So this guy, I wrote when the episode came out-then promptly forgot about it until someone asked me for a certain type of Jay whump and I thought, well, shit. So I rewrote it, and then forgot about it again. I pulled a Bubbly88Tay right there. XD….please don't kill me.
For Ohhellochicago-if you are still reading, this is my oneshot I promised all those months ago.
One of many, maybe…*wink wink*
Bonus A/N: Hey guys, it's actually Bubbly88Tay this time. I know it's been a while and I can't even write this on my own account which is the worst part, however...I don't know, I guess I just wanted to let you all know that I am indeed alive. Just permanently locked out of my account, so if anyone has anything or anyway to get back into my account that would be great, and I am going to volunteer Jay as the messenger...other than that, I miss you all and hopefully I'll be able to post again soon.
Antonio's P.O.V.
A faint scream sounds from the house, sounding like a woman.
'Probably the homeowner.' I think as I sprint up the walkway, as fast as I can without falling on my face. There is little noise after this and I break the silence when I slam into the door, slightly concerned at my teammates condition as he struggles to lift himself of the ground.
"You okay?" I shout louder than necessary. He nods, then turns and spits into the sink. Satisfied that he was okay for now, I click on my radio and holster my gun, calling out an alert to all available units, in the vain hope that a patrol car would spot Munos. Upon hearing my call. Halstead turns and slams his hand onto the table in front of him in frustration. He pulls his hand back shaking, pressing it against his mouth, eyes smoldering.
Normally I'd wait a little bit for him to calm down, but as his trembling spreads from his hand to the rest of his body, I opt for taking him outside to get some air. As soon as possible. Maybe getting him near the others will get the faraway look in his eyes to disappear.
"C'mon man, we should go back." Halstead does nothing to acknowledge me, he just stands straighter, taking his weight off the table. Still his eyes are clouded, not really aware of his current situation. A sudden bolt of fear shoots through me as I wonder if he's having some form a PTSD attack.
"Jay?" The fear must be evident in my voice or maybe he just was dazed and didn't hear me the first time, but this time at the mention of his name he blinks and some of the clouds clear.
"What?"
"We need to go."
"Oh. Yeah, okay."
"Are you...you sure you're alright?" I eye him critically, reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder. He sways under my hand, eyes fluttering for a moment. My concern turns to deep worry. Placing my other hand on his arm, I increase my grip, trying to steady him.
"Woah, woah, hey Halstead! Man, what's going on with you?"
"...'m j'st tir'd" Upon hearing the slur in his words my hand reaches for the radio, ready to call in for an ambulance when Jay starts coughing. Halsteads body becomes heavier in my grip, his body sagging into my arms. Shuffling forward a little I can get closer to him, giving me better leverage. However, Jay isn't a light guy. I can't hold him up if he goes limp.
I'm almost ready to go to my knees when he jerks forward, opens his mouth and-
Oh, That's just gross.
-throws up all over my shirt. We both stare at it for a moment, him out of shock, me out of horror. Until I realize something. It isn't puke. It's blood. I raise my eyes back to Jay, who coughs again and more blood spills from his mouth, dribbling down his chin.
"S'rry" He mumbles before his eyes roll back and he slides to the ground, the only thing keeping him from face planting? Me. Grunting with the effort, I attempt to lay him on the ground but (because fate enjoys laughing in my face) my foot slips and I tumble forward, unfortunately landing in a heap on top of Halstead. Scrambling for some grip, I claw my way off of him, the jeans below my knee as well as my boots slick with melted snow.
Halstead is completely still, limbs akimbo from his less than graceful slide to the floor. For one shaky moment I am unsure he is even still breathing. Pressing my ear to his chest I can hear that I am wrong, although his lungs struggle to function properly. His left one in particular sounds different, almost...constricted.
Remembering how I found him rising from the floor spitting blood, he must have lost against Muños. If Muños kicked him hard enough while Jay was down, that could have really damaged his chest, specifically his ribs. And if one of his ribs was broken and punctured a lung...well that would explain the puking blood issue. As well as the trouble breathing, which I guess could be accounted for loss of consciousness although odds are he got kicked in the head at some point.
Pushing my fingers against his neck, I grab my radio.
"Voight. Voight, Halstead's down, he's hurt. Muños is gone."
