Fandom: One Chicago/ SVU

Title: Minutes

Chapter 1: No Crying

Friday, May 28th, 2021 11;58 pm

A/N: The usual disclaimer applies I own only my ideas and original characters all others belong to Wolf Entertainment and NBC. Happy Mother's Day to all the mother's out there, this will be a Brettsey fic I promise by chapter three they will come into play.

Fluorescence bursts of lights pass by my cornea's in the brief moments I can pry them open long enough to see anything except the total blackness which has taken over my world, my eyelids feel so heavy what is happening to my body why have I lost control of my body, and how long have I been lying here in this embankment?

I can't lift my arms to see my watch; believe me, I have tried. I lost count on how many times, no movement it hurts to try not the type of pain like when I get a paper cut or scrape my knees when I fall off my bike; no, this pain is unlike any other pain I have ever experienced in my life it's breathtaking and unbearable.

If boys were allowed to cry, I would cry right now; every part of my body is on fire; I thought that water was supposed to put out the fire. It's what I learned in science class, but maybe it only works if it's coming from the hose being held by a firefighter. Not when a body is laying on an embankment being soaked by the rising waters, the fire is coursing inside my body, inflicting every tendon, muscle, and bone it scorches my skin from the inside.

I never knew pain could ever be this intense, but I am young; there are a lot of things I don't know yet, but I know I am confused so confused how can I be so cold one minute every part of me is shivering even the tiny hairs on my body are standing up stiff with shock.

The shivers only last for a few minutes; I think it's hard to tell since I don't know the time; I've had shivers before at least two times a week since I was born; of course, doctors call those shivers seizures, not shivers that's a word mama, and I came up with when I was young because seizures sound so cold and what's a good vocabulary word for how I feel towards my seizures, come on brain think what are some words Mrs. Cape taught us this year.

Formidable: causing fear, dread, or apprehension a challenging prospect.

Yeah, I bet Mrs. Cape would be proud of me for this word. She's always on me about studying hard and paying attention in class so I can have a secure future. Every spelling bee; she has yelled at me for not paying attention in class because "You're smarter than this, you can do better than a 90%. Stop fooling around; pay attention; you can be on the honor roll if you apply yourself!" It annoys me every dang time. Doesn't she understand I have better things to do than spend my school-free minutes studying? I'm a boy scout, a guild leader in WOW, a musician, a soccer freak, a dancer; I have so many friends we have so many activities; I have so little time to fit them all into my day.

Of course, she doesn't; she's a grownup, and they always think they are correct and that kids are dumb; except newsflash, we are not dumb. We are innovative; we're bold, creative; we can create symphonies, lead debate teams, start foundations or YouTube channels, lead our school sports teams into victories, follow a map, and plan trips across the country. We crystallize rock candies and build volcanoes.

Kids can be powerful when giving a chance, not that Mrs. Cape ever provides us with an opportunity; she's so busy yelling at us to listen; why don't grownups ever listen to us kids? Some days, like today, she reminds me of my mama.

"Mommy."

My voice is weaker than I thought. I can't scream; the word comes out in a funny whisper softer than the ones inside my mind; which are screaming. I believe Mrs. Cape would call that irony. My body can't stop shivering. I don't know how long it's been, but it's the longest I've ever shivered; it's scaring me...these shivers differ from my regular shivers. When I have a seizure, I'm not awake; I can't feel it happening or see anything while they are going on. I blank out and lose time when I wake; they are over, and I am usually sitting up on the couch mama is holding my hand and taking my vitals.

Not this time, I can feel the shivers fade as the heat flames through my body. It's so vehement I feel my stomach clench and twist painfully. It takes away my breath and leaves my vision in fireworks of bright, colorful displays. I'm gasping in fright, but I can't move; the rays of light are fading fast my vision is now swimming in darkness. I am scared; I'm also smart enough to know I was wrong, so very wrong, and I wish I had listened to my mama and every grownup in my life; even my best friend tried to warn me not to run away.

If I had, maybe I wouldn't be lying here on this cold, muddy embankment shivering in pain, scared and alone; if I had paid attention to them listened to them, I would have a future to plan for, but I didn't listen, and now I'm hurt. I can hear the leaves rustle blowing past my cheeks, see the glow of the moonlight as my eyelids flutter open and close a few times. If someone doesn't find me soon, I won't have a future to prepare for. I can feel my life slipping away; I can't run or reach out to catch it or even scream at it to not leave me. I've tried nothing happens; I am so scared each second or minute that passes leaves me colder and more frightened there's a metallic, almost iron taste inside my mouth. It's gross.

