Chicago PD/Chicago Med fic Together
Title: Together
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
A/N: Fills my trapped together prompt for hc_bingo. Unbeta’ed.
Summary: If Jay’s alive, then there’s a chance Will is, too.
-o-
Jay’s been in tough spots before, and that’s just how it goes. He’s come to expect it, in some ways. He seeks trouble out, and it finds him. Magnets, drawn to each other. It’s something he’s accepted. It’s okay. If he gets shot or beaten, kidnapped or stabbed, it’s just okay.
He’ll take the risk. For himself, he’ll take the risk.
He’s never expected that risk to extend to anyone else. His duty is to protect and serve, but here he is, trapped in a collapsed building after a damn bomb goes off, trapped.
Side by side with his brother.
-o-
Jay’s just this side of conscious, but this is what he knows.
First, there was a bomb. He’d seen the spat of suspicious behavior at breakfast, noticing a series of unexplained coincidences at the diner where he’d been eating eggs and drinking bitter coffee. He’d only meant to check things out, but he’d stumbled across a bomb in a bag, ticking down to zero.
Second, he’s saved lives. With a time, he’d called in backup, demanded the bomb squad and started to clear the building. All the patrons had exited in an orderly fashion. He’d cleared the wait staff. He wasn’t sure about the cooks, though, who probably escaped out the back before he had a chance to sweep the kitchen.
Third, he’d been too late to save himself. The team had been too slow. Bomb squad had been too far away. Jay couldn’t leave the building until he was sure, until he was absolutely sure. In the kitchen, he saw no one there. He also saw the bomb as it ticked down to zero.
Fourth, his brother hadn’t left him. He’d cleared the site right alongside Jay, no second thoughts. He’d told his brother to exit as he went back to check, but Will hadn’t listened. Will hadn’t listened.
Fifth, they’d both been there, at ground zero, when the explosion ripped through the kitchen, tearing a hole in the floor and collapsing the floor above them.
Just this side of conscious, Jay’s got an impeccable sense of what’s going on. What he doesn’t know, however, is if his brother is dead or alive.
-o-
Sitting up is painful work, but Jay does it anyway. His ribs groan in protest, and his head spins. For a second, he thinks he might be sick, but he squeezes his eyes shut and breathes through it.
When he opens his eyes again, he’s a bit more collected. Things are hazy, but he realizes quickly that that’s not his vision. That’s just the dust from the explosion. Debris is everywhere, and Jay makes out remnants of the kitchen and diner. Looking up, there’s no clear exit.
They’ve clearly fallen into a basement level, but it’s not clear what sort of access points there might be. His team will have to figure that out. Right now, Jay needs to focus on the fact that he’s alive.
If he’s alive, then there’s a chance Will is, too.
Sitting up is hard, but standing is excruciating. Jay’s side sings with protest, the pain lancing up and down his ribs with a surprising tenacity. They’re bruised, at least. Broken, probably.
It’s irrelevant. He takes a tentative step forward, just to prove he can. “Will!” he calls, his own voice resounding thinly off the debris that has encased them. “Will!”
There’s no response, just his own voice echoing back to him as the dust continues to settle.
“Will!” he tries again, mustering up his strength to yell louder this time. “Come on, talk to me! Tell me where you are!”
Will still doesn’t answer.
Jay should probably be used to that by now.
-o-
Will has a history, you see. He’s not always the most reliable guy. It’s hard to make sense of, and it’s just part of the inconsistency that is Will Halstead. The smartest guy, the dumbest guy. The hardest worker, the quickest quitter. In a pinch, he’s good for anything, but if you give him an out, he’ll probably take it.
Not with trauma on the line, mind you.
Just with everything else in life.
He’s a frustrating guy to have as a brother. He’s frustrated Jay all his life, and by God, he’s frustrating Jay now.
Getting caught up in an explosion.
Not leaving when he should.
Then, having the audacity to leave Jay here in the dark, yelling his name into the emptiness.
If he didn’t love his brother so damn much, he might actually hate the guy.
Searching is hard, too. The debris is heavy and dangerous, and Jay’s got limited ability to see and poor mobility. He moves his way slowly and painfully over the worst of it, looking for any trace of his idiot brother.
Then, startling, a sound breaks the air.
It’s not Will, though.
It’s his phone.
Jay feels it, vibrating in his pocket, and he fumbles as he drags it out, almost embarrassed that he hasn’t thought about it yet. It’s only been a few minutes, but still.
Will makes him an idiot, too.
“Jay?” Voight asks, his voice unmistakable even over the ringing in his ears. “Tell me you got out.”
So, back up is here at least. Jay tries to feel relieved, but the emotion doesn’t come. “There wasn’t enough time,” he says, and he’s almost surprised by the sound of his own voice. He doesn’t sound half as terrified as he feels. “The blast blew out the floor. It dropped me down into a basement or something. I’m in an open pocket, but I can’t get out.”
The assessment sounds almost professional.
Like he’s got it under control.
Voight, at least knows him well enough to dig deeper. “Are you hurt?”
Jay winces, as if remembering his battered body for the first time. “Nothing serious,” he says. “I’ll live.”
There’s almost audible relief. “Are you alone?”
Voight said relieved, but Jay’s not. He can’t be. “He was with me, Sarge. He was right next to me when the bomb went off, but I can’t find him. I can’t find him anywhere.”
The panic is rising, then. That professionalism proves to be as thin as it feels. Voight seems to know that, too. “We’re still clearing the area from up top, making sure things are stable before we get to you,” he explains. “So just keep looking. Stay calm. We’ve got the whole team here, Fire, too. We’re going to get you out. We’re going to get you both out.”
It's a promise.
It's the only promise that matters.
Jay just wishes he believed it.
-o-
Belief is inconsequential. Action is all. What you believe is easy to change. What you do lasts.
So, Jay looks for his brother. Whether Voight gers them out in time or not, Jay's going to find his brother.
It's not a novelty, really, Jay looking for Will. Will left the second he graduated and he never looked back. New York, Africa, anywhere but here.
It seems familiar, see.
Just not with these stakes.
Usually Will is off, studying or partying. Saving lives or sleeping with beautiful girls.
He's safe, usually. He's safe.
If he could just find his brother now.
But he looks and looks, sifting through the rubble, picking through the pieces. All the time he spent looking for Will, and Will’s not there.
Will’s not here.
But then, in the debris, he spots something familiar. A hand, an arm. A dress shoe, a leg. A torso. Red hair.
He wishes for the first time in his life that his brother wasn't here after all.
-o-
There's a certain amount of shock, having been through an explosion and uncovering his brother’s body, but Jay’s got no time for angst.
More to the point, Will’s got no time.
He pushes away as much loose debris as he can, before shifting the heavier pieces clear. It hurts like hell, pulling on his ribs, but he ignores it. He's strained and sweaty when he's done, and he half collapses to his knees, exhausted as he reaches out, his own bloody fingers against the pulse point on Will’s neck. It takes a moment to still his own heart, and he makes out the faint flutter.
He's alive.
Will’s alive.
-o-
Finding Will is only half the battle. With Will, he has to convince him to stay.
He's always looking to leave.
And Jay needs him to stay.
He's just not sure Will can this time.
He's checked that Will’s alive, but he's no doctor. His brother is pale and lifeless, and he doesn't respond to Jay's ministrations. He's limpid on the ground, and his pulse seems weak, his heart fast. He's breathing, but barely.
He doesn't have to be a doctor to figure out what's wrong.
As he uncovers his brother, he finds the problem.
A piece of metal, protruding from his chest, jabbed deep into the tender flesh of Will’s chest.
The stakes for convincing Will to stay have never been higher.
-o-
There's a moment of panic, then.
Will's still out cold, and he’s been impaled. They're trapped in the basement, a whole damn building on top of them. There's no telling how long it will be to get them out. There's no telling how long Will even has.
He tears away Will’s shirt, but it doesn't tell him much. The metal looks deep, and he knows enough not to pull it out. It's hit his chest, opposite of his heart. A lung maybe.
He holds a hand on Will’s chest and feels the ragged rise and fall.
"Come on," he cajoled, lifting his hand to Will’s cheek, turning his face toward him. "Will, you're the doctor here. I failed first aid, remember?"
He's not that bad, but he's not good either. Will's slack features don't twitch, though. He's still out.
"Please, Will," he implores. "I need you, bro."
He watches. He waits. He hopes.
