A/N: Hi everyone. Before you jump into the story, I'd like to say a few words:) This is my first Chicago Med multi-chapter fic and it is already finished. I'll be posting the rest of the chapters in a few days so you don't have to worry about this being a WIP. This is a gen fic with focus on Connor whump. I'm not a doctor, so take the medical parts with a grain of salt please. I'd like to thank my beta Argallel for her help and awesome comments. Any mistakes you encounter are purely my own. Also I'd like to add that the fic is set around the start of season 2, before Connor got used to Dr. Latham and there's also no Robin yet. Okay, that's all from me. Please, carry on and let me know if you're enjoying the ride so far:)
"I think he's coming around, Dr. Choi," April said, even as the doctor leaned over their patient, gently peeking under the bandage to see if the wound was still bleeding.
"Connor? Are you with us, buddy?" Ethan asked when his ministrations were met by a bleary and confused look.
"Huh? Whazza-" was the eloquent reply, along with blinking eyes and a hand reaching up to either push him away or to wave off some unseen fly. "Five more minutes, Maggie," Connor muttered and the uncoordinated hand landed on his face, trying to shield his eyes from unwanted lights.
Ethan and April exchanged a look that was half amused, half concerned.
"If you explain how you can mistake me for Maggie, I'll even give you ten," Ethan took Connor's hand and pulled it off his eyes, while April took his other hand and deftly inserted the IV port.
"What the-" Connor didn't even get a chance to protest. He felt the needle piercing his skin, but the discomfort was nothing compared to the thumping headache. Seeing Ethan hovering above him, albeit a bit blurry, only made him more confused and a little bit scared. He tried to take control at least over his left hand and clumsily rubbed at his eyes.
"Did I fell asleep on the job?" he asked, feeling fuzzy and more tired than he normally would after a 24-hour shift.
"No, you didn't," was the answer he got as Ethan once again grabbed his hand and gently guided it away from his head. Connor grunted and frowned at his friend. He wasn't some puppet to be moved around anyway. What was his deal?
"Sorry, just don't want you to mess with the bandage and start it bleeding again," Ethan explained, after seeing the angry look.
"Bleeding?" Connor asked, now totally dumbfounded. This time it was his right hand that automatically reached up to check the side of his head that was hurting the most, ignoring the tug of the IV line and April's admonishments. And it was telling that Connor just now noticed the bandage that was plastered directly above his right ear and the telltale pain of an open wound instead of just a migraine.
Frowning, Connor once again rubbed at his eyelids, trying to clear up his vision a bit. He carefully looked around, taking in that he was lying on a bed in one of the ED rooms, still wearing his surgical scrubs. 'Thank god for small mercies,' he thought idly. He was hooked up to a cardiac monitor and sporting an IV, but other than the head wound, there didn't seem to be anything seriously wrong with him. All his limbs worked, though now that he moved around, he could feel a few bruises on his left side and a sore wrist. He could also see that while only Ethan and April were in the room, Maggie and Sharon Goodwin were throwing covert looks at him from behind the reception desk, all the while speaking to some cops. All in all, the situation confused the hell out of Connor and he didn't feel much like solving it. The last thing he remembered was-
"I was scrubbing in for surgery," he spoke suddenly, but wearily, thankful that both his colleagues gave him a second to get his bearings. "What happened? Did Latham throw a tray at my head or what?"
Ethan grinned, remembering the rumors about Latham having a hissy fit during one of his first surgeries with Connor.
"While that would be infinitely more fun to deal with, nope, sorry bro." Ethan took out his trusty penlight and leaned over Connor, silently asking his permission.
Connor groaned, but looked right at Ethan when he shone the light into his eyes, checking his pupil reaction. The resounding explosion of color and pain wasn't really worth it in Connor's opinion, but he was too busy squinting and gritting his teeth to voice it.
"Okay, now follow the pen," Ethan said, his voice back to business as he conducted the exam.
"What's the verdict?" Connor asked once the offending penlight was safely tucked in Ethan's pocket. Ethan sighed and nodded at April.
"Order a CT, CBC, hematocrit and call in Jacobs for a neuroconsult," Ethan said. He turned back to Connor.
"Your pupils are unequal, and your tracking is off. How's your vision?"
"Great, if the ED was hit by a sudden fog," Connor muttered, unsuccessfully trying to clear his thoughts. "'s probably just a concussion," he added wearily and barely hid a yawn. He felt so damn tired all of a sudden.
"Hey, don't go to sleep just now, buddy," Ethan said and squeezed Connor's shoulder until the man opened his eyes again.
"Kay. What happened?" Connor asked. If he had to be up a bit longer, he could at least find out why he was laid up in the exam room and suddenly sporting a hell of a headache.
"What's the last thing you remember?"
"Told you, scrubbing for surgery," Connor replied, annoyed. He didn't want to play twenty questions; all he wanted was a simple answer, then sleep.
"Which one?" Ethan didn't budge. He was watching his colleague with assessing eyes, looking at the display above his head, then once again checking the wound. The bleeding seemed to have almost stopped, but he wanted to wait for the CT before sewing it up.
"Connor?" he poked into the surgeon, frowning at the bleary look he got in reply. Connor was fading fast and if Ethan didn't keep his attention, he would just fall asleep in a minute. "Who were you operating on?"
"Pat... Patterson, I think. The kid... from the car crash?" It was more of a question than a statement, but Ethan was happy with the answer. It meant that Connor didn't lose that much time... if one didn't count a five hour surgery a long time.
"Yeah, that's the one. Good. So you don't remember anything else? From the surgery or after?"
