Oh my god so yeah wow, it's been a rather long time since I posted anything, I really, really sorry about that. There was some writer's block mixed in with life stresses, school stresses and minor injuries from an exceedingly minor car wreck, resulting in the wait. I'm really sorry about that, even worse that this chapter is kinda a filler, it sets up some possible options for me for later if I chose to include certain aspects. Speaking of aspects, there were some things I wanted to address with y'all. I might include Hallie, this is supposed to be taking place like before Leaders Lead, but I also just might not have her in the story but, not sure on that, I would love opinions but they probably won't really influence my overall choice unless they give me a great idea. Kinda on that note, there was some things about more Dawson/Casey, and I wasn't sure if that was about them as a couple or just their friendship. My main focus is going to be Severide&Casey friendship, followed by Firehouse 51 friendships. Romantic relationships may crop up if I just end up writing one out, I'm not sure, the most planning I've really been known to do for stories is an overview not really any details and sometimes things just end up occurring without me planning for them to. I am however, 97% sure of Casey's fate and barring any unforeseen plot bunny attacks, it's not going to change. You guys though, will get no forewarning, I'm not promising Casey's fate either way to you, I personally like stories going that way, when they can go either way, sorry if you were hoping for a concrete promise. Back to the whole friendship thing though, while the main focus is definitely Severide&Casey, I have done and plan to do more of the blurbs from others' POVs that will show Firehouse 51's friendship with Casey and amongst the others as well. The Chief, Mills Shay and Dawson are all definite POVs for the blurbs probably Herrmann and Hallie if I include her, and maybe Mouch, Cruz and Otis. Nancy and Christie were also possibilities but I'm really uncertain about either of them. Those are the ones I've thought of for now, if y'all got any ideas I'd love to hear them and possibly use them. Lastly, the OC's in this chapter are completely unimportant but help me move the plot along and add things so if you've got this thing about OC's they're not gonna be real big. I am leaving myself the option of bringing them, as well as Eric (the kid who actually shot Casey) back later on if I want to add a certain aspect to the already formed plan, so they might return for longer than a sentence mention at a later date. Eric actually will appear sooner and more than any other obviously as his role was as the catalyst. Oh gosh wow, sorry for this ridiculous author's note with way more detail than ever needed but I feel like some things may need to be explained and I also would like to hear y'all's POV on some of the stuff I'm doing. And the whole thing with the OC's explanation was because my friend who looked over this chapter is really weird (not just because of this) and has this thing against like most OC's important to stories, which is just her thing and advised me to warn in the event someone else shared her sentiments, if yes, then glad I included this, if no, well I just made an insanely long authors not even longer and if y'all are actually still reading this at this point I applauded you and send you a virtual cookie. Sorry for this rambling, Lets actual get to the real thing you (hopefully still) want! I do not own Chicago Fire!
Please review!
Previously;
They're left standing in the waiting room and all they can do is wait.
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.
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They end up outside a half-surgical, half-overflow waiting room; there's a harried-looking middle age man; a pregnant but mostly unconcerned looking young woman accompanied by an equally young but much more flustered man; a teenage girl hovering worriedly over a pale and coughing but still weakly smiling and talking younger boy; a roughed up group of rowdy, unquestionably drunk, young men, there because of a fight if the fist shaped bruises are anything to go by; and a composed petite, grandmotherly looking elderly woman with graying red-hair, cared for but economical clothing and warm brown eyes. Severide doesn't even realize he's been cataloguing the occupants through the small glass window during their approach until he nearly walks into the door, earning him a raised eyebrow from Shay.
The blonde medic however, doesn't say anything. Instead, she just pushes the door open and, with a still shocked Dawson following behind, heads quietly to some empty chairs separated the most from the other dwellers. Worn down and exhausted by fear, worry and their urgent, desperate work, the two drop into chairs, bodies leaning together and trying to provide comfort. Empty seats were there for him on either side but with adrenaline and fear and worry still humming though him, Severide can't seat down; leaving him able only to pace forcefully in front of the two women, remaining within the unmentioned but understood boundaries of "their space".
Even worse, the events have left his senses hypersensitive, lights bright, clock tick and his footsteps too loud echoing loudly, and the blood drying on his hands and clothes heavy, the flaking liquid scratchy and color brilliant and captivating.
Shay and Dawson are stained as well, the latter more than the former but for some reason the sight isn't hypnotic to them as it is to him. He's staring at it, can't tear his eyes away even as he starts trying to rub it off but it just smears, all over his hands and it's all over his clothes too, the brilliant red so stark against his soot stained clothes and skin.
A nurse suddenly appears at his elbow, maternal face soft and concerned, voice gentle, "Sir. Sir?" He finally notices her, turning to look and she continues, "There's a mostly unused restroom where you can washup and change into some extra scrubs." She turns to Shay and Dawson, "There's different restroom and two sets of scrubs for the both of you as well of course if you wish."
Shay nods, pulling Dawson up with her, and accepts the scrubs being offered, handing a set to the still auto-functioning Severide who takes them, mindlessly following the nurse and the medics until he was ushered into a restroom, and the door closed, leaving him alone.
Locking the door behind him, Severide tossed he clothes to the side as he stripped to his boxers, revealed skin clean of soot and blood. The usual landscape of scars and har-mucsle lines marred, instead, only by the slowly darkening but unserious bruises, one on his stomach –from the hard fixture that had been next to him in the ambulance and into which he had unknowingly but repeatedly toppled in during the ambulance ride– and a second on his left forearm, in the shape of his right hand, the darkening shadow a reminder of his own death grip on the appendage.
