Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The night was cold, biting, the kind that seemed designed to keep the city awake.

Silence was nonexistent in Chicago, but when that call came to dispatch, something still cracked in the constant noise.

There had been a fire on the south side of a three-story apartment complex. It was an older structure at risk of collapse.

It was a red code. The sirens began wailing even before the firefighters boarded their vehicles.

Smoke was visible from three blocks away. By the time Squad 51 arrived on the scene, the flames had already devoured the roof. Windows were blowing out one after another, the air was filled with the acrid smell of burning wood and melted plastic.

Organized chaos took over: hoses unrolled, ladders extended, orders shouted amid the crackling of the fire and the screams of evacuated residents.

Kelly Severide climbed out of the truck with sharp instincts. Something wasn't right. The fire was too fast, too precise. It wasn't an isolated incident, but he didn't have time to think: there were lives to be saved.

A few minutes later, a police car screeched to a halt on the sidewalk, its lights still on.

Jay Halstead jumped out, without even closing the door.

When he saw the building engulfed in flames, his stomach lurched.

They told him his father was inside. Apartment 3C. They'd seen him enter that afternoon, but no one had seen him leave.

Jay crossed the perimeter without asking permission. He was stopped by a firefighter, but a moment later he saw Severide and recognized him.

- My father's here! - Jay shouted. And there was nothing else to say.

Severide signaled to his men.

A small group slipped into the building with oxygen tanks and thermal masks.

Every second counted.

Time, inside a fire, doesn't work like it does outside: it melts, evaporates.

Walls bend, the air becomes solid, decisions weigh like wet cement.

When they reached the apartment Jay mentioned, the firefighters found the man lying on the bathroom floor, near the bathtub.

He was unconscious, his face blackened by smoke, his skin soaked: he had probably tried to get wet to protect himself from the heat.

He wasn't dead, at least not yet.

He was carried outside on a stretcher, his face covered by an oxygen mask.

Jay rushed to the ambulance, helpless. He saw only the man with whom he had spent years of silence, misunderstandings, few words, and much judgment. But in that moment, there was no room for resentment, only fear.

- We'll take him to the MED. Does he have a history of heart problems? - asked one of the paramedics.

- He had heart surgery last year,- Jay replied, almost in a whisper. - He's been undergoing therapy for months.-

The paramedic nodded without saying anything else. The doors closed and the ambulance sped off.

Jay followed in the car, not with them.

He was a cop used to emergencies, but not this. Not to vulnerability, not to the possibility that pain would strike him where he was most vulnerable: his family, or what was left of it.

In the emergency room at Chicago Med, everything was moving fast.

When Jay entered, he saw Will, his brother, his scrubs still stained with blood, his gloved hands and his face tense.

- Dad's in the emergency room, they're intubating him. He suffered cardiac arrest during the transport. They restarted his heartbeat, but…-

- But what? - Jay asked, approaching.

Will sighed. - It's serious. The smoke inhalation, the weak heart… I don't know if he'll make it.-

Jay looked down. He didn't answer. He sat down, but unable to stay still, he stood up. He walked, waited. The hands of the clock seemed to stand still.

Hours passed.

Every door that opened was a stab in the back. Every nurse who passed by, ignoring him, was a blow of silence. Finally, Will came out. He had taken off his scrubs, and he was truly tired, exhausted.

- Jay... - he began.

He understood immediately; there were no right words for that moment.

- No - he murmured. - No...-

- They did everything they could,- the doctor said.

- Everything they could wasn't enough,- the detective commented angrily.

Will didn't respond. He had heard those words before. In other cases, from other family members, but never from his brother, never like that.

Jay walked away. He wasn't crying, not yet. He was too full of anger to let go. He didn't even know who he was angry with: fate? The firefighters? The doctors? Himself?

He still had the key to his father's apartment in his pocket. He had used it only once, months before, when Pat had had surgery. They had had a cold, polite conversation, as if between strangers. That was the last time they had seen each other.

Now it was all over.

Jay found himself in front of the morgue door. He hadn't decided to go there; he'd just walked there without thinking. But he hadn't gone in. Not yet. He stood there, staring into space, while an idea sparked in his head: that fire hadn't been a coincidence. It had been too precise, too violent, too... targeted.

Someone had wanted to strike, and they had. His father had been merely the vehicle, a small piece of collateral damage. Or maybe not.

The pain gave way to another kind of urgency. A more familiar one, that of investigation, of the policeman's instinct, of the thirst for answers.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Chicago seemed grayer than usual. The sky, swollen with dark clouds, only reflected the torment Jay felt in his chest.

