nestles securely between her legs on the floor in front of her. For the whole flight, she does not sleep - her most recent experiences made letting her guard down in front of strangers difficult. It’s not that she isn’t tired, it’s just that … she doesn’t know how she’s going to explain it all to Jay.

It’s deeply, deeply embarrassing.

But Jay is a cop, so she’s sure he’s heard worse stories.

The truth is … she'd thought that her and Daniel had had something special. So she’d moved in (it was New York, after all) and it had seemed fine. They had different schedules, her being a doctor and him being a lawyer, but they’d found time for each other. And then — he’d hit her for the first time. Slapping her, sending her stumbling back against the kitchen sink, wide eyes with surprise - though not fear, not yet. And he’d apologized, swore it wouldn’t happen again.

But it had happened again. And again. And again.

Last night had been the last straw. Because … because …

She can’t even think about what he’d done last night. Or else she’s really going to cry. Suffice to say, that she had decided that enough was enough, throwing her possessions into the suitcases in a frenzy, taking a shower to …

(But enough about that.)

The airport, with its hustle and bustle had been a perfect place for her to hide in plain sight, waiting several hours before her flight would depart. She’d been lucky to get a seat at such short notice - it was the luck she had needed for weeks now. Watching the people, she’d spent the time giving herself a pep talk, ignoring her phone as she got texts and then calls at her not showing up for her shift. In her heart of hearts, she knew that she would never come back to this city with its glamour, nightlights, and seedy underbelly. This thought made her glad. Because she was going home - home to Jay and to the streets she’d grown up in. Perhaps it wasn’t glamorous, but it was theirs. Home was a glittering thing that she gazed at while laying in the mire. Also, Jay meant safety and security. While she often had had cause to grumble about his protectiveness, growing up, right now it was exactly what she needed. Because she was running from a monster and once Daniel figured out she was gone, they would see how long and how sharp the lawyers claws truly were.

Scrolling back through her texts with Jay, she’d dug up his address and given it to the cabbie who helps her load her two suitcases into the trunk. The apartment building is small but well kept, in a safer district of town, she finds. As she takes the elevator up with her bags, it occurs to her that Jay might not even be home.

The moment of truth, she thinks as she knocks on his apartment door.

But her luck holds. 

Because the door opens and Jay is staring at her in jeans and a loose t-shirt, his alert gaze softening at the sight of her, as it always had.

“Jay.”  

And she falls into her big brothers arms.

—————————————————————

He’d have bet on the Jet’s to win no matter the odds - but his little sister showing up at his door was something he’d never have bet on because he knew she’d loved med school and had started a new life in New York. Not that he can begrudge her for it - after all, he’d gone all the way to Afghanistan to escape their father’s house.

“Jenny?” He sputters, automatically drawing her closer in a hug as she practically collapsed into him. And then Jay realizes that she crying, shoulders shuddering with quiet sobs against his hold. Surprise giving way to observation, he examines what little he can see of his baby sister, and while nothing is readily apparent, he know that she’s not the type to break down like this unless something is incredibly wrong.

Gaze flicking past her, he sees the bags by the door and the alarm bells in his head ring louder. Because why is she here?

“What happened, Jenny-bean?” He asks, ushering her further into the apartment, helping her sit on the couch before going to bring the bags in when it becomes apparent that she’s unable to answer right away. That done, he comes back to the couch, bringing his little sister close to him again, feeling helpless. 

The last time he’d seen her cry was at their mother’s funeral.

He can see when the resolve to act washes over her, because she pulls back, wiping the tear tracks, shuffling back on the couch cushions with a new determination. “I told you I moved in with Daniel?”

He nods, already not liking where this was going.

“It was fine at first,” She says, removing her outer jacket (odd, since it was summer), “But, he …” Biting her lip, toying with the cuff of her long sleeve shirt. “He hit me, last month.”

“He what?!” Jay growls, straightening as her hands go to the hem of her shirt, starting to lift. And when the shirt comes off, the bruises on her upper arms and the deep bruising bite marks on the tops of her breasts, above the sports bra, are clearly visible, and a cold rage builds within him.

Fidgeting like she wants to hide from his gaze, she continues her tale. “I packed my things and bought a ticket on the first available flight to Chicago. Because last night he …” She sniffs, a tear leaking down her face once again. Standing abruptly, with a final motion, she pushes down her jeans, revealing the mess that is her upper legs and thighs. 

The cold rage burns hot. 

“I couldn’t stay there, Jay — not after that.” She pleads, asking for help and protection and a loving hand.

Despite her state of undress, he’s only a little phased, because she’d bandaged him many times before when they were growing up, and had chosen to bandage other people for a living. But he does take the blanket from the back of the couch, loudly emblazoned with the Jet’s logo and he wraps her in it, escorting her to his room and getting her settled under the blankets, sitting against the head board to keep her company.

“Sleep, Jenny-bean,” he tells her. “I’ll keep watch.”

And it must be exactly what she needs because soon she drifts off, the murmur falling from her lips. “Thanks, Jay-jay.”

Once she is truly asleep, he leaves the room, going into the kitchen so she won’t be disturbed by the phone calls he now needs to make. The thought grows in him, having been planted by her earlier confession - he’s going to have the hide of Daniel Pernaki, one way or another. But how to go about it?

Official channels are what is needed, and some of Voight’s connections. Eventually he will have to pay the piper, but today is not that day. To make a case, they’ll need evidence. And he’s going to convince his sister this is necessary. Once she’s awake and thinking more clearly, he’s sure she’ll agree to press charges. Even if it serves nothing more than to get a restraining order - it will let everyone else in the mans life know exactly what kind of a man he is - the kind who doesn’t know the meaning of the word ‘no.’ 

What he needs is a female medic and a female policeman.

Luckily for him, he knows exactly who to call.

——————————————————

Severide watches as Shay’s face turns from curious to serious a few seconds into the call she’s just answered.

“We’re on our way,” She promises.

“Where are we going?” He asks, though he’s already grabbing his jacket and keys.

“Jay Halstead’s apartment - he needs a female medic in an unofficial capacity.”

Now that sharpens his interest. “Did he say why?”

The look she gives him makes him stop asking stupid questions and start up his truck, the frame vibrating beneath them as they pull out into traffic. (It’s not like all his questions aren’t answered in due time.)

————————————————————

When Jenny wakes, it’s to the faint sound of hushed voices outside the room.

“Jenny-bean?” Jay’s head shows through the small gap he’s pushed open in the door. 

“Yes?” She croaks, pulling the blanket closer to herself. It feels like her only armor against the world, right now.

“I called a friend - a medic over at the fire station - will you let her look at you?”

No! Her mind shouts but the doctor part of her knows that it would be better this way. And she already has an idea of what Jay is planning. “Okay.”

The woman who enters is beautiful, though it’s a beauty nearly unaccented by makeup and she stands a respectful distance from the bed after closing the door behind her. “I’m Shay - out of Firehouse 51.”

“Jenny.” 

“Do you mind if I come closer?” And when Jenny nods, Shay does just that, putting her bag on the table beside the bed. “Your brother says you were hurt last night - do you want me to look?”

No! Jenny’s mind shouts again. But she knows she’s only staving off the inevitable. And she aches. Especially … down there. With an audible sniff, she lets the blanket fall. She glad for Shay’s professionalism, because, aside from a moment of stillness from the medic, Shay doesn’t react much at all. 

“May I?” She ask, hand still in the space between them, safety gloved and steady.

At Jenny’s nod, Shay gently searches out the bruises, identifying the deeper marks and bites. The antiseptic stings when she cleans the indentations. 

“It’s not an excuse,” Jenny says after she’d gritted her teeth against the sting, “But he was drunk.”

“You’re right,” Shay agrees, steel in her tone. “That’s not an excuse.”

The silence grows comfortable, though the antiseptic still stings. There’s still one last place.

“There was blood,” Jenny admits, eyes on her own fingers twisting in her lap. Peripherally noticing Shay’s hands still again. “When I went to the toilet … after.”

Taking a steadying breath, Shay turns back to her. “Okay, then let’s get you leaned back on the pillows, okay? Nice and easy.”

When it’s done, Shay clasps her hand, pulling the blankets up to her chin to hid her nakedness. “I know you don’t feel like it now, but once this has blown over, we’re going on a spa day - my treat.”

Sniffling, though smiling slightly at the promise, Jenny can only whisper: “Thanks, Shay.”

Closing her eyes, she lets the tears truly fall as the other woman closes the door behind her. While she’s exhausted, physically and emotionally, she still feels safer than she has in a month. 

She’d known Jay would have her back. Hopefully, she’d be able to return the favor sooner rather than later.

(Though what else are big brothers for, then to protect and to guard and to love, even if that love is sometimes under appreciated?)

—————————————————————

It’s Antonio who shuts Voight’s office door behind Jay, settling on the edge of the desk afterwards, not even bothering to exchange a look with Voight before he does.

The kid had been antsy that morning, looking at his phone more often than usual, consulting with Erin who had turned up late with a folder in hand. But they’d let it play out, Olinksy still outside with the others in the bull pen, tracking down leads for their latest case. 

“Sarge,” Jay begins, tense in the chair. “I need to call in a favor.”

Voight is staring intently, Antonio can picture it even though he can’t see it. “Go on.”

Licking his lips, Jay begins. “I have a sister - she’s three years younger than me. Yesterday she turned up at my place - she’d taken a direct flight from New York - beaten all to hell.”

Now that gets their attention. “Is she alright?” Antonio asks.

“I got Shaw to make a house call,” Jay nods, “And Erin came out this morning to take some pictures.” Tapping it where he’d set it, front and center, on the desk. “Her and Palenki - Daniel Palenki is his name - aren’t common law, but they’d been living together for about six months. He’s a lawyer.” The word making the corners of his mouth turn down. “He started hitting her a month ago. And …” Mouth twisting down further as he pushes the folder forward a little. “The night before she flew out, he sexually assaulted her.”

It’s harder when it’s family.  

Antonio looks at the pictures, even upside down, they aren’t pretty. “What’s your sister’s name?”

“Jennifer.”

After a while, Voight grunts. “I’ll take care of it.”

Letting out a shuddering breath, Jay says, “Thanks Sarge.”

Antonio knows that they all know that Voight will someday call in a return favor. But today is not that day. Released from the office, Antonio beckons for Jay to follow him, waving off the questions from the others.

“We’re going shopping,” Antonio tells him. Continuing when Jay only looks nonplussed. “Your sister is living with you now, right? Then she’s gonna need some things. Things we’re going to go shopping for, right now.”

It’s good to see the kid finally give a little smile.

When they eventually get back to Jay’s apartment, there’s a mouthwatering smell coming from the kitchen. 

“Jenny-bean?” Jay calls, dumping the bags by the couch, Antonio following suit.

“In the kitchen!” Comes a sweet voice. “Made your fav —”

Looking up, Antonio’s last surprise of the day is to discover that Jennifer looks almost completely unlike Jay, red-haired where he’s a brunette, brown eyed where his are a ghostly blue. She’s a petite little thing.

“This is Antonio Dawson,” Jay explains to her. “Remember I told you about him?”

“Jenny Halstead,” She acknowledges him. Adding after a beat. “Do you like apple pie?”

“You went all out, huh?” Jay grins, gently putting his arm across his little sisters shoulder’s, pulling her into a side hug. 

“Only for you, Jay-jay.”

And oh boy, is Antonio going to use that one one day!

“I’d love apple pie,” Antonio says, causing the siblings to look at him. Now he sees the resemblance as they take a moment just to examine him - they have very clear stares, though set in different eye colors.

“We got you some stuff,” Jay tells her before she goes back to the kitchen as an alarm goes off.

“There’d better not be any pink,” Is her only comment.

The pie is extremely delicious, Antonio finds.

——————————————————

It wasn’t often that Olivia Benson got a call from Voight down in Chicago, Illinois. But when she did she always knew that she’d at least be satisfied at the end of the call. Because it usually meant that she could make an arrest with sufficient evidence to make the charges stick. This case was no exception.

“Can I help you?” Asked the clerk who stood from her desk at the sight of the plain clothes officers.

“I need to speak with Daniel Palenki.”

The man who eventually emerges is handsome, thin but tall. There’s a thought that comes to her as he smiles at them politely, Does he have any idea why they’re here?

“Daniel Palenki, I’m here to serve you charges of domestic assault and battery.”

His face changes at the words, a brittle look coming over his face, the secretary gaping on the side. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Oh?” Olivia asks, raising an eyebrow. “Would you like me to take out the pictures here or wait until we’re down at the station?”

Swallowing, eyes darting to the secretary and to the places where his coworkers are no doubt circling like sharks in water that scent blood. “That won’t be necessary.”

So Olivia reads him his rights as her partner escorts the man out of the office to the elevators. 

That’s another one in the bag. (Though it will take a while for the case to actually go to court.)

——————————————————

It appears that Jenny has found a good friend in Shay. While Jenny does know how to dress to impress when it’s needed, she’s more comfortable in plain clothes, perhaps a product of sometimes repurposing Jay’s hand-me-down’s when they were children. That’s actually what she’d found herself doing, when she’d become too caught up in her own head.

After everything, she knew that she needed to give herself time and mental distance to put her own small tragedy behind her. While it wasn’t going to be an automatic fix, going back to old tasks seemed like a good start. So she’d gone through Jay’s things (though not in an overly intrusive way) and had taken out some older things, running it by her big brother before she started hemming, mending, etc. With his permission, she’d already made one of his flannels her own, putting up the cuffs, mending a small hole by the collar and taking in the sides to fit her much slimmer frame. It was an added bonus that it still smelled like her brother - this way she took his comforting presence with her as she went about her day to day life. 

Before two weeks were up since she’d come home, Shay had rung her up and asked if she wanted to go on that spa day. Yes, Jenny had decided, she’d like that. Her bruises were faded and as long as the staff were woman who touched her, she didn’t think she’d encounter any problems. This was how she ended up hanging out with Shay while they got their nails done (though Jenny only got a pedicure, since she couldn’t have anything on her nails and risk infecting a patient on accident). She’d also gotten her hair trimmed a little, though, when let to hang free, her locks were still longer than average. Half pulled back, it rippled in the occasional summer breeze as her and Shay ended the day with an ice cream, eaten on a patio table. 

All in all, it was a step in the right direction. The next day, she put in her application for a staff position at Chicago MED. She’d been quiet long enough.

Naturally, in line with the Halstead luck, on her first day there was a suicide bomber.

Though, that was how she ended up meeting Matthew Casey, so it wasn’t all bad, if seen from a certain point of view.

————————————————————

During the chaos, Matt Casey had only had a moment to let the thought settle in and then dismiss it from his mind. The thought was this: That lady doctor was beautiful. 

Maybe he just had a thing for doctors, he mused, watching from the edge of the group of fire fighters as the lady doctor leaned against the wall outside the doors, peering up at the sun, enjoying its warmth. Casey could appreciate the feeling of alive, alive, alive, the woman was no doubt savoring. Because he often savored it as well, when they’d come off a big call, thankful when no one had died on their watch. Anyway, he must have a thing for doctors, because there’d been Hallie, and then there was Gabby. (Though no one but Gabby knew if she was going to actually get back together with him or not …)

His thoughts were interrupted by a blur of color as a man darted from among the police vehicles.

“Jenny!” And he recognized that voice, watching as Jay Halstead skidded to a stop in front of the lady doctor, examining her then cupping her face when he didn’t see any obvious hurts.

At least he knew her name, now, Casey mused, as he felt the little green monster of jealousy rear its head inside him. He forced it down - because it wasn’t the end of the world. It had just been a thought. Continuing to watch as Jay hugged the woman close. But she really was gorgeous, even soot-stained and exhausted.

As Jay led the woman back over to the police cars, Hermann called to him in passing. “Hey, Halstead, you coming to Molly’s later? We gotta have some celebration after this!”

“I won’t say no,” Jay said, stopping by their little group, arm still around the lady doctor’s shoulders. “You got room for one more?”

“For the badass lady doctor of the hour?” Hermann beams in that fatherly way he has. “No problem!”

Realizing his mistake, Jay grins, introducing them to the woman. “Jenny, these are the firefighter’s out of House 51,” Listing off most of them for her. “Guys, this is Jennifer, my little sister.”

Hiding how his heart leapt, learning that they weren’t an item, Casey moved forward to offer a hand. Hesitating a moment, Jenny took it, though she pulled it back as soon as she could. She seemed more nervous, now that the commotion was over. Might as well start off on the right foot after what had just happened in the ED.

“It’s nice to meet you, Doctor Halstead.”

“Likewise.”

She had to have a gorgeous voice as well, didn’t she? Stood to reason, Casey supposed.

Later that night at Molly’s, still feeling the lingering adrenaline rush and then crash from earlier that day, he ends up milling with Jay and then it turns into Jay, Jenny and Shay, who comes by mid party after visiting Severide in the hospital. His old friend was going to be okay. At least he knew that Sev will stay in his hospital bed since April is there to supervise him. (Probably. You never really knew with Kelly.) 

Though he must’ve been staring at Jenny in a way that was less subtle than he thought because Shay told him the next day as they all milled around the kitchen waiting for breakfast. “Be careful with Jen if you’re really interested, Casey.” Glancing around the room to see where Gabby is talking to Mouch. “And be careful of Gabby. As much as I like working with her, once she’s on the warpath she’s a force of nature. And Jen … Jen doesn’t need that right now.” Smiling at him over the rim of her coffee cup. “And I know you Casey — you don’t do anything half way.”

Staring at her, Casey’s brain has a moment to process that before they move over to the breakfast line. Sure, he’s known that Gabby had a forceful personality, but for Shay to warn him about showing interesting in the lady doctor … it was Gabby herself who’d said they weren’t a couple at the moment. And while he wanted her back, he was getting whiplash from how often and how quickly she was apt to change her mind. 

So … why not?

It’s that thought that has him flag the lady doctor down a few days later when he’s coming back down from visiting Kelly (who’s predictably grumpy about being in a hospital bed).

“Hey, Doctor Halstead!”

She halts, facing him fully as he approaches her. Looking fairly relaxed, she greets him. “Mr. Casey.”

Smiling, he shoots his shot. “I know this might be kinda out of the blue, but I was wondering … would you be interested in going on a date with me?”

Blinking, she assesses him, a slight frown coming over her face. Perhaps he’s not the only one with a few hangups, but he’s relieved when she doesn’t turn him down flat. “Bears game this weekend? Jay and I’s place. Bring beer.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

With a small smile, she turns away, disappearing around the corner to get back to her work.

Casey realizes that it’s essentially a supervised date, but he can’t fault her for it. While he still doesn’t know all the details about Jen’s (apparently sudden) return to Chicago, he’s gotten the impression from Shay and Jay that it wasn’t entirely of her own free will. But everyone is entitled to their privacy, so he hadn’t pried.

However, he does call Jay to let him know what he’s done. Because he’s a brother and a friend and he identifies strongly with Jay’s obvious protectiveness of his sister. And with that off his conscience, he goes on about his day.

——————————————————

It’s nice to see Jenny happy.

Jay has spent the last two months now worrying about his sister and getting the occasional updates about Palenki’s case in New York, and while a small part of him wondered if it was too soon for her to try to move on, he did at least approve of her choice. Casey was a stand up guy. Solid. Dependable. And he wasn’t blind to how Casey looked at his little sister. (The man was on the way to twitter pated, as their mother would have said, back when she was alive.)

Slipping into his sister’s room after Casey had departed and the mess was cleaned up, knocking lightly on the doorframe to get her attention, he grinned at her.

“So, a doctor and a firefighter - good thing you’re not a cop because we don’t mix with smoke eater’s.”

Jen lets out a tired snort, though she appreciates the humor he was going for. Sitting down on the edge of her bed she looks up at him, asking, hesitating a little, “You don’t think it’s too soon?”

“No.” Jay tells her, sitting next to Jenny on the bed. “I think you deserve to be happy, Jenny-bean. And Casey is a good guy.” Leaning closer as he puts an arm around her shoulder. “And I’m not just saying that because Antonio knows all the dirt on him.”

“Jay,” Jenny grins, half scolding. 

“Nothing bad,” Jay tells her. “But Casey goes way back with Voight - Voight was … a bit of an asshole, back in the day.”

It goes quiet between them. Comfortable. 

Leaning her head on Jay’s shoulder, she gives him a side hug back before dismissing him. “Thanks, Jay.”

“Anytime, Jelly-bean,” he tells her as he leaves the room. “Anytime.”

His big brother radar, for once, is quiet.

Chapter Text

Seven

His little brother hadn’t cried last week when he’d tumbled down their front porch steps, the contents of his book bag spilling onto the icy surface that had made him fall in the first place. Very few things made Jay cry even though he was just a little guy. So when Will hears him crying in the doctor’s office, he knows something is very, very wrong. 

Pushing through the door, forgetting his book on the waiting room chair, ignoring the startled doctor, the nurse, and his mother, he scoops up Jay (who’s only seven to Will’s twelve years) and let’s him hide his reddening face in his shoulder, little hands clinging to his shirt.

“It’s okay, Jay-jay,” Will soothes, catching his mother’s eyes briefly as he does so. She’s small in her own chair; chemo has already taken her hair. “What’s the matter?”

“Don’t wanna!” Jay wails inarticulately. “Don’t wanna!”

“It’s okay to be scared,” Will whispers to him. “But you gotta get the shots. I already did - it’s okay, doesn’t hurt a bit.”

“But …” Jay whispers so only he can hear. “Momma always has so many - they make her cry.”

Heart breaking for his little brother, realizing the problem, Will realizes how much of their mother’s pain Jay seemed to have internalized. Because he’s not wrong. The needles and the chemo and the drugs their mother gets are hurting her. But how to explain their necessity to a seven year old? He can’t. Not really. Because he hates watching their mom suffer too, sometimes hearing her cry in the night from the pain, their father comforting her, most times.

“It’s not the same, I swear.” Will tells his little brother, going to sit back down on the chair by the nurse. “I’ll hold you the whole time,” He promises. “But you gotta get the shot. Deal?”

Sniffling and hiccuping, Jay eventually nods, face still hidden in Will’s shirt.

“Okay,” Will tells his little brother, soothing a hand down the trembling back. “Just hide with me for a bit. It’s all gonna be okay.”

Jay’s brave for him, sobs quieting as he clings to Will while getting the shot. But he doesn’t try to escape, body tense as Will does his best to sooth him. Will ends up carrying Jay to the car, even giving him the lollypop he’d gotten from the nurses station as a bonus prize. And he doesn’t complain when Jay tags along with him to his room, eventually curling up on Will’s bed while his big brother does homework at his desk.

This is when the thought is put into Will's head. He’d considered the career path back when his mother had first gotten sick. Because above all else he wanted to spare her some pain. So he’d started doing research on cancer and treatments, though medical journals and big books with words he doesn’t understand are a lot for an eleven year old to handle (he’s twelve now). And now, witnessing Jay’s fear, he knows he wants to bring comfort to more people than his own family. He wants to sooth the crying children and the crying mothers and the sickness of the world.

But … looking at his little brother curled up like a pill bug on his bed, bandage visible high up on his arm, starting with his little brother was okay with him.

————————————————————

Fourteen

He’d gotten into the medical program whether his father liked it or not. 

Squaring his shoulders, he starts moving all his things to the boxes he will store in the garage. There’s not much he will take to the dorms (he’s not about to stay in Illinois, within his fathers reach and ire) so his bags are light when he puts them in the clunker he’d gotten a good deal on. While it was a clunker, it would get him to where he wanted to go - maybe he’d even manage to get a bit of cash if he sells it off once he gets there.

Either way, he’s going around his bedroom one last time to see if he’s forgotten anything when Jay comes home. He can hear him on the stairs and then puttering around and then he’s in the bathroom, a cupboard opening. Then a yelp and a crash.

“Jay!?” He calls, already on his way to investigate. Knocking on the door. “Jay, you okay?”

“… I’m fine. Go away.”

Yeah, his little brother is hiding something for sure. 

“Either you open this door or I break it open, Jay,” He says, “And don’t you even think of trying to go out the window!” He knows his little brother would do that, contrary little shit that he is (pot, kettle, his brain sing-songs). His efforts are rewarded when the door opens, revealing Jay stripped to the waist and avoiding his eyes.

Will sees the trickling trail of blood on the kids arm and grabs it gently, not liking what he sees. Letting go of the arm, he points at the toilet. “Sit your ass down, Jay.”

Jay sits, still not looking at him.

“What happened?” Will eventually asks as he gets gloves from the box underneath the sink, seeing out the disinfectant and a few paper towels and q-tips in case he needs them. The cut is red and inflamed when he gets the excess blood off, wrinkling his nose at the small bit of pus that is also revealed. 

“Cut myself,” Jay mutters. 

“Jay,” He scolds him, gently, still poking around the injury, testing to see if the skin around it is tight - the infection is sreading, he finds, “This is bad. What did you cut yourself on?”

“Part of a fence,” Jay admits, wincing as Will cleans out the cut itself, gently but firmly digging a q-tip dipped into the disinfectant in the originally shallow wound. 

“How long ago?” Asking again when Jay continues to avoid his eyes. “How long ago, Jay?”

“… last week.”

It’s Friday, Will knows. Blowing out a breath, he switches gloves and then puts on another pair to tape a gauze pad over the entire length of the cut. “We’re going to the hospital.”

“What? Com’on no — it’s just a cut, I’ll be fine!” Jay looks up at him with wide eyes.

“It’s infected, Jay,” Will tells him. “And it’s been over a week and it’s not healing - you need to get it cleaned by a professional.”

Predictably, Will practically has to carry the stubborn ass down to the car, removing some of his packing out of the seats to make room for his little brother. Naturally, Jay pouts all the way, but Will knows that this is just a front, because the closer they get to the hospital, the more tense Jay becomes. It’s a route they both know by heart from the several years of accompanying their mother to her treatments after school. And then on the final trip where she lingered for several months in a hospital bed.

And then the last journey to the cemetery. That was going to be Will’s last stop before he headed to med school. He still needed to get flowers, actually. (Lord knew they father wasn’t that sentimental.)

“He’s going to need a tetanus shot,” the nurse confirms that Will had suspected after she’d cleaned out the wound and prescribed some oral antibiotics. 

Looking like he wants to bolt, Jay sits in the chair stiffly, looking pale and small under the hospital lights. “Can you give us a minute?” Will requests, waiting until she leaves the room to get what she needs. Sitting next too Jay, he rubs the kids shoulder, feeling goose bumps. “Still?”

Looking miserable, Jay nods, hunching further into himself. “Everyone is afraid of something,” Will says, “There’s nothing to be ashamed of.” Pulling him closer. “You can squeeze the hell out of my hand while it’s happening, okay?”

And Jay does just that. The kids’ grip has improved since he was seven, but Will isn’t about to complain. It’s done quickly but Will’s heart aches for his little brother, Jay’s fear clearly warring with his own stubbornness, probably picturing what their father would say if he was here.

‘Buck up!’ Or ‘Be a man!’ Or something like that. But they all know that their father had turned to the bottle instead of confronting his own issues so Will wasn’t about to pay him much mind. Though, now that he was heading off to school, Jay was going to be alone. Will was going to have to come back during breaks and make sure the kid was doing okay. He foresaw many long phone calls in his future.

“All done,” He assures Jay, feeling the grip on his hand continue, unrelenting. Once the nurse had left them alone, giving them the room to get Jay dressed again, Will pulls his little brother into a hug. Like the last time they’d done this, Jay’s hands curl into his shirt, holding on tight. “What do you say we go get something to eat?”

Food is the way to any teenage boys heart.

As he watches Jay scarf down burger after burger at Portillo’s, (only after Will had made him swallow some of the antibiotics with water), he feels a pang. Because he knows he’ll miss this.

But he’s going to school to learn how to help people. Given Jay’s track record, it’s a fair bet that his little brother is going to need his skills before long.

—————————————————

Twenty-eight

Connor is surprised that Will hasn’t started hovering yet. In fact, he hasn’t even made an appearance. This is out of line with the usual order of events, since Will always seems to have an uncanny sense of when his little brother ends up in the emergency room. And Connor has to admit he could use the red-heads help now - because Jay is a mess.

From how Dawson had described it a little while ago before he’d stepped out into the hall, Jay had had to chase a perp who’d been a ‘parkour’ wannabe. Eventually, they’d both fallen through a less than reliable set of stairs. Though ironically Jay had landed on the perp so he’s been saved broken bones. But he’s still gotten several longer cuts and some puncture wounds from debris from both the staircase and bits of a rotted fence. (Either way, it was a clusterfuck.) 

Besides the cuts, Jay had gotten knocked out and he still seemed a bit out of it, seemingly spacing out as Connor worked on him, cleaning everything meticulously. The trouble started when he got out the kit the nurse had brought earlier, suspecting tetanus to be a possible factor in this case. 

“No,” Jay slurred, pupils blown wide. Connor frowning as Jay tried to get off the bed, moving sluggishly from the concussion.

“Jay, it’s a tetanus shot,” He tells the younger man. “You could get an infection.”

“Donwann—”

And Jay’s really trying now, flopping off the bed and accidentally knocking over some metal tools which clang against the floor tiles when they hit. Dawson comes back inside to the see the mess and help Connor wrangle Jay back onto the bed.

“No —” The protests are disjointed but growing in panic. “Will —” Thrashing on the bed, hissing through clenches teeth. “No!” Connor and Dawson share a panicked look when Jay realizes he can’t get free and starts to cry.

“Will!” He wails, struggling under their hold. “Will! I don’t wanna! Will!”

Stepping out of the room, Connor waves Maggie over. “Do you know where Will is? I can’t calm Jay down.”

Catching a glimpse of the chaos over his shoulder, Maggie looks worried. “He said he was using his lunch break to run an errand. But he should be back soon.”

“I don’t think that’s good enough,” Connor comments as they both hear Jay let out another heart wrenching cry, sounding much younger that he was. “I’ll call him.”

Waiting as the call connects, he’s relieved to hear his colleague’s voice. 

Connor - what’s up?

Wincing as Jay sobs again, Connor admits, “We have a bit of a situation. Jay’s here.”

Is he alright? And Connor can imagine the expression of sudden alertness that has caused the sharpness in Will’s voice.

“I got him cleaned up - he fell and got a concussion, I’ll explain when you're here - but he needs a tetanus shot and he’s fighting Dawson and I —”

Let me talk to him, Will cuts him off with the demand and he can hear the car engine in the background.

“Sure.” Going back into the room he puts the phone on speaker, holding it close to Jay’s tear-stained face. 

Jay? Can you hear me, buddy?

Immediately, the struggles cease and Jay’s whole (if limited) attention is on the phone. “Will! I don’t wanna —”

I know, Jay, Will soothes. I’ll be there soon. You gotta stop fighting, okay?

Keeping watch, Dawson and Connor hover while they wait for Will to arrive while simultaneously trying not to eavesdrop on the conversation, which is next to impossible, since it’s on speaker-phone. The good doctor probably broke some speed limits, because he rushes into the room within the next ten minutes, dropping his bag in the chair by the door, headed straight to the bed, shoving his phone in his pocket. Conner retrieves his own phone while Jay practically climbs his big brother like a koala.

“Will,” Jay sobs, whole body shaking with them, getting riled up again, now that his big brother is here. “Will.”

“Shh, shh, shh,” Will soothes this. “It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

Once Jay’s sniffles have died down a bit, Connor approaches again, ignoring the flinch that goes through Jay’s body as he speaks. “He’s still gonna need a tetanus shot, Will.”

Giving him a look, Will looks down at his little brother. “You don’t have to look, Jay-jay, just hold onto me, okay?” After Jay’s eventual, stuttering nod, Connor preps Jay’s arm and quickly gets it over with, Will soothing Jay the entire time. Once it’s over, Conner and Dawson leave, shutting the door behind them.

Taking on last look at the brothers as he closes the door, Connor wonders what had prompted such an intense fear of needles. But … he doesn’t need to know. So he leaves Jay in Will’s capable hand, going over to Maggie to get Will taken off the duty roster for the rest of the day. Because there’s no way Will is going to let Jay go home by himself like this. And Connor agrees, wholeheartedly.

He’s known for a while now that no one would ever profit from getting between the Halstead brothers: it was them against the world.

Forever and Always.

Chapter Text

August 1943

For a camp as large as theirs Will knows that having two doctors is too few but he also knows that he’s extremely lucky to not be the only physician here. 

Stalag 9 has been his home for over a year and it was only two months ago that Dr. Connor Rhodes arrived. With over five hundred prisoner’s of war from three different armies housed in the Stalag’s two sections when he’d first arrived, that number had swelled to nearly seven hundred by the time Rhodes had come. And he was grateful for it. The first winter he was there, sickness, malnutrition, and the cold had killed forty men and overflowed the infirmary. No matter how much he hated it, Will had known, as he wandered like a zombie, too tired to care after three straight weeks of supervising the controlled chaos, that he needed help. And Rhodes had been that help.

Though winter was a few months off, Will hoped that they stood a better chance for the next round of sickness and cold and measly sawdust-enhanced bread. However, thoughts like those were not helpful on this sunny day in early August as the chill began to creep into the edges of the world, once again. Rhodes and him and set up a course to teach the medics and whoever else wanted to learn about first aid techniques. So they’d tag teamed the lectures on field medicine and they’d had many, many students. Additionally, a short man from up in Wales had offered to teach about animal diseases, since he’d served as the vet for his local community.

“I know I’m a doctor,” Rhodes commented, “But even I have a limit when it comes to discussing maggots.”

Will had to laugh. “Jemsin does like to talk about ticks, doesn’t he?”

“And other things.”

Their quiet conversation is interrupted by the approach of Captain Muller trailed by two of their regular guards, the little groups of men standing around going silent as they passed. 

“What do you think they want?” Connor asked in a low voice.

Will didn’t think he expected an answer. Anyway, he was prevented replying as they stood to greet Muller. He was a tall man, spare and with one eye covered by a patch, explaining his stationing at a POW camp instead of being shipped back to the Eastern Front. (Though the stain on his honor, to be guarding prisoners instead of fighting for the glory of his Fatherland had given him a rough impatient air when it came to interacting with the Americans, Frenchmen, British, and Canadian, etc soldiers whom he guarded.)

“Doctor Rhodes, Doctor Halstead,” he got about his business abruptly. “One of you will come with me to see to the new prisoners. There are ten of them, though only one has arrived with any injury.”

With a look between them, it was decided that Will would go. “I’ll get my bag, Captain,” he said. Leaning moderately on his cane, Will headed inside to do just that, informing the medics inside where he was going. “Rhodes will continue the lecture.” He assured them with a quiet smile. “I’m ready,” He told Muller as he emerged into the sunlight again.

With a nod, Muller turned and led the way, Will hurrying to keep up. A product of the battle that had overrun his aid station, the injury to his leg had healed poorly; he had been shot by a stray bullet, the lower part of his femur chipped and cracked near the knee joint. He was only lucky that his fellow prisoners had been allowed to give him aid in the aftermath. Doped up on morphine, he’d spent an additional three hours giving the remaining orderlies directions on how to help the wounded, German or American alike. German doctor’s and a stay in a POW ward had done the rest, leaving him with a limp. It was not ideal. But he had lived.

He had learned to cherish that fact, even when he was surrounded by fear and mud and misery.

By the time they made it to the delousing center, the fast pace had started a slow fire in Will’s leg, a fire he pushed aside. He didn’t need pity; nor would Muller give it. He had a job to do, up to and including being the first friendly face the new men would see in their new ‘home away from home.’

… pack up your troubles in your old

kit bag and smile smile smile …

Went the old refrain. Well, he had a bag and he had plenty of troubles, now all he needed to do was smile for his captive audience.

“You will form a line,” Muller called, the newly deloused prisoner’s following the guards herding, their hair already closely cropped to their skulls. While this ensured they would enter the Stalag clean, they would soon pick up lice, because they were hard to get rid of. Though it was better than a rat in one’s bed, Will supposed. “There will be another examination by Doctor Halstead.” 

Turning to Will, he made an abrupt motion. “You may begin, doctor.”

The first man in line who Will beckons forward is a tired looking fellow with brown eyes and dark hair and weary resignation in his posture. He’s also the only one who has any visible injury, with a slightly dirty cast on his arm. This must be the one whom Muller had mentioned.

“Name and rank?” Will asks, already reaching forward to examine the cast.

“Dawson, Antonio, Corporal —”

There’s a sudden movement down the line and a call in German. Will looks up, to see —

“Jay?”

His little brother is there - he almost hadn’t recognized him in his army uniform and with a shaved skull. But those eyes he would know anywhere, even if they are shadowed with grief and hard with a cruel knowledge of the world they now live in. Starting to move forward, mindlessly, without clearly thinking about their audience, he’s startled by a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Doctor,” Muller’s voice comes from about half a foot above his head. “You know this man?”

“Yes, Captain,” Will says, seeing no reason to lie and knowing the punishment was be brutal if he did, given Muller’s proclivities when it came to punishments. “He’s my younger brother.”

There are widening eyes and looks among the other new prisoners and he knows the guards are taken aback by the information, once it is translated by the few who have a smattering of English. But Muller is not one for such sentimentality.

Rattling off an order to his men, Jay is grabbed and moved towards the door, a motion from one of the higher ranking men in the line making Jay stop struggling. They share a look and then Jay is gone.

“It will not do to have you distracted, doctor.” Muller tells him, giving him a small shove back towards Dawson. “Begin again.”

Almost falling, heart in his throat, Will is kept on his feet by a quick save from Dawson with his good arm. “Easy, doc,” comes the quiet whisper and then he has to get on with it.

In a blur, Will moves down the line, pronouncing each man fit and healthy (as much as they all are, these days) and finally Jay is brought bcak in. In silence, Will looks Jay over, searching frantically for any changes or wounds or hurts that he needs to bandage. He knows Jay is doing the same to him, and that his wounds are very visible, the cane that he carries everywhere displayed for all to see. But he doesn’t dare speak everything he has in his heart, even though they’re trying to overflow inside him, fearing Muller’s harsh hand.

Gaze flickering to the hovering German, Jay is smart enough to hold his own silence and soon they are separated again, Jay falling back to form the line and Will putting his tools away. As they are escorted out to be assigned quarters, Will is left behind, watching as Jay’s boots disappear out the door.

“Herr Doktor,” Muller tells him. “Langenscheidt will take you back to your quarters.”