There's no response.
Will’s right here but he’s never felt so far away.
-o-
Voight's not here, and Will’s still unconscious so Jay does what he can. It's better than nothing.
He clears away more of the scene, clearing the space around Will with sone care. He finds some bottled water, likely from upstairs, and he uses some to drink but opens another bottle to tend to Will. He rips up some of his over shirt, wetting it. Then, he cleans up Will’s face, washing away the worst of the grime and blood.
Will’s still breathing, but he doesn't stir. He's covered with abrasions and cuts, but nothing seems as serious as the metal I'm Will’s chest. There's a bloody gash on the side of his head, and Jay wonders if that's why Will won't wake up.
Or if he's lost too much blood.
If he's in pain.
If there's something else Jay doesn't know yet.
The possibilities are vast. They're daunting.
And all Jay can do is wipe the blood away.
It's better than nothing.
It's not enough.
-o-
He gets another call; it’s Voight again.
“30 minutes,” he reports. “I’m pushing CFD for more, but that’s the best they can give me right now. 30 minutes.”
Jay wants to be relieved, but sitting over his brother, it’s a hard emotion to rally.
On the other end of the line, Voight sounds concerned. “Jay? Are you okay? Do I need to tell them to go faster?”
Jay’s breath catches, and he swallows it back. His eyes are burning and he blinks hard. “I found Will.”
The proclamation is short. It’s quiet.
Voight waits a moment for him to elaborate, but in the silence, he hedges. “Is he okay?”
“Honestly?” Jay says, letting his gaze linger on his brother. He holds his ribs gingerly, eyes burning again. “I don’t know.”
“Just hold on,” Voight tells him. “We’re on our way.”
He lets the line go dead as he holds the phone. He looks at Will, slack features in the dim light. “Hear that, Will? You have to hold on.”
Will doesn’t listen.
(Will never listens.)
-o-
Jay continues clearing the debris. He opens up the floor around Will until it’s nearly spic and span. He keeps cleaning away as much blood as he can find, brushing the dust and debris from Will’s hair. He packs the wound in his side, careful to use clean cloth, and he sits close, watching his brother breathe.
30 minutes isn’t so long.
Will’s been gone for years at a time, after all.
Still, this 30 minutes seems longer still.
-o-
There are noises now. At first, they're sift, indistinct. But they become louder, clearer. Help us almost here.
That's the good news.
The bad news is Will doesn't seem to care. With rescue imminent, hid condition starts to decline. His breathing grows short and wet. He staggers with each inhale, and each exhale sounds final
Then, as the debris starts to open, Jay hears voices just as Will starts to shake. Small, pronounced tremors. With clammy skin, Jay's no doctor, but he recognizes the surefire signs of shock as the body starts to shut down.
Jay never could get Will to come back for him.
He just hopes now is different.
-o-
Then, there's light.
Jay cranes his neck up, seeing the open spot in the floor wider still. Figures are silhouetted there, and Jay recognizes Severide. Voight is poised behind him.
"Jay! How are you doing?" his boss's voice booms into the space, and Jay feels an inexplicable urge to cry.
"Been better," he calls back. "Ready to get the hell out of here!"
"Just sit tight," Severide says, strapped into his rappelling gear. "We're coming down now."
The relief is a very real thing, and he drops back down next to his brother. "They're here," he says. "We're getting out of here, Will."
He reaches down, clasping Will by the shoulder. The sound of Will’s breathing has eased. The shaking has dissipated, and for a second, Jay embraces hope.
Until he feels the stillness in his brother’s body, the colorless hue of his features.
He frowns, reaching toward Will’s chest. There's no movement.
He reaches to Will’s neck, but the pulse is gone. He checks again, again, again, but the stillness persists. It’s not the pulse that’s gone. It’s Will.
Will’s gone.
-o-
“Hey!” he calls, and his own voice sounds foreign as it lilts. His own breathing is tight suddenly, the ribs or the renewed fear. Or both. “Will, he’s, hes-“
“Is he breathing?” Sylvie calls, perched over the opening while Kelly continues being lowered down.
“No,” he calls back, just this side of panic now. “I can’t feel his pulse.”
“Check again,” Sylvie says. “Can you do that?”
Wincing, Jay braces his ribs, leaning down once more. He stills himself, striving for calm he doesn’t feel. His fingers press deep into Will’s neck, the other hand splayed on his chest. He thinks he’s imagined it at first, but there’s a pulse. Faint. Erratic. But there.
“Okay, I found it,” he calls up. “I found the pulse.”
The hope fades as fast as it’s born as he gets a better look at Will. His face isn’t just lax. It looks strange. His color is wrong. “But he’s going blue,” he says, and he cranes his neck up again. “Why’s he going blue?”
“He’s not moving enough air,” Sylvie says, and his face is drawn and vexed. “Could be on the cusp of respiratory arrest. “You’ll need to breathe for him. Rescue breathing. Can you do that?”
Jay’s not a doctor, and his first aid skills are subpar. But this is Will. This is Will.
He can do anything for Will.
“Tilt his head back, and pinch his nose,” Sylvie coaches, watching as Jay clumsily moves into position next to his brother’s side. “Good, good. Make sure his airway’s open.”
Will’s limp, posable like a doll, and it’s a disconcerting thing, but Jay does it anyway.
“Good, now blow in the breaths,” Sylvie says. “Give him everything. All you have.”
Everything.
All Jay has.
The breath in his lungs, all of it.
He’ll give until there’s nothing left.
Just him and Will.
Will and him.
Will.
And him.
-o-
So he breathes.
His air into Will’s lungs.
He watches as his brother’s chest rises and falls, rises and falls.
One inhales, the other exhales.
They’ll do it together.
They’ll succeed this time, Jay tells himself, because they’re doing it together.
-o-
It’s mere seconds, or it’s a lifetime, Jay’s not sure. It’s both, probably. But then Kelly is pulling him back, and Jay falls hard on his ass while Severide takes over. Jay's chest is killing him now, and his ears are ringing again. It’s not the sound anymore, though. He can’t think about it; he can’t.
He watches as another pair of rescuers come down. One of them is Sylvie, and she brushes past Severide, prepping Will and barking out orders as the gear is unfurled. She sets up an IV; her partner sets up the monitors. They use a bag to squeeze air into Will’s lungs, but Sylvie doesn’t like what she sees on the monitors.
“I want to get his O2 levels up,” she says. “Can we intubate? Where’s the extraction?”
She glances back. More of the fire crew have come down, and someone has produced a stretcher on cables while Jay’s been preoccupied.
There’s a rush of voices, and Jay is momentarily disoriented. Kelly pulls him back again, and Jay realizes he’s straining against him.
“Get it ready,” Sylvie says, and she turns back to Will. “Intubation kit?”
It’s already been produced, and Sylvie moves around to Will’s head, taking the kit as she removes the mask and adjusts Will’s chin. She’s done this before, even under worse conditions than a collapsed basement. Her partner holds up the light so they can see, and Jay feels frozen in place while she slides the tube past Will’s lips, catching slightly in his throat, before it moves the rest of the way in and she hooks up the bag and starts squeezing.
Her partner looks at the monitor, seemingly satisfied. “Back up to 95,” is the report.
“Good,” Sylvie agrees. “Is the wound packed?”
“As much as possible,” her partner replies. “Are you sure we shouldn’t remove it?”
“Triage 101. It stays in. It could be keeping him alive,” she deduces, on her feet once more. “Now come on. Let’s move.”
Within seconds, they have Will loaded onto the stretcher, and they hoist him between them. Jay staggers to his feet, making to follow, but Severide holds him back.
“We can only get you out one at a time,” he explains, and he sounds sorry. “Will first. You’ll just have to follow.”
Jay turns back, watching his brother as he’s maneuvered up on the ropes, metal in his chest and all, to the waiting crew up top.
Will first.
Jay will have to follow.
Like that’s not a story he hasn’t told before.
At this point, he’s pretty used to being left behind.
-o-
Once Will is secure up top, they come back for Jay. His own well being seems like something of an afterthought to him - everyone keeps asking, annoyingly, if he’s okay - and Jay acquiesces only because he wants to be with his brother.
His indifference to the question aside, the rigging is more painful than he expects as it presses against his ribs. His breathing is tight as they lift him, and the slow, ragged motions make the pain flare up again and again.
At the top, he’s breathless, and when he tries to get his feet, he falters. He half catches himself, but Voight’s already there, a hand on his arm, keeping him up right.