The cold air tore at his lungs, but that chill was nothing compared to the chill growing inside him, a silent tearing at his heart.

Every breath felt like he was swallowing an unbearable weight, a pain he couldn't handle. He felt consumed, empty, as if every moment that passed was a step further from the world he knew, a step closer to an irreparable loneliness.

He had spent the night in his car, parked in one of the darkest corners of the neighborhood, where the flickering lights of the streetlamps couldn't even break the darkness.

He couldn't go home. He couldn't sleep. He couldn't even think. His mind was a battlefield, a jumble of confused thoughts, but the emptiness he felt inside was too great to find an answer: only silence, only pain.

He'd gone to the district00 to sign the preliminary documents, but the words escaped him. The forms seemed to be written in a foreign language. "Next of kin," "Autopsy request," "Delivery of personal effects." Each completed box was a blow to the chest.

Then he'd returned to the Med, not to see the body, not yet. He'd gone because Will was there, and even though Jay didn't yet know what he wanted to tell him, he knew something was boiling inside him.

When she saw him, her brother was sitting in one of the emergency room break rooms, his gown open, a cup of coffee in his hand, his tired gaze fixed on nothing. He'd worked all night. He'd been called back for a multiple trauma that had arrived after three, and he'd stayed because that's how he stayed.

Jay entered without knocking.

Will looked up.
- Hey... Did you get some sleep? -

No response.

- Did you at least eat something? -

Still silence.

Jay approached slowly, his eyes fixed on him.

- Tell me something, Will. When Dad arrived, how long did it take before you intubated him? -

Will stiffened.
- They did it right away, Jay. The situation was critical, he'd had cardiac arrest and.... -

- And he didn't make it. Yeah, I know. - he continued

Will put down his cup.
- It's nobody's fault. We did what we could..-

- It wasn't enough,- Jay retorted through gritted teeth. - You were the doctor, Will. You were there, he was your patient, our father. -

Will stood up, keeping his cool.
- And you think I don't know? You think I'm not eating away at myself? But I can't change what happened..-

Jay approached again, now only a few steps away. His voice was shaking, but it was filled with anger.

- You swore to save his life.-

- And you swore to protect the citizens. Yet the fire caught him. This is not the time to look for blame, Jay..-

A tense silence fell between them.

Then the young detective did something he had never done before.

He raised his arm and with a sudden, instinctive gesture, filled with all the pain and anger accumulated over years of misunderstandings and silences, he punched his brother in the face.

Will staggered backward, hit squarely in the cheekbone, slamming into the wall behind him. The coffee cup flew to the floor, shattering. An eternal moment passed, no one spoke, no one breathed.

Jay immediately realized what he'd done, but he didn't say anything. His fist had spoken for him.

Will brought a hand to his face, his breathing shallow, the pain evident. His cheek was already swelling, but that wasn't what worried him. Rather, it was the feeling of confusion that was invading his mind.

For a moment, his head spun, and he had to struggle to stay upright. The blow had made him stagger, and not just physically. The vertigo made him dizzy, and the headache felt like a hammer blow to his temple. The blow wasn't serious, but the effect on his mind and body left him disoriented, as if he'd been struck deeper than the physical pain would suggest.

The doctor didn't react, he just stood there, still, in pain. His eyes, full of disappointment, searched for his brother.

- If this is what you need to cope with the pain, do it. But don't take it out on me, because I'm suffering too..-

Jay clenched his fists, then let them go. He backed away slowly, as if trying to regain his composure, but said nothing. He turned and walked away, leaving his brother there, alone with his pain, his face beginning to swell and his head throbbing with a pain that wouldn't stop.

They weren't just two brothers who had just argued. They were two men, each broken in their own way, unable to share the burden of grief.

Half an hour later, one of the morning nurses, April, entered the medical room. It was there that she found him. He was sitting, leaning against the wall as if he'd become part of the furniture. His face was pale, his cheek swollen, betraying the impact he'd just received. The bruise was already starting to darken, but that wasn't what worried April: Will's eyes, which were looking at nothing, only empty space.

- Will? - She called softly, approaching him. - What happened? -

Will looked up slowly, as if awakened from a deep sleep, and his expression betrayed incredible confusion.

- Nothing... a difficult moment.- He replied, his voice hoarse, almost surreal.

- Are you feeling okay?- The question was filled with concern, but Will nodded slightly, as if to dismiss the problem.

