Thanks so much to all the reviewers and followers and favoriters! It makes my day when I see that someone has enjoyed this story! Sorry it took a while to get this chapter up, I can't really keep to a set schedule for writing, which is why I never say anything like I'll have a chapter up every week...but this chapter is longer then the previous, I think it's the longest yet, not too hard when I only have three chapters...hope everyone still likes where this is going!

I do not own Chicago Fire!

Please review!


Previously;

They're minutes away, Shay's on the radio shouting for a trauma team to be ready, Lakeshore visible through the windshield when a shrill alarm starts shrieking. This time it's Dawson who curses, voice terror filled as she jumps forward, "He's crashing! Get us there!"

They're all soot stained and dirty, faces drawn in shock at everything that has occurred but Herrmann and Mouch look up at him and nod, starting to herd the others back towards the trucks with orders to get back to the house and then go to Lakeshore.

The Chief watches them all head back, sees as Otis and Herrmann gently guide Mills who seems shaky and unstable, staring at the stain of blood that seeped onto his shirt somehow, watches as the men of a truck and a squad band together. It's the Chief who watches all this, who turns back to his own car and climbs in, but it's Boden who clenches his jaw and determinedly stares at the road as he drives, the image of his lieutenants, of his friends, one limp and bleeding, the other desperate and horrified forced out of his mind.

CF*CF*CF*CF*CF*CF*CF*CF*CF*CF*CF*

It's not like earlier, the world doesn't stop, sound doesn't face away and his surroundings don't slip from view. Instead, it's like everything has been ramped up, colors bleed with vibrancy, the screaming alarm and Shay's demanding shouts through the radio are painfully loud and Dawson's practiced movements as she preps for CPR are unnaturally fast, in fact, everything is moving, jumping slightly, but Severide's too panicky to realize the it's him, shaking in his seat.

Because everything is moving, everything but Casey who's limp and motionless atop the stretcher, eyes closed and chest deathly still.

And then Dawson's above the younger man, arms extended, elbows locked as she starts counting off compressions. It's not perfect, Casey's limp body doesn't stay perfectly in one position, and Dawson sways to the sides, movements jerky; they're in a moving ambulance for god's sake. But more than that, with each compression, more blood gets forced out –the gauze pressed against the wounds too soaked to hold more– pooling over Casey's bare chest. Dawson's hands are slick with the liquid, fingers and palms slipping and sliding and her rhythm falters a few times, the beats just a little off. Her first rescue breathe doesn't go in, she's got to pull back and reposition her mask and Casey's head. It's messy and imprecise and imperfect because this isn't a goddamn movie or TV show; the blood glistening in the light isn't fake, it's real, painfully so and the possibility is very real that he just saw the violent and painful and bloody last moments of life of his fellow lieutenant, of his best friend and pseudo-brother who he's spent the last few months doubting and fighting with and blaming and trying to hate and, and…

And, shit, they've both been idiots, both of them because they both screwed this up, yeah, maybe him more than Casey, but this –this cycle of them seeming to get over what happened then blowing up at each other– is on both of them. He knew they'd been taking one step forward, two steps back but he never thought only one of them, only he, would be left doing the steps alone because the blond the dying, is technically dead.

They finally race into Lakeshore, sirens wailing, alarm still screaming, but, as if to spite him for his earlier thought about TV and reality, moment after the door is yanked open, the shrill alarm breaks off by a slow stuttering but reassuring beeping and Dawson straightens up, obviously exhausted but gin and voice triumphant, "He's back!"

"Get him out!" One doctor orders, voice sharp above the general din outside the hospital. Shay, dark uniform clear amongst the pale scrubs and white lab coats standing behind the ambulance and Dawson swiftly get Casey unloaded. ER nurses take over the moment the wheels hit the ground and the two medics and the doctor and nurses follow as the gurney gets rushed through the doors. Severide scrambles out of the ambulance behind them, racing to catch up quickly and hearing the doctor question, "What have we got?"