“Come on,” Voight says. “They’ve got a second rig for you.”
Jay tries to push him off, halfway disentangling himself from his boss’ grip. “No,” he says. “I’ve got to get to Will.”
Voight doesn’t let go, however. “And they’ve already got him at the hospital,” he says. “You’re not exactly looking the best, Jay.”
The concern is misplaced. Jay shakes his head. “But Will-”
Voight, somehow, keeps his cool even when Jay has not retained his. “Will is at Med, I told you,” he says, pulling Jay forward another few steps. “Which is, consequently, where you’re going.”
Jay drags his feet, ready to protest again.
Voight looks at him. “We can do this the easy way, where you are awake and conscious to ask about Will yourself,” he says. “Or we can do it the hard way, where I drag your unconscious ass there myself. Which will it be?”
Jay’s an idiot, but he’s not that much of an idiot.
The easy way, then.
As if anything with Will is ever easy.
-o-
The medics tend to him with far too much gravitas. Outside, it’s quite the scene, and there’s people from PD and FD everywhere. His own team gives him passing encouragement, and Jay wishes that the police perimeter had a tighter control on it. Every on duty cop in the city has seen him now, being loaded up like an invalid.
He tries to convince the medics that he’s fine, but they believe him less than Voight. They go on about his oxygen levels, and they keep talking about his side like it’s some kind of big deal. But, when they palpate his ribs, Jay does gasp so hard that he nearly passes out.
When his vision clears, he’s on a gurney.
At least at this point, Jay’s pretty good at rolling with things.
-o-
He rolls with things, but he doesn’t like them. That’s possibly a given, and honestly, he feels justified right now. He’s been in an explosion, and here he is, cooped up in the back of some damn ambulance. Small, dangerous, and overpriced, he’s bouncing his way to Med with all due haste.
Jay hates ambulances. He always has; he always will.
The lights, the noise, the medics and their nonstop fussing.
But none of it seems to matter.
He hates this ambulance because it’s not the one Will’s in.
And Will is-
Will is-
Jay looks, turning his head toward the medic who is tending him. “Do you know how my brother is?”
The medic smiles. “Detective Halstead, your brother is probably already at Med. I’m sure they’re taking good care of him.”
Jay shakes his head. “But Will-”
“Is being cared for,” the medic assures him. “Which is what we’re doing for you, too.”
“I’m fine,” Jay says.
The medic offers him a benign smile. “Well, let’s let the doctor determine that. Your heart rate is elevated, and you’ve got decreased breath sounds on the right-”
He says it like it matters.
It doesn’t matter.
Jay shakes his head. “My brother-”
The medic adjusts the IV. “We’ll be there soon,” he promises. “Just hold on.”
It’s a dismissal. It’s intended to put him off. As if Jay can be dissuaded from worrying about his brother.
He sighs, letting his head loll back to center as he looks at the ceiling of the ambulance as it rocks over the street, sirens blaring.
Jay’s out of the basement.
Which is ironic.
He’s never felt more trapped.
-o-
He gets there with much fanfare, and it’s disorienting watching the ED spin by on his back. There are flashes of familiar faces and he’s wheeled into a familiar room. They transfer him to a waiting bed, and the lights are turned on bright. The medic claps him on the shoulder and disappears before he sees a young, blonde doctor above him.
She smiles. “So you’re the infamous Detective Halstead?” she quips. “I’ve heard all about you, but I was hoping we’d meet under less auspicious circumstances.”
Jay doesn’t know what to say.
She turns her head to the side. “I’m Dr. Hammer. Stevie. I work with Will. We’re friends from way back.”
Jay doesn’t have the energy for niceties. “I’m fine,” he tells her with some notion that such a declaration might be enough.
“So, it’s good to see the stubborn stupidity is a Halstead trait and not just a character flaw in Will,” she says. The nurses are moving around him, hooking up the monitors, checking his vitals. “Let’s just see how you’re doing. You got caught in an explosion?”
Jay doesn’t want to do this anymore. “I’m fine,” he says again, and this time he tries to sit up.
The nurses react, swelling around him and Stevie steps forward with a restraining hand on his shoulder. “Seriously,” she says. “Explosion, right? I heard you fell through the floor. Medic thinks you broke some ribs, and if you could just let me-”
She’s reaching for her stethoscope, but there’s no way in hell Jay’s sitting still for that. He attempts to lever himself upward again, this time putting off the nurses and Stevie reaches him just as he swings his legs over the side of the bed.
And just as something pops - loudly and painfully - in his side.
His senses are momentarily flooded, a swell of heat that spreads out from his chest. Then, just as fast, he’s swamped with a cold chill, which deepens when he tries to take a breath and finds it wanting.
He tries again, and this time his whole chest seizes up. The air isn’t moving, and the strained sound is foreign in his own throat. He’s choking now, gagging on his own lack of oxygen, and Stevie’s hands are firm on his shoulders once more, pushing him back down.
This time, he can’t fight her.
She settles him back as one of the nurses arranges his legs on the gurney. He blinks as the world shifts out of focus, and he’s experiencing things a second after they happen. Stevie is yelling something now, calling for something, and when her eyes lock with him, she suddenly looks scared.
“Jay, I need you to calm down,” she says. “Can you do that? Can you calm down?”
Jay strains to no avail, the thin wheeze barely audible. “Will-”
Stevie’s face is set and terse. “I need the damn x-ray, and someone prep him for a chest tube, please?”
His shirt is cut away. Something cold is swabbed on his chest, and a machine is brought to bear. The light flashes, and Jay blinks.
He blinks and Stevie’s there again. She’s holding a scalpel.
He feels the first cut, the pressure of the blade on his exposed chest.
And then nothing at all.
-o-
Jay knows better than to fight it. There’s only so much he can take, and when his body gives up, it just gives up. He’s been here before, and he hates to think he’ll be here again. Whatever, though. He’s here now.
Sapped and drained.
It’s no wonder, probably.
He’s given Will all he has.
And there’s nothing left for him.
-o-
But Will comes back.
He goes, he runs.
And then he’s always come back.
If he comes back this time, Jay wants to be there. Jay needs to be there.
Jay needs to wake up.
-o-
When he does wake up, he’s not pleased to find he’s still in the hospital. Worse, he’s in a gown, hooked up to an IV. It takes him all of five seconds to realize they’ve put him in a room.
It takes another five seconds, as he tries to sit up, to realize why.
He’s still got a tube in his chest, draining bloody mucus out into a bag. He’s clearly on some good drugs right now, but he can tell that it’s supposed to hurt like hell.
Before this fact can annoy him or cause him disconcertion, he realizes he’s not alone. From the bedside, Stevie comes to attention. “Hey,” she says, smiling at him. “You’re up.”
Jay frowns at her, not sure what to say. “You’ve just been sitting there?”
She lifts her shoulder, by way of apology, by way of explanation. “You’re Will’s brother. I felt like he’d do it for me, if I had a brother. I wanted to return the proverbial favor.”
That’s not quite normal, but Jay will have to inquire about Will’s relationship with this moment later. Right now, he still needs to inquire about Will. He puts his other thoughts aside and focuses back on point. “How is Will?”
She doesn’t seem surprised by the question. “Let’s start with you,” she suggests, as if this is a negotiation. It’s not, and Jay realizes with dismay that he’s the one taking the orders, not giving them. “You had three broken ribs. With all your jostling down in the ED, you managed to puncture your lung with all three of them. It was a mess, but it looks like you just narrowly avoided surgery. The chest tube, however, is necessary, and so is a night in ICU I’m afraid.”
That sounds miserable. Which makes sense. He feels miserable. He’s not going to dwell on it, though. “And Will?” he asks, far more to the point.
She seems like a woman of her word, at least. “Will’s in surgery,” she says, and she does a remarkably good job of acting like she’s okay with that even though Jay can tell she’s not. “Removing the metal isn’t going to be an easy job, but it’s not as bad as it could have been. They’ll have to repair his lung, but there are no other major organs involved. Dr. Marcel thinks it’s doable.”
That’s a roundabout answer, the kind Will’s so fond of. Jay’s always preferred the bottom line. “But he’ll be okay?”
“It’s going to be awhile,” she tells him. “There’s a lot of repair work to be done.”
“But he’ll be okay,” Jay says, pushing for a definitive answer. “Will’s going to be okay, right?”
