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Red and white lights pulsate, cutting through the night and bathing the stretch of highway in an eerie glow. The lights are familiar in their urgency, their desperate call to action enough to resonate behind Kelly's eyelids.
Somebody needs help.
Kelly has to help somebody.
"Mmmm," he moans, every inch feeling heavy and tired. All he wants to do is pull the blankets tighter around himself and catch another hour of sleep, but lives are on the line. Slowly, he blinks his eyes open and mental prepares for the call. Everything is blurry and mostly dark. He reaches out to find the edge of his bunk and pull himself out of bed so he can begin his well rehearsed race to get his gear on and go.
Something's wrong.
He can't move his body and it's not the scratchy fabric of the old firehouse blankets his hand is running over- it's leather and plastic and metal.
Pain steals away Kelly's breath, dancing along every nerve and splitting his skull. He attempts to suck in a deep breath but the effort sets his shoulder afire. Instinctively, his body tries to curl in on itself, anything to escape the pain but the futile effort just makes it worse. He blindly gropes around until his hand weakly hits something long and cold protruding from his left shoulder. His eyes dart around frantically, blinking rapidly to try and dispel the blurriness.
The red and white emergency lights reach just far enough to gleam off the twisted black metal that used to be part of Kelly's door and now is firmly impaled through his shoulder and embedded in the seat of his mustang.
Panic starts to rise as the moments before the crash hit Kelly like a sledgehammer, swirling around with the horror he now finds himself in. "Fuck," he hisses in anguish, fighting back tears that sting his eyes. He grits his teeth and tries to think about anything other than the pain exploding in his shoulder or the warm blood slowly spreading out in the fabric of his shirt and chasing away the chill of the night.
He's been in precarious situations before. He just has to keep it together. Fear is a silent killer and Kelly won't let it take over.
A bright light hits Kelly like a knife through the eye, blinding him momentarily and sending the shadows of despair and death skittering away. He tries to move his head to get out of the path of the light but it feels too heavy to move and there isn't a lot of room to maneuver in anyways.
"Kelly, don't move. You're going to be alright," assures Dawson, moving the flashlight out of Kelly's eyes.
Kelly squints. "Gabby?" His head starts to spin with questions. He wants to ask when Dawson got back? When she rejoined the fire department and her family at fifty-one? How did she find him? But he can't seem to get his tongue to form the words. That tired feeling is taking hold again. It's okay though, because he's in good hands.
The blurry form of Dawson slowly becomes clearer, sharper, and Kelly realizes he's looking at a stranger. The hair's right. The brown eyes have that same determination and confidence and by god the voice is close, but it's not Dawson perched precariously over him.
Her gloved hand reaches out and touches him reassuringly on the shoulder near his neck. "I need you to stay still," she instructs, silently counting the beats of his heart. "My name's Cara. What's yours?"
"K-Kelly Severide," he breaths trying to ride out a wave of pain.
"Hey there, Kelly," says Cara with a smile before turning to yell over her shoulder, "I have an adult male trapped. Gonna need an IV and backboard and an extraction as soon as possible."
Someone calls back an answer but Kelly can't make it out over the sound of a saw.
"Who's Gabby? Someone in the car with you?" asks Cara as she shines her flashlight around the wreckage that used to be Kelly's car.
"No. No she was a friend. A paramedic in Chicago." Kelly's eyes follow the light as it bounces off the twisted seat and metal frame that's more reminiscent of a pretzel than his prized mustang. He wants to be mad but the anger is held back by the shock that he's even alive. Out of the corner of his eye he can see one of the wheels from the transport truck sitting in what used to be his passenger seat. Cara's kneeling on the flattened part of what used to be the green minivan's trunk space. His car is partially under the transport truck and pressed against what's left of the green minivan. The front end of the car is crushed and pressed tightly against his lower chest; he can't even see his legs under the mangled dashboard. He bites his lip to stifle the groan clawing for release as he tries to tilt his head forward to get a better look.
"Whoa there, cowboy," cautions Cara, placing her hands on either side of Kelly's face preventing him from moving his head. "We'll have you out of here as soon as possible but I need you to be still and let me finish checking you out." Expert hands reach into her pack and pull out a c-collar, delicately wrapping it around Kelly's neck.
"Not a cowboy," hisses Kelly, riding out a wave of agony. The collar's secured in place. Kelly feels like he's suffocating, like the plastic collar is squeezing tighter and choking him. He's already in a painfully small space and somehow the collar's making the claustrophobia worse.
Cara moves her stethoscope around Kelly's chest, vigilant of the metal sticking out just under his collarbone. She reaches around and carefully slips her hand between her patient and the seat probing the exit wound. It's difficult to maneuver, the metal from the top part of the door pinning Kelly firmly to the seat. She glances over the seat to what little space remains of the back seat. The piece of metal protrudes about five inches from the seat. "I thought all boys wanted to grow up to be cowboys."
Kelly grimaces. Even though Cara is being gentle, every touch feels like a fresh knife in the wound. "Firefighter. I'm a firefighter."
"A firefighter huh? Then you know how this goes. I'm going to need you to be calm and still and tell me what hurts."
"That shouldn't be a problem," assures Kelly, his voice cracking with pain. Breathing hurts. He's not going to twitch if he can help it. He closes his eyes and takes a slow deep breath. Could this day possibly get any worse?
Cara shines her penlight in Kelly's eyes. He winces in pain as he tries to recoil from the light. "You're looking at a concussion. Can you squeeze my hands?" she asks, putting down the flashlight and grabbing a hold of Kelly's hands. His right hand is in his lap but she has to dig around to take hold of his left one; the bent frame of the lower car door pinning his forearm down along beside his thigh.
"That's good," she says with smile as Kelly squeezes back. It's not tight but it's good enough.
It occurs to Kelly that his legs are pinned under the dashboard and they don't hurt. In fact, his legs are the only part of him that don't hurt. He can't feel his legs at all.
"My legs," he chokes out, "I can't feel my legs."
He can feel her hands slip from his and move to his chest. Slowly they trail down his chest and abdomen. "Tell me when the sensation stops." Her hands move lower, over his hips and down his thighs.
"There!" he cries, watching her face for any hint as to how bad it is. There's nothing but calm reassurance staring back at him. "Am I paralyzed?" he asks before he loses the nerve to ask. His whole life as he knows it, is riding on the answer. Part of him hopes Cara lies to him.
"Your legs are pinned pretty good and sensation stops in the middle of your thigh right where the dashboard is pressing down. I think the odds are pretty good that once we get you out of here the feeling will return."
Kelly locks desperate eyes with Cara. "You're sure?"
"You'll be dancing in no time."
"Cara!" yells a man from outside Kelly's vision. The paramedic's eyes dart to the right.
"That's the fire captain calling me. I'll be right back, okay?" she says squeezing Kelly's hand.
Kelly tries to nod but the damn brace makes it impossible to move his head. "Yeah, go," he mutters around shaky breaths. He watches Cara climb back over the wreckage towards what's probably a cluster of emergency vehicles- fire, ambulance, police, all gathered to try and help save lives that are only in danger because of one reckless driver.
It hits Kelly, sitting there unable to look at anything other than the broken remain around him, just how alone he feels. It was supposed to a quiet weekend at the lake with the guys- fishing, drinking; not trapped in the twisted metal cage of what was formerly his mustang, alone on a quiet highway unable to help himself.