A/N: I don't own Chicago PD, Chicago Fire (random characters mentioned here and there), Chicago Med (random characters mentioned here and there), or any other known entity. The story title comes from the song, "Pieces of Me" by 3 Doors Down, which I also don't own. This is a story that will get rather dark at times, so please be advised while reading it. I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and please review. :)

One

He wasn't sure how it got to this point.

Lying alone in a dark alley, on his back, struggling for every breath.

His head was throbbing, and he was certain that the puddle growing beneath him wasn't water. His eyes wouldn't open, mostly because they now couldn't, being so swollen that there was no longer any room to separate. His inability to breathe told him that he had at least one broken rib, if not more. He couldn't feel his legs at the moment, and while he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing, he did have a pretty good idea what he'd be feeling if he could.

Pain. And a lot of it.

He felt trapped inside of his body and mind, almost paralyzed. He couldn't even move enough to get to his phone, which was only a few inches away from his fingertips. All he could do was lie there, in the alley, in the cold. Waiting for someone to find him.

Or, worse, waiting to die.

Halstead hadn't made it in yet.

It wasn't like the former Army Ranger to ever be late without a damn good reason. And for Halstead to not be answering his phone…

Something was wrong.

Hank glanced around the office, realizing that the rest of his team was following up on leads on their current case. All except Erin, that was, as she was staring blankly at her computer screen and glancing frequently at her phone. Hank knew why she was distracted.

Because Halstead hadn't made it in yet.

Cold.

That was all Jay could register now. Just how cold his body was. He would shiver if he could, but his body wouldn't react to anything anymore. Nothing would move. And that was when the realization hit him.

He was going to die here. Alone. Cold. And watching the tiny piece of him that was holding onto the dimmest flicker of hope slowly being extinguished.

And then he heard them.

Footsteps.

Jay wasn't sure whether he should fear them, or welcome them. Footsteps meant that someone had found him, but he couldn't be certain if it was friend or foe. And if it was the latter, he definitely was no longer in a position to defend himself.

"Oh, man," a voice he recognized said.

He couldn't place the voice, though. He knew that he should know it, but for the life (or death, maybe more appropriately) of him, he couldn't put it together. Until he heard the man speak again.

"This is Lieutenant Kelly Severide, CFD. I need an ambulance…"

Figures, Jay thought to himself. Had to be someone from 51.

"Jay, man, can you hear me?"

Jay felt Severide's hand on his chest, the warmth almost painful all on its own. Jay groaned softly in response.

"Stay with me, man. Alright? Help's on the way."

Jay attempted to respond, but wasn't really able to. He heard his phone ringing for what had to be the hundredth time in the last… who knows how long anymore, because he had surely lost track at this point. Unlike the other 99 times, though, this time Severide answered it for him.

"Voight," Jay heard Severide say into his phone. "I'm with Halstead here, but he's hurt pretty bad."

Jay felt Severide attempting to either assess or tie off some of Jay's wounds, but he wasn't sure whether or not it was going to help. Nor could he even feel enough to ascertain what, exactly, Severide was doing…

"Ambulance should be here soon," Severide continued.

Is he talking to me, or the phone? Jay thought to himself.

Jay never got an answer, though, as he, and the cold, drifted away.

He could've been sleeping.

He wasn't, though. Or, at least, not really. But he looked like he was.

Dr. Rhodes explained it in the usual medical terms that meant nothing to Hank. But the takeaway was that Halstead was in a coma. One that, hopefully, he would come out of, but nothing was certain yet.

To them, anyway.

Hank knew Halstead was a fighter, and that he would come out of this alive. But whether or not he would be able to get back up on his feet and back to the unit was a different story. And yet, Hank couldn't be worried about that right now. There was a more pressing matter at hand.

Whoever did this was still out there, waiting for their chance to strike again. Because they left Halstead for dead, and when they found out that he was still alive… they'd be back.

Hank turned to his team, who were gathered behind him outside of Halstead's hospital room. "Someone's with him around the clock," Hank said. "One of our people. People I trust. Until we know there's no longer a target on his back."

The team nodded in agreement.

"In the meantime, we hit up everyone, go after every CI. I want this guy."

Hank knew, though, they didn't have to be told that. Because they wanted this guy as bad as he did.

A light knock drew Hank's attention from Halstead to the door of the room. "I got your message," Severide said softly. "How's he doing?"

Hank shrugged slightly. "Not good," he replied.

Severide nodded solemnly.

"Listen. I need to know how you found him. What you saw, what you did. Everything."

Severide shrugged as he sat in the only chair in the room. Hank was sitting on the heater/window sill, waiting impatiently for Severide to say something.

"I don't know," Severide said after a minute. "I was just out for a run, and some kid was freaking out, saying there was a dead body down the alley." He shrugged one shoulder. "You know kids, people sleeping in the alley are dead to them. So I ran down to see what the kid was talking about, and he was there." Severide gestured unnecessarily at Halstead, knowing Hank knew that was who Severide was talking about. "I called 911, checked his wounds, and tried to get him to stay conscious, but he was pretty bad. His phone rang, and I figured I should answer it, that you guys had to be looking for him."

"You didn't see anyone other than the kid?" Hank asked.

Severide shook his head. "Just the kid."

"What did the kid look like?"

"Blonde hair, green eyes, about seven or eight. Red backpack. Had a helmet on and a skateboard in his hand."

"Gonna need you to sit with a sketch artist, come up with the kid."

Severide nodded. "He gonna be okay?" he asked, gesturing again to Jay.

"Should be," Hank replied.

Severide nodded again, staring at Jay.

Hank said nothing further, just watching Severide. He could tell by looking that the Lieutenant had something else he wanted to say. Hell, Hank had seen that look a number of times between the interrogation room and reluctant witnesses. He knew that Kelly Severide was holding something back.

"There's something else you should know," Severide started without prompting.

Hank braced himself.