She sighs, and he sees the professional guise fall. “I’m not in there, and I’m not a surgeon,” she says. “But we’re pumping him with blood and fluids, and keeping his oxygenation rates high. Will can be stubborn, he’ll dig in his heels. Dr. Marcel would never give you odds, but I’d call him optimistic. With Will? We’re all optimistic.”
Optimism, Jay thinks, letting himself dwell on the idea.
What a novel concept, indeed.
-o-
Waiting isn’t easy, and the fact that Jay’s stuck in a bed doesn’t help. Stevie offers to stay, but he quickly dismisses her. There’s an awkwardness to the two of them together, and he doesn’t need that yet. She and Will have to figure that part out for themselves. Jay’s got enough on his plate with Hailey.
Not to mention Will.
The ups and downs over the years, the resentments and the fights, it’s not always clear what’s different now between them.
Except that they’re together.
Just that.
Nothing more.
Somehow, especially right now in their distance, it feels like enough.
-o-
Stevie leaves, and Hailey visits. She sits with him, holding his hand, telling him how much he scared her.
He smiles, trying to reassure her. “I’m not the kind who leaves,” he reminds her.
She huffs, even as she smiles. “You’re too stupid to know when to cut and run.”
“Sometimes,” he relents, squeezing her fingers. “But not this time.”
She presses a kiss to his lips. “Not this time,” she agrees.
-o-
Hailey only leaves because Jay tells her to go. He needs her out there, closing this case. Someone hurt him - someone hurt his brother - and he needs to make sure that’s atoned for. Usually, he’d do it himself, but the tube in his chest is a daunting reality. Plus, he’s not leaving his brother behind.
It’s clear Hailey isn’t keen to leave, but she does it because Jay has asked her so explicitly. She promises to be back; he promises to be here when she is.
There’s still no update on Will - just that surgery is ongoing - and Jay’s about ready to rip out the chest tube and go check for himself when Voight turns up at his hospital bed.
“Don’t you have a case?” Jay asks him.
Voight takes the veiled criticism without flinching. “The team’s on it,” he says. “And I won’t be long.”
Jay wants to be angry, and he is angry. It’s just that he’s not actually angry with Voight, who has done nothing wrong. It’s not Voight’s fault Jay found a bomb. It’s not Voight’s fault it went off. It’s not Voight’s fault that Jay has a moron for a brother, and that that moron is in surgery right now.
“Fine,” he says tersely. “How’s it going?”
“I’m not here to talk about the case,” Voight says. “How are you?”
Jay sighs, exasperated. “Broken ribs, punctured lung,” he recites. He shrugs. “I’m fine.”
Voight considers that, clearly making his assessment. “They said Will’s in surgery.”
This time, it’s Jay who flinches. They both know that Voight’s found the sensitive spot.
Voight’s not here for the case. Voight’s not here because Jay’s in any peril. Voight’s here because he knows Jay too well, and he knows exactly what’s going through his mind right now.
“You did everything right,” Voight tells him. He’s not one for small talk. He doesn’t make empty promises, and he doesn’t flatter people, even when they’re at their lowest. “With the bomb, clearing the scene, everything. You did it all right.”
“I got everyone out except my brother,” Jay says, disgusted with himself. “Like anything else matters.”
Voight’s unswayed, though. “Everything else matters,” he says. “Will wasn’t just going to leave you behind. It was always going to be the two of you. Always.”
That’s a point that Jay finds he has no choice but to concede.
-o-
Stevie tells him when Will’s out of surgery, and she’s very clear on the fact that he did very well. “They removed the metal, repaired the damage, and it looks good,” she explains. “We’ll need to watch him carefully, give him time to heal, but it looks good, Jay. It looks good.”
She tries not to dwell on the part where Will’s still unconscious, heavily sedated and intubated. He’s going to be spending a few days in the ICU, maybe a week, while he recovers. His lung capacity is compromised. He’s lost more blood than he can spare, and he crashed once on the table before they got him back.
Jay still remembers the stillness in Will’s chest, the feeling of his air in his brother’s lungs.
Good, he decides, is an acceptably relative delineation in times like these.
-o-
Jay’s in no position of power, but it’s clear Stevie’s got a soft spot for him. Rather, he suspects she has a soft spot for Will. Either way, Jay leverages it for all it’s worth, and he convinces her to put him and Will in the same ICU room.
It takes some time to arrange, and it’s a bit of a hassle. Jay’s worn out by the commotion, and he’s sore and tired by the time all is said and done. He’s just dozing off when it starts up again, this time because Will is being brought in from recovery.
It’s quite the to-do, and in all the fuss, Will looks worse than ever. He’s painfully still, and Jay watches as he’s moved and arranged under the mess of equipment. They carefully set up the monitors, and someone takes time to make sure that the intubation tube is set somewhat comfortably around his mouth, securing the straps gently as the tube snakes back toward the hissing ventilator. There’s still a bag of blood on the IV stand, and Will’s arranged in sleeping repose, as though it’s going to make a difference how his arms are laid out by his sides.
The fact of the matter is that Will looks worse now than he did back in the basement. In the hospital lights, it’s easy to see just how colorless Will looks. There’s a tepid hue to his skin, and his cheeks look sallow. In all the commotion, Will’s face is bruised and scratched with his red hair matted awkwardly on his head.
He doesn’t look it, but he’s alive.
Jay finds solace in that fact.
When everyone seems satisfied, they check Will one more time, and then they check Jay for good measure. When there’s nothing left to check, they leave the two of them alone.
Confined to beds in an ICU room.
Jay can’t decide if this is a better or worse place to be trapped.
In the end, it doesn’t matter where.
It just matters that it’s the two of them, two brothers, trapped against the odds.
But they’re together.
And that makes everything okay.
-o-
Will sleeps.
Jay tries to stay awake, but it’s more than he can bear. The hours are long, and the drugs are good, and he sleeps, too.
He wakes up with a start each time, reminding himself that Will's still here.
Will’s still here.
-o-
It’s not perfect, of course. They’re both hospitalized, and Will’s condition is serious. Jay’s not exactly doing perfectly, and the tube in his side chafes in more ways than one.
But he thinks of his mother’s long fight with cancer.
He thinks of his brother, running off halfway across the world without looking back.;
He thinks of his dad, dying after Jay scolds him one last time.
They came through all that.
Jay believes, he willfully believes, they’ll come through this too.
-o-
Will’s let him down a lot in life.
But not this time.
This time, Will comes through.
This time, Will’s vitals stabilize.
This time, they take out the tube.
This time, Will wakes up.
This time, Will stays.
-o-
Jay feels like he’s been waiting forever, but it’s really only been about 24 hours. They’ve had visitors come and go, but the hospital staff seems to do a pretty good job of giving them some privacy. Will takes his sweet time about things, stirring on and off for several hours. There’s a few times he seems awake, but it’s only when his eyes stay open and he turns his head toward Jay that he’s actually coherent.
Coherent, but really confused.
“Jay?” he asks, having to swallow a few times to get his voice to work. His forehead wrinkles as he looks at Jay across the way. Jay’s still got the damn tube on his side, and he’s relegated to bed rest, too. “What happened?”
It’s probably an expected question, but Jay doesn’t know where to start. The last few days. The last few years. The last few decades. “Well, you and me were having breakfast,” he says. “We got into a bit of a tight spot.”
He’s keeping it vague while still trying to answer the question, but the lack of clarity only seems to concern Will more. “Are we in the hospital?” he asks, voice still strained and wobbly. “Are you hurt?”
It figures Will would notice that much. “A little, but you got the worst of it,” he says. “I’m fine, though. You’re fine, too, in case you were wondering.”
Will lets his head ease back a little, and he seems to consider that answer. He glances around the room, taking in the monitors, before scanning the length of his own body. “I don’t remember anything.”
“It’s okay,” Jay tells him, finally allowing himself a smile. “You will.”
Will’s eyes are still clouded when he looks at Jay again, and it’s not clear how much he understands. But there’s no pain, no distrust. His head dips toward Jay sleepily, eyes starting to grow heavy once more. “But we’re okay?”
It’s a question of trust. It’s a question of camaraderie. It’s the question of the two of them, together.
Will’s come back to him again.
And Jay plans to make sure he never leaves again. “We’re together, aren’t we?l
Now, Will smiles a little, he nods even sleepier than before. “Yeah,” he muses, even as his eyes close. “We’re together.”