-;Just one blow… that’s all.- Yet the tension in his eyes betrayed a pain far greater than a simple blow.

April didn't insist, but her gaze rested on his cheek, concerned by the way he was trembling slightly. It was clear that what he was going through wasn't just physical. There was something else, but she wouldn't force it, at least not at that moment.
- Come on, let's go to the infirmary to check on you.-

When Will was escorted into one of the operating rooms, a colleague quickly examined him, applying ice to his cheek. The pain was intense, but nothing serious. There were no obvious fractures, just the aftereffects of a well-placed blow.
He didn't say anything except a brief,
- Everything's okay - but the tension in his shoulders betrayed something else.

- Who hit you??-  The doctor asked, noticing the wound and Will's strangely impassive air..

Will stared at the doctor for a moment, his face twisted in pain, then lowered his eyes.
- Family matter - he muttered.

The answer, so concise and definitive, left no room for further questions.

The doctor didn't insist, knowing that sometimes there were things that shouldn't be revealed.

April, who was watching him from afar, knew that there was much more behind those words, but she too decided not to push further..

Meanwhile, Jay had taken refuge in Intelligence, and he couldn't sit still.

The preliminary fire report was on the desk. It said the cause was uncertain, with no indication of an electrical malfunction, and no signs of an accidental explosion..
However, traces of accelerant had been found in the kitchen area and an unconfirmed testimony spoke of a figure seen entering the building shortly before the explosion.

Arson, it was definitely arson.

Jay sat down, his eyes fixed on the wall. He felt like a bomb with its timer already ticking. He had lost his father, he had hurt his brother. And now, his anger was finding a new direction: the one responsible.

But there was Voight and there were rules, procedures, deadlines to follow.

Jay didn't know if he would have the patience to wait or the strength to hold back.

There, in the Intelligence room, among open files and incomplete reports, Jay made a decision he told no one.

If no one would find the culprit, he would do it himself.

Chapter Text

Will looked at himself in the mirror in the nursing station at Chicago Med. The swelling on his cheekbone had increased, a purplish tinge was beginning to spread beneath his skin. The ice pack was cold only on the surface, but now everything inside was still burning.

But it wasn't just the cheekbone.

His right temple throbbed, not strongly, but steadily. The memory of the wall's edge was still there, like an echo that returned every time he tried to bend, every time he moved too quickly.

A slight headache kept him from concentrating. He'd tried to ignore it, to chalk it up to the tension, the weight of the last twenty-four hours. But he knew it wasn't just that; it had been an impact, and now his body was reacting as it always does: reminding him that something had broken, even if it wasn't visible.

One of the nurses, Nina, came in looking worried.

- Do you want me to call someone? Do you want to talk to Sharon?-

Will shook his head.
- No, thanks... I'm fine.... just having a bad day.-

His voice came out lower than expected, as if speaking was an effort, as if his head and heart were no longer in sync.

She didn't insist. She knew that when doctors responded like this, it was often time to leave them alone. She closed the door, leaving him immersed in silence.

Will sat back down on the exam table, his hands on his knees. A faint ringing sounded in his ears for a few seconds. He closed his eyes, trying to breathe deeply, but as soon as he did, the pain behind his forehead increased, almost like a pressure from within.
And along with the physical pain, everything else returned.

Jay's look right after the punch, that uncontrolled anger, the tremor in his hand that had just closed into a fist and in his eyes... something worse.
Not only anger but also disappointment, guilt, pain.

Will leaned forward, putting a hand to his temple. Ice wasn't enough, nor was silence. Something deeper was hurting. A knot in his chest, hard to describe, not just because of the attack, but because of what it represented.

It was as if they'd turned off the light in a safe place. As if Jay, the only one she'd always recognized beneath the thousand masks of adult life, had now become a stranger, elusive.

My head kept throbbing.

He wondered if it was really just a bruise or if the pain had now become something more subtle.
Anxiety.
Shock.
Sense of guilt.
Even shame.

The doctor inside him wanted to rationalize: no serious head trauma, just mild symptoms, observation. But the man... the man couldn't keep the pieces together.

He wanted to scream, bang his fists on the table, but he wasn't the type.
It never had been.
He was the one who holds everything inside, the one who understands, the one who acts as a bridge, who doesn't give up even when the world collapses.
And now that role weighed more than he was willing to admit.

At the district, Intelligence had received the first official findings from the fire investigators' report. Hank Voight had read them silently, then placed them on the table with a grim look.

- Arson - annunciò.

The air in the room thickened.