On the whole way back to the hospital building, Will doesn’t see a thing. All he knows is that Jay is here - his little brother is here in this hellhole.

And it’s so good to see him again.

—————————————————

After a week on the road, they stopped outside the gates of an actual prison. They all stared through the grating of the truck at the prisoners who were inside the wire. The prisoners stared back. It looked like a bleak place, though there was a baseball game going on in the center of the compound. That at least looked interesting. 

They’ve been bossed around so much since they’d been captured that stripping draws little protest and they run through the delousing shower, grateful to finally be free of the dirt they’ve accumulated, even if the water is very cold. The shaving is also strange, but they are at least given replacement clothes. It seems like their original ones will have to be cleaned, but that remains to be ascertained. 

Left on their own, the guards eventually enter again and they are ordered to fall into line. 

And then —

“Jay?”

The voice he haven’t heard in two years (it feels like two hundred) rings in his ears and anger pulses through him as the tall behemoth of a guard stops Will from coming to him. Other guards escort him out and only Voight’s hidden signal stops him from fighting.

Outside, standing at attention again, his thoughts race. 

Will looks tired and he has a cane and a limp. He’s thin. He’s … he’s alive. It had been months since he’d gotten mail from Will and it had taken a while for the Red Cross to notify him that Will had been captured. But Jay had never thought that they’d end up in the same camp, not in a million years. 

Escorted back inside, aware of the behemoth hovering nearby, Jay keeps silent as Will examines him, reveling in even the barest contact as Will tells him how to move; where to look; when to stick out his tongue; etc. And he can get a closer look at Will, taking in his older brother’s latently obvious fear of the guard who is in charge. 

He’ll need to get the story behind that.

Soon, much too soon, he’s pushed back into line and he’s about ready to vibrate out of his skin as they’re all put into different barracks since bunks are scarce. Though Jay does end up in Dawson’s barracks, number five, the sign over the door had said. 

“We’re much obliged,” Dawson says to the man who’d been showing them around their new quarters. “If we could trouble you - can you tell us how to find the infirmary?”

“Didn’t you just get examined?” Thompson asks.

“Yes, but Jay’s older brother is Doctor Halstead, and they didn’t get the chance to talk, before.”

Thompson’s face brightened. “Really? Sure, I’ll take you. The doc’s a good guy.”

So Jay trails after the guide, Dawson keeping up with the man’s chatter as they walked. The walk is both too long and too short, Jay finds. Because he’s impatient, but as he finally sees Will again in the company of their allies, he has a moment of indecision. That is eradicated when Will practically throws himself at Jay, his cane clattering to the ground in his enthusiasm.

“Hey, brother,” Will murmurs, hugging him tightly. Sinking into it, Jay enjoys the feel of his dreams becoming a reality. Because he’s missed this - missed Will. So he tries to ignore the feel of ribs beneath his bone crushing hug, the red-head not protesting his enthusiasm.

“Are you okay?” He asks when they finally pull apart, much of Will’s weight still supported by his hold. 

With a reassuring smile, Will only says, “Caught a bullet when my Aid Station was overrun.” Shrugging under his scrutiny. “It could’ve been worse.”

And Jay knows - he knows this, but the thought of Will injured and bleeding and in pain sticks in his craw.  Because Will’s a doctor, not a soldier, he should’ve been safe.

“Are you hungry?” Will asks, drawing back.

The question makes Jay aware of the gnawing in his stomach which he has been ignoring since the second day of their capture. While they’d been fed before this, the German’s hadn’t been rushing to give them large quantities of food. Perhaps his own ribs would be showing before long. 

“Yeah. They fed us some bread this morning.”

“I’m afraid we still can’t give you much,” Connor cuts in. “But dinner should be served in a few hours, if you can stomach it.” Grimacing as he moves closer, holding out his hand. “It takes some getting used to.” They shake. “Connor Rhodes.”

“Jay Halstead.”

And life rolls on.

——————————————————————

January 1944

The months pass and soon cold envelopes the camp seeping into the earth and their bones. 

New prisoners still arrive sporadically, but, while the escape committees still brainstorm and stash away what supplies they can, mostly they stay inside. The cold can kill them, they all know and sometimes everyone ends up in a giant mass on the floor when the wood runs out for the stove. By January, this happens more and more often. But what good will it do to complain? Even the guards are short of supplies. Tempers are also in short supply. Often, Jay will end up at the infirmary, talking with his brother or with the patients. There’s always a cough going around and dysentery is a given, because of the food quality. (Jay had been right about his ribs starting to show.) 

Then the day comes when he finds Will tucked into his own cot in the little area Connor and him share, separate from the main area. 

“Will?” He asks, kneeling by the bed to run a soothing hand through Will’s hair, feeling the heat coming off his older brothers skin. “What’s wrong with him?” He asks Connor, who’s come in behind him.

“What’s been going around, most likely,” The other doctor says. Jay can tell he’s a bit concerned. “That, coupled with exhaustion.” 

“Jenkins died last night,” Will says softly, blinking open weary eyes to look at Jay. And Jay had liked Jenkins, but that announcement sends a shiver down his spine. Because does that mean that Will could be next?

“We don’t think it was catching,” Connor tells him after Will had fallen asleep. “He’d been fading for a while, poor fellow.

And this is true. Even Jay, who hasn’t been here long compared to many of the other POWs, knows when someone has lost the will to live. Jenkins’s last blow (according to the infirmary gossip) had been a ‘Dear John’ letter. And then he’d just … slipped away slowly. There was nothing anyone could have done for him.

But Jay isn’t going to let that happen to Will - he’s going to stay with him as long as he can. He’s going to bribe or steal or trade for whatever he needs to comfort Will. Because his big brother is going to survive this, even if Jay doesn’t. Because Will is the one who deserves to go home, he isn’t the one who has so much blood on his conscience. 

A curfew is still in effect, banishing Jay from the infirmary until after roll call the next day. He only goes to eat at Connor’s urging, returning to sit by Will’s side, switching out soaked rags they’d converted into clothes on his burning forehead, holding his hand to sooth him as he tosses and turns in his sleep. 

“Jay-jay,” Will says to him a few days into the fever, eyes seeing something that isn’t there. “Did mom make the pickles?”

“Yeah,” Jay says. “But you ate them all already, remember?”

“Love pickles.” Will agrees, nodding sagely. “And the peaches?”

“Dad pawned them.” And it’s not entirely a lie - their father had often sold things for more than he’d paid for them. It bring up memories of Chicago in summertime. Here in winter bound Germany, there are no peaches anywhere but in Will’s mind.

“Oh.” Will appears to accept this, settling down again. 

Though it’s when the guard comes around to make sure Jay goes back to his quarters that Will raises a racket.

“Jay!” He cries, the plea twisting in Jays guts, even as he’s escorted to the door, Connor keeping the frail doctor in his bed. “Jay! Don’t go!”

Outside, Muller is passing and Jay does something he’s never done before in his life: he begs.

“Captain Muller,” Jay asks, “Please let me stay with Will - he's not doing well.”

Indeed, Muller can hear the cries from within the infirmary just as clearly as Jay can. But the Captain will never pass up an opportunity to be cruel. “There will be no exceptions to the curfew.” Snapping off an order in German, Jay is starting to be pulled away, until, desperate, he twists away form the leading hands, falling to his knees in the chilly, frozen mud beneath their feet.

“Please,” He chokes out, blinking against rage-filled, humiliated tears. “Please, Captain Muller. Let me stay with my brother.” Seeing the sick pleasure on the taller man’s face. “Please.”

Perhaps the behemoth has a change of heart. Perhaps his begging has satisfied the German’s sadistic needs - because Jay is hauled back into the infirmary, startled eyes following as he’s dragged by the arm, the behemoths’ hand nearly swallowing his bicep.

He winced as the cold metal of a pair of hand cuffs attaches his right wrist to the frame of Will’s bed. 

“If you attempt to escape,” Muller warned him, “It will not be sickness that he dies from.”

And with that promise, the brothers are left alone again.

“Jesus Christ,” one of the medics, who’d been watching from the door as it all went down breathed out once they were sure Muller had left the building. 

“Yeah,” Jay can only agree, reaching out to touch Will, telling himself that his actions weren’t in vain.

He’d gotten the story out of one of the medics who’d been in the camp before Will had arrived. The story of why Will was so afraid of Muller.

“Before there was a change in Kommandants,” The man had told Jay and Dawson and a few of the others who’d been around. “Muller ruled this place with an iron fist. And I mean iron fist,” Grimacing at the memory. “Was real free with the beatings, he was. Anyway, there was one lad who went a bit bonkers - the stress, ya know? - and he’d been in the infirmary for a while, made friends with the doc. Then, once he gets out, he makes another run at the wire. Get’s shot for his trouble.” 

He trails off, smoking for a bit, reliving a memory. “But it didn’t kill him - not that. They’d held the doc back while the man flopped about with a bullet hole in him. Then Muller comes up, takes a look at all of us (and this was about a week after a failed escape attempt, one of our best tunnels, too) lifts his foot up and —” Clapping his hands together to demonstrate, making the watchers flinch back. “Twice.” Taking another pull on his cigarette. “The bloke was dead by the end of that.”

While Jay has seen many cruelties since the start of the war, and he knows Will must have witnessed many painful deaths, perhaps even some were under his scalpel and hands, he knows that that death in particular would’ve affected his brother profoundly. It was also why he’d guessed that begging was what was needed to get Muller to change his mind. The man was a sadist, after all. He enjoyed killing. He enjoyed making them all suffer like bugs he could easily crush under his foot (literally). 

His vigil continues through the night, his eyes burning in the candlelight. There is a feeling that has been growing in him; the belief that, if he looks away, Will will be gone by the time he looks back. Apparently there are limits to terror, because he falls asleep lying awkwardly by Will on the edge of the cot to accommodate the cuff attaching him to the bed. 

He wakes to the coolness of drying sweat soaking his clothes. Blinking and then scrambling to feel Will’s forehead once he realized that he’d drifted off, Jay find that Will’s fever has broken. Connor chooses that moment to make his rounds, face lighted by the candle he’s carrying.

“Fever’s broken,” the doctor pronounced aloud what Jay suspected. “He’s going to be okay.”

Jay bursts into tears, burying his face in Will’s shoulder, tension breaking like a dam. 

“‘Ay?” Comes the voice after a while and his brother shifts underneath him. “Why you cryin’?”

Jay only cries harder, pressing closer to his brother. He hasn’t lost Will. (Not yet.)

Perhaps he is also taken with a fever, because he’s feeling too much all at once. When his sobs eventually die out, Conner has left the room and Will is stroking his hair.

“Hey, brother.” Exhausted, Will smiles. “You took care of me.”

Worn out by his fit, Jay can only nod.

“You did good, Jay,” Will says, reaching out to cup his cheek. “You did good.”

They can still face the world together.

———————————————

June 1944

The sun blazes outside in the approaching height of summer.

That heat encroaches in the darkness of the cooler where some cold is still seeped into the cement in the cell beneath the earth. But Jay wouldn’t know since no light reaches his eyes except a slight glow from under the metal door. 

He was waiting for Muller to come in the night.

No one likes going to the cooler on a good day - but everyone knew that Muller preyed on those who served their sentences in the cells. Perhaps the Kommandant approved, perhaps he didn’t. As long as it was not out in the open and easily reported to the occasional Red Cross official, he turned a blind eye.

Jay’s body already aches with bruises from the visit he’d received the night before. His sentence was a week for stealing food from the guards kitchen, where he’d been part of the cooking crew. There’s no excuse for it - at least, not one that the German’s will accept.

It’s just … they’d had meat - actual meat - and even some jerky in their storage. And he’d seen Will’s gaunt face in his minds eye, still occasionally coughing from the lingering affects of his illness during the winter. So Jay had tried to take some of the jerky, putting it in a handkerchief in his sock. Unluckily, a patrol had come by the gate while they were waiting to be let back into the camp, and the two dogs had started to circle him, smelling the meat.

That had gotten him thrown in the cooler before you could spell Mississippi. 

He can hear the footsteps in the distance, the tramp of hob nails on the cement.

…

Punches are thrown in the dark.

————————————————-

Will knows that Muller has been going to the cooler.

It’s the fifth night running, goes the scuttlebutt, and Will can only imagine what that behemoth has been doing to his little brother. Because he remembers when Muller had — ruthlessly cutting off the thought before it becomes Jay’s head in the dirt, split open like a melon, he can only comfort himself that Jay’s sentence is up in two more days. He can survive that long, surely?

On the fifth evening after curfew, Muller comes for him. It’s almost a relief when he is told he will not need his medical bag.

“Why are you taking him?” Connor demands as fearful eyes watch the drama unfolding in the infirmary.

“The other one is lonely,” Muller’s teeth-filled smile dares Connor to protest further. 

But Conner has always been brave. “I will tell the Kommandant about this.” A casual backhand from Muller send him back against the wall, a trickle of blood starting to drain from the corner of his mouth.

“It’s okay,” Will tells him, feeling a calm descend upon him even though his knees feel like jelly. “Don’t worry about me, Connor.”

Will doesn’t need the cane because with how Muller is dragging him, his feet barely touch the ground.

—————————————————

“Will!” 

Jay hurries to help his brother up from where Muller had thrown the red-headed doctor. Already panting out short, staccato breaths, his bum leg pointed stiffly out at his side, Will clings to him as they stay on their knees, Muller circling like the predator that he is.

The cell door has been shut.

They are alone with their own personal devil.

“Stand,” comes the order, Muller kicking lightly at Will’s feet. “Over there.”

It’s agony to watch Will maneuver himself to his feet without his cane. And as Will eventually stands by the door, strain showing on his face by the light of the candle, Jay realizes exactly how diabolical the Captain’s scheme is.

“Stand.” Muller repeated as Will’s bad knee buckles — but he manages not to fall.

It’s been nearly ten minutes, Jay thinks (time is moving strangely) when Will finally falls, gasping breaths filling the silence. A kick drives him to the floor, a groan escaping through gritted teeth.

“Jay!” Will calls, though they both know there’s nothing he can do.

Because Muller kicks Jay again, and again, and again before stopping abruptly.

“Stand.” Muller orders again, face hidden in shadow. “Stand, Herr Doktor.”

And Will does, the cycle repeating long into the knight. 

Blood and tears litter the floor by the end of it.

—————————————————

When Will is not returned by roll call the next morning, Connor goes to Voight, the senior officer of the camp and explains the situation. He knows Jay is part of Voight’s merry band of escapees; surely he can work some magic to get the Halstead brothers out of the cooler.

On the best of days, Voight’s face is difficult to read, but Connor thinks he sees something like concern flash over the man’s face when he says Jay’s name in conjunction with Muller’s.

“We heard Muller had gone to the cooler this week,” Voight says, looking at Olinsky. “But we didn’t know about Will.”

“Muller practically dragged him away last night - didn’t let him take his cane or medical bag, either.” Conner tells them, remembering the scene.

“Looks like he hit you, too,” Dawson remarks, noting the bruise at the corner of Connor’s mouth.

Connor shrugs, waiting for the verdict.

“Guess we’re going to go see the Kommandant.”

Connor is more than ready to join them when Voight follows the Kommandant towards the cooler. Muller is no where in sight. While the behemoth had been present at roll call, he’d disappeared soon afterward.

There was a part of Connor that thought he’d be prepared for the scene about to revealed — but it’s so much worse than he could’ve imagined. Because, just as the guard is unlocking the door, the Kommandant not even letting him knock on it to give a warning to those inside, there’s a loud wail of pain from within that makes the little hair stand up on the backs of their necks.

“Raus!” The Kommandant tells the guard fumbling with the keys. And there are more shouts, Jay screaming obscenities and Muller taunting the man. But it all freezes when the light pours in.

“Muller!” The Kommandant shouts, releasing a torrent of German as Muller steps back from his victims.

Conner wants to be sick, but pushes it down with the ease of long practice. Because Muller had only just lifted his foot from atop Will’s already mangled leg. Rushing to his side, Conner tries to see what’s wrong.

“Will,” Jay crawled to his brother’s side, grabbing his brothers hand, lifting the red-head’s head into his lap, trying to comfort, trying to keep his brother still. “It’s gonna be okay now, Connor’s here.”

The only comfort is that Muller didn’t injure Will’s good leg. But what he had done isn’t pretty. Will isn’t going to be walking for a while, Connor knows, looking at the bruising rising to the surface of the flesh.

“We need a stretcher!” Connor calls over to the tangle of officers and German’s, the Kommandant taking a break from shouting at Muller long enough to okay the order.

It’s time to get the Halstead brothers back up into the light.

—————————————————

The periods of time that Will had been able to stand became shorter and shorter. Jay had known in his gut that Muller was just waiting for an excuse to escalate and he had the opportunity when Will was no longer able to rise.

Jay wondered what time it was. (Also, did Muller never sleep?)

There had been a short period when Muller left and then came back, crushing any hope that Jay harbored that Muller would leave them alone until the next night, or let Will go. Why was he tormenting them so? What drove him to hurt them with such glee?

Not that it mattered as their blood stained the floor. 

“You stole to feed him,” Muller guesses, smirking when Jay can’t hide the truth. “You would eat dirt. Animal.”

We already eat sawdust, Jay thought sourly as Muller hovered closer to Will. How much worse can dirt be?

“You will be brought to heel.” 

As the German’s boot settles on Will’s bad leg, the red-head has enough awareness left to beg.

“No — please — don’t —”

Will gives a blood curdling scream.

The memory lingers into Jay’s wakened state, sour bile blooming in the back of his throat. Holding Will’s hand, he’d fallen asleep in a chair by the bed. He’s regretting it now, his bruised muscles locking up as he tries to change his position to a more comfortable one. 

By the time Connor comes in, he’s fully awake and watching Jay.

“What’s the damage?” He asks before Connor can greet him.

“His leg’s broken,” Connor confirms in a low voice, "Again." Handing Jay a gently steaming cup of the drink they like to call coffee (though it’s really not, since the Red Cross parcels have been used up long ago). “Bed rest for at least three weeks.” Gaze flicking up at Jay and over his visible bruises. “You’ve both been through quite the ordeal.”

“I could’ve taken it,” Jay tells him. “If only —”

“If only he hadn’t brought Will into it,” Connor finishes it for him. “You Halstead’s, I swear you would fight the Reaper with a spoon if it came down to it.”

“With one hand tied behind my back,” Jay attempts to joke.

They make small talk till Will starts to wake up, Jay keeping silent as Connor puts a groggy Will through his paces. Though he does hold Will’s hand, giving silent support. When Connor eventually leaves them alone, they settle into silence. What more is to be said after they have suffered together in the way they just had? What more needs to be proven.?

“Do you remember when we got that raft to sail on the river when we were kids?” Will asks after they’ve eaten the gruel one of the orderlies brings in around mid-morning.

Jay snorts. “Wasn’t it just a bit of aluminum siding?”

Will roll’s his eyes fondly. “It was the spirit of the thing, Jay.”

“Yeah, well, I was rinsing the spirit of the river out of my clothes for a week.” Taking a couple more bites of gruel. “What made you think of that?”

“I was just thinking about how we wanted to explore the world, I suppose.”

“I think we’ve explored enough of the world,” Jay says. 

“But if we actually did go on adventures, we should go on an actual boat. Though … were we pirates? I can’t remember now.”

“Think Jimmy wanted the other piece to be a pirate ship but it sank within a yard of the dock. Ours got out farther, remember?” He prompts Will’s memory.

“Yeah, guess I do.” Will also takes a few more bites before he says, “Maybe someone’s looking for a peg-legged pirate.”

“You’d be a very intimidating ship’s doctor,” Jay snorts.

“We both know that’s your job, Jay, glowering in a corner.” He tsk’s. “If you were a pirate, you’d be the parrot.”

“What? Why?” Jay squawks in indignation. Because that had come out of left field.

“Because you’ll just fly around the ship, get in my way and go ‘Jay, jay, jay!,’” Will grins at him, holding his sides as he tries not to laugh and aggravate his ribs.

So the conversation goes until they get their first visitors of the day. 

In their dreams that night, instead of blood and darkness, they are sailing towards the horizon. They’re headed beyond the boundaries of the map where dragons lie.

Chapter Text

There was desert, sand, and sagebrush, but the two men’s eyes were always on the horizon, squinting against the scorch of the sun.

Both were dust-covered and raw-boned, though that was the extent of their sameness. One was freckled by the sun under a light tan with ghost-blue eyes while the other was of a slightly darker hue with eyes that told stories. And their current story was that they were chasing a man, and had been chasing him for two months now, and their chase had lead them through sagebrush, over rivers and now across the flat desert plains of Kansas.

“Think we’ll catch him?” The younger man asked. 

“He’ll want to hunker down in the next town for a while, I reckon,” The older rider, his teacher, said. “After this desert, he’ll want to live it up a little.”

Their query, one Thaddeus McAvoy, had started out as a small time cattle rustler and then graduated to robbing stagecoaches. That was a jurisdictional problem until McAvoy killed two passengers and fled the State. Across State lines meant it was a case for the Marshals. And these two Marshals meant to get their man, come hell of high water. These two were a pair; the younger was learning from the older. He’d been a deputy in Clearwater, Nebraska (NE) before making a name for himself. When it was clear he’d been itching to move on, a passing Marshal recruited him. Jay Halstead (for that was the younger’s name) was now under the guidance of Antonio Dawson, who was from one of the many areas on the edge of the States and Mexican territories. Perhaps one day the specific town where Dawson was born would become part of the Union of States, but for now, his birthplace was under the flux of territorial disputes and wars of a collapsing monarchy. 

(Not that this matters to this particular pursuit, but it’s nice to know the heroes of the story.)

“Dodge City,” Antonio announced when they topped a big rise and it sprawled down before them, as windswept and dusty as the rest of the landscape. But it meant people and people meant better food than what they had left in their saddlebags. “We’ll eat well tonight.”

“You’ve been here before?”

Antonio hummed, nodding his head to a low rise in the distance where Jay could see graves covering it’s surface. “That’s Boot Hill - for the ones who died with their boots on, but barely had a name. They lived fast and died hard and so they all are buried there. But for the sheriff, Dodge would be a lawless place and there would be more hills that that.” They ride awhile before Antonio makes one last comment on that particular monument of American history. “I put three men there, last time I came through.”

And he might put one more, this time around, they both knew. For McAvoy had led them on a merry chase, but there is always a time when an outlaw became tired of running.

Antonio was right about the food. There was steak and potatoes at the ‘Panhandle’ and whiskey besides, though neither of the Marshals drank to excess. After they’d eaten they headed for the Sheriff’s office to check in. While it wasn’t a requirement, it was a courtesy. And the Sheriff and his deputies always knew their town better than a Marshal only passing through would. 

“Adam Ruzek,” The sheriff introduced himself. “This is one of my deputies, Kevin Atwater.” 

Once they’d all shaken hands they settled in to palaver. And they did so until one of the prisoner’s in the back started kicking up a fuss.

“What’s the matter with him?” Jay asked as Atwater went back to the cell to investigate.

“Decided to pick a fight,” the sheriff said. “His ribs paid the price.”

“Might wanna get the doc to look at him,” Atwater said when he came back. “Bandages could do with replacin’ anyway.”

Checking his watch, Ruzek nodded. “Go relieve Roman on patrol and have him bring the Doc.”

Antonio and Ruzek started a card game as they waited for the doc, while Jay went through the Wanted Posters the sheriff had said arrived a few days before. Some of them were new, so it was worth the time.

Though Jay was in for a surprise when the deputy they hadn’t met yet led the doc in, because he knew the lanky, red-headed physician with a respectable beard.

“Will! You son of a gun!” Laughing as his older brother returned his hug. “I thought you were still in Boston?”

Shrugging, grin as wide as his little brothers, Will told him, “No, I decided I wanted to see a bit of that glorious wilderness that you wrote me about. And it’s not half bad, so far. Though I’ve been paid in enough fatback and chickens to start my own farm.”

“You know the Marshal, doc?” Roman asked.

“He’s my younger brother.” Will told the room, slinging an arm around his kid brothers shoulders. “Haven’t seen him in about - oh, what’s it been, three years?”

“I would’ve visited if I knew you were in Kansas.”

Something softened further in Will’s eyes. “I know. Sorry I didn’t telegram, but you’ve been moving around so much —”

And the evening turns to night. Their first day in Dodge is uneventful after that. It’s the third day there when everything goes to hell.

——————————————————

“Marshal!” 

The call from outside the office makes the men inside sit up and the citizens on the street stop and stare, a few of the more civil-minded of them running off to find the deputies on patrol.

“Heard you were lookin’ for me!”

Of course the man had picked the time just before lunch, when so many people were hurrying home to their own tables. The Marshals were there with Atwater, the three exchanging a look.

“You’ve been chasing me for a long time now - do you have the guts to finish it?!”

When they emerge onto the porch in front of the Sheriff’s office, they see McAvoy on the street, hand resting casually on the butt of his gun, which is still holstered. There were people on the walkways, staying out of the action. There is the occasional low murmur, but otherwise, silence has descended upon them all. 

“You sure you wanna go out this way, McAvoy?” Antonio asks, tense but calm.

“Might be you who goes out,” McAvoy blustered, sweat already dripping down his temples.

Antonio went to step down from the porch.

“No!” The shout stops him in his tracks. “The other Marshal would suit me better.”

So Jay descends the steps without looking at his mentor, though Antonio’s teachings parade through his mind. Thinking of the position of the sun, the tremble of McAvoy’s gun hand and — he sees Will push to the front of the crowd, Roman’s hand on his arm keeping his older brother from doing anything stupid. Though he can tell Will wants to. (Do something stupid that is, like run into the street in the middle of a gunfight, the idiot.)

There’s no way he’s dying here, not under Will’s eyes. Tightening his stance, he stares down the fugitive.

“It’s your call, McAvoy!”

The outlaw is quick.

...

...

But Jay is quicker.

The dust makes a pitiful cloud as McAvoy falls, a bullet through his heart. Jay has made his first contribution to Boot Hill.

But then there’s a hurt in his side and after he’s staggered, surprised by the pain, he hears the report of the gun. There are screams and shouts of alarm but it’s all one big mess in his ears. Falling to one knee, he curls around the hurt. Though his gun is still clutched in his hand - he wouldn’t drop it for anything. 

It’s Will’s voice he hears through the noise.

“Let me see, Jay!” His brother is kneeling beside him, taking off his hat and opening his collar, pulling up the shirt to expose the wound. “Let me see. That’s it.”

The world settled and Jay became aware of all the faces around him. Looking to the side past his brother’s shoulder, he sees the Sheriff manhandling the person who must’ve shot him. Jay doesn’t recognize him. Not that it matters. Squirming as another flash of pain goes through his side, he finds that it’s a stupid move because it goddamn hurts.

“Stay still,” Will admonishes him, speaking to Antonio. “Looks like it glanced off his ribs. Painful — but it’s safe to move him.”

And that’s how Antonio and Jay end up staying in Will’s guest room on the floor above the doctor’s office. 

(Though in Jay’s humble opinion, he’ll end up dying of Will’s mother henning before he will of the broken ribs.)

—————————————————

How do story’s become legends? How to legends become ballads?  

Jay and Antonio become something great in the minds of the people who they help and they stay partnered for another couple of years before Antonio decides to choose a territory closer to his wife and children. Jay continues from partner to partner, from job to job, sparking fear in the hearts of outlaws and rustlers alike. 

On a particular spring day, Jay ends up riding with Voight and Olinsky, who have both out-legended legends. 

But some outlaws are just plain baddies. 

“Wire says the Clinton gang hit another gold shipment for the federal bank.” Voight says, coming out of the telegraph office.

“They lose any men?”

“One. Died of his injuries.”

“We going after them?” Jay asks, already putting on his hat.

Voight’s silence is answer enough.

So they ride across the prairies and ford the rivers towards where the cattle roam and the trains go to Fort Knox with their iron bellies bulging with bullion. 

“Can we stop off somewhere for a bit, Voight?” Jay asks. “It’s on the way.”

“What’s the rush?” Olinsky asks, a mouth piece for their silent partner.

“My brother’s in Kansas City,” Jay tells them. Even though he’s not looking, he can tell he’s surprised them. “He’s a doctor.”

“… I think we could spare time.”

So they do, heading their horses slighting north-east. 

—————————————————

While he’s supervising the work of his new apothecary, needing the help to handle the influx of patients he’d had recently, he hears the bell ring when someone comes in. Perhaps several someones.

“Just a moment!” He calls before turning back to their work. “Now, you need to make the ratio smaller - it’s for a child, not an adult, remember?”

“Yes, sir.”

Wiping his hands on a cloth, stripped down to his waistcoat with his sleeves rolled up to the elbows as well, he comes out to the front of the office. “How can I help —” stopping in his tracks as he sees who’s there. Eyes focusing on the foremost of the three men who have just entered. “Jay!”

It’s good to see his little brother. Though he’s one of the toughest lawmen around, nowadays, in Will’s mind Jay will still be the little kid he taught to shave. Breathing in his brother’s scent (even if he could probably use a bath), feeling the solid muscle of him and reveling in the return hug, they eventually separated. 

“You on the road to somewhere else?” He teased.

“Afraid so,” Jay grins back. Though he does look a bit apologetic. 

“William Halstead,” he introduces himself. Gesturing to the apothecary who’d come out from the back because of the commotion. “This is my assistant, Anthony Travers.”

“Hank Voight.”

“Alvin Olinsky,” The tall man with a lank mustache introduces himself. 

And Will knows exactly who they are. At least, he knows all the stories.

“I hope you’re keeping my little brother out of trouble,” He smiles.

“Think it’s been the other way around, doc,” Voight smirks. “He’s a good marshal.”

Jay beams at Will’s side, flushing from the praise. Will is sure that it’s something that comes few and far between from a man like Voight.

“Did y’all just get into town?” Will  asks, stepping away to get his coat and put it on.

And that’s how they ended up down the street, enjoying stew, coffee, and homemade apple pie at the ‘Stagecoach Inn.’ 

Jay stays for a while, but then they have to move on.

Where they were going and to do what didn’t really concern Will, but he was brought up short several weeks later by a newspaper headline.

CLINTON GANG CAUGHT: MARSHAL SERVICE SAVES THE GOLD

Scanning the story, he sees Jay’s name listed among the Marshals who worked the case. Because he doesn’t live under a rock, he is aware of who the Clinton Gang is and what they’ve been doing over the last several years. 

Good for Jay. He thinks.

And he goes on about his business.

————————————————

Jonas Clinton was a mean son of a bitch.

Though his picture graced the front pages of newspapers and wanted posters across the nation, they did not do justice to the weasel-like cunning of his deep black eyes. Jay would know - because all Jonas ever did was stare at them, silent and sullen among the group of captured criminals. Not that the others weren’t sullen, but most had become used to the idea of being captured and the fate that awaited them. Though they hadn’t killed many people, they were sure to end up in prison (or the quarries, those who hadn’t actually killed anyone). Because eye witness’s had identified Jonas Clinton as the the man who’d often done the killing.

During the failed robbery there had been a gunfight. They had been called the Clinton gang because of the three brothers; Jonas, Jeremiah, and Jasper. Jeremiah had died from some explosives going off during the commotion. Jay had shot Jasper, watching the youngest Clinton brother fall under his guns.

Ever since then Jonas had been watching Jay. The last Clinton boy, the last and the oldest .. what did he have to lose that he hadn’t lost already? 

But what did he have to gain if he killed the man directly responsible for Jasper’s death? That was the question. The answer was probably immense satisfaction on his own part, even if he went out in a hail of bullets. So Jay kept his eye on the outlaw who’s eyes threatened and his stillness spoke of a great resolve. 

Jonas, too, watched and waited.

———————————————————

With the new apothecary had come another doctor as his partner. 

So when Olinsky comes to the office, gun fully visible at his side to ask for Will’s services in the name of the US Marshal service, Will is confident enough in his new partner to leave their patients in his hands. Connor Rhodes had come highly recommended and his last employment at a surgical ward could only come in handy. 

“How long do you think he’ll be gone?” Connor asked for both of them while they watched Will put his things together.

“A few weeks at most. Our doctor got a telegram about his wife having an accident, so we needed a replacement.” Olinsky watches the red-head putting a final shirt or two in his valise, checking through his black doctor’s bag once again. “Marshal Halstead recommended we try here.”

“Always glad to help, Marshal,” Will confirms. “I’m ready when you are.”

So after a handshake with Connor, and a few last minute instructions about their usual patients, Will follows Olinsky out into the street and towards the train station.

“What am I looking at by way of patients?” Will asked, making sure to keep up with Olinksy’s long strides.

“Two of the gang have bullet wounds. They’re kept separate from the others.” Olinsky tells him. “We didn’t lose any men, but we had to leave Olsen behind - took a wound high up on his shoulder. Broke the collarbone.”

“And Jay?” Will can’t help asking, knowing he’s laying all his cards on the table.

With a little smile, “Jay’s fine, though he might be getting a bit big for his britches once word gets out that he took care of one of the Clinton brothers himself.”

Now, Will hadn’t been privy to that little nugget of information. Guess he’d have to ask Jay about it, when they had a moment. Which didn’t happen until Jay was done with his time on the lookout position on top of the train. The Marshal’s weren’t taking any chances that someone would be foolhardy enough to try to set the rest of the gang free. 

“Will,” Jay smiles at him, giving him a quick hug. “I see you were available.”

“When the Marshals’ call,” Will says, returning the hug. Looking over his brother quickly. “You alright?”

Jay shrugged back. “Just tired. Prisoner escort is a whole ‘nother level of paranoia, let me tell you.”

“I believe that,” Will said, letting Jay lead the way to where he’d be bunking. “Olinsky said you shot one of the Clinton boys?”

Nodding, Jay plops onto the bench across from where Will is packing away his bag and valise in the overhead rack. “And Jonas is none to happy about it.”

“Think he’ll go after you, if he ever gets free?” Worry wrinkles Will’s brow.

Jay snorts, “Jonas won’t be getting less than a death sentence, not with the blood he has on his hands. But he’d like to - I can tell.”

“He ain’t one of the wounded ones, is he?” Will asks.

“Nah. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that,” Jay assures him, ruffling Will’s hair, grinning at his older brother’s ducking away with an annoyed squawk. “And if anything does happen to him, you’re not going anywhere near him without a guard. Voight will have the hide of any man who’s stupid enough to leave you with any of them unsupervised.”

While this comforts Will, he’s still disturbed by the idea of his little brother being hunted like an animal for merely doing his duty and upholding the law.

The train leaves the station late in the night, and it barrels on and on and on, towards death and destiny.

—————————————————

While Jonas Clinton is not aware of the exact relationship between that yellow-bellied, brother-killing Marshal and the red-headed doctor, he’s watched the Marshal long enough to know that the doctor means something to the lawman. 

All he’s had time for on this train is to think and to think deeply. Of his bound hands, of the train itself and of it’s passengers, and how he’d enact his revenge. And as he sees the marshal interact with the doctor, gathering evidence as the days go by and they get closer to their final destination, his plan solidifies.

Like the rattler in human form that he is, Jonas watches … and waits.

—————————————————

A less glamorous side of the Marshals current duties is escorting the prisoners to the head, making sure they do their business in an orderly fashion and without any attempts to escape. Voight knows better than to let Jonas anywhere near Jay, so he escorted the man to relieve himself, personally.

But Voight had forgotten about Will.

Jay watches as Will comes down the seats, having gone back to his quarters for something, making his way down the aisle of the secure car, Reddington by his side (the Marshals had all taken Voight’s instructions to never leave the doc alone very seriously) when Voight emerges from the area with the bucket, leading Jonas by his side. When Jonas glances at Will, gaze lingering, Jay sits up, some sixth sense tingling in the base of his skull. And then Jonas looks up at him and smiles a toothy, threatening smile.

“Vo—!”

Jay’s warning is lost in the ensuing chaos as Jonas darts down the aisle, startling them all. Because who’d expect the man to run? He had nowhere to go … didn’t he?

Perhaps he would have no where to go if he truly planned an escape. But as Jonas manages to get his bound hands up and around Will’s helpless neck, dragging the doctor to the side of the train, using him as a shield, Jay has a feeling that Jonas is exactly where he wants to be.

Silence falls as the Marshal’s respond to the threat, guns out, Will’s eyes shut, face scrunching as the chains binding Jonas’s wrists cinch tighter against vulnerable skin and thin bones. 

“What do you think you’re doing, Clinton?” Voight rumbles, to Jay’s left and slightly in front. His own gun is down by his side, though Jay knows he’s as ready as any of them.

“Something quite stupid,” Jonas admits. Jay can see the whites of his eyes, wide but calm, over his brother’s shoulders.  

Jerking forward as Will gasps for air as the chain is pulled tighter, Jay snarls, gun up and ready, impotent — he doesn’t have a shot because of how Will’s body is hiding Jonas’s. Though Will had gotten his hands between the chain and his neck, Jay knew that his brother was still in trouble.

“Marshal Halstead took a brother from me — I figure it’s only fair to return the favor.”

As Will’s head goes back and his eyes bulge and his face goes red from lack of oxygen, all the Marshal’s realize that there is no negotiation in this case. There is only deadly force.

What good is being a Marshal if Jay can’t protect the people he loves most?

Then the hands choking the life from his older brother go limp and the outlaw’s body forces Will’s to the floor as it slumps forward. As he dashes closer he sees the bowie knife sticking out of Jonas’s side.

That’s when he remembers that Reddington can hit a tree knot at five yards with his handy knives. Though he’ll have to thank him later, right now, he only had eyes for his brother who was coughing, trying to make up for the air he had lost. 

Helping his brother sit up as Voight and Olinsky detangle the mess of arms and legs, Jay hugs him close, soothing him as Will’s breathing eases. 

“I’ve got you, brother.” He says as Will calms, wheezes transitioning to deep breathes. “I’ve got you.”

“‘Ay,” Will gasps, gripping his brother’s hand tightly, voice hoarse from the abuse his throat had just suffered. “He dead?”

Jay glances over to where they’ve dragged Jonas away, seeing the blood bubbling up and over the outlaw’s lips. The knife must’ve nicked a lung, and there’s nothing Will could do if he wanted to. So he’s not going to let Will watch it happen.