I can't figure out what the taste reminds me of; I know my mama would know; I want my mama to hold me, comfort me, and sing to me. I am so sleepy she always sung me to sleep when I was younger; it's been years since she's done that all because I said I was too grownup to be treated like a baby.

I would give anything right now to be her baby again, even if it were only for a few final minutes.

She'll blame herself for this. I know my mama well enough to know she'll never forgive herself for not keeping me safe. That's a mother's job to keep her kids safe, to protect them from all harm physically, mentally, and emotionally to show them how to be proper young men and gentlemen to guide them through the challenges of every aspect of life journey. With daddies' help, but my dad was never around much. He lives in California, and we live in New York City. It's a forty-three-hour drive, 2,914.2 miles or four hours and 36 minutes. Mama never had the money to buy me a plane ticket, and daddy was always working too busy to take the time to fly out to see me. He has a job he loves out there and his new family. Sure he calls once a week sends gifts on special occasions every other summer mama tried to send me out there for a week, but I always felt out of place with my brothers and sisters there, we never had a connection, and I barely knew my dad, so we had nothing in common. I asked her to stop sending me two years ago; I wondered why there was no connection between us. Did I do something wrong?

I was naïve then; this week, my eyes were opened wide in realization. I heard my mama tell my aunt Liv the truth that the man she thought was my father, Nick Amaro wasn't my biological father. Everything made sense for the first time in my entire life; there was no connection because we aren't related in any way; he didn't raise me so that we couldn't form any similar interests, and he isn't biologically related to me. Somewhere out here in Chicago, though, is the man who is my biological father.

"Please, God." I whisper, my throat sore and scratchy. "let me live to meet my real dad. I'm sorry, Jesus, for sinning; I shouldn't have lied or run away or made mommy worry. Please spare my life; I know it's selfish since God didn't spare you Jesus; why spare me son of his spirit, not his flesh. I promise I have learned my lesson from my mistakes. I will be a better friend, son, student please, God let me live so I can serve you properly."

I'm floating in darkness, 100% darkness now. I can't see not one ray of light, but I can smell gasoline, leaves, tequila. I know the smell because mama drinks it when she's stressed, I can smell smoke my brain is foggy, but I can connect the two smoke equals fire no wonder I am so warm there's a fire somewhere close to me, burning rubber it's strong and makes my stomach turn painfully. Music I can hear it playing, but where from and why didn't I hear it before?

The water is rising; I can taste it on my lips, not salty like the ocean. I miss the ocean mama took me there once; it was beautiful and warm; this water is muddy and cold. It chokes me. I can't sit up to stop it, unlike when I was floating on my back in the ocean when I felt the salt tickle my throat. I could shoot up, spit it out and laugh before diving back into the waves. As powerful as the sea thought it was I was more powerful, and I held the ability to show the ocean who the boss was. Mama said I was a natural-born swimmer; and promised to take me back to the ocean every summer; of course, she broke that promise work always got in the way she said; her job was too important to take off for a day at the beach.

She said I reminded her of her when she was younger; I was her mini-me. I wonder if she can feel me now, hear me. I don't want her to worry or be afraid or sad; I can feel the blood rushing through my body, out of my body. Blood, that's the taste I couldn't identify earlier. Now it's draining the life out of my body, pounding in my ears the way a base thumps the floor beams when a stereo is blasting. "Help me." My voice comes out no more substantial than a squeak; the attempt leaves me drained; I don't know if I can utter another word.

"Help is coming; what's your name?"

My head can't turn to see whose voice spoke to me. I thought I was alone. "Romeo Matthew Rollins, they call me RoRo for short." a coughing spell rips through my body, leaving me gasping and tightening in pain. "I'm ten years old; how did we get here, and who are you?" I can't talk anymore; the pain is so intense it makes me misty-eyed.

"I'm Benedict Remington Brett; I'm seventeen years old. My friends and I were in a car accident. You got hit by our car; I'm sorry, man, so sorry I never meant for anything to happen to anyone. I can't move. I think I am paralyzed, or I would help you."

"I can't move either. Is help coming?" I guess I had some energy left; after all, I have to let him know why I am here, so if I don't make it, someone knows why I left my home. "I came here to find my father. I found out he lives here..his name is Matthew Casey."

I can't hear if he answers. I'm suddenly so cold, too cold, and exhausted. So is this what death feels like? I've always wondered now; I know it's cold and painful and lonely, not at all how my friends who have been at death's door described it.

I don't want to die; I want to live if I wanted to die, I wouldn't have battled cancer three times and kicked its damn ass I wouldn't have outlived my friends, but I lived when they didn't if I am going to die it will be on my terms.

Today is not that day death. GO AWAY!