It’s all either of them needs for now.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
A/N: Fills my trapped together prompt for hc_bingo. Unbeta’ed.
Summary: If Jay’s alive, then there’s a chance Will is, too.
-o-
Jay’s been in tough spots before, and that’s just how it goes. He’s come to expect it, in some ways. He seeks trouble out, and it finds him. Magnets, drawn to each other. It’s something he’s accepted. It’s okay. If he gets shot or beaten, kidnapped or stabbed, it’s just okay.
He’ll take the risk. For himself, he’ll take the risk.
He’s never expected that risk to extend to anyone else. His duty is to protect and serve, but here he is, trapped in a collapsed building after a damn bomb goes off, trapped.
Side by side with his brother.
-o-
Jay’s just this side of conscious, but this is what he knows.
First, there was a bomb. He’d seen the spat of suspicious behavior at breakfast, noticing a series of unexplained coincidences at the diner where he’d been eating eggs and drinking bitter coffee. He’d only meant to check things out, but he’d stumbled across a bomb in a bag, ticking down to zero.
Second, he’s saved lives. With a time, he’d called in backup, demanded the bomb squad and started to clear the building. All the patrons had exited in an orderly fashion. He’d cleared the wait staff. He wasn’t sure about the cooks, though, who probably escaped out the back before he had a chance to sweep the kitchen.
Third, he’d been too late to save himself. The team had been too slow. Bomb squad had been too far away. Jay couldn’t leave the building until he was sure, until he was absolutely sure. In the kitchen, he saw no one there. He also saw the bomb as it ticked down to zero.
Fourth, his brother hadn’t left him. He’d cleared the site right alongside Jay, no second thoughts. He’d told his brother to exit as he went back to check, but Will hadn’t listened. Will hadn’t listened.
Fifth, they’d both been there, at ground zero, when the explosion ripped through the kitchen, tearing a hole in the floor and collapsing the floor above them.
Just this side of conscious, Jay’s got an impeccable sense of what’s going on. What he doesn’t know, however, is if his brother is dead or alive.
-o-
Sitting up is painful work, but Jay does it anyway. His ribs groan in protest, and his head spins. For a second, he thinks he might be sick, but he squeezes his eyes shut and breathes through it.
When he opens his eyes again, he’s a bit more collected. Things are hazy, but he realizes quickly that that’s not his vision. That’s just the dust from the explosion. Debris is everywhere, and Jay makes out remnants of the kitchen and diner. Looking up, there’s no clear exit.
They’ve clearly fallen into a basement level, but it’s not clear what sort of access points there might be. His team will have to figure that out. Right now, Jay needs to focus on the fact that he’s alive.
If he’s alive, then there’s a chance Will is, too.
Sitting up is hard, but standing is excruciating. Jay’s side sings with protest, the pain lancing up and down his ribs with a surprising tenacity. They’re bruised, at least. Broken, probably.
It’s irrelevant. He takes a tentative step forward, just to prove he can. “Will!” he calls, his own voice resounding thinly off the debris that has encased them. “Will!”
There’s no response, just his own voice echoing back to him as the dust continues to settle.
“Will!” he tries again, mustering up his strength to yell louder this time. “Come on, talk to me! Tell me where you are!”
Will still doesn’t answer.
Jay should probably be used to that by now.
-o-
Will has a history, you see. He’s not always the most reliable guy. It’s hard to make sense of, and it’s just part of the inconsistency that is Will Halstead. The smartest guy, the dumbest guy. The hardest worker, the quickest quitter. In a pinch, he’s good for anything, but if you give him an out, he’ll probably take it.
Not with trauma on the line, mind you.
Just with everything else in life.
He’s a frustrating guy to have as a brother. He’s frustrated Jay all his life, and by God, he’s frustrating Jay now.
Getting caught up in an explosion.
Not leaving when he should.
Then, having the audacity to leave Jay here in the dark, yelling his name into the emptiness.
If he didn’t love his brother so damn much, he might actually hate the guy.
Searching is hard, too. The debris is heavy and dangerous, and Jay’s got limited ability to see and poor mobility. He moves his way slowly and painfully over the worst of it, looking for any trace of his idiot brother.
Then, startling, a sound breaks the air.
It’s not Will, though.
It’s his phone.
Jay feels it, vibrating in his pocket, and he fumbles as he drags it out, almost embarrassed that he hasn’t thought about it yet. It’s only been a few minutes, but still.
Will makes him an idiot, too.
“Jay?” Voight asks, his voice unmistakable even over the ringing in his ears. “Tell me you got out.”
So, back up is here at least. Jay tries to feel relieved, but the emotion doesn’t come. “There wasn’t enough time,” he says, and he’s almost surprised by the sound of his own voice. He doesn’t sound half as terrified as he feels. “The blast blew out the floor. It dropped me down into a basement or something. I’m in an open pocket, but I can’t get out.”
The assessment sounds almost professional.
Like he’s got it under control.
Voight, at least knows him well enough to dig deeper. “Are you hurt?”
Jay winces, as if remembering his battered body for the first time. “Nothing serious,” he says. “I’ll live.”
There’s almost audible relief. “Are you alone?”
Voight said relieved, but Jay’s not. He can’t be. “He was with me, Sarge. He was right next to me when the bomb went off, but I can’t find him. I can’t find him anywhere.”
The panic is rising, then. That professionalism proves to be as thin as it feels. Voight seems to know that, too. “We’re still clearing the area from up top, making sure things are stable before we get to you,” he explains. “So just keep looking. Stay calm. We’ve got the whole team here, Fire, too. We’re going to get you out. We’re going to get you both out.”
It's a promise.
It's the only promise that matters.
Jay just wishes he believed it.
-o-
Belief is inconsequential. Action is all. What you believe is easy to change. What you do lasts.
So, Jay looks for his brother. Whether Voight gers them out in time or not, Jay's going to find his brother.
It's not a novelty, really, Jay looking for Will. Will left the second he graduated and he never looked back. New York, Africa, anywhere but here.
It seems familiar, see.
Just not with these stakes.
Usually Will is off, studying or partying. Saving lives or sleeping with beautiful girls.
He's safe, usually. He's safe.
If he could just find his brother now.
But he looks and looks, sifting through the rubble, picking through the pieces. All the time he spent looking for Will, and Will’s not there.
Will’s not here.
But then, in the debris, he spots something familiar. A hand, an arm. A dress shoe, a leg. A torso. Red hair.
He wishes for the first time in his life that his brother wasn't here after all.
-o-
There's a certain amount of shock, having been through an explosion and uncovering his brother’s body, but Jay’s got no time for angst.
More to the point, Will’s got no time.
He pushes away as much loose debris as he can, before shifting the heavier pieces clear. It hurts like hell, pulling on his ribs, but he ignores it. He's strained and sweaty when he's done, and he half collapses to his knees, exhausted as he reaches out, his own bloody fingers against the pulse point on Will’s neck. It takes a moment to still his own heart, and he makes out the faint flutter.
He's alive.
Will’s alive.
-o-
Finding Will is only half the battle. With Will, he has to convince him to stay.
He's always looking to leave.
And Jay needs him to stay.
He's just not sure Will can this time.
He's checked that Will’s alive, but he's no doctor. His brother is pale and lifeless, and he doesn't respond to Jay's ministrations. He's limpid on the ground, and his pulse seems weak, his heart fast. He's breathing, but barely.
He doesn't have to be a doctor to figure out what's wrong.
As he uncovers his brother, he finds the problem.
A piece of metal, protruding from his chest, jabbed deep into the tender flesh of Will’s chest.
The stakes for convincing Will to stay have never been higher.
-o-
There's a moment of panic, then.
Will's still out cold, and he’s been impaled. They're trapped in the basement, a whole damn building on top of them. There's no telling how long it will be to get them out. There's no telling how long Will even has.
He tears away Will’s shirt, but it doesn't tell him much. The metal looks deep, and he knows enough not to pull it out. It's hit his chest, opposite of his heart. A lung maybe.
He holds a hand on Will’s chest and feels the ragged rise and fall.
"Come on," he cajoled, lifting his hand to Will’s cheek, turning his face toward him. "Will, you're the doctor here. I failed first aid, remember?"
He's not that bad, but he's not good either. Will's slack features don't twitch, though. He's still out.
"Please, Will," he implores. "I need you, bro."
He watches. He waits. He hopes.
There's no response.