Scooping Will up with a hand behind his big brother’s back and under his knees, Jay carries the good doctor out of the car and towards their shared quarters in the coach a few doors down. Setting Will on the bench, Jay opens one of the windows, letting in the cool breeze. Turning back to his brother, he helps Will loosen his tie and the first few buttons of his high collared shirt.

“Easy,” he murmurs. “You’re alright, now.”

Swallowing with difficulty, Will nods gingerly, allowing the examination with unusual docility. Jay lifts his brothers chin to get a better look at where the bruises are forming an outline on Will’s neck, knowing that this could have ended much, much worse than it had.

“Thought I was the one who did the bandaging?” Will smiles a little as Jay fusses over him.

“Stay still,” Jay says, intent on examining his brother’s hurts. His heart is still settling back into its normal rhythm inside his chest. 

Letting him fuss for a while, eventually Will captures his hands, getting him to sit down with him. “I’m okay,” he rasps. “You did good, Jay.”

With a convulsive movement, Jay rises to his feet, retreating from his brother, punishing himself. “I barely did anything.”

“Hey,” Will catches his wrist before he can try to escape the cabin. “None of that, now.” Sighing when he sees that his little brother is determined to blame himself. “If Voight didn’t see it coming - how could you have known?”

Soon enough, Jay allowed Will to pull him back down onto the seat. Voight must’ve told the others to give them a wide berth, because no one comes to check on them, giving them time. 

“Stand watch?” 

When he turns his head, he sees the trust in Will’s eyes. And how can he refuse the request, this assignment that is more important than any he’s ever gotten from the Law. 

“Sure thing.”

As Will lay’s down on the bench, making himself comfortable, Jay faces the door to guard his brother’s sleep.

And the train barrels on, towards the adventures which lie beyond the horizon.

Chapter Text

The war continues on all fronts - the winter snows continue to fall on Stalingrad and the scuttlebutt tells of victories in Italy and of rising death tolls in the Pacific. But here in France it is deathly cold. 

As their unit gets moved further forward, fluctuating with the divide between the Axis and Allied powers fighting over every inch of ground between Normandy and Berlin, Will’s unit also moves occasionally. Luckily, Jay manages to be relatively nearby or at least to obtain news of the doctor when he can’t see him in person. 

Bastogne is a frozen wonderland which contains a menagerie of horrors. They’ve hunkered down with the Airborne in the woods surrounding the little town in Belgium. A town where Will is - the hospital is there. Jay would like nothing more than to catch a ride and go see the good doctor, but it’s a pipe dream. With the supply lines cut and the rations running low, they’re all spread thin. 

The German’s have been shelling the Allied line, upping the intensity after they’d tried to get General McAuliffe to surrender. News of the big man’s one word answer: ‘Nuts’ spread like wildfire, feeding the dwindling fire in their hearts, which had been hitherto flickering in the winds of winter surrounding them. (‘Nuts’ became the man’s nickname after that celebrated reply.) (1)

“I wonder if they have real food in the town?” Ruzek muttered as they sucked on the butts of their cigarettes, just appreciating what they had left, most of them leaving them unlit to enjoy the sensation of having them in their mouths. 

There wasn’t much else to do in this godforsaken place.

Dawson shakes his head. “When we took Torres back for treatment they didn’t even have any bandages they could spare.”

That’s when they all hear engines high overhead. Crouching on instinct, they peer out from under cover. There are planes passing high above. The relief they all feel as no bombs drop on them is quickly negated by the sound of distant thunder. Soon, they can see smoke rising above the tree line in the distance.

“Those fuckers,” Roman’s voice is filled with horrified comprehension, saying what they’ve all just realized aloud. “They’re bombing the fucking town.”

Will. Jay thinks, white noise blocking out the sound of distance explosions and the fading away of the engines. Will is in that town.

And though they had stationed a few guns there, the civilians and other military personnel are basically defenseless.

“Go,” Voight says when he sees Jay’s face, the Sarge fading in and out of his tunneling vision. “Go find your brother.”

Jay runs all five miles between them and the town. When he arrives the hospital and most of the surrounding buildings are piles of rubble. Through the screams and fire and still ringing noise in his ears he wanders among the other lost souls. While he stands still after an interminable period of walking and seeing nothing, the bustle continues around him. Wandering through the rubble, he eventually has sense enough to ask the medical personal he stumbles across where they’d last seen his brother. Eventually, he ends up in front of a little building, half collapsed, stones rattling under his feet as he circles the wreckage.

Will is under there. He's knows it in his bones.

So he starts to dig. Picking a spot, he calls out every so often.

“Will? Call out if you can hear me! It’s Jay!”

As the fires around him are put out one by one and the chaos becomes more controlled, emergency workers and civilians and some soldiers, trickling in to help, work together to clean up the aftermath as best they can - as this goes on, Jay starts to lose hope that Will can hear him. But he doesn’t stop digging.

Freezing when he hears something underneath the rubble to the right of where he’s digging.

It’s a baby’s cry. Crying somewhere underneath the rubble. 

“Will?” He calls, aiming for the crying, hoping that maybe his big brother is nearby the infant who has survived the terrible odds. “Will!!”

Finally, Jay’s efforts are rewarded and he hears coughing and the baby’s cries lessen. “Hello?” Comes a voice from the depths. Jay knows that voice.

He’d know it anywhere.

“Will!!” Panting as he leans onto the wood. “It’s Jay! Are you alright?”

There’s silence again and just as Jay’s heart is about to burst out of his chest, his big brother finally replies. “… mostly. My leg is pinned.”

“Broken?” Jay asks.

“…yes.” The babies crying is still going on. “The kid’s mom is dead … I can see her.”

“Alright, Will — just hang in there, okay?”

His big brother sounds entirely too amused when he replied, as tired as he sounds, “Can’t really do anything else at the moment, can I?”

Moving the pieces that he can, Jay is still working and occasionally stopping to update Will on his progress, when he rest of the squad show up.

“Halstead,” Voight says, scrutinizing his man, and the dust covering him and Jay's red rimmed eyes set in a grimy face. “What’s the word?”

Swallowing, Jay makes himself say it. “Will’s under here, Sarge.”

There’s a few quiet curses from the others. They all know the doc and like him.

“He alive?”

“He was talking to me a few minutes ago, but …” Jay can barely look at them, can’t they just help? and not waste time like this? “He’s got a baby with him.”

“Alright, boys,” Dawson says after a look from Voight, “Let’s get the doc out of there!”

Moving to help as the others scatter over the wreckage to where he points, Jay is sidelined by Olinsky, Voight handing over his canteen and a cloth so Jay’s face can be cleaned. “They’ll get him out,” the taller man says. “But you gotta be okay when the doc sees you, yeah?”

It strikes Jay, exactly how he must look at the moment. And how little of a help his exhausted and hysterical mindset will be to Will, once he’s clear of the wreckage. Because Will is gonna be fine. 

He’s gotta be fine.

He’s gotta.

(Not Will. Please god, not Will!)

Though Jay was in the thick of the action, Will was supposed to be safe but now he was buried under a ton of rubble and the town was a ruin all around. All Jay had been counting on was a lie — he just hoped Will would always be there. What would he do without him? What did he have to look forward to about going home if Will wasn’t there to go home with him?

When they find Will, lifting the pieces that had formed a sort of tent over Will and his precious burden, Jay is among the first down. Because he needs to look, he needs to know. The blood pooled around Will’s leg makes all the alarm bells in his hind brain go off, but once the baby has been handed up to safety, he can get in to hold Will’s hand, putting hands on living skin and just absorbing the fact that his brother was alive. 

“Hey, brother,” Will said, Jay’s heart rabbiting when the words started to slurr.

“We’ll have you out in a minute — don’t worry.” Jay sought to reassure, threading careful fingers through sweaty strands. 

“Never worry, little brother,” Will smiles at him, exhausted but trusting. “Not when I’m with you.”

And doesn’t that just break his heart? But Jay can only watch as Will’s eyes slip closed. 

Will doesn’t answer, doesn’t stir as they get the rest of the rubble off him, having already put a hasty tourniquet around Will’s thigh. The leg is not a pretty sight and part of Jay is glad that the good doctor is unconscious because he has an idea of how much it would hurt if Will was awake. 

Voight doesn’t say he can’t, so Jay basically camps outside of the operating theatre, hearing the cries of the wounded and hoping that Will doesn’t wake up, no matter what they to him — he wants Jay to wake after and to smile at him and tell him that everything will be alright —

But that’s a pipe dream.

Waking up, Will is in a lot of pain. The siege had put medicine in short supply and with the bombing, that had strained it even more. So Will had to survive the bare minimum of pain killers and penecilian and hope that infection didn’t set in. And while Jay isn’t a doctor, he has some idea of what to look for and he knows Will is in a considerable amount of pain.

It kills him when he has to say goodbye when the squad is ordered back to the woods. But it had to be done. And Will — brave, self-sacrificing healer that he is — doesn’t protest. Merely clings to Jay at the last, like he’s trying to remember everything about Jay in a single moment so he has something to hold onto. Especially if Jay doesn’t come back from the woods and his body joins the piles of the frozen dead.

There are so many unmarked graves in this war. His would not be the first nor the last, if it came to that. 

So when the siege is finally broken, Jay is heading to Bastogne as soon as Voight gives him permission. Threading through the buildings to the last place he’d seen his brother, he’s eventually directed to the house that is serving as an outpatient clinic. Searching for red hair, he enters the house, feeling out of place with his dirt and grime. And he sees a familiar head by the window, playing a game of checkers with another man.

Tongue-tied, he stops behind his brothers chair. Eventually forcing the word out of a suddenly dry throat, the man his brother is playing checkers against glancing up at him with a questioning look.

“Will.”

Startling, Will twists, pale face breaking out into wide smile. “Jay!” 

Though he makes no move to rise and as Jay moves around to be able to hug his brother, he freezes when he sees why. Though, the wheel chair his brother was sitting in should have clued him in, perhaps.

From mid-thigh, Will’s leg was gone.

“Hey,” Will’s hand burns as he clutches at Jay’s wrist, stopping him from bolting. “Hey, Jay, none of that.” Casting a look at his opponent as Jay’s heartbeat pounds loudly in his ears. “Jay, you gotta breathe. Please.”

And Jay hasn’t cried for anything throughout this whole damn war but now he’s crying — he can feel the tears dripping down his face and he’s gotta get out — gotta —

When he comes back to himself, he’s on a cot, clinging to his brother who also laying in it, gradually hearing the world come back to him. 

“You back with me, little brother?” Will asks, his hand cool against Jay’s burning forehead.

“…Will.” Burying his face in his brothers chest as he feels the grief and the self-blame creep back into his innards. “Will.”

“I know.” Will says. And Jay thinks he does, but it doesn’t make him feel any better. “I know. It’s okay. We’ve got time.”

“Are they sending you home?” He eventually asked, the question only slightly muffled by how hard he’s nestled against Will’s torso.

“Yeah,” Will’s sigh is world weary. But calm. “It’s for the best, Jay.”

“I’ll find you,” Jay says, the blazing fire of the promise replacing the misplace guilt. “I’ll come get you when they let me come home, alright?”

“Never doubted you would, little brother.” Will says. Gripping Jay in a way that shows he’s scared too, though Jay knows Will has a better right than him (it’s not Jay’s leg that’s missing, after all). “Stay?”

Jay settles down, working on making his breathing even and calm.

“Staying.”

…

…

“I’m with you, Will — till the end of the line.”

Chapter Text

Jay was worried about Will.

Not that that was anything new — but after the whole undercover debacle and the missed wedding and Natalie calling off the engagement and — yeah, it was a big list. Watching Will going through the motions, becoming sadder and paler, Jay knew he needed to do something.

But what?

That’s when he had the idea.

———————————————————

“Giving me the silent treatment isn’t going to make me turn this car around,” Jay tells his big brother, who’s bundled in his winter coat in the passenger seat, even though the heater is filling the cabin with warm air. 

When Will doesn’t rise to the jibe, Jay doesn’t try again, side-eyeing his brother as he continues to drive carefully. The good doctor is definitely getting thin. They’re going to catch fish and eat S’More’s and while Jay didn’t expect Will to confide everything in him, even if getting more sleep will lessen the dark bags under the other man’s eyes, Jay will count this trip as a success.

So when Will barely helps with the bags, instead going inside to flop on the remade beds (part of the services from whom Jay had rented the place) Jay can’t find it in himself to nag him, letting him curl up in the bed, leaving him undisturbed until a little while later when he’s heated up some soup. 

“I’m not serving you this in bed,” he calls to Will. “If you’re not hungry at least come have some beer.”

While Will forgoes the beer, he only manages to eat half a bowl of soup. With a muttered ‘good-night’ he leaves Jay to his own devices. 

Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea after all.

——————————————————

“Was I just stupid?” 

Jay turned towards Will where he sat on his own stool by the hole they had drilled through the ice covering the lake nearby. It was prime time for ice fishing — that had been the primary reason they’d come up to the cabin, besides Jay’s private one of getting Will to emerge from the funk he’d sunk into after everything. 

Blinking, Jay just looks at him, his silence prompting Will to continue, staring steadily at where his fishing line disappeared down into the water. 

“Was it stupid to hope that Natalie and I …” When he looked up at Jay, his little brother saw how much sadness slept in their depths. “… that we could’ve had something good together?” Shifting on his seat, looking away again. “I tried so hard, Jay. And she just …”

The whole debacle had been composed of many factors. But the biggest problem, in Jay’s mind, was that Natalie hadn’t given Will a chance to truly explain. True, Will had barely been given a chance to say a tearful goodbye to her outside of their wedding venue, the US Marshals escorting Will into witness protection. Though weren’t they about to exchange vows? Hadn’t they been going to say ‘through sickness and health and through trials and errors'? 

“If she’d actually known you,” Jay can only say, speaking the truth as he sees it. “She’d have known that you couldn’t have done anything other than you ended up doing, given the circumstances.” And he’d tried to explain — he had — with Will in hiding, to tell Natalie what he could. But in the end, it hadn’t been enough. 

“No — I don’t think you were stupid. I think you were in love.” He gives a sad smile. “Made me jealous, actually.” Only half teasing. Because if he’d ever loved a woman like Will loved Natalie, he would have settled down, just like Will had tried to. 

They sit in silence for a while, just listening to the wind in the trees, waiting for a tug on their lines, enjoying each others company.

“Thanks, Jay.”

(And if Will wiped a few tears away when he thought Jay wasn’t looking, Jay wasn’t about to call him on it.)

—————————————————

It was quiet when Jay woke the next morning. The air was cold outside of his blankets, but like a good little soldier, he rolled out from under his covers, thick socks hitting the floorboards with a muffled thump. 

Efficiently, he put water on to boil, getting everything ready for coffee. Surreptitiously, he retrieved the little container of sugar he’d squirreled away in his bag (because Will drank his black - the heathen) putting some in his mug preemptively. Once he had fiddled around a little more in the kitchen, he headed to Will’s room, to see if he was awake. Though, in keeping with all the previous mornings since they’d come to the cabin, only the top of Will’s head was visible. 

“Hey,” Jay says, coming to a stop beside the cot. “Coffee’s on.”

And he would’ve gone back to the kitchen, leaving Will to his misery of cold air and colder bathroom facilities, except there was something about the low moan that gave him pause. Heading back to the bed, he was just in time to hear Will give out a succession of hacking coughs.

“Hey,” Jay said, helping Will sit up a bit, taking in the tired face and slightly crackling breaths. “You okay?”

“No,” Will said, looking as miserable as he probably felt. “Must’ve picked up a bug or something.” Peering up through a slitted eyelid, asking hopefully, “Coffee?”

“In a few minutes.”

So Jay left Will to himself, going back to the kitchen to finish up the process, putting on a can of chicken noodle soup he dug out of the cupboard and heating it up after a little consideration. By the time Will was done doing whatever it was he was doing in his room and had wandered into the kitchen area, clutching a blanket around his shoulders along with a box of tissues, the coffee was ready.

“Gimme,” Will said, making tired grabby hands at the mug, clutching it to his chest, watching Jay distrustfully.

Jay snorted over the rim of his paler cup of coffee. “You and your trust issues.”

“You put chocolate in mine Jay — chocolate!” Will gesticulates with his free hand, careful of his own brew. “Coffee is meant to be un-tainted.”

“Tell that to Starbucks.”

“Starbucks is not coffee!”

So it goes, Jay ribbing his brother, grateful that, despite his runny nose and continued cough, that Will is a bit like his old self again. Until he tires himself out, Jay manages to engage him in petty squabbles. And then they go out to fish. Which Jay does appreciate. Even though Will just sits there huddled in his jacket, holding a warm thermos between his hands, he still talks to him a bit and tries to enjoy himself. A few hours and several dozen sneezes later, Jay calls it a day, gathering up the tackle as they head back to the cabin. 

If Will isn’t better in the morning, Jay decides, they’re going to head back down the mountain.

——————————————————————

There is four inches of snow covering everything when he looks out the window the next morning and it’s still falling, inexorable and fluffy. 

Remembering his decision, Jay went into the other room, intent on finding out how Will was doing. When he goes in, he can hear Will’s heavy breathing and can see how churned up the bedcovers are - Will’s sleep hadn’t been restful. 

“Will?” He asks, patting his brothers flushed face, stomach dropping as he feels the heat coming off his brothers skin. Shit.

“‘Ay?” Will eventually groans, blinking up at him with hazy eyes. 

“You’re burning up,” Jay says, stating the obvious. 

To which concerning news Will simply hums and closes his eyes, not opening them again no matter how much Jay shakes him. Leaving Jay to deal with his slowly rising panic. Because he’s not good at this — this is Will’s department, sick people and coughs and … and …

Because whatever can go wrong will go wrong at the most inopportune time, Jay goes out to check the car to find that the battery had died, no doubt a result of the frigid temperature and the rising snow count. Cursing, Jay allows himself to kick the tire twice after he slams down the hood, indulging in the hopeless feeling rising in his gorge. 

Just a minute. Just for a minute.

Then, taking a deep breath, he headed back inside. 

He had to take care of Will now — that was his highest priority. 

Also, he needed to check the cellphones and radio he’d kept on him. No doubt the cabin service would check in on everyone once they storm had passed, but they probably wouldn’t be until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest. So for now he simply had to do his best.

Com’mon he told himself, it was just a cold. He could do this!

Easy-peasy. 

But it wasn’t. Will’s fever rose higher and higher until Jay couldn’t think of anything better to do than to plop Will into the bathtub full of snow he’d lugged in, bucket by bucket, getting melting droplets everywhere. 

“‘Ay!” Will cried out as the ice touched his fevered skin, making him try to get away. “NO! ‘urts …” Wiggling like one of the worms Jay had baited on a hook earlier that day, frustrated tears sliding down his cheeks as Jay held him down firmly, letting the ice do it’s work. “Lemme go!”

Though his struggles lacked strength, so it didn’t take much for Jay to wrangle him and didn’t that just about break Jay’s heart.

“Sorry,” Jay kept saying, near crying himself. “Sorry. But I gotta do this. Just hold on for a bit, okay?”

Watching as Will’s struggles turned to restless half-consciousness. “It’s for your own good,” Jay murmured to reassure himself. Because he hated seeing Will like this — to helpless and hurt.

But the breakdown had been a long time in coming and this sickness was a symptom of it. Will had been working himself to the bone for weeks — months even. Throwing himself into his work to forget, but having to see his ex-fiancee at said work, ignoring the world, neglecting his health … something had had to give. That something had been his own metabolism. Because Jay can see his ribs, now that he’s stripped Will down to his boxer’s to hold him in the snow. That wasn’t healthy. Logically, Jay knows there’s only so much he can do with his own job and his own problems - and it wasn’t like he hadn’t tried to help Will — but it was partially his job that had gotten Will into this mess in the first place.

If only Will hadn’t been practically forced to go undercover to spy on Ray Price and their childhood friends. What would their own lives had been like, if they hadn’t gotten out of the neighborhood? Well, even though they’d technically gotten out of the neighborhood, they’d still ended up mixed-up with things better left alone. If Jay had gotten to that shed five seconds later …

His gut still clenched when he remembered how Will had said goodbye to Natalie, who had still been in her wedding gown, sobbing and confused. And his gut clenched when he remembered how defeated his brother had looked when he’d handed their mother’s ring back for safekeeping. At least Natalie hadn’t tried to keep it, that would’ve been a shit show. Carefully, he rubbed Will dry, using the circulation to try to get him warm and to get the blood flowing. Bundling Will in blankets like an extra spicy burrito, he settled on the floor by the couch, where he can keep a close eye on Will and still be semi-comfortable. 

It was a long night, made longer by the cold and longer still by Will’s frequent outbursts. He would struggle against his blanket restraints, calling for Natalie and Jay and for their mother. It had been years since Jay had heard him sound so desolate. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” Jay croaks, holding Will close, letting him cuddle close to him between the outbursts, sitting on the couch, holding his brothers weight ignoring how his legs want to go to sleep. “It’s gonna be okay — I’m not gonna leave you, brother.”

And he doesn’t.

—————————————————

There’s light spilling in golden motes through the cabin window. 

Mesmerized, Will follows that light, tracking the changing the ripples of it, made by the old wind chimes outside of the cabins window. The cabin …

Moving his eyes only, his body languid and heavy, he observes his surroundings, gaze eventually stopping at his brothers tired face where he lies on the floor just below his own position. His little brother looks tired and wane and much younger than he usually does. With the hardened exterior that he usually presents to the world (had always presented, if Will can tell the truth) sometimes even Will forgets that Jay is five years younger than him. But he can see it now as Jay’s mouth is half open, a garbled snore escaping at every fifth exhale. 

Because he can and because he can’t resist the sudden urge, Will untangles his arms from his snuggly, warm blankets and reaches out, poking Jay in the forehead. Jay mumbles, swatting at the annoyance. But he doesn’t wake up. So Will does it again (because he’s a little shit like that). 

Flinching back as Jay sits bolt upright, scanning the room for whatever had disturbed him, the look he eventually fixes on his older brother, part astonishment and part wounded dignity, for some reason had Will dissolving into giggles. He feels feather light and floaty, like he’s a dust mote instead of a person. He hasn’t felt this good in a while, like the world itself is a joke and he’s the principle jester. When his giggles finally stop, leaving him tired but somehow satisfied. Leaning into Jay’s hand as his little brother feels his forehead. 

“Hey, brother.” Will smiles up at Jay.

… and is surprised when Jay practically picks him up, sits him in his lap, and buries his face in his shoulder as he bursts into tears. 

“Whoa, hold up, where’s the fire?” Will asks, though he hugs Jay, comforting him automatically, bewildered because Jay doesn’t often allow himself to be vulnerable like their this, and confused as to what brought this on.

“…kay.” Will leans closer to hear what his little brother is mumbling. “You’re okay.”

Blinking, Will looks around, reconsidering the scene he’d woken up to. Taking in where Jay had been sleeping and the mess of tissues and objects scattered around them and finally realizing that he’s clad only in his boxers. Had he been sick?

Realizing that he’d spoken the thought aloud when Jay pulls back to scowl at him, tears still on his face. “You had a fever and the car died and it was snowing so I stuck you in a bathtub full snow and you were — were--”

“Off my gourd?” Will suggests, his mouth not taking into account the mood and he’s still kind of out of it to be honest. Earning him an annoyed look from his little brother. Though he just goes back in for another hug, hiding his face as his breaths occasionally stutter. Leaving Will to comfort and to heal (as he does best). 

Imagining how it must’ve been for Jay, with him sick and the cabin snowed in. How scared he must’ve been. So he says the only thing he can say, hoping it expresses his love and gratitude and his pride in the man that his little brother has become.

“You did good, Jay.” He whispers into his brothers short hair, rubbing his back comfortingly. 

“You did good.”

Chapter Text

Hank Voight has no shortage of enemies - so what's one more? The problem is -- this time Antonio is part of the fall out. Hank doesn't like that one bit.

Hank Voight could count on one hand the amount of times anyone had caught him off guard; now was one of those times. And Antonio was paying for it.

Detective Antonio Dawson, pain in his ass and an excellent detective; while he lacked Voight’s knuckle duster tactics, he got the job done and he did it well. Said detective was currently bleeding from his scalp and various other orifices as he lay curled on the ground, the punk who’d gotten the drop on them circling him like some kind of hyena.

Because that’s all these gangs were in the end, Voight mused, hyenas. They ate their own.

Grabbed as they were meeting with a CI (Now ex-CI, Hank thought sourly) their phones had been taken and smashed before they were knocked out and moved to a secondary location. Voight hoped that it was one on their lists because they were going to need an extraction. At first they’d focused on Voight, mostly working him over for payback rather than information. But that might change if he caught the whispers right.

Whispers of the big boss coming.

Which could be good and bad, Voight supposed. Good in the sense that maybe his team would get here in time and capture one of the big leagues; bad in that if the team didn’t get here in time, him and Antonio would be dead. (Hey, Voight was nothing if not a realist.)

He did his best to keep their attention on him and away from his detective who lay quiet on the floor. Antonio was quiet - too quiet, a worried corner of his mind told him. And his head wound was still sluggishly bleeding, keeping the detective down. 

As usual, the bad came before the good, the big boss coming into the room and looking at his prey. 

“I’ve heard about you,” the big black man sneered, looking down at Hank, who was cuffed to the chair.

“Funny,” Voight said dryly, spitting out a bit of blood absently, “I can’t say the same about you.”

That earned him a punch from one of the goons as the boss went to talk to the guy who’d been running the show before he got there. Voight could only watch helplessly as Antonio was lifted from the floor, a low groan escaping him, head hanging on his chest, face scrunched up in discomfort.

The head wound had to be worse than Hank thought, because Antonio’s struggles were sluggish and weak as he was divested of his jacket, shirt, and shoes, leaving the slim man in only his jeans.

It made him look small.

“Now where’d he find a pretty little detective like you, hmm?” The boss man mused as he yanked Antonio’s head back by the hair.

While Hank rejoiced at his detectives defiant (though dazed) glare, part of him went cold inside at the man’s words. That kind of language never boded well.

“Tell me what the police know,” The boss man demanded of Voight, hand still in Antonio’s hair as he looked at his other prisoner.

Hank stared at Antonio before meeting the man’s eyes. “No.”

“Then we might as well get settled in,” The man said, looking down at Antonio as he motioned for one of the other’s to give him their cigarette. 

Hank made himself watch as Antonio was held still, a man on each arm as the boss man pressed the glowing tip of the cigarette to the thin skin over the latino’s ribs. 

“Mmmm,” The boss man hummed to himself. “Such pretty noises from the pretty man, right boys?”

There was scattered agreement from the little crowd as the boss continued to work Antonio over, burns turning into a beating as Antonio cried out. Hank made himself watch. This was on him. It’d been his CI who’d sold them out. 

“Enough!” The boss finally ordered, approaching the detective, who’d curled up on the hard floor once he’d been released, the goons backing off. “Guess you aren’t worth much after all,” He crouched by Antonio, running a hand over the bare flesh, his victim trying to shy away. “Though I think I could get a good price, pretty boy like you.”

“Leave him alone,” Hank growled. He knew better than to rise to the sordid taunts, but he couldn’t help it. 

“So he does speak,” The boss’s smile was threatening. “Get him back up.”

The man turned to Voight again. “He got a family? Kids?”

The twins faces flashed through Voight’s thoughts.

“Guess he’s got something to loose,” The man said, having undoubtedly seen something on Voight’s face, pulling a gun from the back of his pants. Reading the answer in Voight’s expression. “Get his mouth open.”

“Leave him alone!” Voight bellowed, shaking the chair with his futile struggles as the gun was pushed down Antonio’s throat. Feeling sick as he listened to Antonio gag, throat working futilely around the gun forced deep into his throat.

“But your boy gotta have practice for where I’m sending him,” The boss man sneered at Voight. “I got some buyers who’ll love this one.”

“You hurt him and I’m not telling you dick,” Hank growled, the useless threat making the man laugh as he removed the gun, Antonio coughing as he was prevented from doubling over while he caught his breath. 

Straightening up as the man swaggered over to him, glaring up with hate filled eyes as the gun that was just used on Antonio forced his head up, disconcerting wetness transferring to Hank’s own skin. 

“Well, you weren’t telling us dick with him, so odds are you still won’t tell us anything without him.” The man goaded Voight. “You ever had a piece of that? Cause that’s a fine specimen over there, ya feel me?”

“Go to hell,” Hank growled, head still against the gun’s pressure on his jaw. 

“Maybe — but I ain’t gonna be the first person there.” And with that threat, he stepped back, approaching Antonio again, tapping the gun against his other hand in thought.

Spitting threats and helpless promises of violence, Hank could only watch as Antonio was once again restrained by the goons. His man’s already pale face was nearly grey as he stared at the gun, Antonio’s eyes flicking to Hank then to the man and then away, trying to hide his own fear and failing as the gun was tapped against his cheek once again.

“Think yor’ brave, police man?” The boss man told Antonio, yanking his head up with a bruising grip on his jaw, looking into his eyes. “Ya better take it — or your boss over there will be missing his balls.”

Hank could tell by the defeated slump of Antonio’s shoulders that he was going to obey, though he knew Antonio could beat the man going toe to toe in any other situation, the boss man’s pleased chuckles ringing in his ears, the derisive laughter of the watchers blocking out everything else as the gun was used to send Antonio sprawling, more blood dripping from his lips.

And that’s when the tear gas canister’s clattered into the room.

“The hell is that?!”

“It's the cops! Beat it!”

Voight couldn’t see anything, eyes stinging from the smoke. There were a few random gunshots, one of which he felt whiz by his head. Through streaming eyes, he saw the black clad figures of a SWAT team and so he focused on breathing, waiting it out, hoping that Antonio was okay. With his head injury and the stress and all the smoke, he was bound to be worse for wear once this was over. 

All at once, it was.

“Clear!”

Fingers fumbled at the cuffs securing him to the chair and he was grateful for the mask held over his mouth, wheezes quieting. He looked up to see Alvin holding it there, curling hair that was going grey identifying him under his own mask and uniform.

“We need a bus!” Came a shout as Hank was freed and he started to stumble over to where he’d last seen Antonio, legs trying to give out on him, Olinsky sliding a hand around his back, keeping his oldest friend upright.

The gut instinct had been right - Antonio had been hit; Halstead, his mask already off as the smoke was clear now, was keeping pressure on Antonio’s upper arm. Voight let himself crash to the dirty floor, joining Halstead as he did his own examination of Antonio. Fresh blood was coming from the latino detective’s head; he must have hit it again in the confusion, Hank surmised. The detective was still pale, burns and bruises covering his exposed torso.

“What happened?” Olinsky asked, standing over them.

Voight shook his head, taking off the mask now that his breathing had eased. “Nothing good. But not the worst.”

Olinsky shook his head, not commenting, though he was looking through the men being processed on the other side of the room.

“I’ll check to make sure Gabby didn’t get called in for this,” Jay said, indicating that his boss should take over keeping pressure on the bullet wound.

Unusually un-combative, Voight put pressure on the wound, the familiar sticky sensation grounding him. He felt the bone move and knew his detective was in for a long stint of desk work.

Heh, Antonio’d love that. But it could’ve been a lot worse, glaring over at the criminals being escorted out — it could’ve been a hell of a lot worse. Some things even cops didn’t recover from. Like a bullet through the skull.

“Are you gonna need five minutes with that guy?” Olinsky asked in a low tone, still standing guard over his friends and coworkers. He saw the glares of the biggest man in the group and how Voight was glaring. 

“It’ll have to wait,” Voight conceded. “But yeah. I’d like to give him a little gift.”

“I think I’ll join you,” Olinsky said as Antonio gave a tiny groan, free arm trying to come up to defend himself. 

“Hey, you’re okay,” Voight said as Antonio’s eyes fluttered open, confusion filling the dark brown orbs. 

“‘oight?” Came the slurred rasp. “What…?”

“The cavalry came,” Voight told him. “It’s over. You’re okay.”

Their gaze met and locked, confusion gradually being replaced by dawning awareness and then shame. Perhaps he thought he should’ve fought more or that it should have taken more for him to be brought down. As Dawson tried to look away, collapsing into himself, Voight caught his chin, his gentle grip nothing like the bruising fingers that had hurt Antonio earlier.

“Hey, you listen to me,” Voight growled. “You got nothing to be ashamed of, you hear me?”

Antonio swallowed, forcing himself to meet his sergeant’s gaze. “I hear ya.”

“So you hold your head up,” Voight ordered. “You’re my best damn detective and don’t you forget it.”

A little smile made Dawson’s lips twitch. “…thanks.”

The moment was interrupted by Jay bringing in the paramedics, Hank grudgingly falling back to let them work. He watched as Antonio closed his eyes, only responding when absolutely necessary, a line being put in his arm and a mask being placed over his mouth. 

“You wanna get him a blanket?” Voight rasped, waving a hand at Dawson’s state of undress.

“We have one in the ambulance,” One of the medics told him. “Alright, we’re ready to go.”

Finally, they emerged into the sunshine, the derelict house they’d been kept in surrounded by a sea of flashing lights and the area swarming with policemen. The crowd parted as Dawson was carried out, murmurs going through the crowd.

It was always a relief when one of their own was rescued - but seeing the damage was never pretty.

“We’ll give you a police escort,” Hank told the medics. Stopping to give Antonio’s good shoulder a squeeze before he turned away. “You hang in there, Antonio.”

Jogging over to Olinsky who was waiting by their unmarked SUV. “You get the guys name?”

“Yeah,” Olinsky said. “It’s all arranged.”

“Good.”

And away they went, the police escort peeling away from the scene as the fallen officer was hurried to Chicago MED.

———————————

While some would say that Voight practically lived out of his office; tonight he was sleeping in Dawson’s hospital room, keeping vigil over his unconscious colleague. He’d seen Antonio in a hospital bed several times before and it never stopped bothering him. As he’d told Burgess, he’d never had the pleasure of being shot — Antonio had been shot before. More than average, actually.

The hospital gown covered old and new scars, the latino detective’s left arm strapped to his chest, keeping the humerus that had been badly fractured by the bullet stable. The emergency surgery had removed several bone fragments. He’d be laid up for a while. 

But his head was the bigger issue. Being pistol whipped was never a walk in the park; the fall during the chaos had made it worse. So Antonio slept, relatively peaceful, his face occasionally scrunching up in a pain filled frown despite the medication he was on. Laura had been notified and as his ex-wife, she was concerned — but not concerned enough to actually bring the kids to see him.

It killed something inside of Voight to know that his best detective’s drive and dedication meant nothing to his ex-wife. It was the job that had driven them apart. Voight could understand it, he’d been on the force long enough to see it all, but that didn’t mean he could forgive it.

Antonio needed comfort. Comfort was not Hank’s strong suit. His own life had pounded nearly all the kindness out of him. He was not the demonstrative type, most of the time. But seeing life keeping knocking Antonio on his ass had made him sympathetic, at the very least.

Remembering the imaging of Dawson, chocking around the gun in his mouth and the derisive laughter, how helpless he had felt — He rubbed at the bridge of his nose, blowing out a deep breath. He should probably try to sleep. The chair wasn’t too uncomfortable. Better to try to forget the nightmares or just deal with them when they came. 

The erratically beeping monitor woke him, sometime later. He hurried to the bed, seeing Antonio trying to move, good hand pawing at his cannula and fingers fumbling uselessly. He was on the good meds.

“Antonio,” Voight said gently, trapping the fumbling hand, making sure he didn’t mess up any of the equipment. “You gotta leave that on.”

Scrunched face still pale, Antonio’s eyelids fluttered and he struggled weakly as he shook off some of the drug induced haze. “..’ght?” 

“Yeah, I’m here,” Hank said, giving Antonio’s hand a little reassuring squeeze. “You’re safe.”

Antonio’s eyes were drooping again as he murmured something unintelligible, slumping back into the pillows, the heart monitor now beeping at a sedate pace.

Since the crisis was averted and no nurses were rushing in, Hank indulged himself, running his free hand through his detectives’ thick, sweaty hair. 

It felt nice.

“You’re gonna be okay, Antonio,” He said in the silence of the room. “And I know you don’t like it much when I do this, but I’m gonna get five minutes alone with the guy who put you here. That’s a promise.”

Eventually, he heard footsteps approaching and he retreated to his chair, feigning sleep as the nurse came in to check the patients vitals. 

All was well.

Chapter Text

Antonio woke to the steady beeping of his own heart. Blinking the bleariness from his eyes, he examined his surroundings. The hospital room layout was all too familiar. However, the sleeping figure of his boss was not.

With awareness came the rush of memories. He blushed in shame and the echoing memory of helpless rage as he remembered what had happened and — there was one guy he wouldn’t mind Voight putting in the Cage. 

Voight looked almost peaceful. He must’ve been there awhile. The phantom feeling of hands running through his hair and a reassuring voice came back to him. It was good to know Voight cared. For a while, it was hard to know where he stood with his boss. When he’d taken on his sisters favor to Voight, when the man had gotten information to them from prison about the men who’d shot Antonio, he’d been expecting something humiliating — anything but a request to join Voight’s unit. 

It was true that Voight had done some bad things in the past; he’d been a dirty cop. Still was, in some ways, but now he made it count for the good guys. Watching the sleeping man, Antonio tried to pinpoint when his loathing had turned to grudging admiration. And Voight had helped him save Diego when he’d been kidnapped. Antonion knew he’d owe Voight for the rest of his life after that debacle. But the burden had felt lighter, as his time in the Intelligence unit went on.

Though right now, it took too much energy to think. 

Antonio let his eyes close, resting against the pillows as sleep took him under, the memory of a rough but gentle hand in his hair lulling him to sleep.

————————————

The next week, Antonio was back in the office, left arm still strapped securely to his chest, but making good headway through paperwork. In truth, he didn’t like paperwork any more than his colleagues did, but he was (as he’d told Adam and Jay) a mature responsible adult and when something had to be done, you did it with a minimal amount of complaint.

As the week wore on, Antonio came to enjoy his new (and temporary) role, often switching between phones and paperwork to keep himself from getting too bored. Developing a routine, he came in early every morning, setting up the coffee maker and laying out any information for the day on the various desks. A few times, he even beat Voight to the office (but usually he didn’t - did that man ever sleep?). When he didn’t, Voight always had a fancy coffee for himself and Antonio, the sarge usually retreating to his office to do god knew what on his cell phone while Antonio set everything up. Sometimes, Voight would lean on the desk while Antonio sat, sipping their coffee together in silence, listening as the precinct slowly woke up on the floor below, noise gradually seeping up the stairwell and through the gate.