"How bad?!" Voights gruff voice crackles over the radio, shattering my concentration. Oh well. Wasn't much to count, his pulse was way too fast anyway. His breathing has gotten worse in the thirty second interaction, his chest starting to heave, desperately trying to attain oxygen.
"Bad. We're about a block down, pink house. Cars out front."
"Alright call it in. We're coming to you." I'm about to respond about how I already did, when I realize, no, actually I didn't. I was interrupted by Jay spitting up blood all over my shirt. Growling at my own lack of attention, I radio for an ambulance, actually completing the call this time.
Just as I finish the call, there's a loud popping noise in the kitchen and all the lights go out, leaving me in complete darkness. Blinking rapidly, I pull out my phone, opting the flashlight app and setting in the floor. It sets an ominous glow about the kitchen, washing everything in a white light and making Jay's face look pure white.
That also may not be because of the light, but that's what I'm going with for now.
Cupping my hand on either side of Halstead's face, I lightly tap his cheeks, trying to rouse the man, with slight success. His eyelids crack open, a low moan echoing across the kitchen. Elation flows through me as his eyes open more, making all the way to half mast. Just then I register footsteps pounding up the sidewalk, right before Alvin and Ruzek slam through the front door.
I would have greeted them in someway, maybe exchanged a few words on his condition. I would have. But in all truth if they couldn't deduce how bad off Jay was by the seizure he was thrown into the second they entered the house, then I wasn't going to waste my breath explaining it to them.
Luckily, I don't have to. Neither of them are stupid. Instead they just drop to the ground next to me, Ruzek tucking his hands underneath Jays head and neck, Al helping me hold the rest of his body.
The fit doesn't last more than thirty seconds, which is good. That said, afterward his breathing diminishes to short shallow gasps, which is most definitely bad. Ruzek presses two fingers against Halsteads jugular.
"Pulse is weak and thready." He says looking up at me.
We share a look of fear before the paramedics burst into the room, rudely pushing all three of us off to the side. They talk random stats and medical terms, gibberish to us mortals. We help move him onto a backboard, and carry him outside to the gurney. I climb into the back of the ambulance, Al shuts the doors, and the bus shudders forward.
If I thought driving the chrysler in this snow was tough, piloting an ambo is impossible. We skid around every corner and we aren't even going 40. The going is still way to slow for the medic or my liking. The entire ride I sit watching Halstead. It's weird but he looks like a kid when he sleeps. Like he never really grew up, just acts old because the world tells him to. Without that outer influence, he looks...calmer. More at peace.
Albeit this may all be my imagination, but really, I ask myself, how often do I see him relaxed? With our job, basically never. Even when Intelligence gets together at a bar or the occasional dinner, most of us are dead tired and weary of the world. This is just him, stripped of all awareness and blind to reality.
If I wasn't watching Jay die before me, I might contemplate the weirdness of it all. But as I watch the oxygen mask on his face fog up every time he struggles his way through another breath, I am painfully reminded of recent events. The heart monitor beeps sporadically, speeding and slowing at random intervals. The EMT is more concerned with his abdomen because, (and after seeing the multicolored bruises covering it I agree with him), he probably has internal bleeding. Couple that with his broken ribs that could be pressing on his lungs, god-know-what happened to his head, and….Well, I'll just say that I was told right off the bat by the male EMT: he's in trouble.
We're just pulling into the hospital parking lot when a moan drifts across the ambulances cabin. Sliding down the bench seat, I can look as Jay's eyelids flutter open. His heart rate picks up again as he takes in his surroundings. The ambo doors fly open; I move with the gurney.
"Hey, hey, it's okay Jay. You're okay, we're at the hospital." My words seem to calm him for a moment, but soon his chest is heaving and a constant whimpering sound emanates from him. His head lolls from side to side as we move deeper into the ER. I catch his eyes for a moment and he realization hits me. He's not panicking because he doesn't know where he is, Halstead is freaking out because he's realized how bad off he is and he's scared he's going to die..
They push him through a pair of double door and a nurse holds out a hand, quietly telling me I need to wait.
"You-You're gonna help him right? He's gonna be okay?" I ask her.
"They're gonna do everything they can. Just please, take a seat, someone talk to you when we know something." The nurse guides me to a small waiting room, where I collapse into a chair and stare at the floor. I don't know how much time passes, but it's enough that I manage to memorize the number of dots on the square of tile beneath my feet. Someone touches my shoulder. I slowly lift my eyes and follow the hand to its owner who happens to be Olinski.