Will’s right here but he’s never felt so far away.
-o-
Voight's not here, and Will’s still unconscious so Jay does what he can. It's better than nothing.
He clears away more of the scene, clearing the space around Will with sone care. He finds some bottled water, likely from upstairs, and he uses some to drink but opens another bottle to tend to Will. He rips up some of his over shirt, wetting it. Then, he cleans up Will’s face, washing away the worst of the grime and blood.
Will’s still breathing, but he doesn't stir. He's covered with abrasions and cuts, but nothing seems as serious as the metal I'm Will’s chest. There's a bloody gash on the side of his head, and Jay wonders if that's why Will won't wake up.
Or if he's lost too much blood.
If he's in pain.
If there's something else Jay doesn't know yet.
The possibilities are vast. They're daunting.
And all Jay can do is wipe the blood away.
It's better than nothing.
It's not enough.
-o-
He gets another call; it’s Voight again.
“30 minutes,” he reports. “I’m pushing CFD for more, but that’s the best they can give me right now. 30 minutes.”
Jay wants to be relieved, but sitting over his brother, it’s a hard emotion to rally.
On the other end of the line, Voight sounds concerned. “Jay? Are you okay? Do I need to tell them to go faster?”
Jay’s breath catches, and he swallows it back. His eyes are burning and he blinks hard. “I found Will.”
The proclamation is short. It’s quiet.
Voight waits a moment for him to elaborate, but in the silence, he hedges. “Is he okay?”
“Honestly?” Jay says, letting his gaze linger on his brother. He holds his ribs gingerly, eyes burning again. “I don’t know.”
“Just hold on,” Voight tells him. “We’re on our way.”
He lets the line go dead as he holds the phone. He looks at Will, slack features in the dim light. “Hear that, Will? You have to hold on.”
Will doesn’t listen.
(Will never listens.)
-o-
Jay continues clearing the debris. He opens up the floor around Will until it’s nearly spic and span. He keeps cleaning away as much blood as he can find, brushing the dust and debris from Will’s hair. He packs the wound in his side, careful to use clean cloth, and he sits close, watching his brother breathe.
30 minutes isn’t so long.
Will’s been gone for years at a time, after all.
Still, this 30 minutes seems longer still.
-o-
There are noises now. At first, they're sift, indistinct. But they become louder, clearer. Help us almost here.
That's the good news.
The bad news is Will doesn't seem to care. With rescue imminent, hid condition starts to decline. His breathing grows short and wet. He staggers with each inhale, and each exhale sounds final
Then, as the debris starts to open, Jay hears voices just as Will starts to shake. Small, pronounced tremors. With clammy skin, Jay's no doctor, but he recognizes the surefire signs of shock as the body starts to shut down.
Jay never could get Will to come back for him.
He just hopes now is different.
-o-
Then, there's light.
Jay cranes his neck up, seeing the open spot in the floor wider still. Figures are silhouetted there, and Jay recognizes Severide. Voight is poised behind him.
"Jay! How are you doing?" his boss's voice booms into the space, and Jay feels an inexplicable urge to cry.
"Been better," he calls back. "Ready to get the hell out of here!"
"Just sit tight," Severide says, strapped into his rappelling gear. "We're coming down now."
The relief is a very real thing, and he drops back down next to his brother. "They're here," he says. "We're getting out of here, Will."
He reaches down, clasping Will by the shoulder. The sound of Will’s breathing has eased. The shaking has dissipated, and for a second, Jay embraces hope.
Until he feels the stillness in his brother’s body, the colorless hue of his features.
He frowns, reaching toward Will’s chest. There's no movement.
He reaches to Will’s neck, but the pulse is gone. He checks again, again, again, but the stillness persists. It’s not the pulse that’s gone. It’s Will.
Will’s gone.
-o-
“Hey!” he calls, and his own voice sounds foreign as it lilts. His own breathing is tight suddenly, the ribs or the renewed fear. Or both. “Will, he’s, hes-“
“Is he breathing?” Sylvie calls, perched over the opening while Kelly continues being lowered down.
“No,” he calls back, just this side of panic now. “I can’t feel his pulse.”
“Check again,” Sylvie says. “Can you do that?”
Wincing, Jay braces his ribs, leaning down once more. He stills himself, striving for calm he doesn’t feel. His fingers press deep into Will’s neck, the other hand splayed on his chest. He thinks he’s imagined it at first, but there’s a pulse. Faint. Erratic. But there.
“Okay, I found it,” he calls up. “I found the pulse.”
The hope fades as fast as it’s born as he gets a better look at Will. His face isn’t just lax. It looks strange. His color is wrong. “But he’s going blue,” he says, and he cranes his neck up again. “Why’s he going blue?”
“He’s not moving enough air,” Sylvie says, and his face is drawn and vexed. “Could be on the cusp of respiratory arrest. “You’ll need to breathe for him. Rescue breathing. Can you do that?”
Jay’s not a doctor, and his first aid skills are subpar. But this is Will. This is Will.
He can do anything for Will.
“Tilt his head back, and pinch his nose,” Sylvie coaches, watching as Jay clumsily moves into position next to his brother’s side. “Good, good. Make sure his airway’s open.”
Will’s limp, posable like a doll, and it’s a disconcerting thing, but Jay does it anyway.
“Good, now blow in the breaths,” Sylvie says. “Give him everything. All you have.”
Everything.
All Jay has.
The breath in his lungs, all of it.
He’ll give until there’s nothing left.
Just him and Will.
Will and him.
Will.
And him.
-o-
So he breathes.
His air into Will’s lungs.
He watches as his brother’s chest rises and falls, rises and falls.
One inhales, the other exhales.
They’ll do it together.
They’ll succeed this time, Jay tells himself, because they’re doing it together.
-o-
It’s mere seconds, or it’s a lifetime, Jay’s not sure. It’s both, probably. But then Kelly is pulling him back, and Jay falls hard on his ass while Severide takes over. Jay's chest is killing him now, and his ears are ringing again. It’s not the sound anymore, though. He can’t think about it; he can’t.
He watches as another pair of rescuers come down. One of them is Sylvie, and she brushes past Severide, prepping Will and barking out orders as the gear is unfurled. She sets up an IV; her partner sets up the monitors. They use a bag to squeeze air into Will’s lungs, but Sylvie doesn’t like what she sees on the monitors.
“I want to get his O2 levels up,” she says. “Can we intubate? Where’s the extraction?”
She glances back. More of the fire crew have come down, and someone has produced a stretcher on cables while Jay’s been preoccupied.
There’s a rush of voices, and Jay is momentarily disoriented. Kelly pulls him back again, and Jay realizes he’s straining against him.
“Get it ready,” Sylvie says, and she turns back to Will. “Intubation kit?”
It’s already been produced, and Sylvie moves around to Will’s head, taking the kit as she removes the mask and adjusts Will’s chin. She’s done this before, even under worse conditions than a collapsed basement. Her partner holds up the light so they can see, and Jay feels frozen in place while she slides the tube past Will’s lips, catching slightly in his throat, before it moves the rest of the way in and she hooks up the bag and starts squeezing.
Her partner looks at the monitor, seemingly satisfied. “Back up to 95,” is the report.
“Good,” Sylvie agrees. “Is the wound packed?”
“As much as possible,” her partner replies. “Are you sure we shouldn’t remove it?”
“Triage 101. It stays in. It could be keeping him alive,” she deduces, on her feet once more. “Now come on. Let’s move.”
Within seconds, they have Will loaded onto the stretcher, and they hoist him between them. Jay staggers to his feet, making to follow, but Severide holds him back.
“We can only get you out one at a time,” he explains, and he sounds sorry. “Will first. You’ll just have to follow.”
Jay turns back, watching his brother as he’s maneuvered up on the ropes, metal in his chest and all, to the waiting crew up top.
Will first.
Jay will have to follow.
Like that’s not a story he hasn’t told before.
At this point, he’s pretty used to being left behind.
-o-
Once Will is secure up top, they come back for Jay. His own well being seems like something of an afterthought to him - everyone keeps asking, annoyingly, if he’s okay - and Jay acquiesces only because he wants to be with his brother.
His indifference to the question aside, the rigging is more painful than he expects as it presses against his ribs. His breathing is tight as they lift him, and the slow, ragged motions make the pain flare up again and again.
At the top, he’s breathless, and when he tries to get his feet, he falters. He half catches himself, but Voight’s already there, a hand on his arm, keeping him up right.