He stares at the incredibly minor injuries and then up at his own reflection in the mirror, at the his soot stained and shocky face and at the line encircling his wrists, separating the clean skin from the soot and blood stains.
And for a second he doesn't want to clean it off, wants to leave it, a reminder, but instead he blasts the water, as hard and hot as possible and his momentary desire to leave the mess abruptly reversing into a growing desperation to get it off.
SO he scrubs, flakes getting scrapped off with his blunt fingernails, the water turning a nauseating red-tinted black and he scrubs harder and harder ducking his head down to clean the skin there too. Eventually the near scalding water comes away clear and his hands are only still blood stained in his memory. Severide's lucid enough to be able to separate the two and shut off the flow of water and dry himself off with paper towels.
The scrubs are a pale green and, surprisingly enough, fit him correctly, not clinging tightly across his shoulders or chest, nor stopping oddly short nor brushing the ground. Honestly though, he doesn't really care.
He's trying to decide what to do with his pile of clothes when there's a knock at the door, followed by it swinging open moments later. A male nurse, about both his age and size, steps in clad in scrubs the same color and a gentle expression. He smiles softly at Severide, "Glad they fit," he motions to the scrubs then towards the sooty pile, "You can leave those there, I'll get them for you later."
Severide mutters his thanks before stepping out into the unfamiliar corridor, glancing around in a futile attempt to get his bearings. The nurse notices.
"Here, I'll take you back to the waiting room."
Receiving a nod, he started off, the firefighter following behind, allowing silence to remain for the quick walk back to the room and the two medics, also clad in scrubs, waiting for him.
As he walks away, Luke Stension glances back, sighing at the sight if one of the men who had saved him and his younger brothers a few months ago, looking so lost and broken. Having been a nurse for ten years, Luke had seen this kind of behavior before, the desperate all-encompassing worry and fear. He'd stay and try to help the firefighter if wasn't needed for the increasingly hopeless surgery of a gunshot victim.
As he rushed away, he hoped the man's brother would make it.
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The knock on his door just comes as Chief Boden finishes changing. He freezes for a moment, wondering who possibly woulb be there and when the door swings open it's no one he even thought of.
IT's James Mounts, a chief at a different firehouse and his top two lieutenants, actual brothers Paul and Riley Scott all three wearing concerned, sympathetic expressions. Boden blinks confusedly, James is a good man, a friend and a great chief, not one to either revel in the other's pain or subscribe to petty professional antics, so the purpose of his visit is unclear. For his part, James, the two brothers following, step in and get right to it, "Boden, I heard one of your guys is hurt."
Not surprised at the speed information traveled, Boden frowned, letting his worry but none of his hear, seep out, "Yeah," knowing James knew most of his guys –just as the opposite was true– and hearing the unspoken who he continues, "Casey. He's still at the hospital."
"Bad?" the other chief obviously having heard about the hospital trip but not the seriousness.
"He was shot, twice. In the chest." His words are blunt, mostly for his own shake, the circumstance still feeling unreal but he probably should have softened them, his own words abruptly driving home the realtiy at the same time that they hit the other men.
James stared, eyes widening in shock and mouth opening speechlessly. Next to him, Paul breaths in sharply, expression similar to his chief's but recovery faster prompted by his younger brother who jerked back as if struck, then twitched forward voice worried, "Shot? How? How bad? Is he gonna be ok?"
He trails off from any more questions when Paul, who wrapped a comforting arm around Riley, glanced gently at the younger man, prompting a slight sheepish note in his explanation, I transferred to Matt's school the last few months of senior year. He was nice, a good friend. I got into the wrong crowd a bit, he straightened me up, reminded me that just cause I had the same dream as my brother didn't mean I was copying him. We kinda lost touch after training though. Is he gonna be ok?"
Boden dropped into his chair, worry and fear and the fact that one of his men, same men who –at the end of the day –he would consider a friend, was hurt under his watch, weighing heavily on him, the younger Scott brother only verbalizing his own questions and his answer, low and rough, was just as much to himself, "I don't know, I don't know."
"Well, get your guys and go to the hospital, see if there's any news. I'll fill in for you; Riley and Paul and their crews just got off a single shift, and have already offered to cover any of your guys with double shifts."
Boden goes to protest, that he can be professional but he sees James isn't talking to him chief to chief but James to Wallace, friend to friend, not the bosses of their teams but friends and the occasional father figure to guys they had to send in to buildings and quite possibly have to make the decision to leave in said building. So, instead, he nods gratefully muttering his goodbyes and heads out.
Most of the guys are waiting outside the locker rooms, only Herrmann, Mouch and Mills still changing. There's a couple of unfamiliar cars parked outside as well as a few vaguely familiar guys strolling in, faces sympathetic but relaxed. He nearly smiled slightly, firefighters really were ones to pull together, no matter any personal issues, not just around their own house and the guys of other houses too.
Boden just hoped Casey would pull through to see it.
.
.
tbc
(again I hope no one was OC! My whole basis of firehouses comes from my uncles, neither of whom work in large cities like Chicago, for them, a couple of the guys stay at the night at the end of their "shifts", these night shifts rotate between the guys. Might not mean the same in cities I won't go into detail but that's not a double shift, and a "shift" is actually a couple days. Not important but just clear things up. If there's any questions or confusion, message them to me or toss them into a review and I'll try to clear them up! Hope it's still worth leading!)