Boden watches, eyes like an eagle, as his stomach tries frantically to claw its way up his throat. There's a very clear moment as Casey climbs back away from the Mustang and the surgeon forward that their eyes lock and the world pauses for a moment. He can feel the hate and dread all the way back at the trucks. Boden reminds himself that this doctor is not the enemy, he's here to help, to get his man out alive; the rest they'll deal with later.

"Report," Boden demands.

"It's not good, Chief," replies Casey, the situation written all over his face. This is just one of a hundred nightmares that haunt them on the job. Seeing it brings fear that it might be them one day, and shamefully relief that today is not their day. But this one hits far too close to home. This isn't some unnamed hero facing tragedy, this is their friend, their brother- no one leaves hear unscathed.

They'd been warned beforehand but the gravity of the situation hits home harder when it's from the lips of one of Boden's own. "The paramedic says Severide wants to wait to see if they can clear enough vehicles out to extract without surgery."

Casey's head turns back towards the sea of twisted metal, a metallic puzzle that needs to disassembled in a certain order. If they had all the time in the world, it wouldn't be a problem. Time is their true enemy. Location isn't a friend of theirs either. The two lane road is paralleled by embankments on either side of the windy stretch. There's a steep rocky incline on the right and wooded decline on the left making it impossible to get vehicles around the scene. Most of their resources are behind the accident with a lone rescue truck dispatched from the lake community in front.

"Do you think we have that kind of time, Captain?" asks Boden, watching the wheels turn in Casey's head. They'll give Kelly their all, but he needs to know where to allocate their resources.

If they were back home on the streets of Chicago, Casey's positive the team could get it done. They're not in the heart of the city and they don't have house fifty-one resources or its people to pull this off with ease. Still, they have to try; that's one of theirs out there. "That winch on your truck work?"

"I guess we're going to find out how well," says Boden with gruff determination.

"Herrmann and I are on it," he promises, sprinting into action.

Of that, Boden has no doubt. He nods his dismissal, silently praying Casey and Herrmann luck. As Casey sprints through the trees, minding his footing on the unforgiving slope along the highway, Boden's gaze drifts back to Severide's car.


Cara's eyes are as glued to the assessing surgeon as her hand is as firmly entwined in Kelly's. Kelly's probably watching him like a hawk too, but pain, adrenaline and drugs prevent him from reading every line and twitch of the surgeons face. Cara doesn't need the play by play, she's seen it before, watched as surgeons come to their own conclusions about people's fates.

"I want a backboard over here and the helicopter ready to go in ten minutes," snaps the surgeon. Davis is quick to radio back the request to the ambulance.

"You can't," protests Kelly, panic taking flight in his words. He wants to run, to escape this nightmare but it's more than an injury keeping him trapped. And if this doctor has his way, he'll never run again anyways.

Cara places her other hand firmly on Kelly's chest, stopping his restricted attempts at struggling. "The patient here would really like to keep his leg, Doctor," she tries. "The guys are working really hard on their end to try and facilitate that request."

The surgeon looks at both Cara and Kelly rather indignantly. "We all would like to leave scenes like this whole, sweetheart. But my job is to make sure the patient has the best chance of survival. The longer we wait, the trickier the situation gets. He can't wait like this forever."

"Please," pleads Kelly, trying hard not to sob. Everyone's making decisions about his life but none of them have to live it. He wants to cry and rage about the unfairness of it all and tell them all to go to hell. He wants Brett and Foster to be here to offer their skills and capable hands. He wants his crew to be attacking this wreck because there are no more capable hands then theirs. He wants, no needs time to stand still for a moment while he moves the pieces of this nightmare into more favourable positions. Deep down, under all the fear and uncertainty, Kelly knows these people are just trying to help.

"He's a fireman," adds Cara. The claim hangs heavy in the air as they both understand the implication of what happens next will have on their patient. It's not like the claim will change circumstances; death won't develop patients simply because it's a hero in dire straits.

"Prepare his shoulder. We have to cut through that bar to release him from the seat because after I remove the leg we won't have time to wait to do it."

Kelly sucks in a shuddering breath. This roller coaster reached the top of the first hill and there's no getting off now.

"We're going to get you through this, Kelly," promises Cara, her head next to Kelly's ear.


"Herrmann!" shouts Casey approaching the group of firemen working to move the wreckage out of the way.

Herrmann's head pops up over the shoulders of the group of men currently pushing one of the cars to the side so they can get a better angle on the trashed van that's next in line in their path to Kelly. The van moans and creaks as it reluctantly yields to the firemen and slides over the last couple of feet. Job done, Herrmann steps out of the way so the team can move in and begin cutting up the van so it can be yanked out of the mess. "How's Severide doing?" he asks, looking fearfully out to the middle of the metal graveyard where his friend and co-worker is trapped.

"He's hanging in there," replies Casey, trying to cover up the uncertainty they're all feeling. "How's it going here?"

Herrmann's eyes dart over the never ending wreck. Time is not their friend tonight. "Slow. It's going really slow."