“Come on,” Voight says. “They’ve got a second rig for you.”
Jay tries to push him off, halfway disentangling himself from his boss’ grip. “No,” he says. “I’ve got to get to Will.”
Voight doesn’t let go, however. “And they’ve already got him at the hospital,” he says. “You’re not exactly looking the best, Jay.”
The concern is misplaced. Jay shakes his head. “But Will-”
Voight, somehow, keeps his cool even when Jay has not retained his. “Will is at Med, I told you,” he says, pulling Jay forward another few steps. “Which is, consequently, where you’re going.”
Jay drags his feet, ready to protest again.
Voight looks at him. “We can do this the easy way, where you are awake and conscious to ask about Will yourself,” he says. “Or we can do it the hard way, where I drag your unconscious ass there myself. Which will it be?”
Jay’s an idiot, but he’s not that much of an idiot.
The easy way, then.
As if anything with Will is ever easy.
-o-
The medics tend to him with far too much gravitas. Outside, it’s quite the scene, and there’s people from PD and FD everywhere. His own team gives him passing encouragement, and Jay wishes that the police perimeter had a tighter control on it. Every on duty cop in the city has seen him now, being loaded up like an invalid.
He tries to convince the medics that he’s fine, but they believe him less than Voight. They go on about his oxygen levels, and they keep talking about his side like it’s some kind of big deal. But, when they palpate his ribs, Jay does gasp so hard that he nearly passes out.
When his vision clears, he’s on a gurney.
At least at this point, Jay’s pretty good at rolling with things.
-o-
He rolls with things, but he doesn’t like them. That’s possibly a given, and honestly, he feels justified right now. He’s been in an explosion, and here he is, cooped up in the back of some damn ambulance. Small, dangerous, and overpriced, he’s bouncing his way to Med with all due haste.
Jay hates ambulances. He always has; he always will.
The lights, the noise, the medics and their nonstop fussing.
But none of it seems to matter.
He hates this ambulance because it’s not the one Will’s in.
And Will is-
Will is-
Jay looks, turning his head toward the medic who is tending him. “Do you know how my brother is?”
The medic smiles. “Detective Halstead, your brother is probably already at Med. I’m sure they’re taking good care of him.”
Jay shakes his head. “But Will-”
“Is being cared for,” the medic assures him. “Which is what we’re doing for you, too.”
“I’m fine,” Jay says.
The medic offers him a benign smile. “Well, let’s let the doctor determine that. Your heart rate is elevated, and you’ve got decreased breath sounds on the right-”
He says it like it matters.
It doesn’t matter.
Jay shakes his head. “My brother-”
The medic adjusts the IV. “We’ll be there soon,” he promises. “Just hold on.”
It’s a dismissal. It’s intended to put him off. As if Jay can be dissuaded from worrying about his brother.
He sighs, letting his head loll back to center as he looks at the ceiling of the ambulance as it rocks over the street, sirens blaring.
Jay’s out of the basement.
Which is ironic.
He’s never felt more trapped.
-o-
He gets there with much fanfare, and it’s disorienting watching the ED spin by on his back. There are flashes of familiar faces and he’s wheeled into a familiar room. They transfer him to a waiting bed, and the lights are turned on bright. The medic claps him on the shoulder and disappears before he sees a young, blonde doctor above him.
She smiles. “So you’re the infamous Detective Halstead?” she quips. “I’ve heard all about you, but I was hoping we’d meet under less auspicious circumstances.”
Jay doesn’t know what to say.
She turns her head to the side. “I’m Dr. Hammer. Stevie. I work with Will. We’re friends from way back.”
Jay doesn’t have the energy for niceties. “I’m fine,” he tells her with some notion that such a declaration might be enough.
“So, it’s good to see the stubborn stupidity is a Halstead trait and not just a character flaw in Will,” she says. The nurses are moving around him, hooking up the monitors, checking his vitals. “Let’s just see how you’re doing. You got caught in an explosion?”
Jay doesn’t want to do this anymore. “I’m fine,” he says again, and this time he tries to sit up.
The nurses react, swelling around him and Stevie steps forward with a restraining hand on his shoulder. “Seriously,” she says. “Explosion, right? I heard you fell through the floor. Medic thinks you broke some ribs, and if you could just let me-”
She’s reaching for her stethoscope, but there’s no way in hell Jay’s sitting still for that. He attempts to lever himself upward again, this time putting off the nurses and Stevie reaches him just as he swings his legs over the side of the bed.
And just as something pops - loudly and painfully - in his side.
His senses are momentarily flooded, a swell of heat that spreads out from his chest. Then, just as fast, he’s swamped with a cold chill, which deepens when he tries to take a breath and finds it wanting.
He tries again, and this time his whole chest seizes up. The air isn’t moving, and the strained sound is foreign in his own throat. He’s choking now, gagging on his own lack of oxygen, and Stevie’s hands are firm on his shoulders once more, pushing him back down.
This time, he can’t fight her.
She settles him back as one of the nurses arranges his legs on the gurney. He blinks as the world shifts out of focus, and he’s experiencing things a second after they happen. Stevie is yelling something now, calling for something, and when her eyes lock with him, she suddenly looks scared.
“Jay, I need you to calm down,” she says. “Can you do that? Can you calm down?”
Jay strains to no avail, the thin wheeze barely audible. “Will-”
Stevie’s face is set and terse. “I need the damn x-ray, and someone prep him for a chest tube, please?”
His shirt is cut away. Something cold is swabbed on his chest, and a machine is brought to bear. The light flashes, and Jay blinks.
He blinks and Stevie’s there again. She’s holding a scalpel.
He feels the first cut, the pressure of the blade on his exposed chest.
And then nothing at all.
-o-
Jay knows better than to fight it. There’s only so much he can take, and when his body gives up, it just gives up. He’s been here before, and he hates to think he’ll be here again. Whatever, though. He’s here now.
Sapped and drained.
It’s no wonder, probably.
He’s given Will all he has.
And there’s nothing left for him.
-o-
But Will comes back.
He goes, he runs.
And then he’s always come back.
If he comes back this time, Jay wants to be there. Jay needs to be there.
Jay needs to wake up.
-o-
When he does wake up, he’s not pleased to find he’s still in the hospital. Worse, he’s in a gown, hooked up to an IV. It takes him all of five seconds to realize they’ve put him in a room.
It takes another five seconds, as he tries to sit up, to realize why.
He’s still got a tube in his chest, draining bloody mucus out into a bag. He’s clearly on some good drugs right now, but he can tell that it’s supposed to hurt like hell.
Before this fact can annoy him or cause him disconcertion, he realizes he’s not alone. From the bedside, Stevie comes to attention. “Hey,” she says, smiling at him. “You’re up.”
Jay frowns at her, not sure what to say. “You’ve just been sitting there?”
She lifts her shoulder, by way of apology, by way of explanation. “You’re Will’s brother. I felt like he’d do it for me, if I had a brother. I wanted to return the proverbial favor.”
That’s not quite normal, but Jay will have to inquire about Will’s relationship with this moment later. Right now, he still needs to inquire about Will. He puts his other thoughts aside and focuses back on point. “How is Will?”
She doesn’t seem surprised by the question. “Let’s start with you,” she suggests, as if this is a negotiation. It’s not, and Jay realizes with dismay that he’s the one taking the orders, not giving them. “You had three broken ribs. With all your jostling down in the ED, you managed to puncture your lung with all three of them. It was a mess, but it looks like you just narrowly avoided surgery. The chest tube, however, is necessary, and so is a night in ICU I’m afraid.”
That sounds miserable. Which makes sense. He feels miserable. He’s not going to dwell on it, though. “And Will?” he asks, far more to the point.
She seems like a woman of her word, at least. “Will’s in surgery,” she says, and she does a remarkably good job of acting like she’s okay with that even though Jay can tell she’s not. “Removing the metal isn’t going to be an easy job, but it’s not as bad as it could have been. They’ll have to repair his lung, but there are no other major organs involved. Dr. Marcel thinks it’s doable.”
That’s a roundabout answer, the kind Will’s so fond of. Jay’s always preferred the bottom line. “But he’ll be okay?”
“It’s going to be awhile,” she tells him. “There’s a lot of repair work to be done.”
“But he’ll be okay,” Jay says, pushing for a definitive answer. “Will’s going to be okay, right?”