Antonio liked those quiet moments. It was like he was savoring something he’d lost - it was a home comfort, drinking coffee with someone, waiting as the world woke up around them. And he liked that it was him and Voight. It felt like he was regaining something he had lost, even though his movements were still restricted by the cast. And he could only hope that Voight was getting something out of their quiet camaraderie as well. Even Olinsky would get in on it once in a while, when he’d sent Adam off somewhere else to talk someone else’s ear off. (That kid could talk.)

So the days turns to weeks which turned to that niggling impatient feeling he always got when he wanted to take his cast off. Unfortunately, he’d gone through this whole song and dance routine numerous times before. 

As he waited in the exam room for his x-rays to come back, Antonio wondered how long it would take for Hank to let him out on the street instead of being cooped up with paperwork. Truth was, he’d missed walking the ‘beat’ with Jay. The cast was removed, about an hour later, replaced by a velcro brace for his upper arm, assisting his still weak muscles to keep the bone straight. With a card detailing his scheduled visit to the physical therapist in his pocket, Antonio headed out of MED.

Glancing down at his phone while he waited for his ride (Hank had promised to pick him up) he stiffened as what he knew to be the muzzle of a gun poked him in the lower back. 

“You’re gonna walk over to the parking lot, nice and slow,” A low voice said behind him. Out of the corner of his eye, Antonio saw black skin. He also saw the gun glinting in the light. “Move.”

So Antonio moved. Scanning the parking lot as best he could without moving his head. He could just see a familiar SUV screeching to a halt in the pick up lane in front of MED.

“Stop, police!” Came the welcome shouts. Antonio, allowing himself to be manhandled, was spun around, the man with the gun now holding him hostage.

He met Hank’s eyes, seeing the fear in them, Halstead also aiming his gun at them, looking for a shot.

“You need to let my man go,” Hank demanded, gun never wavering. “It’s over, Parker.”

“Just ‘cause you got the boss man doesn’t mean it’s over, pig!” Antonio held very still as the gun was moved to settle on his ribcage. He really didn’t want to land in the hospital again. He saw Hank’s eyes follow the movement of the muzzle.

“Yeah, it does,” Hank said bluntly. “You think a two bit punk like you is gonna take over? Not a chance.”

“Shut up!”

Antonio winced as the gun pressed into his ribs. “Just let me go, man,” He tried to reason. “We can all walk away from this.”

“Shut up!!”

“Police, don’t move!”

Hospital security had circled around back, leaving the man with no way out. Antonio could practically smell the man’s fear. If he didn’t make the right decision, he was going to die; and Antonio might be dying with him.

That’s when the man made his mistake. Taking the gun from Antonio’s ribs, he began to bring it up to point at Voight and Halstead, still keeping Antonio as a shield, but not in imminent danger from the banger’s gun.

The report from Halstead’s gun was quick and final. Antonio had time to confirm it was a head shot before Hank was striding toward him, checking him over for any new hurts.

“You okay?” He rasped, hand sliding up to Antonio’s neck, the words piercing through the residual ringing in Dawson’s ears.

“I’m okay.”

Hank looked down at the dead man. “Just what I needed today - more paperwork.”

—————————————

Several weeks later …

Standing at the doors of Antonio’s boxing gym after hours, Alvin tapped his food impatiently, waiting for Voight to show up. He had a view of the doors and if he shifted, he could see Antonio pummeling a bag - the same bag he’d been hitting for over an hour.

Their latest case had been a bad one; kids were dead because of it. The cases with kids always got to Antonio more than the others. Sure, Olinsky didn’t like when kids died, but he was able to compartmentalize, mostly, something Antonio had a hard time with. Maybe because his own kids were still young. So when Voight had needed to take care of the last details to send the perpetrators to the big house, he’d asked Olinsky to keep an eye on Dawson, familiar with the man’s coping methods. And with his wife gone, he’d guessed Antonio was going to need some help letting off steam.

The punching bags obviously weren’t cutting it.

Finally, Voight arrived.

“He’s in there,” Alvin told him, locking the door behind him. “He’s been hitting that bag for an hour.”

“OK.” Voight said, brushing past him, heading inside.

It was a new thing, for Alvin to pair the two together in his mind. But he knew his old friend well - he could tell he cared for Antonio, in his own way. So he watched from the shadows as Voight managed to get Antonio to stop hitting the bag, trapping his gloved hands as the detective struggled weakly, his heart obviously not in it. Voight pulled him in, saying something softly and Antonio sagged into Voight, shoulders beginning to shake with what Alvin knew were frustrated tears.

He turned away as Voight whispered in Antonio’s ear, comforting him. There were some things that needed to remain private.

He locked the doors behind him on his way out.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t just Halstead who did stupid things, Voight groused as he searched the water frantically for any sign on Antonio.

They’d been chasing their perp, a distributer who’d been cutting the drugs with lethal substances, leaving a trail of dead bodies behind him. Antonio, never one to shirk his duties, even more so when several of the junkie’s who’d OD’d were under the age of 16, had taken off in pursuit. Voight had listened to the shouts coming over the radio, Halstead and Erin almost getting him before they lost him in some traffic. Then Antonio’s voice, determined, breathless from running.

Voight had pulled up in his SUV just in time to see Antonio tackle the perp — right over the edge of the docks and into the river. 

“There!” Halstead shouted, pointing at the churning water erupting around the two struggling bodies.

“He’s trying to drown Antonio!” Erin observed, gun drawn but inactive by her side for lack of a clear shot.

“Get him out of there!” Voight growled, helpless as the two went under again.

It was mid November and while it was never a good time to fall into the river, the steadily dropping temperatures made it an even worse idea. Dawson would be lucky if he didn’t catch a cold (or pneumonia, a traitorous part of Voight’s mind supplied). Holding his breath as the pair bobbed up again, a little ways away from the last spot they’d appeared, it looked like Antonio had the perp in a chokehold, the man’s struggles lessening as he lost consciousness.

“I called in an ambulance and the fire department,” Olinsky told him. “There isn’t a way for us to get them out of the water without help.”

Voight glanced around, affirming his friends words, watching as Antonio dragged the limp perp to the concrete ledge about ten feet below, just above the waterline, clinging on for dear life.

“Antonio!” He called down, catching his man’s eye. “You alright?”

“I’ll be fine,” Antonio told him, wincing as he moved. 

That’s when he saw the red stain in the water. “You’re bleeding!”

The detective looked down, a resigned expression on his face when he looked back up. “He had a knife.” Hand going to his side, grimacing as pain flashed through him. “Think it’s at the bottom of the river by now.”

Voight cursed, echoed by the others as they stood, helpless, unable to help their colleague.

“Make sure he stays out!” Voight called down. He didn’t want any surprises.

The firetrucks pulled up shortly after, familiar faces setting Voight at ease.

“What’ve we got?” Boden asked, getting down to business as he followed Voight to the edge of the pier, Casey and Severide close behind.

“Dawson followed a perp into the river,” Voight was succinct. “They’re down there, no way for them to get back up. Perp got Antonio with a knife, I don’t know how bad.”

“Okay,” Severide jumped into action. “I’ll get into the wetsuit and take Cruz down with me. We’ll get Antonio up first, perp second.”

“I’ll let the medics know what to expect,” Casey said, jogging off towards the ambulance that had just pulled up.

Voight made sure to give Severide a pair of zip ties so the perp couldn’t try anything. Waiting anxiously by the edge, he restrained himself from rushing immediately over as Antoino was pulled up on the backboard, letting the medics cut open his shirt to see the stab wound.

“It’s a good thing the water was so cold,” Brett commented. “I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but it probably reduced the bleeding a bit. This looks deep.”

Antonio was shivering as the adrenaline wore off, eyes closed as he kept quiet under the medics hands. Voight remembered he’d dated Brett for a bit, pretty little thing. Finally, he moved forward, standing over his man.

“Hey,” Antonio’s eyes opened at his voice, “He gonna be okay?”

“He should be,” Brett reported. “Vitals are stable - one of the luckier placements for a stab wound. We’ll push fluids in the ambulance and start to warm him up.”

“Ride with me?” Antonio asked, putting up a hand to forestall the placement of the mask on his face.

Hank paused. He’d rarely ridden in an ambulance with anyone before. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” Antonio said, eyes closing again.

“OK.”

Voight turned away to let Alvin know but the man had been listening and called over his shoulder as the waved for the others to pile into the SUV. “We’ll meet you at MED. The perp is going across town.”

“Right.”

In the ambulance, Voight kept quiet, watching as Brett worked on Antonio, tucking a blanket around him after checking the pressure bandage on his side. It had only been three months since his detective had been cleared for active duty.

“You know,” Voight told his detective, reaching out to give Antonio’s arm a squeeze though the blanket, “I thought Halstead had dibs on heroics.”

Antonio laughed behind his oxygen mask, understanding in his eyes and humor since he understood the irony of his situation. He drifted off, body shivering under the blanket, rocking with the motions of the ambulance. 

Voight kept him company - a silent watch dog and a better friend.

————————————

“He’s going to be fine,” Will assured the intelligence detectives where they’d been waiting outside of the surgery. “The knife missed his organs - one of the luckier kinds of knife wounds, you could say. His blood loss was manageable and while he is still hypothermic, I can safely promise a full recovery.”

Everyone gave a sigh of relief at the news.

“Can I see him?” Hank asked, worried for his man.

“He’s been asking for you,” Will told him. “And as his medial proxy, you’re first on the list.”

“Thanks, doc.”

“We’ll give you ten minutes,” Alvin told him as he followed Will, to which Voight grunted an acknowledgment.

Hank had seen Antonio in a hospital bed more times than he would like; now was no different.

“Hey,” He said, stopping by Antonio’s bed, looking the other man over. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

“Sorry,” Antonio slurred, obviously on the good meds. “Wasn’t trying to end up here, ya know?”

“I see they have you on the good stuff,” Voight gave his signature half grin, “Suppose I could sneak you in something later?”

“You’d better,” Dawson says. “Though Will’s sharp man, don’t let him catch you with the goods.”

Voight pushed down a laugh, stroking his hand through Antonio’s thick hair, the detective leaning into the touch. What the man really needed was his wife but they both knew that was a pipe dream.

Antonio hummed, looking up at Voight, some of the haze wearing off. “We got the guy?”

“We got the guy,” Voight assured him. “He’s going to go away for a long time. You did good, Antonio.”

Antonio smiled at the praise, eyes fluttering as Hank continued to stroke his hair. He was almost asleep when Alvin led the others in, warning them with a knock on the door, Hank looking up form where he was on his phone in the chair by the bed.

“He okay?” Alvin asked.

“A bit out of it,” Voight shrugged. “They got him on the good stuff.”

The others lingered for a while, watching Antonio sleep, Adam even leaving a small bear he’d gotten at the gift shop on the side table. But before long, duty called. 

“I’ll stay with him,” Olinsky volunteered. “The perp needs to be processed.”

“Ok.” Voight was reluctant to leave Antonio, but crime didn’t sleep, so he motioned to the others to follow him out. “Let’s go get this done. I’ll take over after shift.” Ignoring the looks Erin was giving him, Voight led them back out to the SUV, heading back down to the precinct to finish the case that had landed Antonio in the hospital. 

————————————

A few days later, Antonio was still in the hospital and they’d caught another case, the usual combination of a serial murderer mixed with arson. Voight hated not being able to sit with Antonio, but duty called. Last update from Adam was that he was still running a low grade fever, Will saying that they were monitoring him for the possibility of pneumonia since he’d swallowed a fair amount of river water when the perp had tried to drown him.

Voight went to visit during his lunch hour, bringing the juice boxes that Will had recommended, not liking how Antonio was looking — he was pale and the shivers were still present. He’d finished one of the juice boxes before dozing off.

“We haven’t been able to break his fever,” Will told him as they stood outside the room, Olinsky taking his turn at watching Antonio. “If it get’s over 100 we’ll be switching to a more aggressive type of antibiotics and an oxygen mask.”

“But he’ll be alright?” Voight pressed.

Will shrugged helplessly, “We can treat pneumonia - but if we can’t break the fever he’s gonna be in for a hard time. His stab wound is healing, that’s one good thing out of all of this.”

Voight’s phone pinged. Work. “I’ve gotta go. Call me if anything happens.”

———————————

“You gotta come,” Jay said over the phone the next afternoon. “It’s bad, sarge.”

“On my way.”

As he drove, Hank felt his anxiety skyrocket. When he’d left this morning, having slept in Antonio’s hospital room, nothing had changed. The detective had still been running a steady fever of 100 degrees, cooling pads on his armpits and groin, the antibiotics still making him a bit loopy. What could have happened in such a short time to make Jay sound so panicked?

Stalking to Antonio’s room, he halted in dismay at the sight before him. There were restraints on Antonio’s wrists and ankles, keeping him immobile, a full mask on his face as well as additional cooling pads.

“What happened?” He snapped at Jay who’d hurried over from where he’d been sitting beside Antonio’s bed.

“His fever spiked and then he was - hallucinating, I think - he thought he was somewhere else,” Jay said, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I couldn’t calm him down and he pulled a couple stitches so they strapped him down and knocked him out.”

“Your brother around?” Hank asked, striding over to the bed to run his hand through Antonio’s hair, studying his detective’s face.

“I’ll have a nurse get him.”

And that was how Voight spent the rest of the day, eventually sending Jay back to work to help with the case, fielding calls on his phone and getting updates from Alvin. Also sending updates on Antonio; not that anything was changing with his condition.

If anything, Antonio was getting worse, the fever rising to 104.2 during the early hours of the morning. 

It hurt Hanks’ heart to hear Antonio moan around his mask, struggling futilely against the restraints, fighting something only he could see. He only calmed when Voight talked to him, stroking a hand through his hair, murmuring in his ear until the man calmed, sleeping again. Voight fell asleep eventually, too many days of anxiety and too little sleep catching up with him.

When he woke, Erin was sitting in the chair on the other side of the bed, sipping a coffee, watching him.

“Morning Erin,” Voight said, sitting up, reaching out to feel Dawson’s hand. Did it feel a bit cooler?

“What’s going on with you two?” Erin asked bluntly. “Alvin obviously knows something but he’s not telling me shit.”

“Maybe he thinks it’s none of your business,” Hank told her.

“Bull.” Erin said. “What’s going on, Sarge?”

Hank looked at Antonio’s sleeping face then back at the girl who he considered his daughter, coming to a decision, hoping that Antonio would agree with it.

“What can I say - he’s been growing on me. And all of us in the unit. We’re …”

Knowing that Erin could fill in the blank.

They were all basically alone, except for the Intelligence team.

He took Erin’s silence for understanding, because she left soon after, handing off another cup of fancy coffee to him. Going so far as to press a kiss to Antonio’s hair, something only she could get away with.

“It’s good that he’s got you, you know?” Erin said.

He only hummed, turning back to his phone as she left the room. Once it was safe, he approached the bed, looking down at Dawson’s sweaty tired face. 

“You’d better wake up soon,” he rumbled, “There are a lot of people who are waiting to see those brown eyes of yours.”

Whether he heard the words of not, Antonio slept on, but the next morning, the fever broke.

—————————————

His body felt both heavy and weightless at the same time. The light hurt when he opened his eyes, brightness on white walls making him wince. He went to cover his eyes and found he couldn’t move his hands. That’s when he did open his eyes, single-mindedly trying to move his hands and finding that he couldn’t — it was the same with his feet. As he struggled, his mind trying to catch up with his new predicament, he heard a fast beeping in the background and then familiar hands were on his shoulders, trying to push him back down.

He continued to struggle until the voice broke through and he looked up to see Hank.

Antonio stopped struggling, trusting that, even though he was restrained, Hank would take care of him — Hank made everything better. Always. So he let his boss (his friends) help him lay back down, realizing that he had an oxygen mask on and the loud beeping he’d heard was coming from a heart monitor by the bed. Hank answered his silent question once he realized Antonio was aware of his surroundings.

“You’ve been here for a week — you got pneumonia.”

Antonio tried to remember what he’d been doing before he was here. He’d been chasing someone …

“You tackled a perp into the river,” Hank told him, grinning his signature smirk at Antonio’s raised eyebrows, as if to say, Who me? “You gave Halstead a run for his money. You know stunts are his area of expertise.”

Now that he knew the why’s, Antonio turned to his current predicament, tugging on the soft hospital restraints to get Hank’s attention.

“You had a really high fever,” Hank told him, reaching down to hold Antonio’s hand. “Probably don’t remember but the perp stabbed you. Doc didn’t want you ripping out any more of your stitches.”

Antonio tugged at the restraints again, fiercer this time. Hank took the hint, quickly working at the straps, undoing them. Rubbing at his wrists on reflex, Antonio reached up for his oxygen mask, pulling it down.

“Wa’er?”

With surprising gentleness, Voight helped him drink, helping him lay his head back down again, Antonio feeling the sluggishness of his body, knowing the fever had taken its toll on his energy reserves.

“But …” He squints up at his sergeant. “We got the guy?”

“We got the guy.” Voight assures him. “The kids’ll be by in a bit after shift.”

“Look at you,” Dawson grins, molasses slow, still on medication. “All domesticated.”

Snorting, Hank leaned closer to the bed, running his fingers through Antonio’s hair again, the latino relaxing into the feeling. “Let’s just keep that our secret - a’right?”

“Sure,” Antonio said. “Wouldn’t wanna ruin your street cred.”

There were times when Dawson had questioned his position on the team, when he had questioned Voight’s work ethic and honesty. Sometimes he’d wondered if he’d be better off back in Vice. Why did he stay? But watching Hanks face light up with a genuine laugh, Antonio knew why. It was because he’d become Hanks friend. And Hank the friend was different from Voight the sergeant. He was a caring man and he’d tried to be a good father (Antonio knew a lot about mistakes when it came to his own children) and he had put in at least part of his time.

Watching Voight’s face as he gave a genuine laugh, Antonio knew he wouldn’t have Voight any other way, because the knuckle duster was growing on him. He drifted off to sleep knowing there wasn’t any room in the city safer than the one he was in, under Voight’s watch.

And Hank sat, watching him sleep, secure in the knowledge that he wouldn’t be losing yet another friend to the rabid city he knew and loved.

Chapter Text

The distance from the Station to the hospital had never seemed so long before. The world had zoned to one goal — get to the hospital before Seldon did something stupid (like sabotage Will and his teams hard work to combat the virus, dooming more people to die).

The evil a misguided scientist could inflict on innocent people was astounding. But no science would be enough to stop Jay’s bullet if he hurt Will. Jay was a man on a mission.

Brushing past security, taking the stairs three at a time, gun already drawn, just in time to witness Seldon wack his brother in the head with a microscope. The sight of Will’s blood flying, his body dropping limply to the floor made Jay's heart stop, though that didn't prevent him drawing his gun, training it on the culprit who'd frozen as they'd burst in. Jay could’t even see if he was still breathing, red hair made redder by blood was all he could see from this angle.

“FREEZE!!” Jay ordered, command as cold as winter. “It’s over, Seldon!”

Caged eyes flicking between Jay, Voight behind him, and his colleagues body on the floor, a crazed smile crossing Seldon’s face, hand coming out of his pocket to reveal ... a single vial.

Jay had never been as afraid of such an innocuous object before (with the exception of needles, of course) as he was of that vial at that moment. All Jay's focus was riveted on it, because Seldon was too close to Will. Much, much too close.

“You’re going to let me go,” Seldon declared, the smile still on his face. “Because if I drop this … Dr. Halstead is going to be your new Patient Zero.”

“How far do you think you’re going to get?” Voight spoke up, Jay’s tongue glued to the roof of his mouth — because if the virus got into Will’s wound — got into his brain … he knew Will was as good as dead. And Voight new that, too.

“I’m guessing no one else knows I’m the source — the way you came in, you haven’t advertised it yet,” shrewd obsession on his face. “Just let me go or he dies.” Popping the top off the vial, bringing it closer and closer to Will’s head.

“NO!!”

The exclamation escapes Jay before he can think better of it. Ignoring the disapproval emanating from his Sergeant. “Take me instead — I’ll get you out of here.” Staring at his brother’s bloody hair. Then back up to see the calculating look on Seldon’s face.

“Why would you do that?” Seldon asked. Because it wasn’t every day that a cop willingly became a hostage and Seldon was going to suspect such a convenient solution when it practically fell into his lap. So Jay needs to lay his cards on the table.

“Because he’s my brother.”

In the following silence, Jay puts up his hands, taking his gun off of Seldon, he fumbles at the badge and ID on the card hanging around his neck. Tossing it at Seldon’s knees (fortunately, it landed face side up). Peering down at it, Seldon appeared satisfied.

“Well, would you look at that,” Seldon said as Will started to shift, groaning as Seldon shakes him to keep him in place. “Looks like you have a deal, detective.” Beckoning with his free hand as the vial stays still, a threatening distance above Will’s slowly moving head.

“Sarge?” Jay says, asking for permission, for forgiveness — for understanding. Because he knows this is a reckless move. But it’s Will … Jay will never not be reckless when his brother’s life is on the line.

“Do what you gotta do, Halstead.” Came the grudging permission. But get me an opening, the subtext hovered, unspoken in the air between them. Because he was going to be close to Seldon which meant he could catch the man off guard. Though the virus was a hazard.

Better him than Will. The thought burned through his mind. Better him than Will. And he wasn’t just being a self-sacrificing idiot like Will had often accused him of being. He was sure he wasn’t wrong — he knew Will and his team must’ve been close to finding a cure if Seldon had felt the need to sabotage the work — he knew Will wouldn’t have fought Seldon without a really good reason, the petri dishes in pieces on the counter and floor nearby attesting to Seldon’s interrupted sabotage.

So if he did get infected, the thought sitting like lead in his stomach, Will would find a cure … 

He had faith in his big brother.

This is what made him sneak attack Seldon once they were far enough away from Will’s sluggishly moving, defenseless body. Fighting for his life (and existentially, the lives of the whole city) he feels it when they land on yet more broken glass as they wrestle.

The vial is clenched between them, Jay holding Seldon’s fingers around it as the mad scientist tried to tip it, treating it like the pin in a grenade. They wrestle for control and he sees the vial start to tip, gritting his teeth as he feels it hit his vest and splatter on his T-shirt.

But now Seldon is on top and Voight has a shot.

He takes it. 

Soon, the virus isn’t the only liquid staining Jay’s vest and shirt.

“Jay!”

Glancing to the side, grimacing as his skin started and itch and burn, seeing Will being held back by another doctor, blood still dripping freely from the gash on his head. There was a gaggle of the doctors, watching — they must’ve been drawn by the sounds of the struggle and then the gunshot.

“Did he get the virus on you?” The lady doctor asked.

Swallowing, feeling the full weight of his actions hit him. “Yeah — got it on my shirt. I can feel it.” Gritting his teeth against the flaring itch, forcing himself not to scratch. Perhaps this was a stronger strain then whatever had infected the others, laying in the ward somewhere downstairs. Because, while it might just be his imagination, he can swear it is eating through is skin.

“I’ll call for the hazmat team, they’ll take him downstairs,” she tells Voight, who’s the one holding Will back now. Jay is grateful for it. Will can’t get infected now, not after all he’s just done to prevent that eventuality. 

“Jay,” Will says, speaking clearly through the controlled chaos, eyes wide in his pale face, fear showing through his doctor’s mask. “We’ll find the cure — we will. Just hang on, okay?”

“I will,” Jay promises. “I believe in you, brother.”

So Jay does his part, keeps his cool as he’s suited up for transport and later when they stick needles in him like a goddamn pincushion.

Because he believes Will — he’s going to be alright. Chicago will survive this . The threat is contained — Seldon is dead. All he can do is try to relax where he is, watching Hailey in her own containment unit down the row.

Praying and believing.

Waiting as he feels the infection spread across his torso. Waiting as he feels the sand in his existential hourglass trickling faster and faster, speeding to his end.

…

…

Sometimes faith is hard.

———————————————

Seldon hadn’t destroyed everything. Will is grateful for that at least - and only that. Because the clock is ticking and now his little brother’s life hangs in the balance as well. 

They work and they work until temper’s are short (his own most of all) and finally he takes a break to get some fresh air. Slumping against the wall, rubbing his burning eyes, the stats and results dancing in front of his vision in the air. There’s a part of him that wants to break down and cry, wants to rage at the bright sunny sky above him. What right does the world have to go on like nothing is wrong when his little brother is fighting for his life?

Why do the worst things happen to the best people? Jay doesn’t deserve this. Chicago doesn’t deserve this. He hopes Seldon rots in the lowest pits of hell for what he’s done. At least the reveal of the villain had benefited them. Intelligence had gotten hold of the man’s private research and they’d started using it to figure out how to make an antidote. Will knew there was hope but he felt like all was lost.

He can imagine Jay in a hospital bed, hooked up to various machines, having to endure the needles he hated. Calling down for news every hour or so, he’d been updated about Jay’s condition. It was certain that Jay had been infected, the area on his chest getting bigger and bigger. But there was still hope.

Will had to believe that.

He had to.

Because what else could he think? Only soul crushing thoughts, dangerous and violent things, self-revolting and self-blaming. Jay was going to live. Will had to believe that.

He had do. 

And then his pity party is interrupted.

“We’ve got something!!”

————————————————————

About eleven hours later, Will watches, breathless, as Jay’s stats improve. He’s one of the worst off patients in the ward, given that he had direct contact with a potent amount of the virus, undiluted. But as the stats climb and it appears that the infection on his little brother’s chest is no longer spreading, Will slumps in the chair by the bed and cries. He can’t even hold Jay’s hand yet without gloves, but he’s clinging to the monitor laden appendage, bawling his eyes out, rubber barrier or not.

Success had never felt so sweet.

————————————————————

There is pain, gnawing at the edges of his conscousness, blinking against the bright lights as he rejoins the living. Jay remembers what had happened. He remembered the fight and the threat and blood spattered on his vest and shirt.

He remembers the weaponized virus eating into his skin like a maniac caterpillar.

But he also remembers Will had been hurt, so he moves his head, sure that Will would be there if he could. And he isn’t disappointed when he spots the red head slumped in the chair next to his hospital bed. Settling in, Jay focuses on taking stock of himself, satisfied that Will is nearby, letting the doctor sleep. He looks like he needs it. 

The monitors must have alerted someone when he woke up, because soon the lady doctor from before came in, though she wasn’t suited up, which made Jay feel more comfortable with the situation. This wakes up Will, who sits up abruptly in the chair, looking around, scrambling to the bed when he sees that Jay’s awake.

“Jay!”

Jay can only hope his eyes speak volumes because he’s still got an oxygen mask on. The virus must have done a number on him. But he manages to lift his hand, giving Will a thumbs up.

“Good so see you awake, little brother.” Will tells him. Giving the other doctor room, he watches closely as Jay is put through his paces. 

Apparently his stats are good, because the brothers are soon left alone. 

Settling in, Will sits back down, holding Jay’s hand.

They’ve given him something, he’s sure, or perhaps it is just his body which is still recovering, because it doesn’t take him long to start to drift off again. So he lets sleep take him, knowing that he’s safe now, that he is going to go home within a week, and that his brother is here, watching over him.

All is well. 

Chapter Text

Oskar Bembenek has had a lot of time to think in prison. 

Prison was a way to keep time. They all had their grievances here, with the system, the food, the legal red tape that had ensnared many of them, but most were where they’d always known, in some back corner of their mind, that they’d end up one day. Even the smart ones like Oskar. Smart, because he still ran his outfit from the inside. See, he had connections, connections which had gotten him some very interesting information about the pig who had shot his brother during the arrest. 

Jacob had been a good kid — loyal, did what he was told. Maybe not the smartest but that’s what Oskar was there for, wasn’t it? And he hadn’t deserved to die like that, shot down like a dog in an abandoned lot. Oskar hadn’t even been able to go to the funeral, locked up like he was. But he had thought on it and sent out his orders. Through his web of informants and informers, he’d gotten the low down on one Detective Jay Halstead of Intelligence.

Turns out that Oskar wasn’t the only one with a younger brother to lose.

Looking at the picture of the red head in dark blue scrubs, waiting for a bus among a New York crowd, Oskar looked his fill and then shredded it, throwing it away. There would be no ties to him when this was over. And when he got out of here, he’d have audio and visual recordings to savor.

Revenge was a dish best served cold.

—————————————

Generally, when one was snatched off a New York street and thrown into the back of a van, a hood pulled over ones neck and then tasered unconscious, one would naturally imagine the worst case scenario. Will Halstead was currently in the middle of that scenario and was, therefore, expecting the worst. This was his own personal nightmare.

After he’d recovered from the electricity, he’d tried to ask questions, such as: Where were they going? Why were they doing this? Why him? But that had only earned him a kick in the stomach for his trouble and a gag to silence him. Thoughts racing a mile a minute, he felt himself begin to shake as the van finally pulled to a stop. Unhurriedly, he was unloaded and forced to walk forward, tripping over thin air in his terror, ending up in a chair, his hands being bound to the armrests. Eventually, there was a man nearby and when he starts to talk, Will’s heart goes even faster, because whatever he’d been expecting — this wasn’t it.

“State your name.”

Licking his lips after the gag is ripped out, Will rasps out, knowing better than to resist. “William Halstead.”

“What is your occupation?”

“Trauma Surgeon.”

“Is your brother Jay Halstead, a detective with the Chicago Police Department?”

Oh god. His life was a TV Drama. “Yes.”

“Who’s the elder brother?”

“Jay.”

“By how many years?”

“He’s five years older than me.”

“Are you afraid?”

Scrunching up his face, surprised by such an inane question, he forgets to answer. A harsh slap which causes him to yelp catches him by surprise. The blindfold isn’t helping matters.

“Are you afraid?”

“Yes.” Will admits. Because he is. He is afraid. This isn’t what he’s trained to deal with — what he’s good at is medicine, not brawls. From the beginning, it’s been him and Jay against the world, ever since their mother died and their father turned to drink. Jay fought the world and Will patched him up. That’s the way it’s always been. 

“No, you’re not.” The voice says, something in it making the little hairs on the back of Will’s neck stand up and he shrinks back in his chair, sensing the inevitable outcome of this conversation. “Not yet, anyway.” The man’s breath smells horrible as he leans closer. “But you will be.”

Swallowing, mouth going dry, he listens in ever growing terror as the man moves somewhere to the left and something clinks. “That brother of yours … he’s been making enemies. Enemies he can’t afford to have. So I’m afraid that you’re going to become collateral damage, Dr. Halstead.” Will jumps as a buzzing crackling noise sounds close to his head, flinching back against the chair. He feels like he should know what it is, but terror is driving all rational thought from his head.

The electrical current burns through his veins and he goes rigid against the ropes, slumping in the chair when it is finally over, gasping for breath, flinching violently back as the buzz is activated close to his ear, though not actually touching him again.

“Remember, this is your brothers fault, Doctor.” The man tells him, voice cold and monotonous — this is just a job to him, nothing more, Will thinks.

“No, wait —”

The pain cuts off his plea.

The session lasts for longer than Will’s body can afford. He’s not made for this, for the ensnaring darkness that creates such monsters. His body soon gives out, though the recorder has caught it all. Though he won’t know it until he wakes up, his captors release him from the chair and chain him by one ankle to the wall, dumping him onto an old mattress in the corner of the makeshift prison/torture chamber. 

Pictures are taken and added to the package. A separate copy is sent to a burner phone that is currently in Bembenek’s possession. The package will end up at the Chicago Police Station, marked Attn: Intelligence.

The game has just begun.

———————————————

When he recalls it later on, he remembers that when the package was brought up by Platt, he’d just been complaining about the pizza order being late. It seems like such a stupid thing to be annoyed about, looking back, especially when the recording has been stopped and they’ve all processed the enormity of what has just occurred. That should be him, Jay will think, collapsing numbly into a chair that Erin hastily pushes underneath him.

As it is, when Platt comes up, they all look at her, wondering what’s up.

“I’ve got a package for Intelligence.” She says. “Scanners say it’s not a bomb.”

“Just Intellingence?” Mouse asks, already moving forward to take it, opening it up with graceful fingers.

“That’s what it says.” Platt says, craning to see.

“Looks like a video or a recording of some kind,” Mouse says after he’s stuck the CD into the drive, clicking it open to reveal the file type. “Yep. Definitely a recording.” Looking at Voight for guidance. “Should I play it?”

“We’re not getting any younger.” Voight says, which is as good as a ‘yes.’

And Jay had always thought he was prepared for anything — he’s been to war, for chrissakes, but he’s not prepared for this. 

(Could anyone be prepared for such a thing?)

State your name.

Silence. And then a shaky, horrifyingly familiar voice answers.

William Halstead.

Heads shoot up to look at him, Mouse’s eyes already looking concerned. But they let it continue. 

What is your occupation?

Hardly a pause this time and Jay has already answered it in his own mind.

Trauma surgeon.

Is your brother Jay Halstead, a detective with the Chicago Police Department?

Yes.

The eyes are all watching him now, watching this play out in real time and Jay only feels numb. Because he knows where this must be heading — he goddamn knows.

Who’s the elder brother?

Jay.

And that’s true. He’s the eldest. Will is his responsibility — and now he’s been taken from him and there’s nothing Jay can do — ohgodnoplease —

By how many years?

He’s five years older than me.

Are you afraid?

Swallowing, Jay takes a stuttering pace forward, closer to the computer, like he can somehow stop this if he just reaches through the monitor and wrings the smug bastards fucking cowardly neck —

A slap and a yelp and the question is repeated.

Are you afraid?

Yes. 

There’s a harsh laugh and a buzzing sound that Jay instantly identifies and he feels the blood drain from his face as Erin puts a hand on his arm as he sways.

No, you’re not. Not yet, anyway. But you will be. … That brother of yours … he’s been making enemies. Enemies he can’t afford to have. So I’m afraid that you’re going to become collateral damage, Dr. Halstead.

Then Jay jumps, hands reaching for his ears, frozen like a statue as screams emanate from the speakers … his baby brothers screams. They’re hurting him — they’re hurting Will. And there’s nothing he can do about it. … And it’s all because of him. (Their mother is turning over in her grave.)

Remember, this is your brothers fault, Doctor.

No wait —

Heart lurching in his chest, he’s vaguely aware of hands helping him sit and his head is forced forward between his knees as his breath comes in short staccato gasps. 

— ohgodnoplease —

— ohgodnoplease —

Not Will. Not Will.

When sound returns and he comes to himself again, Voight already has a battle plan and Jay listens numbly as they all identify the most likely suspect. Because who else would want to kidnap Jay’s brother for revenge?

The second file on the CD contained a single sentence and it taunts Jay where it rests on the screen.

A brother for a brother.

But Jay knows: Oskar Bembenek is gonna pay for this.

—————————————— 

Will’s life has become a blur of pain and not pain — though even between sessions the pain is a gnawing ache in his muscles and joints. Like a broken doll he lays on his mattress, only drinking when it’s held to his lips. After the first session, the only question they ask, at the beginning of each of the following rounds of torment is the same.

What is you name? The man always asks him.

Proof of life, Will knows when he’s cognizant. William Halstead he tells them, because the one time he got uppity and said Luke Skywalker instead, he got beaten for his troubles before they tased him unconscious. He’d learned his lesson after that.

Though he does know that there is a period where there is no electric burning pain, though his bonds are painful as he’s jolted around in the bed of some large vehicle, traveling to somewhere else. Once the jolting stops and he’s deposited inside yet another dank, dark room, the sessions start again.

The awake times become shorter. All he does is sleep.

Then, one day, light shines to overcome the darkness that has been surrounding him.

And Jay is there.

————————————————

Jay wants nothing more than to punch the smug grin off of the gangster’s face. The two bit mobster is still in his grey prison scrubs, talking to Olinsky in the room. They can watch through the glass. 

“Okay,” Voight says once they’ve gotten nothing from Bembenek, Olinsky slamming the door behind him. “What do we have?”

“Nothing,” Jay spits out, dragging his hands through is already tousled hair. “We don’t even know if Will’s still in New York, Sarge!”

“Then we’re gonna find out.”

What follows is a mountain of files and traffic cameras. They track down all the leads, all the reports of shipments to Bembenek’s outfit from any of the normal distributors in New York. It takes a week (and two more deliveries of recordings) for them to hit the jackpot. Because they track something bigger than normal over the borders from New York to Chicago — something that could be a man. Hitting the streets, they squeeze all their CI’s for relevant information and come up with an address. 

Trembling with impatience, Jay is the first in after SWAT, securing the house, finally heading down to the basement where there is a door secured with three different bolts. Shooting off two, he kicks in the third and the door crashes to the floor. Gun up and ready, Erin and Dawson right behind him, to see —

His little brother, huddled on a dirty mattress, dirty, thin — but alive, alive, alive.

“Will!” He cries, holstering his weapon as he falls to his knees by the mattress, hands hovering over his brother’s trembling frame. Not sure where he can touch without hurting him. Fuck it. “Will,” He says, laying a hand on his brother’s shoulder, heart aching when his little brother flinches away. “Will, it’s me — it’s Jay. You're safe now.” 

Continuing to repeat assurances and comfort, Will eventually quiets, letting them take off the blind fold and zip ties keeping his hands secured behind his back. The chain will take a bit more force. But as life comes back into his little brothers eyes as he guzzles down water bottle after water bottle, Jay could care less. Because it’s gonna be okay now. 

It has to be.

“Jay.”

This first word breaks his heart again and remakes it and Jay keeps still as Will’s trembling, dirty hands come up to assure himself that this is real, that Jay isn’t just a hallucination, pulling him close when Will collapses into his arms, crying from relief and pent up fear. Crooning comforting nothings, terror coming into his own heart again as Will suddenly becomes boneless in his arms.

“He’s out,” Dawson confirms for the medics who have arrived while all this was happening. “Jay, you wanna let them take a look?”

While he’d really rather not, Jay moves to the side, watching as they check all the stats, running an IV immediately. Even Jay can tell his brother is dehydrated and he’s no doctor. Hurrying back to Will’s side when he calls for him, shouldering one of the EMT’s aside to kneel, taking his baby brothers hand, smiling painfully down into the battered face, half-conscious.

“I won’t leave you, Will,” He says, stroking the kids face as his eyelids flutter closed once again. “I promise.”

And he doesn’t.