"Anything?" I just shake my head at a loss for words and return my gaze to the floor.
"Antonio." I jolt my head up again only to see Erin standing in Al's place. The team must've come together after sorting out Munos and his buddies. Everyone else has filed into the waiting room and taken seats, but Lindsay stays standing, her eyes red and glassy.
"How is he?" She asks, her voice small as she tries to contain her emotion. I shake my head.
"It's bad, Erin. It's really bad." She closes her eyes and nods, then turns and slides into a seat next to Voight, holding her head in her hands. Voight puts a comforting hand on her back in one of those rare moments that he shows affection. I return my gaze to the floor.
I don't look up when the doctor comes, but I am alerted to her presence by the movement of my team. Everyone just about jumps to their feet and sprints to talk to her. I follow a tad less enthusiastically. Erin opens her mouth to ask about a million questions but is stopped when the girl puts her hands up in a "stop" gesture.
"Four cracked ribs, two broken, severe bruising of the chest and abdomen, some minor internal bleeding, grade three concussion, and a shattered wrist. We had to go in and set one of the broken ribs as it shifted to press on his lung, but the small amount of internal bleeding was stemmed quickly." She pauses to catch her breath.
"He may need a surgery for his wrist but, despite all that, he should be fine. With adequate time to recover, of course." All the tension flows out of the group as those words. I look at the doctor skeptically.
"What about-" I begin. She cuts me off.
"-His head?" She shrugs nonchalantly.
"As I said, grade three concussion. It was pretty severe, hence the confusion, loss of consciousness, and seizure. However, he woke up multiple times before we put him under and brain waves are normal. He'll be pretty out of it for a couple days, but the CT scan showed no signs of anything that could result in permanent damage. Yes, there's always the possibility that he could get worse, that's why we're gonna keep him here for a while. Other than that...he may have some slight memory loss, nothing big. He's very lucky."
I heave a relieved sigh, then shake my head in that relieved anger you get after finding out someone's ok. I'm gonna throttle that kid.
She holds a hand out to Voight, who shakes it with respect.
"I'm Doctor Novack, by the way. If you need anything, just ask me. He's in room 432." She directs the last part at Lindsay, who nods eagerly and zips off to find the room. I actually take the time to excuse myself from the group before following. I arrive to find Erin already curled in a chair next to Jay's bed, two hands wrapped white knuckled around one of his.
"-swear to god you do that again I will personally enroll you in a fighting class." She's just finishing her rant. I think she's talking to an unconscious Jay, but as my eyes find his face, I'm pretty surprised to find two blue eyes staring dully back at his partner. I cough, stepping forward out of the shadows to make my presence known. Erin jerks her head up then ducks it low again, her hands quickly wiping at her eyes.
"I'm going to go get some coffee." She sniffs, brushing past me and closing the door. Halsteads eyes follow her pathway until he sees my figure. His eyes widen, clouding with confusion. With a jolt I realize he's trying to figure out who I am.
"You owe me a new shirt." I blurt out, walking closer to his bed. We stare at each other for a moment and I feel as though I can actually see his head trying to catch up. Like he has all the pieces to a puzzle that are all different shapes and sizes and some are missing so he can't put them together to get a clear picture. All of it's a reminder of how close he was to leaving on that kitchen floor. How close we were to losing him.
My hands go numb.
"Jay." My voice cracks. I force myself to swallow past my tight throat before continuing.
"Jay it's Antonio. Antonio Dawson. You dated my sister Gabby for a while when you were in gangs. Do you remember me?" He blinks. Once. Twice. Then shakes his head no. I can feel the blood drain from my face.
'Is this normal?! She said he'd be out of it but this-!'
"Was that me?" The rough whisper doesn't sound anywhere close to his normal voice, but it's enough to jerk me from my internal worry. Startled, I nod.
"Yeah, you...you weren't doing that well when you were with me. What do you remember?" His eyes slip downward, studying the I.V. In his hand.
"I-I don't really know. It's kinda confusing. I know I'm a cop. In Chicago...I think. And Erin! I remember Erin!" He ends with a triumphant smile on his face. He doesn't stop there though.
"Erin, who's my partner in the unit..." He pauses, putting on a thoughtful yet confused face, like he's slowly rediscovering his memories.
