Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“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

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

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

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.