——————————————— 

In the three short months he’s been at Chicago MED, Dr. Connor Rhodes had yet to witness a patient get a police escort. The ward goes quiet when Maggie calls out his first one for the benefit of the rest of staff.

“We’ve got a patient coming in — police escort, pull out all the stops — get a trauma analysis kit ready.” Beckoning Rhodes over, she fills him in a bit more. “The patient has been held hostage for over a week — perhaps as long as two weeks, they weren’t sure. Extensive deep tissue bruising … and they used a taser.”

Eyebrows raising, Connor absorbed the information, moving off to prep, calling back as he goes, “Thanks, Maggie.”

Exchanging a glance with Dr. Ethan Choi, they wait at the doors, soon hearing the sirens drawing closer. It’s a full police escort, all right. Moving out to meet the gurney that’s being unloaded, they see that the patient has been put through the wringer.

“Recent hostage victim, 28 years old, severely dehydrated, extensive bruising, irregular heartbeat —” 

Letting the details wash over them, running beside the gurney, they barely notice the police man who trails them through the doors and further into the ward. Hooking up the man to the monitors, they cut off the dirty, blood stained clothes, revealing the damage.

“Irregular heartbeat,” Ethan confirms, stethoscope on the man’s black and blue chest. “Residual electrical current?”

“Probably,” Connor says. Glancing up at the man who’s observing in the corner, tac vest still on. “What’s his name?”

“Will. Halstead.” The man yanks his gaze away from the patients face. “Dr. William Halstead … He’s my little brother.”

That threw him for a loop. “Doctor?” The word escapes him involuntarily. “Guess we’ll roll out the red carpet.”

And then it’s a flurry of tests and bandages and there are guards outside the door of the ICU room the patient is moved to. The brother, belatedly introduced as Detective Jay Halstead, takes up vigil in the chair in the corner where he can watch both the monitors and the door. Though it’s probably the last thing on the man’s mind, Connor comes back a while later to drop off a cup of coffee and a sandwich, also stopping in to check on the patients vitals. 

They all look good and he tells the detective that, taking in how tired and haunted the man looks. “You’ll be no good to him if you don’t keep up your own strength,” he prompts the man gently, leaning against the counter nearby. He’s waiting, because he can tell when someone wants to say something but is struggling to get it out. And he’s not wrong, because the detective spills some of the details of the case. 

“They sent us the audio,” Jay tells him, focused on the red-head’s face. “Of … what they were doing to him.” Connor can imagine how he’d feel if someone had done that to his sister, and he’s empathetic. “I didn’t even know he’d been taken for three days after it happened — we don’t talk as much as we should, ya know?”

“Yeah,” Connor says. “I know. But you’re here now — that’s what counts.”

“Yeah,” Jay says, eyes far away. “Finding him in that room … I felt like I’d failed. Because it’s my job that put him there, it was my enemies who came after him. He’s the innocent in all this.”

It took Connor a bit to figure out what to say, but he got there in the end.

“If he loves you half as much as you seem to love him, Detective,” Connor says before he leaves them alone, “Then I’m sure he won’t blame you.”

And he’s right, because when he comes by on his next shift, the brothers are watching a game on the monitor, a lopsided smile on Will’s face as they argue about a foul play and whether or not the referee made the right call. 

“It’s good so see you awake, Dr. Halstead,” He says, examining the monitors as he puts on a fresh pair of gloves. “How are you feeling?”

Eyeing his big brother, the other doctor admits, “Still shaky. But a lot better than I did.”

“He drank a whole protein shake for lunch,” Jay says, alert and attentive to all Connor’s movements, ever watchful. 

“That’s good,” Connor says, checking the bandages and smaller abrasions. “Gotta get your stomach used to bigger portions again.”

“It’d kill for a steak,” Will admits. “Some of those Hawaiian rolls and a beer, too.”

“That’ll have to wait until you’re discharged, I’m afraid,” Connor grins, “Though if your big brother sneaks in say … a burger … tomorrow night, I’ll look the other way.”

Will’s grateful smile is reward enough to bend the rules a little. And it gives the guy something to look forward to.

“And if you ever decide to leave New York,” he tells Will later when Jay has stepped out briefly, “We’re looking for trauma surgeons here.” Nodding his head to the door and winking conspiratorially, “I’m sure big brother wouldn’t mind if you were close by.”

The idea seems like it’s attractive to the red head. “I’ll look into it.”

Two months later, Dr. William Halstead is formally hired by the Chicago Hospital and Clinics in their Emergency Department. 

Sometimes good things do come out of the bad.

Chapter Text

Even as he served the Empire, Jay Halstead’s sympathies for the Rebellion didn’t emerge out of thin air. In fact, they were a long time coming. 

But that’s getting ahead of the story …

———————————————

It had been six planetary cycles since he’d joined the Imperial Armed Forces and five since he had started sending any part of his paycheck home. Jay Halstead, part of the elite sniper devision and with he black armor to prove it, had been to many planets since then and fought in many one sided wars. One sided in that there were never any planets who could resist the might of the Empire’s ‘peacekeepers’ for long. Getting off Corellia, the IAF had been his ticket to a job that didn’t involve stealing for the local crime lord or becoming a bounty hunter. Gutter rat though he may have been, he could hold his head high knowing he did honest work. (And if not honest, then at least he was no smuggler without honor.) 

Now, for the first time in six cycles — Jay was home. Slipping down planet side for some R&R with a group of his fellows, he is in civilian garb, having requisitioned a blaster, daring anyone to fuck with him as he strode down the old and dilapidated pathways several levels below the surface. He was heading to the hovel he had once called home. 

Though, it hadn’t been a hovel when he left. Not really. His mother had seen to that. Even though Patrick Halstead had left to do his smuggling and Maker know what else when Jay was barely starting to grow facial hair, Mary Halstead had always managed to make their small boxlike apartment into a home. And when he was big enough, Jay’s own exploits ensured there was always food of some kind on the table.

Will had to be big now. When Jay had left, giving his little brother one last hug, the kid was only just starting to hit his growth spurt, the promise of height in his lanky frame. But as he approaches home, a feeling of wrongness settled in his gut. Because it’s truly a hovel, now, the dust grills on the windows falling apart, one holding on by only a single hinge. Though the door creaked open when he gives it a push, blaster in hand. 

“You’ll find nothin’ there.” 

Head snapping to the side, his blaster snapping up with it to aim at the voice that had startled him, he sees Alma Kajar, the woman who had always been his mother’s friend. She’s old now, the years and the air and the creeping decay of the planet catching up with her.

“What do you mean?” He asks, lowering his gun, putting it back in his holster.

“Exactly what I said,” Pity on her face. “They’re all gone, boy.” Turning to shuffle back into her own home. “Come for a drink, and I’ll tell you the whole sorry tale.”

So he follows and sips on watered down caf as he listens to what had happened in the six cycles he’d been away.

“Let me look at you,” She says, eyes peering from the dimness within her home. “Hmm. You’ve grown strong. That brother of yours, he grew, too.”

“Where are they?” Jay presses, licking his lips against the aftertaste of stagnated caf.

“Four cycles gone, now,” Alma tells him. “You’re mother got the Black Lung. Will, he had been working for the clinic — the one that was for all, no Empire subsidies, ya know? — he got her medicine when he could. Though that got harder, since we all know it costs an arm and a leg and several other pieces us Corellians don’t grow naturally to buy a lick of the stuff. Eventually, he had to get it through less … legal means.”

Jay swallows, suspecting where the story was going, but unwilling to interrupt, his whole body taut with tension.

“There was a purge and your brother was arrested for his dealings, the things he did to get the medicine putting him in the system. No one knows for sure where he ended up. Somewhere he didn’t deserve to be no doubt, sweet boy like that. And I was there for your mothers last days when she could barely breath and coughed up the black spores.” Rising, leaving her guest frozen in his seat, she shuffled over to a side down, disappearing through it.

He could hear her rummaging around, but he only felt numb. It could’t be — Will couldn’t be a nameless prisoner among thousands, forced to slave away until he died in some uncaring backwater, or worse, deep in the spice mines at Kessel if he was one of the unluckiest ones. All these years, Jay’d worked to send home credits, and now it appeared that it had done no good, in the end.

What the hell was he doing, six years of service to the Empire he hated burning in his memory.

“This holds the transaction details — your father came back a few cycles ago, started siphoning off the funds you sent, made my job even harder, once Will wasn’t there to help with your mother.” Shaking her head, she sat back down, Jay staring at the info stick in his hand. “Though he’s gone now too, the old Sithspawn, cut down during a deal he’d tried to double cross on. No worth the brains the Maker gave him, that man.”

And what more could be said? 

Jay left, clutching the info stick, not bothering to go back into his old home, to try to see if anything was left inside. Because he knew there would be nothing worth taking that hadn’t already been scavenged. 

Corellia was not a nice world. Jay was glad to leave it behind.

————————————————

Patience had never been his best virtue, but now Jay waited, hatred growing day by day as he served the regime which had forced his brother into captivity. Within half a cycle, he was back on an intergalactic cruiser. One Greg Gerowitz served on that vessel. When the time was right, he sought out his friend, pulling him aside to a place where they couldn’t be overheard. 

“Mouse,” He whispered low, looking back around to make sure no one had spotted them as they duck into the little alcove.

Mouse was short for ‘Mouse Droid,’ a nickname that had started out as derogatory when used by the other members of their original squad. But the qualities of Mouse that had given him the nickname, had saved their lives on more than one occasion, giving it a new meaning. No one doubted nowadays that Mouse could kill if he had to. And he would with the best of them, nearly matching Jay shot for shot in the training halls.

“I need you to find someone for me.”

Mouse’s eyebrows raise as he hears the name. “Any relation?”

Swallowing, Jay nods. “My little brother.”

“I’ll find him.” Mouse promises as they break up their little tete-a-tete, no one the wiser.

And he does. Though it’s another two weeks before he gets anything definite. It’s certain that Will had been transferred off of Corellia, but after several more planets and ‘work projects’ his trail had gone cold.

“But I’ll find him,” Mouse had promised, though Jay knows the hope is slim. When someone disappears int he system, if can mean only a few things — none of them good. And none of which Jay wants to picture as Will’s fate. “But, Jay …” He trails off, looking over their shoulders again. Leaning closer. “I’m going to have to … bend some of the rules a bit to keep this up.”

“Then I’ll owe you, man,” Jay says. “Just … just keep looking, alright?”

Blinking, Mouse meets his eyes. “I will.” Though he mutters, low, just before they part. “Just remember that there are going to be consequences, however this turns out.”

And Jay knows. He does. But he presses forward as more months go by and more missions. Then it’s all a moot point when the cruiser is routed to the latest planetary skirmishes in and around Ryloth. The underground movements had been restless again. Which Jay could understand, given the long history of Twi’lek exploitation, but he had to be a good little soldier and went planet side when he was told.

By the time they’d gotten there, there was already a shipment of cannon fodder unloaded, working on rebuilding the IAF’s buildings which had been blown up and sabotaged. By cannon fodder, Jay meant the prisoners who were forced to do work in dangerous areas at the behest of the powers that be. Many prisoners had been professional workers in various fields before they became the lowest of the low. Engineers, welders, farmers; any and all specialities were put to use.

One day, after yet another round of hide and seek and another six kills on his sniper tab (one of which may or may not have been an important underground leader, according to intel), his routine brings him close to an area being rebuilt. Debriefing in a small building nearby, he’s eventually released to find food and a bed to sleep on for a few hours before he’s sent out again.

As he passes the construction zones, there’s a commotion that draws his attention, sharp cries rising that make bile rise in his gorge. But he still has his helmet on, so his change in expression won’t be seen — his absolute disgust at the supervisors at the worksite would have been given away. Because he already knows what he will see when he walks closer to the sounds, workers still digging and constructing as the beating goes on, though they sneak glances at what could be their own fate. 

“What’s the trouble?” He calls out, drawing closer still to the supervisor, a sergeant by rank, who straightens up at his hail, his victim curled up in the dust, trying to protect their face from the electric baton that the supervisor carried.

Scoffing, the man stops, halting the beating for a moment to talk. “Scum dropped the new tiles — broken equipment’ll get taken out of his hide!”

“Well,” Jay says dryly, casting another glance down at the cowering worker. “Looks like he’d do better just getting on with the job, doesn’t it?” Turning his full attention on the sergeant. “Where can I find food around here? I just go in.”

“Get back to work,” The man spits at the worker with another casual hit from the baton, barely getting a cry from the man who scrambled quickly to his feet.

And it’s a good thing that Jay had his helmet on because once the man — a boy, really — is on his feet, frightened eyes flicking between his captors, he can only freeze when he realizes exactly who the kid is.

Because Will looks exactly like their mother.

“Wait,” He calls out, finding his voice, causing the kid to freeze in place, flinching a little. “What’s your designation?”

The prisoner responds once the sergeant had told him he can. “TG-8653.”

The code burns in his brain as he walks away, forcing himself not to turn back and rip the supervisor’s throat out when he hears another lash and another cry behind him when it lands. But he remembers. (He’ll have that man under his hands someday and under his knife. He’ll pay for every lash he’d landed on Jay’s little brother.)

“TG-8653,” he tells Mouse when he can catch him next. “That’s my kid brother.”

“Are you sure?” Mouse frowns. 

“He looks like our mother.” Jay reveals, remembering the kid trembling against the ground. “Found out what you can, okay?”

Mouse nods. “Okay.” Grabbing his arm as he turns to leave. “But what do we do after I confirm? What’s the plan?” Pulling back to watch him, disbelief starting to appear on his face. “You aren’t planning to …”

“Desert?” Jay finished for him, pressing closer to keep the word even more quiet. “Yeah …” Swallowing as he allows himself to speak aloud the word that had been echoing in his brain ever since he’d seen Will. “Yeah, I think I might be planning that, Mouse.”

“Then I’m in.”

The quick, but determined reply catches Jay by surprise. Looking into this friends eyes, all he sees is truth. And he realizes that they’re admitting to wanting to commit treason … and finds that he doesn’t carking care.

With another look, they both go on about their day.

(Step one: actually talk to Will now that he’s found him.)

——————————————— 

It was never good when someone took notice of slaves. 

The more politically correct (or Empire indoctrinated) would call him part of the prisoner work details, a prisoner not a slave, but in reality he had done little to earn him a place here. True, he had stolen — but only to pay for medicine his mother needed. Deep in his soul, he’d known, as he dug in the earth and buried other slaves he’d barely known, he’d known that his mother was dead. But he’d known that from the start, hadn’t he? 

And he’d stolen anyway.

When the black armored soldier had given him a reprieve from the beating, he had been a little grateful. Though when the man had come back a few days later, talking lowly to the supervisor, glancing over at where he dug through rubble. And then when he’d been called over, looking down at his feet, hoping that he could suddenly disappear and escape the inevitable, wanting to throw up when the supervisor said that he’d been ‘borrowed’ for the night, he wants to cry. But he’s been a slave too long to cry so he settled into a numbness where he retreats to escape the pain that was sure to follow. 

While this hadn’t happened to him before, he’d seen it happen to others. He knew what it meant when a slave was ‘borrowed for the night.’ A small part of him contemplated trying to make a run for it — better to die untouched than to bear the … services … the trooper was going to ask of him. His tracker was somewhere on his person. He could run and hide but eventually he’d be tracked down, that was for sure. It could be detonated, he knew, but the supervisor wouldn’t unless he ran away more than once. He’d be made an example of.

So what was it going to be?

He’s pulled into an out of the way storage room before he can act on his half formed thoughts. Staying still as the trooper locked the door behind him, not looking around as he hears the helmet being removed.

Until …

“Will?”

Head snapping up, he whirls. Because he knows that voice. And he sees …

“…Jay?” Because he has to be sure. It’s been six years, after all. 

“Will.” His older brother comes closer, holding out a hand, hesitantly, unsure how his greeting will be received, seeing how Will is still frozen in shock. Reaching into his pocket as the standoff grows awkward. Pulling out a package. “Here. Eat this.” 

Opening the packet to find a sandwich — an actual sandwich and not the burned slop that the slaves are given. And while there’s a part of him that still thinks this is a trap, it’s too tempting to ignore and he tears into the sandwich, stuffing it down within seconds, chewing as he backs up, keeping an eye on his brother the whole time. 

Because why is Jay here? What does he want?

“I’m going to get you out of here.”

Hope soars in his chest and Will wants to believe — he does … but …

“I’ve got a tracker,” he says.

Jay curses. “Do you know where?”

Shaking his head, he asks, pushing on the boundaries of their family ties, “Do you have anything else?”

Scarfing down the ration bar that’s held out next, feeling uncomfortably full and savoring the feeling. Because it’s been a long time since he’d eaten so much. 

“I’ve got someone else helping me,” Jay says. “He should be able to figure out the tracker.” Watching as Will eats his food. “How do you feel about the Rebellion?”

Blinking, Will realizes that maybe this is all real. Because he wants to believe in the myth his older brother is trying to sell him.

“I think they’d feed me better than the Empire,” He says, cynically, watching sadness cross his brothers face again.

His brother … it’s been six years and Jay hasn’t changed much. Though he’s got that terse soldierly quality that most troopers possess. His armor is worn and well used and his unwavering gaze making something in Will’s hindbrain want to flee. But at the same time … this is his brother — the one who made sure to send back money, who taught him how to take care of himself when they were just kids on Corellia, the one who’d hugged him goodbye when he’d left to join the IAF, Will watching as he eventually disappeared into the crowd, leaving him alone. 

“Jay.”

It feels good to finally hug his big brother again — even if the edges of Jay’s armor dig uncomfortably into his skin, unhindered by fat reserves (of which Will had next to none). 

“Hey, brother,” Jay says into his neck and Will is surprised to find, when they pull back a little, Jay still clinging to him like he’s afraid Will will disappear on him, that he is actually a few inches taller than Jay, now. 

It’s weird.

“Look at you,” Jay says, sounding stuffed up, looking slightly up at him. “You’re all grown up.”

And Will can summon some pride about that observation, because he’d been fourteen and barely hitting his growth spurt when Jay had left, eating them out of house and home. Just wanting to help. (And look where that had gotten him.)

“I’ll come for you,” Jay says, voice distorted by the modulator as he goes to unlock the door again, a reasonable amount of time having passed. “Barring any problems, expect me to get you in three more days, okay?”

“Okay.”

As he lays among the other slaves later that night, not hungry for the first time in literally years, the flame of hope begins to burn within him, once again. Because Jay is going to get him out of here.

Soon — they’ll be free!

———————————————

Because of the tracker (something Jay should’ve thought about before) Jay had said three days. He wasn’t sure how long it would take Mouse to get the supplies to remove the Sith cursed thing. 

As the days passed and the pieces fell into place, Jay felt the tension coiling in his gut. The tension he’s used to, too many missions spent completely still, waiting for just the right moment made it an old friend. But the knowledge that a single mistake could cost not only his life, but the lives of his best friend and his younger brother … it was quite a burden to carry, mentally. So when the actual day arrives, he’s sort of relived. 

In his blacks, face hidden (the supervisor will not be able to identify his face) he slips the sergeant a generous amount of credits and leaves with Will. Knowing what the man expected him to be doing to his little brother made him sick to his stomach, but it was a good cover. So he let the man keep his head. (But he’d track him down, someday, to see that the debt was paid in full, lash for lash, if necessary).

As he herds Will further into the rubble, retrieving the bag he’d stashed in an abandoned building, a calmness falls over him.

“Now,” he says as they finally crouch in yet another abandoned building, Jay satisfied that no one is following them. “Let’s take care of that tracker.”

Running the scanner over Will’s body until it beeps, the tracker showing up on the scan. Watching as Will digs it out himself, waving off Jay’s help. Though Jay wishes he could’ve smashed it — but if it suddenly went dead, the supervisor would be alerted. So they leave it on the floor, bloody. Will changes into the clothes Jay had gotten for him. A set of civilian clothes which look mostly natural over his thin frame. Jay doesn’t change out of his uniform, knowing that his armor will work better for going out after dark. He still had to get them through a few check points on the way to the rendezvous point, after all.

“Ready?” He asks.

“As I’ll ever be.” Will says, checking to make sure the bandage over his bicep won’t leaked through his shirt. 

And they stroll out into the night.

Mouse knows his stuff and the fake ID gets Will through the checkpoints, deeper into the town proper, outside of the Imperial base. Jay pays for something that was probably meat on a stick and Will eats it as they walk, heading for the civilian space port. They sit at a cafe near the hangers, waiting for Mouse’s signal. Will has a caf and Jay watches their surroundings. Nothing can go wrong now — not when they’ve come this far. 

And nothing does.

When Jay’s comm beeps in a set code, he heads towards the port, straight for the dock number that Mouse had also messaged him. Mouse, also in civilian clothes, is haggling with the droid about the fee and waves them up the ramp as he concluded his business. 

“Got us clearance and a flight plan,” He says as he joins them in the cockpit, Will strapping himself in in the back seat while Jay takes the co-pilots spot (while it’s not his job in the IAF, he’s not completely helpless when it comes to flying ships — he is Corellian, after all). 

“Then let’s get out of here,” Jay says, short and to the point.

Soon, the planets atmosphere disappears behind them and they follow the stream of traffic to a suitable hyperspace jump point, passing even that checkpoint with their civilian authorization codes. (Though they’d all sat stiffly in their seats, waiting to be discovered and blown out of the sky). 

“We did it.” Mouse says in a shocked voice, staring wide eyed at Jay.

“We did it.” Jay repeats, feeing just as shocked as the stars streak around them as they fly towards wherever it is Mouse had plotted for them to go. “We did it!”

“WHOOOO!”

And they have to get up and dance around the cramped quarters of the cockpit, stopping to hug Will, who still sits in his seat, overwhelmed by it all. Until he joins in the celebration, yelling freely and crying a little. Because he’s been through a lot to get here, to have this.

They’re free, free, FREE!!!

——————————————

Following the scrambled messages and the several hyper space jumps that will throw anyone following off of their trail, they end up landing on Degobah. Hopefully ahead of any alerts about their desertion. Though Degobah probably won’t be the place they’d be turned in, since many people come to Degobah to live under the radar. It’s not just them who have secrets. None the less, Jay sticks close to the ship as Mouse arranges the refueling and the getting of supplies with credits he’d gotten from Maker knew where.

Sitting on a crate, Will enjoys the sun for once, already looking better for the sleep he’s been getting and the amount of food he now has access too. It made Jay’s heart warm to see his little brother happy like this. 

When a female twi’lek rolls up with a droid, accompanied by a man with strange headgear, Jay goes alert again, sidling closer to Mouse, keeping Will out of the line of fire, if it comes down to that.

Mouse hands the twi’lek a data pad, unlocking it deftly for her to examine. As she reads, her eyes light up with interest. 

“And that’s only a bit of it,” Mouse tells her, gesturing back at the ship. “I’ve got a lot to trade, if it comes down to that.”

“Then perhaps we should discuss payment inside your ship,” The man speaks up, tilting his head as if he’s listening to something only he can hear. “Less prying ears, that way.”

Bringing up the rear, Jay leans against the wall of the common room as their contacts sit at the table with Mouse, Will joining them. And he watches as Mouse negotiates, pulling out more of his data magic to get the ball rolling. Seems like they’re a shoe in.

“I think the rebellion can use you.” The man, Canan Jarrus, says, stroking his beard as the twi’lek, Hera Syndulla, puts a hand on his arm. “But we’ll need to double check with our superiors.”

“You do that,” Jay says. “But make sure it’s before the Empire puts out the word and has bounty hunters on our trail.”

“They’ll find out what I spliced, once they look hard enough,” Mouse tells. “And they’re not gonna like it.”

Hera hands him a fob, which Mouse takes. “Once it has been confirmed, I will send you coordinates. Meet us there.”

“May the force be with you.” Jarrus says before they depart.

The phrase is music to the escapees ears. 

“Damn,” Jay whistles. “They were really interested in whatever it is you have on that pad —what exactly did you steal?!”

“Just everything that I could find about the Imperial offensive on Ryloth — including lists of native collaborators and secret weapons stashes.”

“Damn.” Jay laughs. Looking at his friend, who looks very pleased with himself. “And I’ll bet that’s not all, is it?”

Mouse demurs. “Now what could a poor buckethead like myself possibly know about splicing through Imperial encryption firewalls?”

“Buckethead my ass,” Jay snorts. 

———————————————

The confirmation comes the next morning, the coordinates not too far away. They won’t even have to hyperspace to get there. 

Interlocking with the other ship, they’re instructed to come aboard.

“We’ll take you to the next point in the chain,” Hera explains as they’re shown where they can sleep. “But for now, know that you will be vetted before you actually get to our main base.”

“The Empire has been cracking down on our network,” Jarrus tells them. “This is just a precaution.”

“We understand,” Jay says. And he does. Though he wishes it wasn’t necessary. “It’s not a problem.” Because they’re come this far and they’re going to see the end of this. He owes it to Will to fight for a better future.

Before they jump to hyperspace, their old ship gives a satisfying boom, shaking the rebel’s ship just before they make the jump. The last of their old world falls away. 

“Do you have a med bay?” He asks.

“Are you hurt?” Hera asks, genuinely concerned.

“We had to take a tracker out of my brother before we could escape,” Jay explains, tugging Will forward, his little brother ducking his head to avoid the attention. “I just want to make sure it’s clean.”

Understanding blooms.

“I will show you what supplies we have.”

Later on, Jay falls asleep in a seat next to Will’s bed in the med bay. Hera had hooked Will up to a nutrient pouch after examining his stats. She was obviously the caretaker of this little band of rebels. (And quite an eclectic group at that.) Jay had been introduced to several of the others when he’d gone to get him and Will dinner in the kitchen.

For the first time in a long time, Jay feels safe. He doesn’t have to look over his shoulder, waiting for someone to denounce him for the search he’d had Mouse run through less than legal means; he doesn’t have to search for his brother anymore because Will is sleeping soundly beside him; he doesn’t have to stay up at night, sleepless, wondering if it was worth it, joining the Empire. 

So he sleeps as the stars streak by.

Perhaps the force actually is with them, after all.

Chapter Text

Drowning his sorrows was a lot harder now that he was over thirty.

It had been ages since Will had been out on the town. Seemingly he’d left that behind after moving back to Chicago. Jay’s influence, no doubt. He just hated disappointing his little brother. And worse, he was disappointed in himself. The thought that had been plaguing him for months now played on repeat despite the alhocol he’d so far imbibed: What could he have done differently to make Natalie stay?

Well …. He could’ve started by not keeping her completely in the dark. She’d known about the stress ulcer, after all, and they’d planned to be married, one flesh — the whole nine yards. And what had he done? He’d kept secrets from her. True, there were security reasons for his reticence, but she was going to be his wife. And that meant something, didn’t it?

So he’d ended up here, trying to drown his sorrows after a twelve hour shift in the ED. Hours he could be in his own bed, trying to sleep. Trying being the operative word. Watching his ceiling while the minutes ticked by, lost forever into the void of time. He was sick of it — the worries, the stress, the secrets and the lies. And … he feared the nightmares most of all. 

With everything else going on, how close he’d been to death hadn’t truly sunk in for a while. Alone in Witness Protection, the nightmares had come. Dreams where he’d been shot in the head by his childhood friend. He’d watch himself twitch on the lonely toolshed floor, nerve endings struggling to keep his nervous system going even as his brain died from the bullet hole shot clear through his skull. 

As a doctor, he knew death; he lived and breathed it, due to the nature of his job. But the nightmares frightened him.

Then he’d lost Natalie.

He’d loved her.

…

…

He still loved her.

He’d only wanted to do the right thing … even if he’d practically been threatened into it.

Though that hadn’t mattered in the end, had it? Now he was at his wits end, barely sleeping, zombified, and drinking alone. Which reminded him — he really could use another drink.

“Hey,” Signaling to the bartender. “Whiskey please — straight.”

Turning his back to watch the gyrating mass of people on the dance floor, suddenly off put by the lights and the whole atmosphere.

“Here!”

Turning to find his drink slid across the bar, forking over a few more bills to cover it. Drink in hand, he turns again to watch the dancers, feeling the buzz dampen the sounds as the alcohol did its job. Not that it was hard — he’d barely gotten any sleep last night and he’s come directly from work. He was lucky he was still upright. 

What he needed was a few more drinks, then he could call an UBER and pass out in his own bed. He’s had two more whiskey’s before he’s approached.

“Hey,” The stranger is a little shorter than him, and Will can discern that his eyes are a nice shade of green before the world tilts and he turns back to the counter. “What’s a pretty little thing like you doing all alone?”

“Not interested.” Will tells him, proud to not slur the words at all. Just one more drink, and then he’s out of here.

“Aww, don’t be like that,” The stranger’s teeth glint in the dark.

“Hey, back off man,” The bartender says, having been observing Will all night. 

“Fine,” The man throws out his arms, pouting as he disappears back into the crowd of gyrating figures.

There’d been something about his eyes …

When the notification comes that his ride has arrived, Will gets down from the stool, waving a half-hearted goodbye to the bartender (Kenny, he recalled seeing the name-tag), before making his way slowly around the edges of the crowd.

Hopefully he’s had enough to let him pass out and not dream once he was home and in his own bed.

Then he’s blinking, feeling the disconnected pain of scrapes on his cheek, knees, and palms from how hard he’s been shoved to the asphalt. Struggling to his knees, he lets out a disgruntled noise as he’s grabbed by the collar of his jacket and dragged around the side of the building, out of sight of the pickup area.

To his alcohol-soaked brain, it actually kinda makes sense when he sees his assailant — it was the guy who’d hit on him at the bar.

“Ge’ff,” He gurgles, the man keeping him down on his knees with ease. Already starting to list to the side as the world became a kaleidoscope, his vision tunneling for a few precious seconds.

The man gives a dark chuckle. “Not until you give me what I want, sugar,” Pulling Will’s head back easily by the hair, getting a good look at his face. “Pretty thing like you — no way you’re leaving until I’m through.”

Sluggish from the alcohol and then from the attack, Will is still kinda surprised by this whole thing, disbelieving even, until the man lets go of Will’s chin (but not his hair) to fumble with his own belt and fly. Blinking, dazed, as there are two and then one of the thing in front of him.

This can’t be happening.

But it is and almost before he knows it, Will has a mouthful of the man, chocking, gagging at the smell of it. Does he black out for a moment? Will thinks he does, but when the darkness recedes, the man is still grunting above him, holding Will’s head still with both hands as he thrusts, uncaring of whether or not Will can breath.

And it’s all too much — the end of a shitty day, of a shitty week, of a shitty couple of months.

Because how dare he? How dare he do this to Will? 

Hadn't he suffered enough?

The squeal the man makes when Will bites is so, so satisfying and he has a mouthful of blood before he finally relents, sure his grin is crazed and bloody as he watches the man writhe on the dirty cement. Riding the adrenaline high, though he knows it will fade soon, Will fumbles for his phone, clicking open the contact on pure muscle memory, holding it to his ear as the hears the call ring on the other side.

“Hello?” Jay’s sleepy tone is the best thing he’s heard in a while.

“Jay.”

Sounding instantly more alert at his tone, Jay asks, maybe hearing the bastards squeals of pain in the background, “Will — where are you?”

Giving the name of the club. “Had a bit of …” Swallowing down a wave of nausea. “A bit of trouble.”

“Are you drunk?” He can hear Jay throwing on clothes, grabbing the essentials.

“Yeah,” he admits. “Close enough. Th’s why he tho’t he’d get aw’y w’ it.” And there’s the slurring.

“Will?” Jay sounds the way he always gets when he’s scared but still in cop mode. “Will what’d he do? He who?!”

But Will can’t answer — it’s all caught up with him … and all he can do is cry.

“…Jay.” Gasping in heaving, sobbing breaths, aware that there are now other people seeing all this, crowding at the corner of the wall, whispering. “Jay …”

“I’m coming. Stay on the line.”

So Will does.

And Jay comes, flashing his badge like he’s Will’s cop in shining armor.

(Which Will guesses isn’t far off from the truth.) 

Clinging to Jay as his little brother crashes to his knees next to him, hands so familiar and comforting as he examines the damage — his teeth stained with blood — asking the people milling around nearby, the bouncer maybe, “What the hell happened here?”

To be honest, Will doesn’t hear much, at least, not much that he comprehends, leaning into Jay’s side as an actual police car roars up, lights whirring. That hurts his eyes, so he burrows further into Jay’s chest, pain spiking in — well, everything, actually. He goes to a dark place again, and when he opened his eyes he was on a stretcher. Though he doesn’t recognize the medic, which is strange.

And then he’s out once again, Jay’s strained features looking in from the open door of the ambulance, talking to someone in official police uniform.

Asleep at last.

——————————————

Jay will never get used to it; getting calls in the deep of the night to tell him something is deeply, deeply wrong. Especially when the call comes from his brother.

As he paces the waiting room, having tailed the ambulance in his own car all the way to MED, the scene plays and re-plays in his mind’s eye. Will, nearly incoherent with blood in his mouth and alleyway crud on his knees. His assaulter, moaning and fully exposed, (the fucker had gotten what he deserved and it was only going to be the beginning, if Jay had anything to say about it) and his gorge rises again.

Jay is just wiping his mouth after upchucking yesterday’s dinner in the hospital trashcan when Dr. Rhodes finally emerges from the back area.

“Detective Halstead,” He greets, friendly concern lurking behind his professional mask. 

“How is he?” Jay demands, crossing his arms in front of himself, practically vibrating with pent up energy.

“We ran the kit,” Rhodes confirms, anger flashing over his features at the necessity. “Looks like Will’s quick thinking stopped the assault before it got any farther — we’ll give him some shots, in case …” Meeting Jay’s eyes to deliver the final verdict. “There was no actual penetration, so as long as all the tests come back negative, Will should recover from this.” Hesitating, before he says in a low voice, almost too low for Jay to hear. “He really can’t catch a break, can he?”

Shaking his head, Jay has no answer for Will’s coworker and friend, following wordlessly as Rhodes escorts him to Will’s room. Stopping at the foot of Will’s bed to examine his older brother. 

It wasn’t pretty.

Abrasions have darkened on Will’s pale skin (so like their mother it hurts) his bottom lip split, more bruising on his throat. His hands, resting above the hospital blanket have scraps, showing that Will hadn’t gone down easily, even drunk.

“Oh, Will,” Jay bemoans, swallowing down his tears, taking Will’s hand as he sits in the chair by the bed, hardly aware when Rhodes leaves them alone. “What’d he do to you, brother?”

But Jay knows exactly what’s been done. And the perp is gonna pay, and pay dearly.

How many favors will he owe to Voight, once this is over?

Though the deep bite marks he knows Will’s assaulter has on his dick is probably adequate punishment, for the moment.

So he stays to guard Will, barely acknowledging when Erin and Dawson eventually show up.

“You look like hell,” Erin tells him.

Jay grunts, giving Dawson a nod of thanks as he sips the coffee he’d brought. “So does he.”

“Voight got the case transferred over to Intelligence,” Dawson tells him.

“You know how he is when it's family,” Erin says, squeezing his shoulder.

And there’s that warm feeling. Because knowing that his team will look out for his brother if anything every happens to Jay in the long run — that means something.

“Tell him thanks for me,” He says.

“We will.”

They leave after lingering for a bit longer, making sure to pick up all the evidence bags on their way out. Jay can hardly look as they take additional photos of Will. It seems like just another violation since the pale doctor is still unconscious. But he keeps his peace, knowing the necessity of their actions. Promising to keep him updated, they leave the brothers alone.

When Will finally wakes, blinking through his one un-swollen eye, taking in his surroundings, Jay clutches his hand. Watching as the memories return and his brother’s face screws up in unmitigated misery.

Jay will hold Will until the world ends, and even after.

“It’s gonna be okay, Will,” He chocked out the reassurance, even if it may be a lie. “I’m here. It’s gonna be okay.”

(It’s better not to mention that Dr. Manning hadn’t come.)

—————————————— 

The last thing Natalie expected upon coming in for her shift was for Miss Goodwin to debrief them all that Will would be absent from work, having been assaulted the previous evening. Though she hadn’t gone into details, their supervisor had looked worried. As soon as they dispersed, Natalie caught up with Dr. Rhodes.

“Is he okay?” She asked, swallowing back tears.

Staring at her levelly, though his voice lacked judgment. “Why do you care?”

Flinching, Natalie looked back down at her feet. Because that was a fair question, even though it hurt. She’d been a victim in the whole mess, literally left at the alter. But she hadn’t given him a chance to truly explain — or at least, she’s listened but not with the mind to forgive him, only to pull out details to further hurt him and distance herself from it all.

To move on with her life. 

… perhaps that had been a mistake.

“Please?”

And Connor’s shoulder’s slump. "The damage is mostly superficial — he should be okay. But.” Shrugging, looking her in the eye. “On top of everything?”

It could be the last straw.

And she hears those unspoken words, going back to her work, a resolution forming as the hours fly by in a blur of agitated indecision. She decides to go look in on Will. Thoroughly unprepared for what she finds. Because even after the car accident and the whole ‘maybe-fiancee’ fiasco, Will hadn’t looked so defeated.

The bruises she can see, the defensive wounds, they tell a story she’s seen too many times in the emergency room — she knows exactly what kind of attack Will had been subjected too. 

“What’re you doing here?”

Turning to see Jay’s cold, grey eyes, holding a cup of hospital cafeteria coffee in his hand. Moving aside to let him approach the bed again.

“I just …” What can she say that isn’t an admission of guilt in her almost brother-in-laws eyes? “I came as soon as my shift was done.” Daring to move a bit closer to the bed. “They briefed everyone about … about what happened.”

Absorbing this, Jay is still defensive. “If you're only here to hurt him again, I suggest you leave.”

“I would nev —” Flinching as she realizes the lie in her automatic retort. Because she has hurt Will and hurt him badly.

But what does it matter now? Because she knows this warmth in her chest. She still loves the unconscious man in the bed. And she always will.

“I was wrong,” She admits.

“Yeah,” Jay says after an elongated pause. “You were.” Taking Will’s hand again where it lays across the covers. “So what are you going to do about it?”

Turning on her heel, heart overflowing, Dr. Manning walked away.

(She was good at that.)

———————————————

The world returns slowly. The sounds first, familiar beeping, faint breathing from nearby, bustling in the hall. Then texture, the antiseptic in the air and the hospital sheets around and underneath his prone form. Then color and form. A hospital room. Because it always was when he came back from the darkness.