"In...intelligence. I'm in intelligence. "
"How'd you get into intelligence Jay?" I ask quietly. He concentrates hard now, eyes looking at something other than the hospital bed.
"I was shot."
"Yes. Why?"
"I was at a bar. But we weren't having drinks because it was daytime and I was...working?"
"Who were you with?" I ask, pushing further.
"I was undercover with some local shuffler. He liked to charge fees to businesses for protection. We-"
"Jay!" I stop him mid sentence, forcing back on track.
"Who were you with?" His eyes narrow.
"Arthur. Guy named Thomson. And Gabby."
"Gabby?"
"Yeah, Gabriela Dawson, she's your sister you should know-" a huge smile break out on my face. There's a pause where he must realize what he said and then suddenly his head snap back up, eyes connecting with mine.
"Antonio?" He whispers.
"Yah."
He gives me that goofball smile.
"Hi." I let out a sigh, running a hand down my face. He's so high he's not even going to remember this conversation five minutes from now.
"Why hello Halstead. How are you this evening?" I ask in an overly sarcastic voice.
"I ammmm fanfreakintastic!" He giggles.
"Mmk. I'm going home. See you tomorrow." I turn and leave just as Erin comes in. I mouth the words 'good luck' to her. She nods, a smirk resting on her face. I close the door behind me, just before I hear a happy voice yell out something about ' Erin being back and coffee.'
Scanning the hallway, I spot Voight talking to Dr. Novack, assumably about recovery time. Which is good, because knowing Jay, the second he's back to his 'normal self' he's going to be trying to get back to work early. Not that I blame him. There's no one in intelligence who wouldn't do the same thing, myself included.
Despite how my exhumation urges me to walk the opposite way, towards the exit, I join my boss and his companion. There's something I need to clear up before I go home, otherwise I know I'll be staring at my ceiling all night.
"Excuse me, Doctor?" I throw an apologetic glance at Voight for interrupting, but he simply nods.
"What do for you detective...?"
"Dawson." I say, reaching out and shaking her hand. Her eyebrows raise slightly in surprise.
"You were the one who was with him?" She asks, jerking her head towards Halsteads room.
"Yeah. Um, so you said he'd be out of it for a while? What...exactly does that entail?" She blinks a pair of green eyes, shoving her hands in her coat pockets.
"I'm not sure what you mean."
"He didn't know who I was."
"Didn't? As in he does now?"
"Yeah, I had to remind him but he didn't recognize me in the slightest." The doctor nods, ignoring Hanks concerned look.
"That's completely normal. It's the combination of the drugs and the head injury, which will keep him pretty in and out for the next couple days. If it lasts any longer than that we would be concerned, but right now, if you asked him what his name was, he'd have to think about it." Her little pager beeps, and she pulls a face as she starts to back away.
"If you have anymore questions, just ask one of the nurses, they'll help you out. Excuse me guys." And with that she's gone, jogging off down the hall to leave me and Voight standing in silence next to each other. He looks at me, I shrug and together we turn and start walking back towards the exit doors.
"He really didn't remember you?"
"Nope. Took me reminding him of gabby to get him to know my name." Voight laughs, one of those rare chuckles that's not filled with sarcasm or malice.
"So you're telling me he only remembered you because he dated your sister?'
"Yup."
"Ouch. " I sigh, rubbing my face with my hands.
"Yup." Groaning I look down at my ruined shirt.
"You need a drink?"
"I need a new shirt is what I need." Suddenly realizing I'm at the doors, I stop walking, half turning to gaze at the hallway we came from that currently houses Jay.
"Hey." I listen, but my eyes stay fixated on the hall.
"Dawson, he's fine. Erin's gonna be here all night anyway."
"You didn't see it Voight."
"Tony-" Finally, I do look at him, but my feet refuse to walk out those doors.
"If there's one thing you can count on it's that that kid will be back at the precinct annoying us sooner than we'd like. He's going to be fine." Sighing, I zip my jacket, literally forcing my legs to walk out of the doors. Stopping in the cool air I look at Voights waiting form, sigh again, then smile.
"Okay fine, but you're buyin."
Toldja it was shit. That ending just-ugh. But I can't think of another way to do it. Oh well.
So hey, new thing guy- SEND ME PROMPTS! I think I am in love with them.
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