The apologetic tone in his voice cuts through Casey like a knife. With one of their own on the line it's hard not to feel like every minute Kelly's trapped as a personal failure.

"The problem is these vehicles are so tangled that you can't just hook a wench up to one and pull it away. It'd be like trying to pull six cars at once. And the narrow access to everything means we only have one angle to attack from."

"Two," corrects Casey.

"All the equipment worth a damn is on this side and there're still four cars between us and having the room to cut out Severide," corrects Herrmann.

"If you can I take a couple of saws to the other end, we could try and take the transport and pickup truck out of the equation, make the room on the other side. Between Boden's truck and the rescue truck we might have enough pull to do it."

A smile spreads across Herrmann's face as he looks at the rescue truck and Boden's truck on the other side of the accident. The light dances off the wench a flashing arrow pointing them to salvation. "Yeah," he says, enthusiasm growing, "we might be able to make that work."

"Let's get going," orders Casey. "Severide doesn't have any time to waste."


Cara works in silence, packing the area around the shoulder wound so the metal skewering Kelly won't move around as much when Davis starts cutting through it.

Kelly stares straight ahead at what's left of his dashboard like it personally betrayed him. Numbness that has nothing to do with the accident or accumulated trauma over takes him that he can barely feel Cara's hands working on his shoulder and chest. He saves people from things like this, he doesn't need saving himself. He supposes he should get used to the helpless and useless feeling wrapping him up like the cold steel of an anchor chain being thrown overboard; he's going to feel this way for the rest of his life. His reason for being is being stolen from him with surgical precision. It's his shoulder injury all over again, except he's used up his miracle. He can't lie about this, get Shay to help him out with painkillers, or find another doctor- this doesn't have a work around.

If he'd known his last call at fifty-one was going to be his last, he would have treasured it a little more. He would have basked in the fading smoke of a fire extinguished long before it ruined lives and property. He would have held that smile between him and Cruz a little longer; watched Casey and Stella pack up the hoses more closely to make sure he committed every detail to memory. He would have froze the picture of the neighbourhood kids lighting up in reverence as squad gave them a cheap thrill of turning the lights on as they left.

It's all gone now; that's someone else's life now. Kelly wonders who Boden will get to replace him. Will they even remember his name around the house a year from now? Two years from now? Five?

"Stop," says Boden, his booming voice chasing away Kelly's grim thoughts.

"Sir?" stammers Kelly, blinking his way back to the here and now.

"Stop letting your head lead you to all those dark places," Boden warns with warm sincerity. He perches as best he can in front of Kelly so he can actually make eye contact and to obscure the Lieutenant's view of the doctor laying out his tools on a sterilized tarp.

"How did you know?"

Boden tilts his head to the side slightly. "We tend to dwell on the worst case scenarios in situations we feel like we have no control in." There's something in his voice that speaks to experience on the matter in all the wrong ways.

"We good?" ask Davis, looking pointedly at Cara as he hefts his saw. Cara nods signaling Davis to start.

"Okay Kelly, we're just going to get a little close and personal here," she says, wrapping a thick blanket around herself and Kelly to shield him from any sparks and splinters that might break away from the saw.

The saw screams to life as Davis positions himself to gain the best angle to cut through the metal rod pinning Kelly to the seat.

"Look at me," commands Boden, loud enough to be heard over the saw as it squeals and bites against its prey.

Kelly's wild eyes snap forward as his brain focuses on the order. Boden's commands are the difference between life and death, a fact that's so ingrained in Kelly's being, he has no choice but to respond, even when terror is taking over. He lets out a pained scream as the twisted metal starts to shift and move, bucking against the saw's relentless bite.

Boden places a reassuring hand on Kelly's good shoulder and another on the forearm of Kelly's bad one. It's warm, especially against the rapid chilling of the night and Kelly's growing blood loss.

"I'm sorry for not making it to the cabin," pants Kelly as his head lulls against Cara's shoulder. "Should have left this morning with Casey." His heavy lips mumble the words as they get caught up on his uncooperative tongue. He's tired. Every inch of him feels exhausted and heavy.

"Shhh," hums Boden. "We'll talk about that later. Let's just focus on you hanging on." Kelly's eyes droop closed for a moment. Boden takes the opportunity to glance over his shoulder at the trauma surgeon prepping the tools to take matters into his own hands. Boden wishes he hadn't looked. It's impossible to pretend it's not about to happen when the image is right in front of him.

The saw stops, leaving the pounding of Boden's heart to fill the void. "I'm through," shouts Davis, getting out of the way quickly so the surgeon can take a better look at just what damage Kelly's incurred now that his back isn't blocked by the seat.

Cara doesn't see Kelly's eyes droop but she can feel him go slack against her. "Kelly?" The urgency in her voice is matched by the speed in which she throws off the blanket and pushes Boden back. Kelly's head lulls against the neck brace; no response taking flight from his pale lips. "Kelly can you hear me?" demands Cara, rubbing her knuckles against the cold and clammy skin over Kelly's sternum. "Kelly!"