“Hey, brother,” Jay’s face becoming clear, hovering over him, solid weight squeezing his hand.

And Will remembers, the hands and the hurts, the musty smell and the copper taste of blood on his tongue. Feeling Jay’s panic as tears roll silently down his cheeks, burrowing closer into Jay’s warmth as his little brother bends down to engulf him in a hug.

He’s so warm. Will wants to stay safe in his embrace forever. But all good things must come to an end. Sniffing, taking the tissue Jay hands him to wipe his face.

“What day is it?”

“Friday. You’ve been here over a day.”

Slumping back into the slightly lumpy pillows, Will lifts weary hands to inspect his face, wincing as he lightly traces bruises and cuts. “When can I go home?”

“Maybe give it another day,” Rhodes says as he enters in time to hear the question. Nodding at Jay. “How are you feeling?”

Shrugging, Will stares at the ceiling. “About how I’d expect to feel after being sexually assaulted,” He says in a monotone, pointedly not looking at Jay as he says the words.

So the examination commences and the usual rundown, Will listening with half an ear. He knows that he’d rather recover in his own bed. Hopefully he can go there soon so he can have the impending breakdown he can feel building in his soul. Eventually he agrees to another day of observation, drifting off after half-heartedly sipping down chicken broth with soggy noodles floating in the cup.

“Did Natalie come?” He asks, almost hopeful, closing his eyes to try to sleep.

Jay’s silence is answer enough.

Though that night, sometime after his long nap and a disappointing late night snack of applesauce and jello, he’s surprised by a knock on the door.

“Come in,” He calls. Freezing in place when Natalie enters, leading Owen by the hand.

“Will!” Owen crows, running over to the bed, frowning when he gets a good look at Will’s face, once Natalie had lifted him onto the bed. “Did you get hurt?”

With caution, Will hugs the little boy back as Owen snuggles into his side, encouraged by Natalie’s small smile as she watches. “Yeah — but I’ll be okay.”

“Did you fall on the slides?” Owen prattles on, wiggling around to pull up his little pant leg, exposing a superman bandaid. “Cause I did that yesterday and mama put a ban’aid on it, see?”

“Superheroes are the best,” Will agrees.

“I’ll bring the box, next time!” Owen tells him. “So we can do yours!”

His innocent chatter filing the room until he declares he needs to go to the bathroom. Jay volunteers to take him to the restroom down the hall, exchanging a glance with Will to make sure he’ll be okay, assured by Wills nod. Giving the two doctors time alone.

“Will,” Natalie starts after an awkward silence, deciding to bite the bullet. “I’ve made mistakes, these last few months.”

Hope blooms in Will’s heart, freely admitting; “So did I.”

“Owen misses you,” Natalie tells him, drifting a little closer. “I miss you, Will.”

Fidgeting with his blanket. “I’ve missed you both too, Natalie.”

“And I know it might not solve anything,” She continues, coming still closer. “But — I’m sorry. For the things that I’ve said and promises that I’ve broken.”

Swallowing, Will watches as she takes his hand, pressing a kiss to his scabbing knuckles. “I’m sorry too, Natalie.” Feeling tears start to trial down his cheeks. “I’m so, so sorry. if I hadn’t —”

“And if I’d given you a chance to explain instead of just focusing on my own embarrassment,” Natalie interrupts him, “Maybe we could have solved this already — like mature adults.”

Heart rate spiking on the monitors, Will thinks that he’d been certain he’d never feel this again, Natalie’s gentle hand on his cheek, and her eyes full of love.

“Could we …” He dares try to ask, voice breaking midway through. She stays silent, giving him time. “Could we try again?”

Smiling through her own tears, she pulls him to lean against her chest, hugging him gently, careful of his IV. “I’d like that.”

“Friends?” He whispers.

“Friends.”

And perhaps more, given enough time.

There is no secret investigation or Irish mafia to stand in the way of their wedding, a scant year and a half later.

Owen is the cutest ring-bearer in the history of ring-bearers.

(Perhaps every cloud does have a silver lining.)

Chapter Text

There were few things Matthew Casey enjoyed waking up to more than the sight of a beautiful women in his bed. The second best thing was waking to the smell of pancakes and bacon wafting from the kitchen.

He was truly blessed in dating Jennifer Halstead, he knew. Rolling out of bed with a yawn, he pulled on a light sweater to combat the icy cold of winter which still intruded through the window panes and lingered in the corridors, turning the wooden floorboards into a sort of cold-type hotplate. He loved the times when their off days aligned. Leaning against the doorframe into the kitchen, he watched as Jenny’s head bobbed along to whatever song she was listening to on her phone, AirPods in her ear. Waiting for her to notice him, knowing better than to startle her. While she was a small woman, her elbows were sharp. (And he wasn’t a bastard like that Palenki fella who’d been her last boyfriend. Though boyfriend was too kind a word — he deserved to rot.)

Smiling back when she notices him, taking the AirPods from her ear and putting down the utensil as the bacon sizzled. Coming over, giving him a hug, getting on her tiptoes to give him a peck on the lips.

“Did I wake you up?”

Shaking his head, he pulled her closer, larger hands covering her hips atop thick winter sleep pants. “Though the bacon smells good.”

“I made enough for an army — so you should be full by the end,” She teases him.

Letting her go when she pulls away to go check on the stovetop, he goes to the coffee pot to pour himself a cup, putting in a spoonful of sugar and then stirring it as he takes a seat at the little table. Watching her again as he drinks his caffeine and slowly wakes up, he savors the sight of her.

Given the weather, he has no side projects he’s committed to and they end up lazing on the sofa, watching old Western reruns. It’s nice.

“How’s the new doctor?” Casey asks later on in the morning. “The one from Boston?”

“Rich.” She snorts.

Blinking, he tries to puzzle that out. “But is he a good doctor?”

“Yes. He’s an asset to the MED.”

Turning towards her, seeing the furrow in her brow, he reaches up to sooth it, pulling her practically into his lap, trying to get the whole truth from her. It’s like pulling teeth sometimes. “But …?”

Heaving out a sigh, she hangs her head for a moment before looking up at him. “How would you like a doctor who, the first time he comes in — and not even formally hired yet — countermands your authority and then is just really good at his job? So good that you almost don’t resent him for it.”

It’s his turn to frown. “He ordered you around?” Wondering if he had the seniority.

Sighing again, she nodded. “We had it out later, but it was a hell of a thing. I already have enough trouble sometimes, being female.”

Nodding, he thought to his own staff. Imagining the amount of times he’s been stepped on and over by visiting Fire department heads. “But it’s okay now?”

“We have a truce, of sorts,” She grinned with all her teeth. “And, though it pains me to admit it, he’s a damn good doctor.”

“Only the best for my girl,” He murmurs, letting her settle better in his lap to see the TV. 

“Though,” She says significantly a few minutes later, glancing at him through her lashes. “I could be convinced to feel even better?”

TV forgotten in a moment, all his attention is on her. With a giggling squeal she lets him lift her off the couch, wrapping her legs around his waist as he walks them to the bedroom.

By the end of it, he feels better about everything, too.

—————————————

“Heya, Casey!” Herman grins as he always does when the Lt. Sits at his bar. “What can I getcha?”

“A beer,” smiling in return. “And what do you have to eat tonight? Jay’s coming with Jenny, later.”

Rattling off the list of middling quality beer foods, Casey chooses the nachos, taking the beer where it sweats on the counter. Though he pauses a moment when his phone buzzes, grinning when he gets a text from Jenny.

“Ya’know, might not be my place to say it,” Hermann says. “But … Jenny’s good for you. Makes you smile. Think we’ve all noticed it around the firehouse.” 

“You like her?” Casey asks. Because having the approval of one of his firefighters, who had been a role model for him for a long time, mattered to him alot.

“Sure I do!” Hermann says, grinning again. “For one, she’s a sweetheart — we all liked when she made lunch a few weeks ago. For two — she’s a doctor and I like to have one on my side if you know what I mean. And for three …” Pausing a moment, face turning serious. “It’s about time you had something good in your life, Casey. If anyone deserves happiness — it’s you.”

Ducking his head with a blush, Casey fiddles at the wrapper on the beer. “… thanks.”

“Hey,” Hermann says, leaning over the counter to pat him on the shoulder. “What’re friends for?”

With that, he turns back to the customers and Casey goes to find an empty table and wait for his girlfriend and her brother. A thought he’s been harboring comes to the forefront of his mind, and he thinks about it for a while, until his thoughts are interrupted by the arrival of Jenny and Jay.

Yes, he thinks later as Jenny holds his hand under the table, talking to Brett about a case she’d had, he’s going to do it.

He’s going to go buy a ring, put it on Jenny’s finger and never let her go.

——————————————

Though he didn’t think he’d ever say it aloud to her, Connor Rhodes thought Jennifer Halstead was a damn good doctor.

She was the life and soul of the MED department, she kept going when the times go hard, she jumped in to handle things that left the others reeling, sometimes, and she was kind — truly kind. He’d seen it.

So when she froze in place, blood draining from her face when a patient was wheeled in one summer evening, he wasn’t prepared for it. What made this one different from the others? Coming forward, watching her as he started getting stats, he noted that the patient was a firefighter. But that wasn’t unusual, not in the Emergency Rooms. 

“Manning!” He called, waving her down, gesturing at Halstead. “A little help?”

Blinking, Natalie took in the scene, glancing at Jennifer’s face and then looking to the man on the bed, understanding dawning. Obviously, she knew something Connor didn’t. Rushing to Jennifer’s side, she guided the other doctor out of the room, throwing a look at Connor to make sure he didn’t ask any stupid questions.

Smoke inhalation, a few low grade burns and a bad gash on he upper shoulder where, quote — ‘a staircase caved in on the second floor and fell on him’ — unquote. Rhodes was still dabbing on the smaller cuts on the mans face and neck, which had bled profusely, when the firefighter finally woke up, wincing at the bright lights, free hand coming up to cover his eyes.

“Hey, easy,” Rhodes said. Grabbing the man’s wrist to stop him doing any damage, unwittingly. Leaning over so the man could see him without bending his neck and battered torso. “You’re in the ER.”

Blinking, the man winced again, squeezing his eyes shut again before opening them and looking at his surroundings. “… MED?”

“Yeah,” Rhodes said. Going back to his work. “Take it you’re a repeat customer?”

“… you could say that.”

Rhodes works for a bit longer, putting stere-strips on the gashes, pushing his chair back a bit to finish his notes. Looking up when the patient asks him a question.

“Is Jennifer Halstead here tonight?” Continuing when Rhodes doesn’t answer immediately. “I’m her boyfriend — Matt Casey.”

Come to think of it … Natalie might’ve mentioned the name once when talking to Ethan about something or other. Not that Connor had been eavesdropping. Nope. Not him. Never.

“She’s here — in fact, she saw you when you came in.” Watching as the firefighter’s face fell. “I’ll get Natalie to let her know you’re awake.”

And by the time he leaves to file all the paperwork at the main kiosk, Jennifer is rushing by on her way to sit with her boyfriend. Glancing at them a while later as he checks in on the patient, who’s still in the bed for a few hours of observation before being released, he has to admit that they make a cute couple.

Guess it just proved that the good ones were always taken.

(Connor always did find himself late the the party, at that.)

——————————————

Being a very private person, Casey had put a lot of thought into where he wanted to propose to Jenny. Finally, he decided to just do it in their apartment. Almost healed enough to go back to work after his latest accident, he watched her sitting at the kitchen table, pouring over a medical journal. Putting the last dish in the drying rack, he went to the bedroom, pulling the little box from its hiding place.

Returning to the kitchen, he knelt by her side, looking up at her nervously. He would always be nervous for something as important as this.

“Matt? Wha—?” Turning her head, she saw his position and her hand flew to her mouth, eyes widening in surprise as her other hand hovered over her chest. “Is that what I think it is?”

Gulping, he opened the box. “Yes.” Watching as tears came to her eyes, any speeches he might’ve planned flying from his mind as he asks the most important question. “Will you marry me?”

Grunting as she threw herself in his arms, the box falling from his hands as he caught her weight, forgotten as she clung to him, careful of his still healing shoulder. Whispering into his ear. “Of course I will!”

Toppling them both over onto the kitchen floor, kissing her senseless against the linoleum, cradling the back of her head to he can make her breathless with his caresses, eventually, they both have to come up for air. Groping around blindly for the little box, he finds it, holding it up for her to see, once again.

“Want me to put it on?”

Giggling, she held out her hand. “We’re doing things backwards, aren’t we?”

“And to think — we could be doing it horizontal,” Waggling his eyebrows at his own joke, putting the ring on her finger, carefully.

Whacking him playfully. “You’re awful!” Turning doe eyes full blast on him, still flat on the floor. “But why not?”

And he’s like a whirlwind, carrying her down the hall, clutching her hand as they move together, feeling the cool gold of the ring, reassuring him that this all isn’t just a dream.

He’s going to marry Jennifer Halstead!

(Now he just has to tell Jay. 

Crap.)

——————————————

When the alarm went off five minutes after Squad Lt. Kelly Severide arrived and put away his stuff, causing everyone to stampede in their most orderly manner, that was when he knew it was going to be one of those days. The type of day when everything went to hell in a hand basket.

There was always someone who didn’t realize that winter was coming, not changing their driving at the corners, learning too late that black ice wasn’t a myth, sliding into poles or oncoming traffic. This particular accident had been one of those, he could tell. There were three cars in a metal pretzel on one side and another car with a mangled bumper on the other side of the road, facing the wrong way into oncoming traffic. 

It was a mess.

But it was an even bigger mess when Casey spotted the old battered Ford that was practically at the bottom of the pile.

“That’s Jenny’s truck.” 

Though he whispered, it seemed like the whole team heard it and then they all scrambled after Casey as he took off towards the wreckage, peering into the shattered window of the Ford, blocked off on the other side by an Impala.

“Jenny!”

Coming up behind him, Kelly sees that the red-head is out cold, blood on her face from the impact with the airbag. Reaching over Casey’s shoulder, he checks for the pulse.

“She’s alive!” And they get to work.

Snapping out of it, Casey gets to work as well, supervising with an undercurrent of tension which no one can fault him for. 

“We’re going to MED,” Brett says. Eyes on Casey. “You coming, Lt.?”

With a clap to his friends back, Kelly watches as Casey climbs into the ambulance, taking a seat, clasping his fiancee’s hand. Thinking, as he often does, that Casey really can’t catch a break.

“Think we’ll need to pass around the boot?” Munch mutters to Hermann in the background as the scene dies down.

“Wouldn’t hurt.”

After shift, all of them end up in the waiting room to find out how Jenny is doing. When Casey finally emerges from a private room to talk to them, looking at them all with a dazed look, Kelly fells a lurch of fear, because that look never meant anything good.

“Casey?” He asks for all of them, approaching his friend. “Is Jenny okay?”

And the dazed look turns into an overwhelmed grin, “She’s okay.” Glancing around at them all, everyone straining to hear. Announcing to the room as a whole. “More than okay.” Putting an arm around Kelly’s shoulders. “She’s pregnant.”

The waiting room echoes with the whoops and hollers of congratulations. Hermann smiling fit to beat the band.

“Awww — a litte Casey running around?” The older man jokes, giving Casey a big hug. Something very few people are allowed to get away with. “Say it ain’t so!”

“Almost two months along.”

“Yep,” Mooch says in the background. “Definitely passing around the boot.”

—————————————

A month later, Jay fiddles with his tie as he stands outside his sisters dressing room. It had taken some doing and compromises, but the happy couple had put together a small wedding venue. Checking his watch as the guests milled around in the courtyard below the upper story window he could see out of.

Turning when he heard a sound.

“Is she ready?” Casey asked.

“It’s bad luck if you see the bride,” Jay told him seriously.

“Are you done scaring my fiancee yet?” Jenny calls from within the room. “Though he’s right.” She adds.

Jay gave Casey a smug grin. Taking pity on the man when he saw how nervous he was. “We’ll be there.”

Giving Jay’s and a firm (if sweaty) shake, Casey headed back down the hall towards the sanctuary, Kelly giving Jay a little salute when Casey wasn’t looking, escorting his friend to his place to wait for their cues. Turning again at the rustle of tule and silk and satin, Jay felt his jaw drop a little as he finally saw the bride.

“You look beautiful.”

Blushing, Jenny fiddled with her bouquet, Natalie emerging to hold the short train. (The dress, too, had been hell to find on short notice.) Since their father had been dead for several years, Jay had been asked by Jenny to walk her down the aisle. Jay wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Fortunately, it wasn’t like he was still in Afghanistan. Taking his little sister’s hand, placing a soft kiss on her cheek.

Guiding her down the halls until they stood at the entrance of the sanctuary, the guests going quiet within. Feeling the subtle tremble of Jenny’s hand in his as the music began to play. “Hey,” he tells her, meeting her eyes. “You’ve got this.” Watching as her eyes disappear behind the veil, Natalie helping drape it tastefully.

Hooking her arm over his elbow, they walk in step, closer and closer to the beaming man on the stage. The trembling stops and Jay smiles as he helps his little sister climb the steps, giving Casey a look as he hands her off. 

Take care of her, he mouths.

I will, Casey mouths back. 

And then Jay takes his place on the groomsmen’s side, watching through tear blurred eyes as they listen to the preacher, turning to face one another as they say their vows. Wiping away a tear when the last lines are said. If anyone had objected at this stage, Jay would've knocked their teeth out.

“I now pronounce you, husband and wife.” Quiet cheers from their little audience. “You may now kiss the bride.”

True cheering erupts as Casey does just that, lifting Jenny’s veil and cupping her cheek tastefully to draw her in for a kiss. Then the happy couple walk down the aisle and into the sunshine, snow swept to the corners of the courtyard, leading the way to the reception hall.

Jay is totally crying. But in a good way, for once.

Not for the dying or the dead — but for the promise of new life and happiness.

——————————————

When she’d come to Chicago with her life in two suitcases, covered in bruises and with a battered heart, Jennifer had never thought that within two years she’d have everything she’d ever wanted.

Smiling down at the little bundle sleeping on her chest, little face peaceful with sleep. Knowing that her husband would be by soon, since Kelly had finally managed to get Casey to leave the hospital and clean up and get a few hours of much needed sleep. Looking up at Jay entered, putting a finger to smiling lips, signaling for quiet.

“Hey, Jenny-bean,” Jay smiling down at her, giving her a kiss on the cheek. Running a gentle hand over the baby’s sparsely haired head. “Hey, Emmy.”

“Do you wanna hold her?” Jenny offered.

“I’ll trade you for the coffee.” Gesturing at the cups he’d set down on the bedside before leaning down for the greetings.

“Sure,” she grinned. “Twist my arm.”

Emmaline Rebecca Casey, Emmy for short, was going to be the most spoiled little girl in the world, she just knew it. Sniffing, wiping away a tear at a stray thought.

“What’s wrong?” Jay asked, frowning, clutching his niece to his chest. 

“Mom would’ve love her,” Jenny croaked out, wiping away another tear. Damned hormones.

Giving a little broken smile himself, Jay could only agree. “Yeah,” Looking down at his niece. “She would’ve loved her.” 

But they both knew where Jenny had gotten the baby’s middle name. It would have to be enough.

Yes, Jenny thought as she drifted off into exhausted slumber, Jay humming to the little bundle in his arms like the best uncle he was and would be, she’d come a long way.

The future was bright and devoid of shadows.

Chapter Text

It never got easier watching soldiers — young boys, most of them — breathe their last. Far away from home and kin, surrounded by death, and destruction; and often buried where no one could find their graves.

Private Jeffrey Dobbs was one such soldier. He’d taken shrapnel, lasted through several infections, and Jenny had seen him through it all. At first his wounds hadn’t been serious enough to send him back down the line. Eventually it became too dangerous to move him. And now, something had gone septic in him, Dr. Rhodes opinion was that his kidney’s were failing, worn down from the continual fever and the circumstances they all lived under. Fresh food was scarce and though they did their best to keep everything clean, it was often a loosing battle.

So Jenny had sat by Jeffrey’s bed after her shifts for the last several days, helping him write his letters to his family, to his fiancé who he would never get home to marry, holding his hand as the fever came and went. Often he mistook her for his sister or his mother, as many of the boys were apt to do — stress and fear and all that. What comfort she could give, she gave freely. Watching as his skin took on the translucent gray of impending death.

As she watched the life leave him, bit by bit, all Jenny could think, as she often did, was that this boy — any of these boys she say come through the medical tents — could be Jay. And she could only hope that someone would comfort her brother if he came to such straights.

“Ma?” Jeffrey asked, eyes slits, sparkling with the fever. 

“I’m here,” she told him, soothing a hand over his heated brow. “It’s alright. You can go to sleep now.” Swallowing down a mouthful of sorrow. “Mother’s here.”

A smile twitched on his lips and stayed there as he breathed his last about twenty minutes later. Sitting by the bed, she tucked him in one last time, taking a deep breath and cleaning her face before going to alert the night nurse in the ward. Tomorrow there would be a new soldier in Jeffrey’s bed, another face to mourn.

Lord, she needed a drink.

But she had duties in the morning so she’d have to settle for a smoke. Going back to the nurses tents, she dug out the pack she’d been saving, learning to conserve as they’d all learned to conserve since their cruel war had started. Though as a child in Chicago she’d learned to be frugal. The Great Depression had seen to that. 

Smiling a sad little smile as she watched the smoke trail off into the sky as she sat outside the tent, listening to the mostly silent night. Letting the smoke carry her worries and cares up and far away.

She wonders as she does, where Jay was at that very moment …

—————————————

Sergeant Hank Voight was one scary SOB — but Jay would follow him to hell and back. And he had done, last year when they stormed the beaches of Normandy. 

But right now he wished the Sarge would leave him alone. He hated medical with a passion — everyone knew that by now, given how long they’d been together in the squad.

“You’re going to medical, Halstead,” Hank growls at his man, though they all know that his terseness hides genuine concern. “If I have to get Olinsky to drag you or not.”

“I’m fine!” Jay insists, “It’s just a scratch, Sarge.” Forcing himself not to wince as his arm throbs under the bandage Casey, one of their medics, had wrapped around it out in the field.

“From barbed wire,” Olinsky points out. “It needs to be cleaned.”

Eventually, Jay is cajoled, threatened, and then escorted to medical by Hank, Olinsky, and the others who tag along to help corral their friend.

The last thing Jay expects is the sight of a familiar head of red hair attached to the nurse who comes in with the tray of disinfectant and other tools for the doctor who is taking a look at him. Said red head looks just as surprised to see him as he is, if not more.

“Jay!” And he has an armful of his little sister, lifting her up and off her feet for a short twirl even as he felt more blood drip within the bandage. Lower, softer as he puts her down again and lets her cling to him for a moment. “Jay.”

“Hey, Jenny.” Gulping back tears of his own. “Long time no see.”

Pulling back, she gives him a smart whack on the shoulder. Temper flaring as it always can at the drop of a hat. “Long time no see — that’s the best you can come up with?! You haven’t written to me in months!”

Wincing, both from the hit and the fact that she’s right, he says, “Sorry?”

“Damn right you’d better be sorry!”

“Nurse Halstead,” the doctor’s interjection causes them both to pipe down, suddenly remembering their audience. Both of them shifting guiltily under the curious gaze of his squad mates and the amusement from the doctor. Though he hides it well. “I take it you know this soldier?”

“Yes, Dr. Rhodes,” Jenny confirmed. Putting a hand on his good arm, needing to ground herself. “He’s my older brother, Jay.”

“Good to meet you,” Rhodes says, smooth as ever. “Your sister is an asset to us here — a fine nurse.”

“Well,” Jay grins, trying to be charming. “She had a lot of practice on me, growing up.”

“I believe it,” Ruzek stage whispers to Olinsky who cuffs him absentmindedly upside the head which Ruzek easily ducks.

“Sit down and I’ll take a look at that arm.”

Uneasily, Jay does so, Jenny moving to assist the doctor as he unwraps the wounds. Giving a noncommittal sound as the scratches are revealed. “How’d this happen?”

“Got caught in some barbed wire on patrol.”

“It’s a good job,” The doctor says, glancing up at Casey and Severide who both wear their medic armbands. “You’re work, I presume?” Taking the iodine and rag that Jenny is ready and waiting to hand him, obviously well used to this routine. “But I’d better clean it out again - barbed wire is tricky at the best of times.” Telling them as he unwraps the bandage, “At least it’s just your arm, we had to sew up a guy last week who caught a faceful of it.”

There’s a collective wince at that image.

Though eventually Voight motions them all out, leaving the doc to it. Jay sees the others sneaking glances at his sister, knowing that he’ll be fielding a slough of questions once he goes back to them. Putting that aside for now, his hackles come up when the doc starts moving the needles around. The other man notices.

“Not a fan of needles, Corporal?”

Glancing at Jenny, he can only be honest. “… no. Not as such, doc.”

Considering, Rhodes looks between the siblings. “Perhaps it would be better is your sister did the honors?”

Relief flooded through him, remembering late nights in Chicago and sometimes afternoons when it had just been him and Jenny against the world after the mother died and their father barely brought anything home. “Please — thanks, doc.”

Switching places, Jenny gets to work, placing the stitches quickly as Jay grits his teeth against he pain, the doctor supervising.

“It’s done.” Jenny tells him, clutching as his hand, letting him breath through the comedown, covering up the needles so they’re out of sight, helping him to relax further. 

“I’m sure I don’t need to tell you to keep it as clean as you can?” The doctor says. “Come back in a few days and we’ll see if we can take the stitches out. I’m putting you on sick leave for the next two days, as well.”

This is all done with little fanfare and soon Jenny is walking him out, peering through the open flap to where they can both see his squad loitering nearby. Turning back to him, she grinned. “I had the early shift today so I’ll be off in about an hour. Maybe you want to introduce me yourself before they track me down?” Only half joking.

“Okay.” Jay agrees. “Think we’ll be headed to the mess, see what we can dig up.” Pulling her in for another hug, dropping a fond kiss on the top of her head. “Stay safe?”

“Always.”

And then she’s gone to see to her patients and Jay is back out in the sunshine. As Voight leads them all towards the mess tents to try to find something to eat, Dawson is apparently elected spokesperson because he asks as they walk along.

“Didn’t know you had a sister, Jay.”

Shrugging, noncommittal, Jay stays silent. Let them work for it. Plus his arm is still throbbing.

“Did you know she was here?”

Shaking his head, “No. I may’ve … been behind on some letters. And I haven’t gotten anything from her for a while. You know how it is.”

And they do know how it is, the subject soon dropped, though Ruzek is clearly itching to ask questions. As always. Like a dog after a bone. 

A while later, Voight is the first to spot Jenny. 

“Halstead.”

Instantly alert, Jay turns towards where Voight nods, a smile coming over his face as Jenny comes over, standing to meet her part way where they’re sitting along one side of the road outside of the mess tent. They’d managed to get a few cans to share, at least, chopping up an old potato which they’d boiled in Roman’s helmet, the stew smelling positively delicious after what they’d been eating lately. There was even meat somewhere in there, he was pretty sure. 

“Hey, sis.” Letting her link her arms through his, escorting her back to his fellows, all of them standing respectfully. “Fellas, you’ve met my sister. Jennifer Halstead.”

Nodding at their mumbled hellos, she smiles, sitting where Jay tells her to. “Call me Jenny. I don’t mind.”

Sitting down beside her, the others following suit, unnatural silence falling. It’s been a long time since they’d been in the presence of a lady and they’re all a bit discombobulated. Though they all perk up when Jenny pulls something from her bag, showing Jay the labels, his grin infecting the others, who all perk up when they see exactly what she’s holding.

“Wow,” Ruzek says, looking eager as they all read the labels for a small can of cocoa powder and two small tins of powdered milk. “Where’d you get that?”

Shrugging, Jenny stays seated while Jay moves around collecting another helmet for them to start making a concoction of sugary goodness. A treat they’d all gone without for who knew how long, now. 

“I’ve been saving this for a special occasion,” she tells them. “Why not spread the happiness around?” Saying in a softer voice, “We could all use more of that, nowadays.”

None of them can disagree with that.

“Thank you all the same,” Dawson says. Soon drawing her into conversation about Chicago, which is also his hometown, taking out the picture of his children.

So the time passes and Jenny meets the boys. Jay wishes that they day will never end. But too soon the sun starts to lower in the sky and since they all have things to do, they head their separate ways.

“It was nice to meet all of you,” Jenny smiles at them, standing on tiptoe to give Jay one more kiss on the cheek before she head back.

They all pretend not to notice how surly Jay gets that evening, knowing that he wishes he’ll have more time to spend with his sister. And they all think of their own mothers, daughters, and sisters. 

Many letters are written that night. A sort of ode to Jenny Halstead.

—————————————

The war continues on all fronts - the winter snows continue to fall on Stalingrad (1) and the scuttlebutt tells of victories in Italy and of rising death tolls in the Pacific. But here in France it is deathly cold. 

As their unit gets moved further forward, fluctuating with the divide between the Axis and Allied powers fighting over every inch of ground between Normandy and Berlin, Jenny’s unit also moves occasionally. Bastogne is a frozen wonderland which contains a menagerie of horrors. They’ve hunkered down with the Airborne in the woods surrounding the little town in Belgium. A town where Jenny is - the hospital is there. Jay would like nothing more than to catch a ride and go see her, but it’s a pipe dream. With the supply lines cut and the rations running low, they’re all spread thin. 

The German’s have been shelling the Allied line, upping the intensity after they’d tried to get General McAuliffe to surrender. News of the big man’s one word answer: ‘Nuts’ spread like wildfire, feeding the dwindling fire in their hearts, which had been hitherto flickering in the winds of winter surrounding them. (‘Nuts’ became the man’s nickname after that celebrated reply.) (2)

Bastogne is also where Matthew Casey gets seriously wounded. 

The Germans shell their lines regularly, lowering their morale and weakening their defenses. It’s bitter cold and sometimes seems almost hopeless. But Casey, being a medic, does his part to keep their spirits up. And he responds to all the calls for a medic during every barrage. He takes one end of the line and Severide takes the other. They make it work, but their supplies were already low before the blockade was formed. Now they’d running out of everything. Improvising bandages, hoarding morphine needles when they can, using them only when the situation is most dire.

And it often is dire — the case in point being the blood dripping down Casey’s side and flank through his ripped winter coat and layers of uniform. Groaning as he feels his ribs shift under the skin, close to the surface already from the strain and the smaller and smaller rations they’d had the past few months.

“It’s Casey!” He hears somebody call, realizing the barrage had stopped, though there’s a buzzing his ears, noise fading in and out between a high pitched ringing. Maybe he’d knocked his head, too?

And then Severide is there, looking him over, Voight following soon after and Jay as well, to see what all the commotion is about. Though he already knows it’s not good, the look on Severide’s face makes it certain.

“He’s gonna need the aid station,” Severide confirms, pressing larger bandages to Casey’s side, trying to stem the bleeding a bit.

“We’ll get a car,” Voight growls, stalking off with Olinsky to to just that. 

“Hey,” Severide says, drawing Casey back out of his fog. “You’re gonna be okay, just stay with me, okay?”

Nodding, Casey grits his teeth as a fresh wave of pain shudders through him as Severide increases the pressure. Letting out a low curse, Casey knew it’s not working as soon as his fellow medic wishes it would. And then he knows nothing at all as he’s hefted onto a stretcher, the jolting on the back of the jeep which the stretcher is strapped too knocking him out.

When he blinks awake, he’s sure a long time has passed. But he’s the warmest he’s been in weeks — if not months. And the blankets are clean. In fact, focusing on the feel of his skin and the dampness of his hair, he thinks he’s been given a sponge bath or at least a wipe down. It’s nice.

“You’re awake.”

Though he’s sure he recognizes the voice, he has to look to his right to be sure. Because Jay’s sister is sitting there, wearing a sweater under an apron, her hair bundled into a hat which is pulled low over her ears. She must be cold, too. Shortages don’t affect only the soldiers on the line. It had affected the town as well. 

“How’re you feeling?”

Blinking, Casey blushes when he realizes he’s staring, jerking his eyes away to examine his surroundings. “I’m fine.”

“Good.” She comes over to him, bending down to take his wrist, checking his pulse. His skin burns at her touch and he almost jerks away. “Do you know where you are?”

“… Bastogne?” It comes out like a guess.

He’d forgotten how beautiful she was. And even in this place with bags under her eyes and traces of dried blood and stains on her uniform she’s gorgeous.

Jay is going to kill him.

“Yes. We’re at the aid station.” Putting down his wrist, she gives him a glass of water from the bedside table, making sure he drinks. “Dr. Rhodes patched you up. You have several broken ribs and longer gashes on your torso and right flank. But you should make a full recovery.” Giving him a look. “As long as you stay in bed and don’t strain yourself.”

I’d stay in bed forever if you were there, the thought floats to the surface of his mind but he knows better than to voice it. For one, because he’s a gentlemen and her patient, for two (like he’d said before) because Jay would kill him.

As the days turn into a week and then another, the thoughts linger and others join them. Casey is afraid he’s going to turn into one of those soldiers who fall in love with their nurse. And it doesn’t help that Jenny Halstead is so damn easy to love.  

Because he has eyes and ears. He sees how she stays with the boys at night, soothing the fevered ones, helping to write letters and reading books aloud. She’s everything all at once, and Casey knows he’s completely gone on her. Though he’s not in the position to say anything about it. So he longs in silence.

And then … bombs fall on Bastogne.

The Germans blitzkrieg the town and all its civilians, bypassing the soldiers entirely. They always were ones to fight dirty.

Though his ribs are still very sore, he’s still among the more able bodied of the wounded and it’s him who helps Jenny run around the settling dust, helping her give first aid when he can, putting his medics skills to use. It’s chaos. Though when various units start to arrive, coming off the line to give aid, the chaos lessens a little. 

“You need to sit down,” Casey urges Jenny after one of the soldiers they’d pulled from under the rubble died of his wounds. He can see how exhausted she is and overwhelmed by the scale of death and destruction. While as a nurse she’s undoubtedly used to such scenes, this was so unexpected and the deaths kept coming — he was worried for her. 

So when she collapses about an hour later he catches her, feeling a damp spot on the back of her shirt, pulling clothes aside, sacrificing modestly to expediency, his heart skips a beat when he sees the gash and the deep bruising. When the bombs had fallen she must’ve been grazed by something. Well, damn it.

“Jenny!”

With impeccable timing, Jay rushes up, falling over himself to examine his sister. Turning to Casey in quiet panic.

“What’s wrong with her?”

“We’d been working on the wounded — she must’ve gotten hurt when it happened.” Casey has been pressing a bit of her shirt into the wound. “I didn’t notice. Hand me the bandages?”

Between them, they get Jenny’s wound cleaned up, moving her to the makeshift aid station that had been set up to replace as much of the destroyed facilities as they could. Dr. Rhodes checked their work, doing what he could before having them move her to a bed. 

It’s Casey’s turn to sit vigil along with Jay. And after Jay is sent back to the line with the others, he promises to watch out for her as much as he can. Which isn’t much, but Casey knows it gives Jay some peace of mind, knowing his friend can keep an eye on his little sister.

The blockade is broken after Christmas, the spring thaw still several months off. Casey himself had been sent back to the line after Christmas.

“Can I write to you?” He’d asked Jenny before he left. Bashful, not sure if he’d be rejected. Wondering if she thought of him at all, like how he thought of her. 

“… yes.”

And with a press of her smaller hand to his, she walks away, not looking back. Taking his heart with her.

—————————————

There’s no chance for him to try to meet her before they’re put on trucks and sent further into Belgium and towards Germany proper. 

He’s the first to notice that Jay’s hacking cough keeps getting worse, their sniper huddling in on himself in the back of the jouncing half-truck. Sharing a glance with Severide, they both crowd in close to him, trying to share what body heat they can. When they finally stop, they do the same when they all form a dog pile on the floor to combat the bitter cold. February 1945 was cold and harsh.

At the next town they stop at after hours upon hours of bumpy travel, Casey has to save Jay from falling out of the back of the truck, the sniper nearly face-planting onto the road before Casey can catch Jenny’s brother. Getting him into the house is easy but finding a decent bed is hard. They all contribute to trying to scrounge blankets of any kind from the mostly abandoned houses, piling them all up on top of Jay where they’d settled him in a bed that had been left intact on the second floor. 

The fever is expected. But Jay is a fighter. He’ll pull through. He has to. Because what will Casey tell Jenny if her brother dies on his watch? Pneumonia is the pronouncement of the doctor they find, but Jay is adamant — he refused to leave the line. So Casey appoints himself guardian angel, Severide helping him wrangle Jay into every bed they can find, forcing him to rest. Voight helps, too, utilizing Dawson as their replacement sniper when needed.

A letter comes for Jay from Jenny and Casey feels his heart leap when a letter comes for himself as well. Reading Jay’s letter out loud to the sick man, Casey waits to read his own. Warmth filling his chest despite the cold at her kind words. She’d even taken the initiative and written him first! She sure was some girl.

“So,” Jay says between bouts of coughing, sniper’s eyes not missing a trick. “You and Jenny, huh?” Tapping his own letter as Casey freezes like a deer in the headlights. “She might’ve mentioned something.”

Blushing, Casey is man enough to admit everything. “We … spent a lot of time together, back at Bastogne.” Meeting the man’s tired gaze. “Actually … I’m hoping to ask her to marry me, once this war is over.”

Perhaps his one saving grace was that Jay was currently too weak to wallop him. In any case, Jay gives him a little smile. “Well, she’d have to look a long time before she found someone better than you, Casey.” And they shake on that. Jay eventually drifting off into a still fevered sleep. 

And when the fever finally breaks several days later, Casey and him agree never mention to Jenny exactly how sick her brother had been. 

————————————

Once the war is over, Germany surrendered, Hitler dead, though there is still fighting in the Pacific, Casey and Jay have the points to go home so they join the stream of soldiers heading back towards the French coast to transport ships to England and then back home. On the way they surprise Jenny at the hospital she ended up at. Voight had worked his strange magic to track her down for them, him and Olinsky staying with the occupying force even though both also had enough points to be discharged.

They surprise her in the ward, Jay giving his sister a twirl, much like he had when Casey had first seen Jenny, nearly a year ago, now. And then she turns to Casey and his heart goes pitter-patter. There’s nothing else for it.