- Accelerant used: gasoline, window shattered by ignition. Street surveillance cameras were disabled half an hour before the explosion..-

Jay sat stiffly at the back, his hands clasped together. His jaw clenched..

- It was premeditated - he said, without looking up.

- Already, - Voight replied. - But we have to follow protocols. Launch the investigation, identify suspects, look for witnesses. -

Jay looked up slowly.
- What if someone else dies in the meantime?-

Voight stared at him..
- Don't turn this case into a personal vendetta.-

Jay didn't answer, but inside he felt the fire rising again..

After the meeting, Trudy Platt intercepted him in the hallway..

- Hey, Halstead. Is Will here? -

- No, he isn't - he answered curtly. - He's at the Med. He's fine..-

She looked at him more carefully.
- And you?-

- I don't need a doctor, Sergeant..-

Platt didn't insist. She watched him walk away, aware that something was slowly breaking.

Meanwhile, Will was still in the hospital. He had asked to return to duty, but Sharon Goodwin had kept him on bed rest for at least twenty-four hours.

- You're not lucid, Will, and you're not a robot. - he had told him.

Despite the pain, Will couldn't sit still. He moved from room to room, helping as best he could, giving directions to his colleagues. He needed a distraction, to feel useful again.

As he was walking back to his office, he received a notification on his phone: Fire investigation - update received from District 21. A colleague at Med, near the district, had forwarded it to him..

He read in silence. When he saw the word "malicious," he stopped dead. A part of him already knew it would happen that way, but reading it in black and white was something else entirely. His father had been killed. Not by accident, not by bad luck, but by someone who had chosen to set that fire.

He sat up slowly. The bruise on his face hurt, but the pain inside was worse. He wondered if Jay had already seen that report. And he wondered how long it would be before his brother stopped following the rules.

Meanwhile, young Halstead had remained at the precinct. He'd spent the day processing incomplete evidence. The name "Daniel Mendoza" had surfaced from a wiretap related to a drug dealing case in the area. A small fish, but with connections to much bigger people. And lo and behold, Mendoza had been seen near the burned-down building two days earlier.

The idea slowly took shape.
What if the fire had been a message? A warning? A way to hurt someone who lived there? Her father, perhaps, was just "collateral damage."

Voight was still cautious, there was no solid evidence but Jay couldn't wait.

His leg trembled under the table, his hands clenching involuntarily into fists. The anger grew like a scream that found no voice.

He got up and walked out of the precinct without saying anything to anyone.

The first destination was the site of the fire. The building was cordoned off, blackened, a charred wreck. The smells of smoke and melted plastic still hung in the air. Walking through the debris, Jay relived every frame of the previous night: the stretcher, the ambulance, his father's closed eyes...

He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again, colder, more determined.

He got back into the car and dialed a number.

- Severide. - he replied, his voice tired, but ready.

- Do you have two minutes?? -

- For you, always.-

Jay didn't say anything else. Appointment scheduled.

Will, across town, sat in the medical room. The pain in his face had become dull but constant. The mirror reflected an image he didn't recognize: the face of a man who had been struck by his brother, and who couldn't even hate him.

He looked at his phone. No calls from Jay, no texts, just silence.

Then he took the gown and slowly put it on. In pain, he left the room and returned to the hospital corridors. Not because he was okay, but because he needed to get back on his feet, even if his heart, for now, remained broken.

Chapter Text

The morning silence at Chicago Med was an illusion. The emergency room seemed calm only on the surface, but one look at the doctors' tired faces revealed that the last 48 hours had been devastating.

Will Halstead walked down the corridor, his pace slower than usual. The pain in his cheekbone was still there, not enough to stop him, but enough to remind him every minute of what had happened. Every movement, every breath, reminded him of the blow he'd received.

He was back in his scrubs, even though Sharon Goodwin had tried to send him home for at least a day. He had insisted. Returning to work was the only way he knew to avoid complete collapse.

As he passed through the ward, Will stopped beside an elderly patient who was having difficulty breathing. He knelt down, keeping his voice calm and reassuring, even though behind that professional facade his heart was pounding.

– Mrs. Carter, I'm about to give you a bronchodilator. Tell me if you feel any improvement. – he said, trying to concentrate.

She looked at him with tired but grateful eyes. For a moment, Will was lost in that gaze, as if it were the only fixed point in a chaotic day.

As soon as he walked away, the pressure behind his forehead returned, reminding him how fragile that moment of “normality” was.