"Caucasian, male, firefighter, late 20's. Two gunshot wounds to the chest, one likely punctured lung. Probably suffering from smoke inhalation and burns. Went into cardiac arrest en route." Shay's voice is controlled but concern is clear on her face.

The doctor nods, voice urgent as he shouts out orders, the group passing through another set of doors. Despite the previous TV show timing, reality reigns again as Severide doesn't go careening in behind the stretcher. Instead he stops just shy of the swinging double doors alongside Shay and Dawson. All three watching through the small windows as their friend disappeared around a corner, the medical staff's urgent, practiced movements following.

They're left standing in the waiting room and all they can do is wait.

CF*CF*CF*CF*CF*CF*CF*CF*CF*CF*CF*

They're silent on the way back, worry, and fear at whatever news they might get, practically tangible around both crews. At the end of the day and friendly rivalry and sometimes not so friendly rivalry between their lieutenants gets put aside and they're not two separate groups that work together, they're one team, a single group that, yes they can work just fine as two different forces but they're still one group, the distinction they make to each other nothing more than joking pride. Truck goes off on different calls often, Casey leading them, and Squad does the same, Severide handing out their orders but when all's said and done, when they both get a call, that's when they're their best, when they've got their full team, Casey and Severide both giving out orders, this distinction between teams and who's on which fades.

So the worry is shared between the two vehicles as they pull back into the firehouse, the Chief moments behind them, expression just as worried, just more hidden. The guys climb out of the trucks as the Boden walks over, voice stern, "Get cleaned up," everyone turns to look at him, obviously eager to get off and head to the hospital but waiting his orders about the fact that their shift wasn't over. Glancing at his watch, the older man sighs, they still had an hour left in their shift but with both their lieutenants absent, one critically injured, he couldn't honestly expect them to have very good focus if any calls did come in and he relents, "Get cleaned up and then you're off shift."

The early release would normally garner excited whoops and huge grins only but receives grim nods as the men moved off towards the locker rooms. Mills trails behind; he could still see Casey limp against the pavement, face pale underneath the soot and shirt blood-soaked. He had come into this knowing it was a dangerous job, had seen it come from expected places, like when Casey and Herrmann had fallen through the floor his first day or when Vargas had to retire or when Capp got shocked in the drug house and he had seen it from unexpected places, like with Detective Voight or when the fire house got shot at but it had never been this bad and he had never imagined anything like this, to be shot on accident while trying to save someone, it didn't seem really.

"Mills?" he jerks out of his thoughts at Herrmann's voice, eyes darting up to meet the older man's.

The veteran firefighter glances at the candidate, the overwhelmed expression clear on the younger man's face under the worry. Honestly, he was just as freaked out beneath the concern for his younger lieutenant, even after all his time on the job he wouldn't have thought about something like this happening but he knew that he couldn't show that, right now Mills needed him to offer support and he knew that once he pulled through, and he would pull through, Casey would need the same, being hurt and in a burning building is bad enough but he couldn't imagine knowing he had been shot, was in a burning building and had to get another person out. Herrmann shoves the thoughts to the side, focusing on the candidate and trying to offer a reassuring smile as he put an arm around the younger man's shoulders, leading him back towards the showers.

Mills looks at the older man, suddenly feeling like a little kid looking for comfort but he still couldn't help but ask, "Casey'll be alright right?"

Herrmann swallows, young as he may be, Mills isn't a kid and doesn't want or deserve to be treated like a child with false promises about something none of them can control or know and they both know that two bullets to the chest normally doesn't have an optimistic outlook, so he goes with the most comforting truth he can manage, even with it being clichéd, "Casey's strong, he'll fight it."

It's not actually an answer but neither mention that, just as neither mentions the fact that he doesn't say that Casey will win.

.

.

tbc
(were Mills and Herrmann in character? That just kinda spouted out, hadn't planned it and would love to know if y'all like it. Also, what about that little team/squad-and-truck mind set thing, was it good? Did it sound silly?)