He gets down on one knee.

“I don’t have a ring yet,” He told her, meeting her gaze steadily. “But I can promise you love stronger than iron and longer lasting than anything a ring could be made of. Jenny Halstead — will you marry me?”

Practically bowling him over as she rushes to hug him, she says, “Yes! Yes I’ll marry you!”

The kiss is everything he’s wanted on all the cold nights and desolate days. Though Jay eventually pushes between them, big brother that he is, even though he’s grinning. “Alright, that’s enough!” Throwing an arm around them both, he says, “Save something for the wedding, why don’t you?”

“Jay!” Jenny squeaked, hiding her face in Casey’s chest, suddenly bashful. “You’re awful!”

Casey holds her to himself and savors the feeling. Because they’re going to build something out of the rubble of this world they live in. They’ll go back to Chicago and carry on with their lives as Europe rebuilds. 

It’ll be hard; but they’ll have each other and that’ll be enough.

(And Jay will be along for the ride.)

Chapter Text

Wedge Antilles still wasn’t sure what to make of the newest defector to the Rebellion.

Sniper, special forces strike team member (almost high enough to be part of the 501st, also known as ‘Vader’s Fist’), ground assault troops, good with hand to hand; he didn’t talk much. Passing all the ‘Intro to the Rebellion’ courses with flying colors, he still often appeared a bit overwhelmed by his new circumstances. Slow to offer up his own opinion, a product of being part of the IAF, since it was encouraged to report dissidence in the ranks. Though when Jay did speak up he had a cracking wit and a dry sense of humor that Wedge could get behind. So Wedge waited. As another ex-Imperial, he was often used to getting newer defectors acclimated. But he was also a fighter pilot, not a foot soldier, so after a certain point, his briefings and duties were separate from any Halstead would be in. Though Hobbie helped him get the man to sit with the squadron during meals a few times a week, trying to keep an eye on him. 

The only irregularity Wedge ever detected was when the mess served freshly made meat stuffed buns once a week (the kitchen had limited fresh supplies, most of them used to getting packaged meals). On that day, Jay would take two and eventually sneak them into his napkin and tuck them into his pockets. Until he mentioned it to Hobbie, his old friend hadn’t noticed the oddity. After lunch was often a short rest period before another few hours of duties or briefings, so when it happened again, they decided to follow Halstead when he left the mess hall.

“Why’s he in the medical wing?” Hobbie wonders, both of them peering around the corner while Jay heads through the doors, waving off a droid who automatically comes forward. “He’s not hurt, is he?”

“I don’t think that’s it,” Wedge murmured back. Because he thinks they would’e noticed if anyone had been giving Halstead a hard time. It wasn’t all fun and games, being a defector. There were a small percentage of Rebellion soldiers who were made of of people who’s lives and/or livelihood had been destroyed by the Empire, driving them into the Rebellions arms, mostly through necessity. They often didn’t look kindly on defectors. “We don’t we go in — see what’s up?”

Likewise waving off the droids, they go farther into the med bay. It’s mostly empty. Until they hear voices. Unmodulated which equals not med droids. Peering around another corner, they see through a clear partition to where Halstead is perched on the edge of a medi-cot. In the bed is a red head whom neither of them have seen before.

“Who’s that?” Hobbie wondered.

Wedge shrugs, pulling back a little so they won’t be seen. Startling when he turns his head to see a human doctor staring at them.

“Can I help you?” The brown haired physician raises an unimpressed eyebrow at them. “I don’t appreciate my patients being spied on.”

“We weren’t,” Hobbie protested. “I mean, we were just …”

Exchanging a glance. No, that was definitely what they’d been doing.

“Why don’t you come with me then, since you seen to want to satisfy your curiosity,” Sweeping past them with another look.

Sheepishly, they follow, trying to look apologetic when they trail after the doc into the private room. 

“Get what you came for?” Halstead asks, moving back from the bed so the doctor can go over something with the red head. 

“How long did you know we were following you?” Wedge hazards a guess.

“Long enough.” Halstead’s smile is all teeth.

“Jay,” The man — a boy, really — in the bed says, “Introduce me to your friends?”

“Will, this is Squadron Commander Wedge Antilles. And this is Hobbie.”

“Hey,” Hobbie pretends offense. “No fancy title for me?”

Ignoring his teasing, Jay continues. “Fellas, this is my younger brother, Will.”

The red head gives a little wave. The two rebels notice the scars on the kids wrist when the sleeve of his medical shirt falls down. “Nice to meet you.”

“You okay?” Hobbie asks, genuinely concerned. Wedge thinks it's obvious that the question earns him points in Halstead's good books.

“He will be,” The doctor interrupts, “Given adequate nutritional fluids, food, and rest,” Giving them a warning glance. Their brief visit is already obviously tiring his patient.

Soon, they make their goodbyes, promising to stop by and visit (and meaning it). Waiting until they’re out of the medbay to inquire further. Though it’s Hobbie who asks, since he’s the most willing to put his foot in his mouth.

“What happened to him?”

The answer is terse and sucked any humor from the atmosphere. “Slave labor. He got arrested after I’d enlisted. Ran into him on deployment. Got him out of there.”

“That’s rough, man,” Hobbie says. “He gonna be okay?”

“Like the doc said,” Jay tells them. “Though he still needs some bacta treatment … for the scars.”

And that tells them more than can be described about the circumstances that drove the brothers into the arms of the Rebellion.

“Well, regardless of how you got here,” Wedge says for both of them. “We’re glad you're here, Halstead.”

The small smile he gets is probably the most genuine one he’s ever seen on the other defectors face.

“Thanks.”

———————————————

Growing up on the Emperor’s home planet of Naboo, Connor Rhodes of the House Rhodes had been expected to follow in his fathers footsteps — in other words, to be somebody. But while he had perhaps had some aspirations when he was younger, he’d soon realized that, for all his father gave himself certain airs, it was not Naboo’s royalty who held the power — not really. It was the Imperial Governor. And for all they lived in luxury and reaped the benefits of the Emperor’s favor, it was a facade. Because Connor had not long been unaware of the duality of existence in the universe. Keeping his head down but listening and watching, he’d seen through the game. 

But seeing through the game wasn’t the same as beating it.

So meeting Princess Leia of Alderaan at a mixer for what was left of the slowly dwindling imperial senate had been a breath of fresh air. He’d been studying medicine by then, two years into his extended training program. Used to meeting snivelers and toadies and ass-kissing bureaucrats (even when it came to treatment of their patients, which appalled him on a personal level) it had been a pleasure to meet Leia. She’d been polite, cordial, but could cut to the heart of the matter with a few choice sentences. If his father had had any say in the matter, Connor knew he would’ve been ordered to pursue a political alliance through marriage with the little princess. But as it was, they became friends and through the next two years of his schooling he’d also come to know Bail Organa, the senator of Alderaan.

And when, indicating just how much trust they put in him to take such a chance, they came for him one day in the dead of night and brought him to a lower level of Coruscant, deep below the sunlight where crime was rampant, for him to work on a patient who’d obviously been tortured, Connor had kept his mouth shut. So they’d continued to utilize his skills. While he’d suspected what they were doing, he didn’t ask for details, simply doing what he could.

It had felt like he was beating the game, helping the Rebellion under the Empire’s nose. Living in the middle of the Imperial court. 

Until he’d gotten caught, that is. 

Beaten to the ground, watching as the officer in charge of the raiding party, obviously part of the secret police, tortured the man whom Connor had just finished operating on, biting his lip until it bled as the bastard cut through the fiber stitches he’d just put in, ears ringing from the screams. And then the Rebellions agents had come, flooding the room with nerve agents and then flash bangs to work on the storm troopers armor, overloading their helmet’s vision circuitry. 

Hustled to a getaway speeder, he’s knelt in the back, wind whistling by, trying to re-bandage his patient. Knowing that his old life was over. The officer in charge had submitted pictures of his face for identification before going to work on his other victim. So it was only a matter of time until they found out who he was. And so he’d left Coruscant behind and hadn’t looked back. 

And he’d met so many different people along the way. Take his newest charge, for example. Cold fury building in his stomach whenever he remembered his first look at the kids back. Because it was one thing knowing what the Empire was capable of, hypothetically; it was another to see the evidence of it in real time.

“Wanna repeat that for me, Will?” Connor asked after a moment, blinking at his patient whom he was getting ready for another round of bacta treatment. 

Will didn’t flinch, holding his head high, obviously set on it. “I don’t want the scars on my wrists removed. Or my ankles.”

Staring at him a moment, Connor decides that while he’s the doctor, Will seems to have some reason behind the request. “May I ask why not?”

“Because …” Will tries to find the words. “Because they’re part of who I am, now. And I can never forget what happened to me.” Jaw clenching as dull anger floods his eyes. “Never.”

And what can Connor say to that? Except … “Alright.” Forcing a wry grin. “But you’re gonna be the one to tell that over-protective brother of yours.” Suppressing a laugh at the look of trepidation that settles on the kids features. “Okay. Then let’s get this done, shall we?”

Getting the kid prepped doesn’t take long. The droids helping as he settles the kid, making sure he’s comfortable on his stomach on the operating table before giving his the anesthesia. So many of the scars on the kids back had healed, some years before. Which meant this surgery consisted of removing all the skin from the patients back before putting him in the bacta tank. Which took several hours of careful work, taking just enough of the skin and some layers of muscle off the kids back so that the gashes wouldn’t somehow regrow. The bacta treatments would form a new layer of muscle and skin. If it wasn’t for the kids desire to keep the other scars from over three cycles in manacles and restraints, the bacta treatment would make his experience nothing but a memory.

Thoughts drifting to the past few weeks of getting to know his patient as he worked on the surgery. Because Will had devoured the data pads of information Connor had given him. In his spare time, he’d led the kid through diagrams and modules of medical information. The kid was a quick study and he had the knack for it, a knack which he soon confirmed was what Will had done for a while back on his home planet of Corellia. And as he monitored his patients first hour or so in the bacta tank, his mind had kept wandering, considering the best course of action once Will was recovered. Because he thought that Will had what it took to become his protege. 

And didn’t that make him feel all of his twenty-eight years? Too young to feel so old. Though it was all relative; because Will was too young to have such old eyes.

Thus was the world as they knew it.

In the bacta, Will slept on, oblivious. 

——————————————

One Standard Galactic Cycle later …

Will is guiltily grateful for his brothers absence. 

Because if he was here he knows Jay would have joined the Rogue One crew on their mission to retrieve the plans for the Empire’s secret weapon. The weapon that had destroyed the surface of the planet of Scarif. Remembering the still shell-shocked looks of the little group who had survived. Jay was friends with Cassian Andor (as much as anyone could be friends with the infamous spy) so he knows Jay would have gone if he was here.

As it is, Jay doesn’t return until the call goes out to regroup at the main base. Because with the loss of the secret plans and the capture of Princess Leia, it looks like they need to rethink how they will go forward. Taking the news of the deaths as Jay always does — with a blank look and a deeply hurting heart, pain well hidden. 

While none of the Rogue One group had survived, the stragglers of the fight up in the atmosphere had straggled back to base, having to make multiple jumps to avoid being tracked by the currently irate Imperial authorities. So the wounded took up all of Will attention. Though his spirits are lifted when the news comes a few days later that Princess Leia had been rescued and managed to deliver the technical readouts of the Death Star.

A shiver going through his spine at the name. Because the was all the Empire stood for — blood, death, and despair. Rubbing the scars on his wrists absently, drifting into his memories for a moment. Knowing full well the implications of failure.

And then he rushes to help pack up the medbey as the warnings echo through the base. Because the Death Star is coming closer and closer into range, waiting to blast Yavin IV into stardust, just like Alderaan. Everything was falling apart.

But a spark of hope still lingered.

After all: Rebellions were built on hope.

——————————————

During the continued hustle and bustle of evacuation, their base’s locations most likening having been reported and logged by the Death Star before its demise, Will ends up meeting the newly dubbed ‘Hero of the Rebellion.’

The pilot who’d blown up the Death Star was shorter than he’d expected. But with his bright blond hair and equally bright smile, there was something about him that was larger than life. He carried a light within himself that Will might’ve envied if he’d desired to be the center of attention. And the sight of the lightsaber casually linked onto his flight suits tac belt only adding the forming mystique around the young pilot.

And he was young, the kid nearly bouncing as he came for his official physical. A physical which had been handed off to Will because Connor was still supervising the packing of all the medbays more sensitive equipment.

“Hi!” The kid smiles. “I’m Luke Skywalker. I’m here for my physical?”

“I think everyone knows who you are,” Will says, smiling a little. “Why don’t you take a seat on the bed and we’ll go through the questionnaire.”

The medical forms are standardized for a reason. And with Skywalker’s home planet being Tattooine, it appears that he’s behind on a few inoculations. And with how much they move around and the sheer variety of species who serve in the Rebellion, Luke can’t be cleared until he’s had all of them. 

Explaining it to him, Will gets his consent and then gathers all the necessary inoculations, having to dodge through some of the loading chaos to grab the vials. Pulling on the gloves, he stands by the bed where Skywalker had unzipped his flight suit to reveal the sleeveless thermal undergarment, made specially for space. Sanitizing the surface of his upper arm, Skywalker holds still.

Though Will can tell when the kid clocks the scars on his wrists.

“What happened to you?” The kid asks softly as Will’s prepping the third injection.

Glancing up, he sees the solemn look on Luke’s face. There’s no scorn in his voice or posture, just simple curiosity. And perhaps … a little empathy?

“Slave labor for the Empire.” Keeping the explanation short and sweet. No need to mention the nightmares he still has sometimes. Like he ones where Jay’s chained beside him, spirit broken, body bloody. 

They sit in silence for a little while. But when he’s gotten to the sixth and last inoculation, Luke speaks again, seemingly having made up his mind.

“I’m from Tattooine.” Which Will already knows. “I’m the first freeborn Skywalker in five generations.” As Will completes his tasks and steps back, Luke catches his hand gently, Will automatically freezing in place. He doesn’t think Luke has any ill-intentions, but he still doesn’t always like to be touched. 

Watching as Skywalker gasps his other wrist as well, an involuntary shiver going through his body as his scars are lightly traced by surprisingly warm fingers. “I grieve with thee.”

It feels like a benediction.

Suddenly emotional, Will has to breathe through a sudden rush of tears trying to escape, Luke’s touch grounding him.

“Thank you.”

And then Luke smiles that bright smile of his.

“Anytime.”

It’s the start of a beautiful friendship. 

——————————————

Yet another Galactic Standard Cycle later …

Jay had to hand it to the Rebellions crew of engineers, because they’d outdone themselves this time, building their newest secret base into the remains of deep-sea mining tunnels. At least it wasn’t sand — again. Sand got everywhere. And he meant everywhere. 

Looking for his brother, as usual, already having gone by the medbay. He was being sent off again and he needed to say goodbye. He never left without letting Will know. And he needed the assurance too, even if he never admitted it out loud. Connor had directed him to the training facilities, though why Will would be there he didn’t know. Soon getting his answer when he finds Luke Skywalker trying to walk his little brother through a series of self defense moves.

Leaning against the wall, observing for a while, Jay can’t help but be amused by Will’s continued ineptness. For all that they both grew up on Corellia, Will doesn’t have an aggressive bone in his body. Which worries Jay to no end. But, watching Luke laugh behind his hand as Will literally trips over his own feet, he can’t help being a little amused. And it’s good to know that Will has people looking out for him when he’s gone.

“Will!” He calls, watching as Will goes red, ducking his head at his older brothers approach. He can’t help but grin. 

“You saw that?” Will asks, rubbing his neck awkwardly.

“I think everybody saw it,” Luke jokes, holding his hand out to help Will up. 

Not once to miss an opportunity, Jay issues his own challenge. “Want to show him how it’s done, Skywalker?”

Giving Jay a calculating look, Luke nods. “Sure.”

Handing his coat off to Will who steps back to the outside of the ring, Jay gets into a ready stance, Luke doing the same. Because while he’s never had the chance before, he’s heard stories of Lukes uncanny reflexes and witnessed a few bouts personally. Adrenaline junky that he is, Jay’s eager for a real challenge. And Luke delivers, dashing forwards, Jay meeting force with force, deflecting several punches and kicks. They dance for a while until Jay steps back a few paces, holding up a stalling hand.

“What about upping the stakes a bit?” He ask, glancing at the training equipment along the walls. “How about staves?”

Perking up, hand resting on the pommel of his lightsaber, Luke nods. “Sure!”

Going at it again once the spectators have moved further back, giving them more room to maneuver and swing. Jay is hardly aware of the still gathering crowd and they clash again, their dance becoming slowly but surely more intricate and lethal. (Not that they’re intending to kill each other.) It’s a thrill — having someone who can keep up with him.

He hasn’t had that since … well, since before Cassian Andor died, actually. His feeling of enjoyment shriveling to nothing.

Stumbling back as a kick from Luke almost knocks him off balance, quickly recovering himself and getting into his stance again, watching as Luke holds up his hand this time.

“Let’s call it a day.”

Letting out his breath slowly, trying to let go of his sudden bad mood as well, Jay nods. “Alright.”

They both meet in the middle for a handshake.

“Had enough, Skywalker?” He tried to joke. 

Shrugging, Luke gives him a serious look. “Just … could tell you weren’t enjoying it anymore.”

Blinking, Jay absorbs that information. Because how the hell had Luke sensed his change in mood? 

“I can’t read your thoughts or anything,” Luke assured him, looking contrite. “I can just … tell?”

No wonder Draven would’ve liked to poach Skywalker from the squadron to the intelligence section. Though Jay knew Luke’s personality was too bright to be hidden in the shadows. Or to do the work Jay himself was sometimes called on to do. 

Leaving it be, he thanks him for the fight and then goes over to Will. 

“You’re leaving again?” His little brother guesses. 

“Yeah.” Staring at Will’s face, memorizing it the way he always did before a mission. “But I’ll be back.”

“You’d better be,” Will shoots back, going in for a hug, which Jay accepts, squeezing back gently. Calling as Jay eventually goes to leave. “May the Force be with you!”

“And with you.”

——————————————

Several weeks later, chained to his seat on a prisoner transport, it doesn’t feel like the force is with him.

There are several others with him, looking various stages of beaten down and broken. Because they all know where they’re going — the spice mines on Kessel — and none of them are exactly happy about the situation.

Though it could’ve been worse, Jay knows — they could’ve figured out he was part of the Rebellion. Instead of being interrogated by a probe droid they’d merely beaten him and then sent him on his way with the rest of the ‘disreputable elements’ they’d wanted to get rid of. As it is, his body hurts, there’s blood dried in his hair from a particularly nasty blow from one of the officer’s truncheons. And Will … bile rises as he thinks of what his brother’s reaction will be when he learns what’s happened to his brother.

Because he remembers all of Will’s scars, from before. Imagining what will happen to him once he’s on Kessel. Because he’s not a person who’s easily subdued. And he’s going to try to escape. Because he’s not going to leave Will alone like this.

This can’t be the end.

Looking up at there’s a commotion from the cockpit, the ship rocking from what Jay guesses are laser blasts, hope suddenly blossoms in his chest. 

Maybe they’re coming for him!

Snorting internally. Because that’s a long shot. But if the Rebellion has taught him anything, it had taught him to have hope.

And when the ship is eventually boarded and he’s treated to the face of the (now intrepid) Luke Skywalker, swinging his laser sword as if he knows what he’s doing, Jay grins so wide the cut in his lip splits open again. 

“Good to see you!” Luke chirps, crouching down in front of him once it’s safe, already looking at his manacles. 

“How the cark are you here?” Jay asks, voice croaking from various kinds of abuse. 

Tapping his temple with a conspiratorial wink, Luke says, “Felt it.”

And Jay really doesn’t have the energy to pursue that line of questioning, grateful enough as it is. Though when Luke suddenly stiffens and Jay sees a movement over the other mans shoulder. Reaction governs his body and he barely has time to shout a warning as he pushes Luke out of the way.

“Get do—!”

The blaster bolt to his left arm sends him crashing back into the wall with a pained shout. But it missed Luke and that was the main thing. The others shot the man who’s tried to assassinate the Hero of the Rebellion and then Luke’s crouching down in front of him again. 

Vision fading in and out, his most recent wound the last straw, he loses consciousness to the sight of Luke’s frantic face, hands pressing at the open wound.

His last thought is: Will was going to kill him.

———————————————

The first thing Jay sees when he opens his eyes at last is Wedge Antilles sitting at his bedside looking at a data pad. Looking up when he feels Jay’s gaze on him.

“Jay!” Standing he holds a cup of water to Jay’s lips, taking it away before Jay can guzzle as much as he wants, damn the consequences. Answering what is sure to be Jay’s first question. “Luke took Will away to get some food and a sonic shower.” Helping Jay lay back again. “He hadn’t left since you were brought in.”

Blinking, Jay suddenly remembers his injury, also becoming aware of a strange sensation in his shoulder. It was almost like …

“It’s gone, isn’t it?” Jay asks, forcing himself not to look.

Wedge nods, face solemn. “Yeah.” Biting his lip. “I’m sorry, Jay.”

And perhaps it should hurt more — but by this point Jay is almost inoculated against sorrow by the losses he’d experienced in his short life. Though his thoughts turn to his little brother.

“Will’s upset?”

Wedge nods again. Face twisting. “Yeah. Though Rhodes did the surgery — don’t worry about that.”

Thank the Force. Because cutting off what was left of his older brothers arm wasn’t a memory he wanted Will burdened with.

“Knock me out again?” Jay requests, feeling tired beyond belief.

“Sure.” Reaching for the buttons on the side of the bed.

And Jay surrenders to oblivion.

Chapter Text

Mouse had stolen his arm again.

Sighing, Jay — who was off duty at the moment — walked through the icy halls of their base on Hoth, breath visible in the air. Cupping what was left of his arm, trying to alleviate the phantom pain in the joint that came with exposure to the cold, he stalked through the halls. Because he needed his arm, force cark it!

The dirty thief looked up without surprise when Jay barged into his work space. Because the theft wasn’t an irregular occurrence. Mouse was forever tinkering with Jay’s prosthetic, seeking to make it better. Like adding a few hidden compartments or installing a knife that could be released at the most surprising moments during a fight. In short, since Mouse was usually kept in the informational section of intelligence, he did his best to make sure his friend had all the tricks up his sleeve that the more technically inclined man could provide.

Jay had actually found his prosthetic to be very useful. For one, it could take more weight and more hits than his flesh and bone arm. So in a fight he had an advantage. (Cue Mouse adding a sort of adhesive feature to his fake hand so that he could get a good grip on buildings — adding to his repertoire of special mission assignments.)

“Took you long enough,” Mouse said, raising a laconic eyebrow.

“I was asleep!” Jay protested a bit, though he knew that Mouse didn’t mean any harm. Also, he’d kind of gotten used to it? Flopping down in a convenient chair and sighing dramatically (Mouse always brought out the best in him), “So — what’re you doing this time?”

Shrugging, Mouse turned back to the prosthetic which had been spread out on a side area of his work surface. “Will might’ve mentioned that your arm was getting sluggish because of the low temperatures here. Thought I’d take a look.”

Sighing again, though it’s more fond than annoyed, Jay shakes his head. “You both worry too much.”

“And you,” Mouse says, pointing absently at him with a tiny screwdriver, “Don’t think enough about your health.”

Rolling his eyes, Jay is aware that Mouse isn’t exactly wrong. Even though he has people to come back to, the kind of missions he pulls and the guilt he carries (unnecessarily, Will would tell him) from his time in the Empire nag at him. He has every reason to work himself into the ground.

“Sit,” Mouse tells him. “Have a caff.” And Jay sees the enormous cups of the stuff that fuels his friend, going over to take one. “Rights mine, lefts yours.” Because he always has everything figured out, the flavor is even Jay’s favorite — an ungodly amount of sugar laced with one of those herb additives that help with his newly acquired joint pain.

They sit in silence for a while, Mouse bent over the prosthetic and Jay watching him as he sips his caff.

“How long do you think until the Empire finds us this time?” Jay asks his friend. Because Mouse is the one who runs the numbers.

“Given our track record?” Mousse says with a one shouldered shrug. “Within three quarters of a cycle, probably. Though we really did pick a good one, this time.”

“I’d like it better if I wasn’t freezing my balls off,” Jay tells him.

“Jay Halstead, complaining about the weather,” Mouse laughs, “Now I know you’re getting old.”

“Shut up,” Jay can feel the tips of his ears going red. Because it’s true that his birthday is coming up. He’s going to be 29 in a few days and Force he’s feeling it. Though that makes Will almost 23 and that’s kinda weird, too. “What’re you all planning?”

“No one’s going to pass up a chance to drink, Jay,” Mouse tells him. “Solo even offered up part of his booze stash."

Eyebrows raising, knowing how protective Solo was of his stash, Jay asks, “How was he convinced to do that?” Then it dawns on him, holding up a hand to forestall Mouse’s reply. “Wait — Luke used those puppy dog eyes of his, right?”

“Yep.” Mouse grins. “Everybody knows that that’s one of the only things that will melt Solo’s mercenary soul.”

“That and Princess Leia.” Jay rolls his eyes. 

Because he’d have to pretend he was deaf, dumb, and blind whenever he come upon them arguing in the corridors. Again. It seemed like common courtesy for them to fight somewhere people couldn’t see them, but what did he know? Anyway, most everyone had gotten used to it. They could almost set their watches by the frequency of the fights, so at least that was useful.

Mouse lets out a loud laugh at that. “Yeah, they really need to do something about that — put us out of our collective misery.” Flipping shut a compartment in the arm and putting down his screwdriver.

“That’ll be the day.” Jay says. “They’re both as stubborn as each other.”

“Pot,” Mouse grins. “Kettle.” Standing with the arm, Jay stays still as Mouse gets it attached, both well used to the ritual.

“Yeah, yeah.” Standing, rotating his arms a few times until it feels like his prosthetic is settled, he takes his caff with him. “I’m going to go find Will.”

“Say hi for me. And tell him that those special med tools he’d requested have been acquired, though they’re not going to arrive for a few more weeks.”

Not questioning how Mouse knows this, Jay gives him a little salute. “Will do.” Pausing at the door for a moment, watching his friends bent head as he moves on to another project. “And thanks.”

—————————————— 

Everybody hates the taste of bacta and Luke is no exception. Several hours after he’d woken up on a bio bed and rinsed his mouth out repeatedly, he can still taste it. Not that he can complain because it’d saved his life. The fingers he would otherwise have lost from frostbite are still attached and though his face looks a bit different, the scars are no where near what they would’ve been.

That sithspawn of a wampa hadn’t won this round. 

Though the outcome of Han and Leia’s visit had been unexpected. He’d gotten used to the idea of the two together, though Leia would never admit it. For all his hero worship of the princess when they’d first met, they eventually settled into a close friendship, especially after they’d figured out their birthday was the same day. Which was kinda weird, but not unwelcome. So they’d become friends and Luke was happy with that. But, lips still tingling from the kiss that had come out of the blue, he couldn’t complain about getting a little love, either way. Being the Hero of the Rebellion came with certain expectations, and he’d rather not try to be friends or lovers with anyone who saw only his accomplishments and not the person underneath. Besides, he was so busy with the squadron and trying to figure out what being a Jedi even meant that he didn’t have much time for anything else. 

“The Degobah system,” he murmured to himself, remembering the strange apparition of Ben he’d seen before fainting in the snow storm. 

Taking up the data pad Will had been kind enough to fetch for him from his officer’s quarters. Putting in the name and scrolling through the results. Why in the world was Degobah important? It looked like an inhabitable planet from the specs. But … pursing his lips as he let the data pad fall to his chest. That’s what most people believed about Hoth as well and yet the Rebellion was here. Thinking of all the secrets Ben had carried with him to his nonexistent grave. Yes … it bore looking into.

Scrambling for his comm as it crackles to life. Luke — Chewie and I just destroyed an Imperial Probe droid.

Well cark.

The meant the Empire was coming.

Sithspit — they might already be here.

Rolling out of bed to find his flight suit, waving off the medi-droids protests, he went to find Leia. The time for rest had passed.

————————————————

As the alarms sounded, Will worked quickly and efficiently, unfortunately used to the evacuation procedures. He’d suffered through a lot of them before — they all had. 

“Will!” Jay calls, beckoning him over to where him and Mouse are peering through a doorway, well out of the way of the controlled chaos.

Giving his brother a hug, letting Jay practically lift him off his feet, Mouse hands him a fob. “Take this. We all have one.”

“What’s it do?” He asks, examining the innocuous little device.

“When you do this,” Mouse says, pushing at the button on the side, making the fob split open to reveal a small screen. “You can signal that you’re alive. It’s also a tracking signal and a distress beacon. It’s coded to both mine and Jay’s so we can all keep track of each other.”

“You think we’re going to be separated,” Will whispered.

“You’re supposed to be on the second transport,” Jay says. “Mouse and I are going to be part of the ground defense to give everyone more time to evacuate.”

“The numbers are pretty bad,” Mouse murmurs, shifting from foot to foot. Looking away when Will buries his face in Jay’s neck.

Because he can’t do this again — he can’t lose Jay. Not after the Empire had already taken so much from them already.

“Hey,” Jay soothes, though he sounds a bit choked up himself. “It’s gonna be okay, little brother.”

“You promise?” Will says into his neck.

His older brothers arms tightened around him convulsively, reminding Will, yet again, of his brothers prosthetic. “Promise.”

They don’t let go until a call comes over coms for Jay and Mouse to report to the ground assault troops, Will hugging himself to stop himself from begging them not to go.

“May the Force be with you!” He calls after them.

“And with you, too.” Jay says with one last sad smile.

And then they were gone. The base’s lights flickered and the ground rumbling as the first Imperial troops landed. Sniffing back tears, Will went back to his work. 

May the Force be with them all.

——————————————————

Less than an hour later, stumbling through the crumbling halls of the Rebel Base, clutching at the blaster burn on his side, Will knows that Jay is going to kill him when he finds out Will hadn’t gone on his transport, volunteering at the last minute to treat the retreating wounded as they tried to get to the last transports. 

Though, Will laughs tiredly to himself as he jogged painfully through the halls. He’d have to get in line, the sound of the Snow Troopers in the distance getting closer and closer.

IMPERIAL TROOPS HAVE ENTERED THE BASE. Some poor bastard babbles over the announcement system. IMPERIAL TROOPS HAVE ENTER — the message fizzling to static.

Then just when he thinks he’s going to get caught and executed on the spot, he literally runs into Han tugging Princess Leia along through a side corridor, C-3PO plodding along behind, waving his arms around in his usual frantic way.

“Come with us!” Leia shouts over her shoulder, aware of who he is through their shared friendship with Luke.

And Will thinks he might just survive this after all.

———————————————————

All Jay can think of as he and Mouse watch from a safe distance as the Snow Troopers go through the trenches and the fields strewn with bodies, eliminating any enemy survivors, is of his little brother. When the tide had turned, as had been inevitable, they’d both gone through one of the several secret tunnels in the base, with the closest entrance being through the Taunton pens, hiding in the depths as the earth shuddered above them. 

Collapsing the tunnel the way they’d come, coming out of the other side about two miles from base, they’d had a good vantage point. 

“That’s Vader.” Mouse says, awe and dread in his voice. The dark material of the Emperor’s most loyal servant's armor standing out against the whiteness of Hoth. 

“Yeah.” Jay says, putting down his binoculars to lay down next to Mouse, having seen enough. “Think Will got out?”

“Third transport, remember?” Mouse reassured him. “It got sent off safely.”

“Good.” Jay mutters, trying to get comfortable in the cold snow. “That’s good.”

Now all they had to do was survive for a week or so until the Rebellion sent back a ship in case there were survivors, as was often procedure, given how many times they’d had to evacuate over the years.

But Jay could be patient. As long as Will was safe it was easy. Fingering the still silent fob in his pocket. Waiting for the signal the would tell him Will was okay.

Waiting was always hard.

————————————————

At least back on Hoth Will had been able to avoid the Princess and the Smuggler when they had their infamous shouting matches. As it was, he stayed in the little medical room that the Falcon possessed, trying to tune out the sound of the shouting, R2-D2 rolling in with a decidedly annoyed sounding set of beeps.

“Yeah,” Will snorts, agreeing with the droid. “I know.”

At least his blaster wound had healed during the two weeks they’d spent in the caves on the giant astroid Han had chosen to hide in from the fleet of Star Destroyers. The waiting made him think of Jay with his hours spent on a sniper’s perch. Because of the surveillance they were under, Will hadn’t dared to send a signal through the fob he carried. Though he knew that, if Jay were alive, the radio silence would be driving him crazy, Will couldn’t risk it at the moment and put all their lives in danger. Or put the life of Princess Leia in danger. 

Giving a little shudder at the thought of being in the hands of storm troopers again. His sleep had been becoming restless of late, what with the threat of capture hanging over all their heads. Force knew what Leia was thinking of, given her own experience with Imperial interrogation. Will can’t even imagine what being questioned personally by Vader had been like. Knowing that the princess regularly was given sleeping aids by Dr. Rhodes had given him an idea, though.

Sighing, drawn from his musings as another bout of shouting reaches his ears, he turned to his little store of food packs. It was hard to deal with them on an empty stomach, after all.

It was another week before they discovered that their hiding place was actually within the stomach of a giant space worm. Once they’d headed for Cloud City, he finally had the chance to turn on his fob, knowing that Jay had to have been worried sick.

——————————————————

The Force had always been frustrating and he’d flattered himself that he’d improved a bit on his own. But, under the strange tutelage of the diminutive, backwards-talking, space frog, Luke had seen exactly how far behind he was. He hated it. But he pressed on anyway. Because he had so many people he needed to protect.

So when the visions come and the dreams, the faces of Leia and Han in pain flashing through his mind’s eye, he knows he has to go, even if he isn’t ready. Because they wouldn’t leave him behind if they could help it. So he won’t either. (And when Will’s face is added to his nightmares as well, he doesn’t question it. Because he’s seen the scars that remained on Will’s body and knows the doctors fears.)

Ignoring the Jedi Masters advice, both the alive one and the dead one, though he knows — he knows, Sithdamnit — that he’s in over his head. For all that he’s improved over the last month on Degobah, he’s no where near ready to face Vadar.

But … the cries of the hurt and the dying from his visions echoing in his mind as he goes to light speed. He owes it to himself, owes it to them, to try.

All he has is Hope.

Hope and the Force.

———————————————————

It had turned his stomach betraying Han like that.

For all the give and take in their relationship over the years, he’d still counted the scoundrel as a dear friend and he took care of the lady they had in common — the Millennium Falcon. Wincing again as he hears the screams from within the torture chamber. Glancing out of the corner of his eye at the other silent prisoner who was kept guarded nearby, also forced to listen. 

When the Falcon had landed, Calrission had been aware of the fact that a princess would be aboard, putting all his charm into being suave and debonaire. But the redhead in pale medical garb had been a surprise. He hadn’t been mentioned in the orders Vader had given him. Feeling guilt when he’d directed a man to take the red-head — Will Halstead — to the medical facilities so he could stock up. Later, when he’d brought them to the banquet hall where Vader waited to spring his trap, he’d felt sick again when he’d finally noticed the man’s face as he took in their situation, clutching at his own wrists, Lando catches a glimpse of tell tale scars.

A few for the many, Lando had told himself. A few for the many.

It hadn’t make him feel any better. 

And once Han and the others were escorted from the room to their new home in the detention cells, only the red-head remained, two of the troopers pushing him forward and onto his knees.

“TG-8653.”

The doctor had blanched at the number. Lando felt bile rise in his throat as he had realized that this man had to be a defector of some kind, like many of the men in his mining facility, seeking for anonymity in a heavily surveillanced world.

“You have done well to evade capture for as long as you have, slave.” Vader had rumbled. “And yet …” The silence deepening as he looks down at the man. “You are also a friend of Luke Skywalker. You can be useful to me.”

Eyes widening in shock and horror as Vader stretched out his hand, the good doctor suddenly choking on nothing, panic on his face as he clutched at the invisible obstruction, Lando had realized just how over his head he was.

Is it worth it? He’d wondered. The few for the many? Watching as the doctor’s body flops to the floor, chest rising and falling to indicate he was still alive. Because it didn’t feel like a victory.

This deal was getting worse all the time.

In the present, as the screams continued from within the room, the doctor curling in on himself, Lando knows he’s going to try to save this one too, even if the doctor has to stay on the mining colony for his own safety. Anything was better than sending him back to be slave labor for the Empire. 

When Vader emerges from the torture chamber, Lando straightened his spine, listening as the Dark Lord talked with the bounty hunter. Listening as all his compromises come to nothing, Vader changing the rules of the game mid play.

“Perhaps you feel you are being mis-treated?” 

Mouth going dry, Lando’s eyes flicker to the side and then back up into the eyes of the unreadable mask. “No.” He assures the hangman, feeling the halter tightening around his throat. “No.”

“Good.” And then Vader turns away, motioning to the men holding the doctor. “Bring him.” And when the door opens to let out a fresh wave of screams. Watching as the doctor is pulled passed him, a single tear escaping to trail down his deathly pale cheek.

No. Lando thinks as he stands with his administrative aid. It can’t stand like this.

There are no few who were ever worth sacrificing for the many.

A plan starts to from in the depths of his mind. Sharing a side eye with his aid.

Now to carry out this act to the end.

Pausing a moment as he hears a new voice in agony. And though he hadn’t head the doctor speak much, he knows whose voice it is. Remembering the scars on the man’s wrists and the tear trailing down the doctor’s cheek, but also knowing he’d gone to his fate in silence. Brave in a way Lando could only aspire to.

Feet unlocking, he heads away, the screams trying to grasp him in their claws, eventually leaving them behind.

There was still time to make things right.

———————————————

Getting hustled by the administrative aid out through the back passages of the mining facility to the landing platform where the Falcon was waiting had been an unexpected turn of events, but not an unwelcome one. Biting his lip as every step pulled at the fresh stripes on his back, still Will kept up doggedly, knowing worse would happen to him if they all failed to escape.

Then … Luke was in his little med bay, Calrissian helping him lay the kid down before going to the cockpit where Leia was still trying to evade the Tie fighters. Groaning as a sudden change in direction slammed his tender back into a bulkhead.