"I don't remember a thing," Connor growled. His hand came up once again to cover his eyes. "Can you tell me what's going on, or at least give me something for the headache?" he asked, getting more and more irritated.
"Sorry pal, no drugs until Jacobs can assess you. As to what happened, long story short, another patient's father clobbered you with a baseball bat."
"Huh?" Connor blinked, unsure if he had heard right. "I don't... what? Why?"
"We're still trying to work that out, but don't worry. He's being taken into custody as we speak."
"That isn't all that helpful," Connor said, still in disbelief. "What... what about my patient? The kid?"
"Oh, I heard that went well. He's in recovery now."
"Good," Connor said and let his eyes fall closed. He heard Ethan asking him more questions, but he didn't have the energy to answer any of them. It felt like the room was spinning and he had to fight to keep his lunch down, no way was he opening his mouth. He heard April return and felt her taking blood, but he didn't even flinch. Ethan was trying to continue with the neuro exam and kept asking Connor to push his leg or squeeze his hand. Connor did, though even he could tell he didn't put everything in it. No one could blame him though; he was already half asleep.
Somewhere in the distance he heard Goodwin's voice, Ethan saying something about a possible intracranial bleed, and even Hallstead popping in to enquire about his status. He should've felt either embarrassed or touched by all the concern, but in truth, he didn't feel anything. Only the growing distance between himself and the real world, as the darkness spun around him and unconsciousness lured him in. Last thing he was aware of was strange fingers prying open his eyes, a shining light, and a burst of pain and nausea before he finally succumbed to sleep.
The bar was eerily quiet and mostly empty. There were just a few guests that Connor hadn't seen before and a barman he should've recognized, but whose name eluded him. It was clearly dark outside, probably late at night. The few people mingling around the bar were conversing in hushed tones. Some pop music was playing in the background, and two people slowly danced on the floor. Connor was sitting at the bar, looking at a half empty bottle of whiskey before him and nursing a glass. By the steady thumping inside his skull he either must've consumed most of that whiskey, or just came here to finish the rest, to fight off the headache.
Connor looked at his glass and pushed it away with disgust. He didn't want a drink. He didn't want to be there, and he wasn't even sure where there was. Standing up from the stool, the room spun around, and he had to catch himself on the bar. His head was fuzzy and the pop music in the background turned into a soundtrack of the steady beating inside his skull. Something was wrong.
"Hey, I think I need some help..." Connor said, trying to catch the barman's attention, but the guy ignored him like he wasn't even there, and the room kept spinning. "What the hell?" Connor was now holding on to the bar like a lifeline, the people around him vanishing in a fog. All he could see clearly was the mirror at the bar, but it didn't show his own image. Instead, there was a long forgotten face staring right back at him and Connor let out a choked sob.
"M-mom?" he asked. He reached towards the mirror. As soon as he let go of the bar, the world spun out of control and Connor closed his eyes as his stomach tried to rebel on him. The image of his mother fused with the angry face of his father and he was back in his old house, huddled on the staircase as he listened to the heated argument between his parents. He was ten; it was the middle of the night when he heard the strange sounds and decided to explore. He knew it wasn't right, but as soon as he heard his mother sobbing, he froze, and sat down on the top of the staircase. She was shouting at his father, saying words Connor knew but didn't really understand, at least not then. He heard the pain in her voice, the utter despair, heard his father threaten her with lawyers and taking away the only thing she cared for. There was the raw sound of a resounding slap that made Connor flinch and stand. The sobbing came closer and he saw his mother rush past him, unseeing. His father suddenly stood at the bottom of the stairs, a red hand print adorning his face.
"Go back to bed, Connor," he said with a weary voice, and Connor spun around and ran towards his room. He rushed through the door and slammed it closed, leaning against it. He desperately tried to calm his breathing, but it wasn't possible. His heart was hammering and there were white flashes all around him. Suddenly, he heard a hum of a machine and there was a blinding light shining into his eyes. Connor yelped and grabbed for his head, feeling as if it would explode any minute. He collapsed to his knees and felt someone's hands reaching for him, grabbing him. At first it felt calming, but when Connor tried to move, tried to get up and look around, the hands became cold and restraining. Something was holding his head in place and the more Connor struggled to free himself, the harder the hand pushed against his head and it hurt and Connor couldn't struggle anymore. He moaned and gritted his teeth so hard it felt like he was grinding them to dust until the hands suddenly let go and Connor wobbled on uncertain legs.
Suddenly he was back at the hospital, just out of surgery. In front of him stood a pair of relieved and thankful parents. The mother was hugging him and the father squeezed his hand, smiling genuinely. Connor opened his mouth to tell the parents that they could see their son in just a short while, when the look on the man's face turned from happiness, to confusion, finally landing on fear. Connor didn't understand the sudden change, but he reacted instinctively and turned to look behind so he could see what was going on. In midst of the turn he saw a face filled with incomprehensible rage. He couldn't even blink before the face vanished behind a swinging baseball bat, heading straight for his head.
Connor watched in slow motion as the bat came closer. The world fell still and he was trying to raise his hand to block the blow, but knew he wouldn't make it. He was too slow - the world was too slow. He felt the bat connect with the side of his head, saw the blinding light, and felt his body falling, falling right to the cold hard floor. His left side took the brunt of the fall and he thought he should be dead already, or at least unconscious as his head impacted with the floor, but the world was still there and he watched through half open lids as the father of the boy threw himself in front of his wife and against the attacker, who was now pinned against the wall. There was no sound, just slow blurred motion as more people came rushing and between blinks Connor recognized Ethan's face peering down at him, until something wet dripped into his eyes and the world went thankfully blank.