A feeling of dizziness gripped him, he had some difficulty maintaining his balance, and a flash of confusion crossed his mind.

That sharp pain under his skin and that slight tremor in his legs were the price of that blow, yet he tried to ignore them, as if admitting his own fragility was a failure.

He was checking some charts at the nurses' station when a familiar voice called from behind him.

- Will -

It was Connor Rhodes, a colleague and long-time friend who was looking at him with a serious, but non-judgmental gaze..

Will turned, forcing a half smile. - Hey... -

Connor approached him, immediately noticing the bruise on his face.

- Did something happen? Did you hit a door, or... is there something you want to tell me? -

Will looked down. - Nothing serious. Just a... complicated day.

Connor crossed his arms.
- It's complicated when your elevator breaks down. You look... destroyed. -

Will didn't answer. He was looking at the tablet with the patient's data, but it was clear he wasn't reading anything. Connor moved closer, lowering his voice.

- Will, I know you. Something's wrong. You have that look you make when you're holding it all in. Talk to me.. -

Will slowly placed the tablet on the counter. Dizziness gripped him, and a faint hissing sound rang in his ears. His breath came out in ragged gasps, as if he'd been holding it for hours.

Then he whispered : - He's dead.-

Connor stiffened.. - Who? -

A silence full of tension.

- My father -

Connor was silent for a second. No questions were needed, no words were needed.

Will swallowed, a sudden nausea tightening in his stomach, but he tried to control it and not vomit. His eyes felt burning, but he resisted.
- He was in a building that caught fire. The firefighters pulled him out... I... I was on duty, I did everything I could, but... it wasn't enough.

Connor took a step toward him.
- I'm sorry, Will, I really am. -

But Will wasn't listening. He kept talking, more to himself than to Connor.

- I didn't see him often. We didn't have a normal relationship, but... he was my father. And... and I should have saved him. I was there, I was the doctor. I had to save him.. -

His voice was shaking. The words came out in rushes, broken, wounded.
- And then Jay... Jay was there. And he saw everything. And he's mad at me. He said I should have... saved him... that I... failed.-

Connor clenched his jaw, looking at him with genuine compassion..

Will sat down in a nearby chair, his hands in his hair.
- I don't even know if I did everything I could. I don't know, maybe I wasted my time... maybe... -

- Will - Connor interrupted him, placing a hand on his shoulder..
- Stop it, I know you did everything you could. And Jay... Jay is broken. He's hurting, and he's taking it out on you, but it's not your fault..-

Will shook his head, his eyes shining.
- It struck me.-

Connor sat down next to him.
- And you didn't react.-

Will nodded, silently, finally letting go of the tension. Tears welled up in his eyes, slowly running down his face. Not sobs, not hysterical crying, just pure, silent pain, repressed for too long.

Connor didn't speak, he just sat there with him in silence. Sometimes, just being there was enough.

Will brought a hand to his face, hiding his shame, but Connor took his hand away.

- You have nothing to be ashamed of, Will. You're human..-

Will closed his eyes. Finally, he allowed himself to be fragile.

**

Meanwhile, Jay was going down a different path.

After leaving the district, he had met Severide at the 51st barracks. They had locked themselves in the engineering office, away from prying ears.

Jay placed a photo and a name on the table: Daniel Mendoza.

- Do you know him? -

Severide looked at him.
- We rescued him two months ago. He was in an abandoned house, his hands were burned. He said it was an accident, but there was a smell of gasoline everywhere..-

- Do you still have the relationship?? - asked the lieutenant

- I should... Do you want me to help you find it? -

Jay nodded.

- Voight wants to take it slow, but I don't. This guy... I think he's the one who started the fire -.

Severide took the tablet.
- If you want to move, do it quickly. When arsonists move, they wait for no one..-

Jay looked at him.
- Have you ever done something that you knew was against the rules, but was right deep down? -

Severide smiled bitterly.
- Almost every day.-

The two got to work.
They had no authorization, no warrant.
They were just two men looking for answers, a firefighter and a policeman, both determined to find out the truth.

**

While Jay dug through the shadows, Will had taken refuge in the Med's break room. He had waited for Connor to leave, still feeling a strong nausea inside him.

He'd managed to get to the nearest bathroom before emptying his stomach, and after washing his face, he'd isolated himself. He needed to breathe, to be alone.

But something had changed.

He had cried, he had spoken, he had let someone see his suffering and although he was still wounded in his body, in his pride, in his heart, he felt a little more... human.

He wasn't strong, he wasn't healed, I know a man who was trying not to sink.