She sighs, and he sees the professional guise fall. “I’m not in there, and I’m not a surgeon,” she says. “But we’re pumping him with blood and fluids, and keeping his oxygenation rates high. Will can be stubborn, he’ll dig in his heels. Dr. Marcel would never give you odds, but I’d call him optimistic. With Will? We’re all optimistic.”
Optimism, Jay thinks, letting himself dwell on the idea.
What a novel concept, indeed.
-o-
Waiting isn’t easy, and the fact that Jay’s stuck in a bed doesn’t help. Stevie offers to stay, but he quickly dismisses her. There’s an awkwardness to the two of them together, and he doesn’t need that yet. She and Will have to figure that part out for themselves. Jay’s got enough on his plate with Hailey.
Not to mention Will.
The ups and downs over the years, the resentments and the fights, it’s not always clear what’s different now between them.
Except that they’re together.
Just that.
Nothing more.
Somehow, especially right now in their distance, it feels like enough.
-o-
Stevie leaves, and Hailey visits. She sits with him, holding his hand, telling him how much he scared her.
He smiles, trying to reassure her. “I’m not the kind who leaves,” he reminds her.
She huffs, even as she smiles. “You’re too stupid to know when to cut and run.”
“Sometimes,” he relents, squeezing her fingers. “But not this time.”
She presses a kiss to his lips. “Not this time,” she agrees.
-o-
Hailey only leaves because Jay tells her to go. He needs her out there, closing this case. Someone hurt him - someone hurt his brother - and he needs to make sure that’s atoned for. Usually, he’d do it himself, but the tube in his chest is a daunting reality. Plus, he’s not leaving his brother behind.
It’s clear Hailey isn’t keen to leave, but she does it because Jay has asked her so explicitly. She promises to be back; he promises to be here when she is.
There’s still no update on Will - just that surgery is ongoing - and Jay’s about ready to rip out the chest tube and go check for himself when Voight turns up at his hospital bed.
“Don’t you have a case?” Jay asks him.
Voight takes the veiled criticism without flinching. “The team’s on it,” he says. “And I won’t be long.”
Jay wants to be angry, and he is angry. It’s just that he’s not actually angry with Voight, who has done nothing wrong. It’s not Voight’s fault Jay found a bomb. It’s not Voight’s fault it went off. It’s not Voight’s fault that Jay has a moron for a brother, and that that moron is in surgery right now.
“Fine,” he says tersely. “How’s it going?”
“I’m not here to talk about the case,” Voight says. “How are you?”
Jay sighs, exasperated. “Broken ribs, punctured lung,” he recites. He shrugs. “I’m fine.”
Voight considers that, clearly making his assessment. “They said Will’s in surgery.”
This time, it’s Jay who flinches. They both know that Voight’s found the sensitive spot.
Voight’s not here for the case. Voight’s not here because Jay’s in any peril. Voight’s here because he knows Jay too well, and he knows exactly what’s going through his mind right now.
“You did everything right,” Voight tells him. He’s not one for small talk. He doesn’t make empty promises, and he doesn’t flatter people, even when they’re at their lowest. “With the bomb, clearing the scene, everything. You did it all right.”
“I got everyone out except my brother,” Jay says, disgusted with himself. “Like anything else matters.”
Voight’s unswayed, though. “Everything else matters,” he says. “Will wasn’t just going to leave you behind. It was always going to be the two of you. Always.”
That’s a point that Jay finds he has no choice but to concede.
-o-
Stevie tells him when Will’s out of surgery, and she’s very clear on the fact that he did very well. “They removed the metal, repaired the damage, and it looks good,” she explains. “We’ll need to watch him carefully, give him time to heal, but it looks good, Jay. It looks good.”
She tries not to dwell on the part where Will’s still unconscious, heavily sedated and intubated. He’s going to be spending a few days in the ICU, maybe a week, while he recovers. His lung capacity is compromised. He’s lost more blood than he can spare, and he crashed once on the table before they got him back.
Jay still remembers the stillness in Will’s chest, the feeling of his air in his brother’s lungs.
Good, he decides, is an acceptably relative delineation in times like these.
-o-
Jay’s in no position of power, but it’s clear Stevie’s got a soft spot for him. Rather, he suspects she has a soft spot for Will. Either way, Jay leverages it for all it’s worth, and he convinces her to put him and Will in the same ICU room.
It takes some time to arrange, and it’s a bit of a hassle. Jay’s worn out by the commotion, and he’s sore and tired by the time all is said and done. He’s just dozing off when it starts up again, this time because Will is being brought in from recovery.
It’s quite the to-do, and in all the fuss, Will looks worse than ever. He’s painfully still, and Jay watches as he’s moved and arranged under the mess of equipment. They carefully set up the monitors, and someone takes time to make sure that the intubation tube is set somewhat comfortably around his mouth, securing the straps gently as the tube snakes back toward the hissing ventilator. There’s still a bag of blood on the IV stand, and Will’s arranged in sleeping repose, as though it’s going to make a difference how his arms are laid out by his sides.
The fact of the matter is that Will looks worse now than he did back in the basement. In the hospital lights, it’s easy to see just how colorless Will looks. There’s a tepid hue to his skin, and his cheeks look sallow. In all the commotion, Will’s face is bruised and scratched with his red hair matted awkwardly on his head.
He doesn’t look it, but he’s alive.
Jay finds solace in that fact.
When everyone seems satisfied, they check Will one more time, and then they check Jay for good measure. When there’s nothing left to check, they leave the two of them alone.
Confined to beds in an ICU room.
Jay can’t decide if this is a better or worse place to be trapped.
In the end, it doesn’t matter where.
It just matters that it’s the two of them, two brothers, trapped against the odds.
But they’re together.
And that makes everything okay.
-o-
Will sleeps.
Jay tries to stay awake, but it’s more than he can bear. The hours are long, and the drugs are good, and he sleeps, too.
He wakes up with a start each time, reminding himself that Will's still here.
Will’s still here.
-o-
It’s not perfect, of course. They’re both hospitalized, and Will’s condition is serious. Jay’s not exactly doing perfectly, and the tube in his side chafes in more ways than one.
But he thinks of his mother’s long fight with cancer.
He thinks of his brother, running off halfway across the world without looking back.;
He thinks of his dad, dying after Jay scolds him one last time.
They came through all that.
Jay believes, he willfully believes, they’ll come through this too.
-o-
Will’s let him down a lot in life.
But not this time.
This time, Will comes through.
This time, Will’s vitals stabilize.
This time, they take out the tube.
This time, Will wakes up.
This time, Will stays.
-o-
Jay feels like he’s been waiting forever, but it’s really only been about 24 hours. They’ve had visitors come and go, but the hospital staff seems to do a pretty good job of giving them some privacy. Will takes his sweet time about things, stirring on and off for several hours. There’s a few times he seems awake, but it’s only when his eyes stay open and he turns his head toward Jay that he’s actually coherent.
Coherent, but really confused.
“Jay?” he asks, having to swallow a few times to get his voice to work. His forehead wrinkles as he looks at Jay across the way. Jay’s still got the damn tube on his side, and he’s relegated to bed rest, too. “What happened?”
It’s probably an expected question, but Jay doesn’t know where to start. The last few days. The last few years. The last few decades. “Well, you and me were having breakfast,” he says. “We got into a bit of a tight spot.”
He’s keeping it vague while still trying to answer the question, but the lack of clarity only seems to concern Will more. “Are we in the hospital?” he asks, voice still strained and wobbly. “Are you hurt?”
It figures Will would notice that much. “A little, but you got the worst of it,” he says. “I’m fine, though. You’re fine, too, in case you were wondering.”
Will lets his head ease back a little, and he seems to consider that answer. He glances around the room, taking in the monitors, before scanning the length of his own body. “I don’t remember anything.”
“It’s okay,” Jay tells him, finally allowing himself a smile. “You will.”
Will’s eyes are still clouded when he looks at Jay again, and it’s not clear how much he understands. But there’s no pain, no distrust. His head dips toward Jay sleepily, eyes starting to grow heavy once more. “But we’re okay?”
It’s a question of trust. It’s a question of camaraderie. It’s the question of the two of them, together.
Will’s come back to him again.
And Jay plans to make sure he never leaves again. “We’re together, aren’t we?l
Now, Will smiles a little, he nods even sleepier than before. “Yeah,” he muses, even as his eyes close. “We’re together.”
It’s all either of them needs for now.