“Ben …” Luke mutters, eyes opening to show pain and despair. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

And then the ship shudders again, Luke trying to secure his position on the bed, revealing the stump where his hand had been for all to see. Gently but firmly Will grabbed it, working on getting the tourniquet on and the open wound sealed off from the air. Their flying levels out in what Will assumes is a desperate flight to make open space and throw off their pursuers, Luke sitting up despite his protests.

Helping Luke stagger down the halls of the Falcon towards the cockpit, handing him off to Leia to get him settled in a chair, he braces himself in the doorway, eyes on the Star Destroyers visible on the horizon.

And then … they make the jump.

Relief almost makes him pass out. And then Luke goes boneless, Leia giving an alarmed cry. “Luke!” Because she’d only just got him back, Will knows. Taking in the absence of Han in the cockpit, he doesn’t ask what happened.

After all, he can guess.

Patting the pocket where he’d always kept his fob before it was taken from him by their captors. Through the last weeks, its presence had been a comfort to him. Now he can’t even let Jay know he was alive. That last time he’d sent the signal would have to be enough. (And it’s not like he’d gotten a signal in reply.)

Getting Luke back to the infirmary with Lando’s aid, he hooks Luke up, leaving Leia to comfort the injured Jedi. Going back to the cockpit with Lando, giving the others their privacy, Will takes a while to absorb the fact that they’re alive, alive, alive.

“I’d like to apologize.”

Lando’s quiet words draw Will back to reality. Blinking.

“For letting that happen to you on my watch,” Lando says, nodding at Will’s shirtless state. 

Knowing they were all pawns in a bigger game is little comfort but he can be magnanimous. “You had a whole city to worry about. But …” Meeting Lando’s eyes. “Thanks.”

With that, they settle into a comfortable silence for the rest of the way home. Thinking of the bigger challenges which would soon come their way.

———————————————

If Mon Mothma herself had ordered him to stop running he would’ve ignored her and laughed in her face for good measure. Because Will was here! He was alive and he was in the medical frigate. 

Skidding around another corner, Mouse and Wedge close behind him, Jay sprinted towards the  critical care units. While he’d cheered with everyone else when the scuttlebutt had spread that Princess Laia had landed in the Flacon, the news that his brother was also abroad threw him for a loop. Because no one had had word about his little brother since Hoth. And learning from Dr. Rhodes that Will had volunteered to treat the ground troops during the final minutes of the evacuation had made him fear the worst.

But Wills body hadn’t been numbered among the dead recorded on Hoth, left to freeze by the Empire once they’d abandoned the planet. So there had been a chance — a slim chance — that Will was still alive. But that had also meant he might have been taken prisoner, though that had been unlikely.

Now his little brother is in the medical frigate and he’s this close to finally seeing him again.

“Where is he?!?” He barks at Rhodes who comes from a side room, ignoring the brief glimpse he gets of Luke and Leia behind the doctor. Because they don’t matter right now. 

“He’s in the bacta tank,” Rhodes words throw ice water on him, dimming the fire but making his panic rise. Because exactly how hurt was Will that bacta was necessary? “You can stay with him.” Glancing at the others. “All of you. As long as you keep it quiet, yeah?”

“Okay,” Wedge says for all of them, Mouse already putting a comforting arm around Jay’s shoulders. Helping him to follow as Rhodes leads them down the hall to a separate part of the facility to where the bacta tanks are. 

Collapsing on his knees in front of the tank, pressing a helpless hand to the glass, watching as his brother bobs in the medicinal fluid. Gulping down hot tears as he sees evidence of harsh treatment. 

“What —” he gasps, “What happened to him?”

“Apparently they all fell into a trap set by Vader,” Rhodes says. “Though I don’t know all the details, I do know that they discovered how Will used to be one of their slaves.” He can hear the anger in the doctor’s voice. “Luckily the damage is recent enough that it won’t take surgery to fix the damage to his back like the last time.”

“His back …?” Jay can’t bring himself to say the words.

“He was beaten badly,” Rhodes says gently, knowing he’s the bearer of bad news. “But like I said — he will make a full recovery.” Standing in silence for a bit, taking a minute to observe his patient. “Gentlemen, I’ll leave you to it. Stay as long as you like. We’ll be keeping him in for another twelve hours, at least.” Giving Jay a gentle pat on the shoulder, apologizing. “I would’ve kept him awake until you could see him, but some of the cuts were getting infected so I put him in immediately.”

Once the doctor has gone and Wedge leaves soon after to check on Luke, Jay finally gives in to the tears, clutching at Mouse like a lifeline.

“Will.” He sobs, heartbroken. “Oh, Will.”

Why is it always them? He wonders.

———————————————

For all that he’s grateful that Jay is here and alive, clinging to his older brother as he’s smothered in a hug, the guilt bubbles up and out of his mouth.

“I’m sorry.” Will sobs. “I tried to let you know but I couldn’t risk the signal and then I did and then they took it and … and he smashed it. I’m sorry! I made you worry!” He wails.

A wet laugh is his answer and Jay pulls back just enough to cup his little brothers face, wiping away the still spilling tears. “Hey, hey, hey,” He soothes. “I’m not mad. No one is mad at you, Will.” Glancing at the monitors. “But you gotta calm down, okay?”

But Will can’t — he’s been holding it all in for too long and he sobs and sobs and sobs, clinging to his older brother who clutches him back just as fiercely, rocking him form side to side. It’s like they were children again and listening to their father beat their mother in the room next door, knowing there was nothing they could do to stop it. Afraid and petrified — but together.

Come hell or high water they’d always had each other. This situation is no different.

When he’d finally exhausted himself, Will lets Jay help him lie back, exhausted from the fit. 

“Where’s Luke?” He finally asks, remembering the other man’s wounds.

“He’s doing okay,” Jay tells him. He’d spoken to Luke when the Jedi had come to visit while Will was in the tank. Getting more of the details of the situation from the other. Remembering his horror as he realized exactly how close to Darth Vader Will had been. “We could comm him, if you wanted?” Though selfishly he hopes they’ll have longer to just be together like this. Grateful when Will shakes his head.

“No. That’s okay.” Blinking reddened eyes. “Do you know if I can have caff?”

“I think Rhodes said it was okay.” Pushing a button for the medi-droid. “Anything else you want?”

“I’d love some of those meat buns,” Will eventually whispers, sounding wistful and not sure if he’s allowed to want things.

Anger shoots through Jay as he realizes how much recent events had brought up Will’s older issues regarding his own worth. But they had time to fix it. Again. Cark this was frustrating!

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Though it’s Mouse who manages to get the buns, in the end, working his mysterious magic. They all settle in to munch on the meal, making the window transparent so they can watch the stars drift by.

Sailing towards the future they enjoy the calm before the storm.

The Empire would fall; and they would be around to see it.

Chapter Text

Sitting in the Cage, Eddie Maynard knew that he was going to be going away for a long time. 

A long, long time.

Every one of those self righteous do-gooder detectives had laid out exactly how they were gonna throw the book at him. 

And while Eddie could admit that they’d caught him fair and square, that didn’t mean he wanted to go to prison — not again. He knew what it was like in the slammer and he’d rather have the sky above his head and decide when and what he wanted to eat rather then be on a set schedule like some kind of lab rat. (Well, if lab rats could be compared to dangerous felons with a taste for violence.) 

Needless to say . . . he’d been looking for a way out. Any way out.

Now, waiting in the main lobby for his ride to the processing station, where he’d then be put into jail until his trial date, arms cuffed in front of him, though not to the arms of his chair, surprisingly, Eddie thought he’d found his way out. 

The red head was his ticket out of here.

Just when he’d thought there wasn’t any options left to him, a tallish man with red hair and hospital scrubs under his winter jacket had entered the lobby of the precinct. Eddie’s current babysitter — Detective Halstead — perked up at his appearance. 

“Will,” Eddie watched with interest as the detective waved at the doc while also motioning for him to stay out of arms reach. “What’re you doing here?”

“We were going to have lunch?” The redhead — Will — said, sounding confused but also a bit amused. “Remember?”

“Aw, crap, was that today?” The detective groaned, though his obvious regret didn’t make him lower his guard in any way that would give Eddie an advantage. “I pulled an all nighter for this case,” Motioning at Eddie. “Lost track of what day it is, I guess.”

“No rest for the wicked, huh?” The redhead said, gaze wandering down to Eddie, “I could just go pick something up and come back? No use you going hungry even if you can’t go out right now.”

“Hey, doc,” Eddie’s spine stiffened as Voight approached, though he watched with interest as the head of the special unit shook the doctor's hand. 

“Voight,” Will said, holding a hand out for a quick shake. “Jay forgot about us having lunch today. Though I’ve been assured that it was for a good cause.” Nodding his head in Eddie’s direction, who scowled and looked down at his bound hands. 

Though he was careful to keep the satisfaction from his face as he came to the realization.

This man was his way out of here. 

The thought solidifying as more of the team gathered around, the redhead clearly special to them all — valued in a way that meant he could be useful to Eddie. Because even as the others gathered around, it was clear to Eddie that they were keeping Will out of arms reach of himself or of any other potential threats in the lobby. The doc was the key to everything. 

But when could he make his move? Eddie was going to have to time this just right.

Feigning disinterest, Eddie allowed himself to be pulled to his feet once the last member of the group came in to say that the car was ready. 

Now for a distraction.

“Aw, can’t we at least get something to eat before you lock me away?” He whined. “I haven’t eaten since yesterday!”

“And whose fault is that?” Detective Halstead asked sharply, not an ounce of sympathy in his tone. 

“Move.” The other detective said in a husky voice, taking up her place on Eddie’s other side as they started to escort him out. 

But the heaven’s opened as they made their way towards the stairs, because Voight had been called to the front desk by the older woman behind the counter while several others in the squad had headed back towards the stairs, one of the men waving goodbye to Will, who had put his hands in his pockets as he laughed at something they called over their shoulders. 

Time for Eddie Maynard to make his move.

There was literally no where for Maynard to run — so when the perp actually lunged away from where he and Erin were guiding him towards the stairs down to the car waiting out front, Jay’s first reaction was bewilderment.

Because where was the man gonna go in a room full of cops?

But then a cry of shock and pain, abruptly cut off filled his heart with horror, drawing his weapon automatically, nearly in sync with Erin as they turned towards the new and present danger. 

Because how could Jay have forgotten about Will?

The terror making his mouth not work for several vital seconds, causing Erin to have to do the honors, her voice cutting through the sudden silence as everyone else in the lobby began to realize that there was now a hostage situation in their midst. 

“What do you think you’re doing, Maynard?” She asked, shoulder to shoulder with Jay, weapon up and ready. 

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Their prisoner spat back from behind Will, whose hands had come up to scrabble at the chain that was now taut around his neck, pulling his head back and exposing his chin to the detectives as he was forced to look at the ceiling because of the height difference between himself and his captor. “I want a ride out of here, bitch.”

“There’s no need for violence,” Dawson spoke up, his weapon still holstered, edging closer from off to the side. “You can still walk away from this Maynard.”

“Yeah?” The perp spat. “That’s not what y’all have been saying for the last couple hours.” Laughing harshly. “What’re you gonna do to me? Huh?” Jay lurching forward instinctively as he shook Will like a rag doll, uncaring of his victim’s pain or discomfort. Taunting. “Send me to jail?”

And Jay can’t fault the guys logic. They all know that they’re not going to let Maynard get away.

But . . . watching as Will’s face started to go red from lack of oxygen. He’d done stupider things for Will’s sake, hadn’t he?

“Let him go, man,” Jay finally found himself able to speak. Heart breaking at the pained noise his brother gave out as Maynard finally backed up against a wall, pulling erratically at Will’s neck all the way there. Trying to pull in a breath but it was more like a whistle. 

“Nuh-uh,” Was the emphatic answer. “Y’all have to get through him first, pig.” Giving his hostage a shake to prove his point.

And Jay’s heart shattered at the whimper Will gives out at the rough motion, red marks clearly visible from where the short chain between Maynard’s cuff’s had been digging in during the whole exchange. Helplessness was never a feeling that Jay would take lying down.

But what could he do? He didn’t have a clear shot. Glancing around at his team, he could see the same problem applied to all of them as well. 

“Don’t move!” He ordered as Maynard started to inch to the right, towards the stairs, with Will still in place as his human shield. 

“Fuck you!” Was the intelligent reply he was graced with.

Heart dropping even further. Would Maynard actually get away with it? Because obviously none of them were willing to risk Will’s life. 

Then a shot rang out and Jay could only watch in numb horror as the pair was suddenly a jumbled mess of arms and legs as they fell headlong down the stairs, ass over tea kettle, landing with a loud thump at the foot of the stairs, the team all rushing down after them. Rushing past the blood spatter on the wall, hoping against hope that what he was going to find at the bottom of the stairs wasn’t his worst nightmare brought to life. 

It was obvious that Maynard was dead — if the way his eyes were open and glazed over wasn’t the best indicator, then the fact that half his head was gone was a better one. Ignoring the blood and gore, Jay slammed to his knees beside his brother, whose head was still partially entangled with Maynard’s arms, trying to see what, if anything, was wrong with his brother.’

“Will!” He called, feeling for a pulse once he’d gotten the dead man’s arms out of the way. “Will!!”

Giving a shuddering breath of relief as he felt a pulse. Moving on to the next problem of getting Will completely untangled from Maynard, Dawson helping him lay Will down flat, passing his hands over Will’s body to check for injuries. 

Glad that somebody was already on the phone with emergency services. At the very least they needed a bus there to pick up the body. 

Never more relieved to see a glimpse of familiar brown eyes as Will’s eyelids fluttered. Giving out a hoarse groan, arms trying to come up to his face.

“Hey, easy, brother,” Jay said, adopting a soothing tone. Grabbing Will’s hands and guiding them back down to his sides. “Just lie still now. You’re okay.”

Watching as Will’s face scrunched in confusion, though he followed orders, calming under Jay’s grip. Something in Jay’s chest melting at the show of trust. Answering the questioning look automatically.

“You fell down the stairs, Will.” Pausing. “Do you remember what happened before that?”

Watching as Will tried to reply but was only able to get out a strangled wheeze. Holding his wrists firmly as Will tried to reach for his throat again.

“Easy,” Jay soothed his big brother. “You’re throat’s hurt right now — but there’s a bus coming. We’ll get you proper medical care, okay? Make sure there’s no major damage.”

Will had the audacity to roll his eyes at him.

“Hey, I know I’m not the doctor here, Will,” Jay protested. “But you almost got strangled! And you’re always saying how its better to be cautious.” Feeling a bit guilty when Will’s expression fell, the full import of his situation obviously setting in.

Though they were interrupted by Mouse joining the conversation. “Sorry I didn’t get him when you were further away from the stairs.” Shifting guiltily.

Jay answered for both of them. “Better then letting him back out on the streets.” Explaining to Will. “Serial rapist.” Glad to see a micro expression of satisfaction flash across his brother’s face. 

Hearing siren’s approaching in the distance. “Looks like your ride’s almost here, Will.”

Will’s Look said he thought it wasn’t that bad. But he indulged Jay for the time being, laying still even as Jay had to eventually back off and let’s the EMT’s do their job. And hating every second where he couldn’t feel the proof of life under his fingertips. Hands twitching at his sides.

Wishing for a few moments, that his job wasn’t so dangerous.

Especially when it involved the people he loved. 

All things considered, Will supposed there were worse ways to get the rest of the day off, and probably another few besides. 

Watching as Ethan finished his exam, knowing that he’d gotten very lucky — it could’ve been a lot worse, after all. At least the perp hadn’t had a gun. And at least he hadn’t hurt himself further when they’d fallen down the stairs. The other man’s body had apparently cushioned his fall quite a lot. 

It was weird, as always, being the patient instead of the doctor. But at least it was kinda like having his family surrounding him, what with Maggie hovering over him while he was being examined, and making sure to get him an ice cream shake from the cafeteria for him to sip on once Ethan had cleared. The cold substance soothing the ache in his throat. 

Ignoring the part of his brain that wanted to think about what had just happened to him. Shoving it back into the box in his mind where most of his bad experiences went, never to see the light of day again. (And yes, Jay, he knew that was unhealthy. Pot, kettle, much?)

Jay still around? He typed out on his phone for Ethan to see. Not that he’d actually thought Jay would leave him alone now of all times. 

“Yeah man, he’s just filling out a bit of paperwork for you.” Ethan said. “I’ll let him know you’re all set.”

Will knew he’d been lucky that the swelling of his throat hadn’t been worse. And if he was going to have a bit of time off, he’d like to at least spend the time curled up in the comfort of his own bed.

Looking up at the soft knock on the edge of the exam room door. Looking up to see Jay staring at him intensely. 

“Ready to go?”

Already swinging his legs over the side of the bed before the sentence was finished.

“Easy,” Jay warned him, hurrying to help him stand.

Though his first instinct was the shrug off the helping hand, Will shoved that feeling down, reveling in the contact. Jay wasn’t always the most demonstrative person, and Will wasn’t going to turn down this opportunity. Wincing a bit as a few aches and pains made themselves known.

“What hurts?” Jay asked, stopping to give him a once over.

I’m fine, Will typed. Just bruises from the stairs. Nothing a few ice packs and rest won’t fix. Reassuring Jay enough to get him to help him out to the SUV Jay was probably borrowing from the precinct. Sinking into the cushions of the passenger seat with a semi-strangled sigh. 

Though Will wasn’t about to let Jay hover the whole time. Because he knows that Jay was blaming himself fro what happened, even though it really was just a case of bad timing on Will’s part and desperation on the part of the man who’d taken him hostage. So he needed to talk Jay down a bit without being able to talk.

A tall order, but Will had had years of practice when it came to curbing Jay’s vicious inner thoughts. 

Once he’d taken a quick shower and changed, he tugged Jay along to his room by his shirt sleeve. Patting the bed next to himself once he’d wiggled in under the covers.

Stay?

Jay giving a little smile and sitting against he headboard next to him.

“Staying.”

And so Will drifted off to sleep comfortably, knowing that Jay had the watch. 

Chapter Text

It was a beautiful day in Chicago, the downtown area a teeming mass of people, streets cordoned off for booths and the eventual parade. It would be even more beautiful if Will was out there enjoying it to the fullest, but at the moment, he and his team were examining an older gentlemen who was experiencing pain in his left arm, shortness of breath, and impaired cognitive function. 

All in a days for work the doctor on call at the festival. Who was Will, in this case. And there was no where he’d rather be, really. 

“We’ll get you to the hospital for a full workup,” Will told the man, knowing he probably wasn’t processing everything around him, but being a professional meant communicating steps to his patient. Turning to the man’s wife, who was pale but relatively composed and watching the proceedings like a hawk. “They’ll let you ride along, ma’am.” Motioning her over as he stood and let the paramedics continue in his place. “Perhaps you’d like to keep him company?”

Pulling off his gloves with a sigh and tossing them in the secure container attached to their go cart set up. Running a hand through his hair before reaching for yet another clipboard to record the incident as well as hand off a few more forms to the paramedics when they arrived with the ambulance to take the older couple to the hospital.

“Could’ve been worse,” One of the medics said cheerfully, holding out a cool bottle of gatorade which Will accepted gratefully.

“Don’t say that too loudly,” Will admonished her. “One of the rides could break down — again." Grabbing his radio when it gave a squawk to get his attention. “Hold that thought. Halstead here.”

Hey, Will could recognize that voice anywhere. It was Burgess. We’ve got a little girl in section 11A — lost her parents. She’s been out in the heat too long for sure. Can you head over this way?

“Of course,” Will acknowledge. “Try to get her to take at least sips of water and get a cool cloth on her neck and face if you can.” Turning back to Tracy, who as already revving up the cart. “Looks like we’ve got a kid with heat exhaustion in 11A.”

“I actually brought Hello Kitty bandaids’s and stuff in case of the little kids,” Tracy informed him as she inched her cart through the crowd, most people moving out of the way when they saw the dimmer version of flashing lights on the cart. But there were always going to be a few assholes. “And dinosaur ones.”

“I might have to snag a few of those,” Will mused, thinking of Owen. 

“Sure thing, doc.”

It wasn’t until they’d examined the little girl and then volunteered to take her to the nearest information booth where her parents were apparently waiting that all hell broke loose.

It started as shouts and screams from a few blocks down, making Roman and Burgess enter high alert mode. Then the shots followed and a wave of people started stampeding in every direction.

“Active shooter!” Roman called out, looking grim, drawing his weapon but keeping it pointed at the ground. “You’d better take cover.”

“We’ve got her,” Will assured them as he scooped up little Elsie, who’d started crying at the sudden bombardment of noise around her. “Go!”

The crowd was too thick already to try to take the cart so he and Tracy joined the crowd as it headed towards the edges of the festival and away from the shots. 

And then there was another panic as more shots came from that direction as well.

“Two shooters,” Tracy said grimly, pulling Will behind her into an abandoned booth with mostly opaque siding. 

“This is bad,” Will said unnecessarily, but he needed to say something, feeling his hands start to tremble as adrenaline coursed through him. Holding Elsie closer as she cried into his neck, holding on like a limpet. “Think we should try to get higher?”

Tracy’s opinion was lost as shots came again — and much too close for comfort. Ducking further into the booth, they sought shelter behind some tables and piles of disposable cartons. 

“Shhh, honey you gotta be quiet, okay?” Will tried to sooth Elsie who was practically rigid with fear. Turning to their companion. “Tracy, can you get my cell phone from the bag? I gotta make a call.”

Giving him a look of complete understanding, Tracy got her own phone out as well, dialing in a number once he had his cell in his hands. 

Practically vibrating in place as he placed the call to speed dial, waiting for Jay to pick up.

And Will hated that he was going to ruin the good mood Jay was obviously in, his little brother sounding like he’d been laughing before he’d picked up.

Hey Will — what’s up?

“There’s an active shooter at the Jazz Festival,” the explanation came tumbling out. Ducking instinctively as more shots rang out, closer still. “Two active shooters, at least.”

What?! Are you okay? And Will can hear him already getting his team in motion as he talked to him. 

“I’m hiding with one of the medics on site and a patient — a little girl.” Lowering his voice as the noises outside changed subtly. “Jay . . .”

No, Jay said fiercely, car doors slamming in the background and a siren starting. Don’t you dare say goodbye like this.

So Will doesn’t. “I love you, Jay. I don’t say it enough — but I hope you know that.”

. . . I love you too, Will.

Will doesn’t hang up.

Because the phone falls from nerveless fingers as bullets ripped through the tent walls around them, curling around Elsie as they duck closer to the floor. Hoping against hope that the shooter won’t look any closer to check their handiwork. Elsie trembled against his chest, too terrified to scream.

Will doesn’t notice the blood seeping from his own wound as his senses go on overdrive, watching the steady march of combat boots from the minuscule gap between the side of the booth and the asphalt. Watching as empty shells as discharged and then the boots stop. 

Gulping, Will motioned at Tracy to be quiet, wide eyed as they both listened for what felt like an eternity. Holding their breath. 

Eventually the boots moved on.

Though neither of them stopped being on high alert even as Tracy crept to the entrance of the tent and poked her head around the bottom to make sure the shooter was out of sight. 

“Coast's clear — we need to go!” 

And the phone is forgotten as Will stood, staggering for a moment before righting himself, following Tracy out of the tent and moving in the opposite direction as the shooter.

So was it really so weird that neither of them noticed the blood staining his already red scrubs?

After all, they had much more important things to worry about at the moment

For all that Jay liked guns and had worked with them professionally for most of his adult life, sometimes he hated them.

Especially in the hands of the psychos who’d decided to shoot up one of the bigger summer festivals held in Chicago. 

And naturally, where trouble was, Will had to be right in the middle of it.

One shooter is down, Olinsky’s voice came over their ear pieces, Jay and Erin exchanging a satisfied glance. 

Reports say at least one more, Voight added. But keep an eye out — we don’t want any surprises.

“Copy that, Sarge.”

Making their way cautiously down a suspiciously empty street. Looking for the signs — and finding them. The bodies hard to miss as they lined the road, leading towards where there had to have been the most people at the start of the shooting. Gritting his teeth as he saw a little boy dead in a wagon, their parent slumped alongside it, panic still in evidence on their slack face. 

The face morphing into Will’s.

But no — Jay could’t think like that. Just because the phone call had cut off didn’t mean Will was dead.

Will couldn’t be dead.

So he wasn’t. End of story. 

Shots rang out from the right and so they headed in that direction, Jay automatically pushing his fears to the back of his mind, living in the moment as he prepared himself for whatever they were going to find. 

Ducking back behind the corner of a building as a shot whizzed by his cheek, radio crackling to life in his ear.

Looks like the second shooter went up to the second story of the Grocery, Adam’s voice came over the radio. Jay — did I see you guys just now?

“Yep, we’ve taken cover by the —” Checking the words on the window nearby. “Corner Deli.” 

Even if we can’t smoke them out, Kevin’s voice came next. At least he’ll be contained up there. 

Agreed. Voight’s voice was next. Keep him pinned and wait for SWAT. I don’t want any heroics. There’s been enough casualties for one day. 

And while Jay saw the logic in that, every bone in Jays' body told him that they should just end this guy once and for all. Especially if it meant Jay could go look for Will sooner rather than later. 

“Copy that, Sarge.” Giving in to the inevitable.

Exchanging a look with Erin.

Settling in to wait. 

“Thanks for the help, doc,” Casey said as he helped hold down a man while Will kept pressure on a graze in the man’s upper arm. 

“Glad to help, Casey,” Will said, checking to see if the blood flow had slowed before moving to get a pressure bandage. “Just wish the day hadn’t turned out like this.”

Casey snorted tiredly. “You and me both.”

Though it wasn’t until they gotten most of more severe cases transported to the hospital, leaving the ones with minor injuries to still be seen too, that the news came over the radio that the second shooter had been taken care of.

“Seems like he turned the gun on himself,” Boden reported, expression severe. 

“Any word on what this was all about?” Casey asked. 

“Nope.” Boden said. “But I think we can all guess.”

And they all could, at that.

Will was putting a splint on a severely sprained ankle while the girls boyfriend held her hand when he heard Jay before he saw him. 

“— is he?! Has anyone seen Will?”

Putting the velcro of the splint in place before hurriedly standing up, waving at Jay even as he broke into a jog. Checking Jay over for injuries. Seeing that his little brother was doing the same. Breath driven out of his lungs — but in a good way — as Jay barreled into him, practically lifting him off of his feet in a bear hug.

“Hey, easy,” Will soothed, letting his little brother support his weight. “I’m okay.”

“Thought you were dead,” Jay mumbled. “I heard —”

“I left my cell phone behind when we ran for it,” Will told him, rubbing a hand over Jay’s neck, above where he was wearing his vest. “Then it got so busy — sorry for worrying you.”

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” Jay said, pulling back, his eyes suspiciously moist. Frowning as he prodded at Will’s back, something going tense again in his posture. 

“You didn’t say that you were hurt!”

“I’m not?” Will asked, frowning. 

“Then what’s this?!” Jay exclaimed, holding out his hand, which had fresh blood on it.

“I’ve been tending to a lot of patients,” Will mumbled, putting up a half hearted protest as Jay turned him around and lifted up his shirt. 

“You’ve got a graze!” 

“I do?”

“Yeah!” Jay said, flagging down a passing medic. “Sit down, moron.”

“First of all, rude,” Will said tiredly, wincing as he felt the pain he’d been ignoring ratchet up now that attention was being called to it. “Second of all, not a doctor.”

But Jay was ignoring him as he got the medic to fetch some bandages, leaving them alone for a moment.

And that’s where Will saw her — the five foot nothing blond with a giant handgun.

Forgetting that, between the two of them, Jay was the one wearing body armor, Will surged forward as the gun came up, knocking Jay over even as his little brother squawked in protest. Screaming breaking out again around them as already traumatized victims were again victimized.

The shots were quickly responded to by the police and Squad members in the vicinity, though Will missed some of it, coming back to himself as he stared up at the blue blue sky that had betrayed them all. 

Jay’s anxious face interrupting the blue, looking down at him. 

“—old on, Will.” The sky was looking wonky, Jay’s face bending strangely to mix with the traitorous blue. “Just hold on —“

And Will knew no more.

Chapter Text

There were only a few sounds which made Jay’s very soul shrivel in horror — Will screaming in pain was one of those very few sounds. 

One second, he’d been looking Will over, searching for any more overlooked wounds, and then the next second he was on the ground with the wind knocked out of him for a few precious seconds. Time that counted more then any other time in Jay’s life, because in that short time, Will had been hurt.

And hurt badly. 

Scrambling to sit up even as more shots rang out around him, throwing himself in turn over Will’s body, hunching over his torso and head until the ‘All Clear!’ Was shouted. Looking up to make sure that the last shooter was dead before looking down to ascertain the damage. Watching Will bite his lip so hard against the pain that it bled.

“Shit.”

Jay knew that no one’s leg was supposed to look like that, the entrance hole above the joint and the exit hole filled with bone fragments, clear liquid mixing with blood as it pooled below Will’s body.

“Shit.”

The screams of shock and excruciating pain had been replaced with panting whines mixed with keens of agony. Forcing himself to put some of his weight on Will’s torso so he didn’t move and aggravate the wound further, Jay watched Will toss his head tossed from side to side as he lay on the pavement, face scrunched up with pain as he looked blankly up at the sky, lost in the agony. Clasping his older brother’s hand and already feeling the warmth leaving it. His extremities no doubt going cold from shock. 

“Hold on, Will!” He choked out. “Just hold on!” Watching as Will’s eyes fluttered shut and he lost conscious, body going alarmingly limp. Looking around wildly, Jay screamed for a medic. “We need some help over here!”

Attracted by the call, Antonio came over from where they’d been making sure that the shooter was deceased, face paling in horror as he took in the scene. Darting over to the medical bag Will had been lugging around and digging through it, the others also coming over as Dawson came back with a tourniquet.

“He’s losing a lot of blood,” Erin noted grimly as she helped Antonio set up the device, Jay still holding Will’s hand, feeling like the whole world had gone numb, not just his own body and mind. 

“The bus’s have already left — it’d be faster to take him to MED in one of our own cars,” Voight pointed out. Barking out when everyone was still for a moment too long, clearly shocked by the scene in front of them. “Let’s go, people!”

And that was how Jay found himself in the back seat of the SUV with Will’s head on his lap, finger’s tangling through red curls, always impossible to tame. Antonio had Will’s legs elevated on his own lap and Erin drove since Voight was still needed on scene with Olinsky and the others. 

The ride to the hospital had never seemed so long, the detours they had to make around the traffic that had resulted from the entire fiasco taking time from an already limited timer. Even with the sirens, there was still only so much they could do. At least the firemen had joined in their little caravan, getting victims into their own vehicle and turning on the sirens. (Luckily it seemed like no one had died yet as a result of the last shooters killing spree — though that still remained to be seen . . .)

Pulling up to the already crowded entrance to the Emergency section, Will’s usual haunt, Jay laid Will’s head carefully on the seat before jumping from the SUV, searching for a familiar face. 

And finding it.

“Rhodes!” He yelled over the noice and general hubbub. Glad to see that he’d gotten the doctor’s attention. “Over here!”

“What’s the trouble?” Rhodes asked as he jogged over, a nurse with a stretcher at his heels. Sucking in a breath when Jay moved enough for him to see Will still laid out on the back seat. 

Watching as Rhodes automatically felt Will’s neck to feel for a pulse. “Anything else I should know about besides that knee?”

“A graze on his back — but secondary to his knee, yeah,” Jay reported, feeling divorced from reality even as he watched Rhodes clamber up into the back seat before barking back to the nurse to find a splint to stabilize the leg. 

“He’s going to be on the priority list,” Rhodes said. Grimly stating the facts even as his face twisted like he’d swallowed spoiled milk. “But we’re already swamped — we’re got at least fifty people in critical condition and all the operating rooms are full.” 

And Jay wants to argue, to rage at the world — but he’s lived this all before. He knows the language of casualty rates and blood loss and too few doctors working on too many. He knows. 

. . . he just wishes that none of this had ever happened. 

“Please,” he begs. He begs for his brother like he would never beg for himself. “Just do what you can.”

So Jay stays with Will in the chaos of the hospital corridors and hurriedly placed triage tents in the parking lot. He stays with his brother as he had many times before for other brothers in other climes. Wishing that his hands were made for healing instead of for hurting.

He’s not sure what he says every time one of Will’s colleagues or friends comes by to check on Will. He’s not sure how much time passes before they’re able to take Will beyond the operating room doors.

He’s not sure of anything, really.

Because all he can do is wait and hope against hope.

“I haven’t seen an injury like that since when I was in the Sandbox,” Jay reported dully later on as he sat in the waiting room, eyes fixed on the surgery door, beyond which he’d been forbidden to go. “Will’s knee looked . . . it looked really bad.”

The entire scene having replayed itself over and over in his head while he was waiting. Some of the others, his team and fireman included had ended up sitting around him, either on their breaks or just for moral support. 

“Will’s strong,” Erin declared. Reaching out to squeeze Jay’s shoulder. “He’ll get through this.”

While Jay knows that his brother can be a stubborn SOB when he wanted to be, he still had Will’s blood caked under his fingernails and he’d never been stupid enough to lie to himself. 

“. . . yeah.”

Jay wishes it sounded like he believed it.

Voight is the one who is still with Jay later on in the evening when Connor finally emerged from the operating theatre. (At least, Jay assumed it was evening.)

“How is he?” Jay was up and moving towards Conner immediately, forcing down the feeling of lightheadedness that resulted from the sudden movement. Voight following close behind.

“I’m not gonna lie to you, Jay,” Conner’s voice was apologetic, even as his expression was fully professional. “The bullet caused a lot of damage — at this point, his knee is impossible to repair, at least in a way that would give him back full mobility.”

“How much mobility are we talking here?” Voight asked for Jay as his tongue glued itself to the roof of his mouth. 

He couldn’t throw up now; this was important!

Connor shrugged, looking helpless in a way that no professional doctor ever should. “About 20%, at this point?” Taking a deep breath, “That’s why I needed to talk to you, Jay.”

Blinking. Not following at all. “About what?”

Glancing between him and Voight, Connor slowly continued. “Honestly, at this point? He would be better off if we got ride of the joint entirely. While the recovery process is long, he would gain back a much higher rate of mobility at about 85 to 90 percent with physiotherapy, which is a much better deal than 20%, at best.”

Staring, the words just weren’t translating. Looking between Connor and Voight, Jay’s brain, sluggish from the day he’d had and from the worry and nausea still trying to crawl up his throat, Jay just blinked.

And blinked again.

Then the other shoe dropped.

Oh no.

Oh no no no nononononono!

“You want to amputate?!?” Jay exclaimed, completely blindsided by the suggestion. Swinging his head between the other two men, searching for the punchline.

And finding none.

“You’re listed in his files as having Power of Attorney,” Conner continued even as Jay spiraled. No doubt used to delivering such awful, awful news. “That’s why I’m out here: if I go forward with the surgery, I can only do it with your signature.”

Between one moment and the next, Jay finds himself getting helped to sit by Voight, the older man’s touch surprisingly gentle. Swallowing, Jay forced himself to think over the options, trying to figure out all the angles even as his head threatened to burst from the strain.

20% — maybe — vs 85-90% . . . 

If he was smart, like Will, then this would be a no brainer.

But he wasn’t Will. Will was lying on the operating table while Jay had to make a life altering decision for his older brother. Closing his eyes and hunching over his knees, hands clenching at his temples as he thought it over.

And the thought came to him. 

If it was him, what would he want Will to do?

Would Jay want to be on crutches or have to use a cane for the rest of his life?

And while Jay wouldn’t be able to keep being a cop if he had an artificial leg, Will shouldn’t have the same problem, right? After all, his job was technically in the civilian sector.

Looking up, Jay voiced his thoughts aloud. “If you do this, will he still be able to work here?”

Because if Will couldn’t help people, that would be a fate worse then death. 

(Because Halstead’s weren’t meant to be still or have a regular 9-5, apparently.)

And Connor was obviously following Jay’s train of thought because the worry lines at the edges of his eyes softened a little, showing how much he cared for Will, even though they often bumped heads over procedure and such. 

“With proper physiotherapy and pure bull-headedness?” Nearly chuckling. “Yes — he will be able to keep working here. I doubt Ms. Goodwin would let him go without a fight: Board of directors or no board of directors.”

And while that didn’t make the decision any less hard, it at least made Jay able to make one. 

“Show me where to sign.”

For all that he had assured Will’s brother in the waiting area, Connor called Ms. Goodwin to surgery before he made any life altering cuts of any kind. 

It was no secret that Goodwin had a soft spot for Will, as most of the hospital did. Even Connor had to admit that although Will could sometimes be reckless and wore his heart on his sleeve, his actions always came from the right place. Will always wanted to help, no matter the cost to himself. (Which had sometimes landed him in hot water. But Connor couldn’t help but admire his colleague anyway.)

Waiting patiently as Goodwin went through the scans and then scrubbed in to join him as they stood in the operating room, the sound of Will’s medically assisted breathing loud in the silence. They’d sent the nurses out for a few minutes. The only person present being the anesthesiologist. 

“Jay has given me permission to amputate.”

Goodwin’s gaze was sharp even as she was obviously putting her more professional foot forward in an attempt to not show how much the situation was effecting her. “And are you going to go forward with it?”

“It’s his best option,” Connor said, speaking what they both knew to be the truth. “But . . .”

“But it’s Will.” Goodwin completed the thought for him. “And when you’re done, his entire life will be changed.”

“. . . yes.” Connor whispered, looking down at Will’s face, slack around the breathing tube. 

“Well,” Goodwin eventually said. “Even though he hasn’t said as much, I know that he considers you to be the best surgeon at this hospital — and I’m sure, if he was able to contribute to this conversation, that he would rather you were operating on him rather then anyone else.” Pausing as she turned to go, laying a gentle hand on his arm. “And if it helps — you have my blessing, Dr. Rhodes.”

And then she was gone. 

Taking a few minutes, Conner looked down at his unconscious colleague, taking in the damage and going through all the options and the events that had led them to this point one final time, giving himself a chance to find a way out, even at this juncture. But he found none.

And before too long the nurses were back in the room and he was drawing the needed paths on the flesh just above Will’s left knee joint, ensuring that the stump would be as perfect as he could make it. 

Then the moment of truth. 

His scalpel blade hovering just over the skin.