Here you are my pretty cherubs. I'm sick and I'm all drugged up so all mistakes are completely and totally mine...

Prompt: Amanda: pls write one where Will comforts Jay like Will still lives with Jay and both are sleeping and then Will hears screams and noises coming from Jay's room and he goes to his younger bro to look if everything is ok and then he finds Jay in the middle of a nightmare.

"You know when Jay came back...I wasn't there for him."

Will's P.O.V.

As a doctor, the term 'bed time' has little meaning except to simply refer to the time we passed out. May not have even been a bed, could have been a couch or chair or possibly the floor depending on how uncoordinated you were coming home.

Sometimes, it's easier to accept fate than try and crawl to a bed.

And other times, you try to fight your way to the bedroom. But then you fall asleep anyway, and you're super fit macho brother picks you up off the floor at one in the morning and dumps you onto your designated yet unfamiliar mattress and you wake up confused as all heck. Not that I could speak from experience or anything.

But as it turns out, when rooming with a cop, you find that they tend to have the same concept of nighttime: there is no such thing as 'too early' or 'too late'.

Which is why it is only slightly surprising to unlock the apartment and find no TV on, and no Jay passed out in front of it. I double check my phone making sure he didn't stay at the precinct. A habit I've forced upon him to text me whenever he's pulling an all nighter so I don't start thinking he's been kidnapped again.

And empty message box and a glaring one twelve in the morning is all I get for my troubles.

Ignoring the bone deep ache that's settles in my back and feet, I shrug off the jacket, chucking it in the living room with as much care as I show my shoes while I kick them into the kitchen. Bag dropped onto the couch and I'm headed straight to the heaven that is my bed. I have fourteen hours until my next shift and I plan on spending twelve of them asleep.

Right after I make sure Jays actually home. It's this other habit I've produced since I got that phone call from Mouse. And every time I poke my head into that dark bedroom I can remember his words.

'...know your busy but…this is important. It's about your brother.'

'What?'

I stare at the crumpled sheets and blankets half covering the splay of limbs and body that snores softly in the moonlight.

'Jays been kidnapped.'

It scared the living shit out of me. So much so I almost had a panic attack at work and if Natalie hadn't been all hormonal and short tempered and slapped me, I probably would have. As it was I moved around like a ghost the rest of my shift, empty, monotone, and in shock. Ask me to tell you about just one of the people I treated after that and I could give you a very detailed description of the white and blue blur that is my memory.

And then when he finally got to the hospital I was ready to lock him in a room and throw the key into the Chicago River. I threatened him with every needle in the hospital if he dared move from his hospital bed before Choi released him. He listened, but I think that was because of the concussion and pain meds.

Sighing I move into the room, gently rearranging the limbs to not be halfway off the bed and picking up his head to place back on a pillow. There a tiny moment where the snores stop and some soft snuffle thing that might have been half a sneeze is the only indication of his momentary awareness before I fix the blankets and he slides gracefully back into sleep.

I leave the room, trying hard not to smile at the giant lump of blankets that is now him. He's one of those people that will sleep with a blanket even if it's one hundred degrees outside. And not only does he use a blanket, he also cocoons himself in them, so all you see is his hair.

Unless he's so exhausted he doesn't even get out of his clothes, in which he just dives into bed regardless of how he left it in the morning. Hence the state I found him in.

And I mean literally dive too. He could compete with the distances he crosses in the air.

Quickly changing in my own, 'sorta kinda really a guest bed but for my own sanity I'm not leaving anytime soon' room. I flop into bed, take two seconds to plug in my phone then snuggle up to my pillow, relaxing more and more at each second that goes by. Finally I'm curled comfortably on my side, relishing the warmth from the comforter.

Some singular brain cell manages to register that I'm in the exact same position as my brother. Then sleeps soft tendrils wrap themselves around my being and pull me down into the depths of its comfortable darkness.

…

It isn't a soft awakening that allows me to greet the day, and it takes me a moment to realize it isn't actually, you know, day. In fact, given the way there isn't even an inkling of dawn outside my window, I'd say it hasn't been more than a few hours since I fell into bed.

The reason for my rude awakening makes itself known once more in a sound that not only snaps me wide awake but has me rushing to get out from underneath my tangle of various covers.

A scream. A rather loud one that emanates from down the hall and has the ring of pure fear in it. The same fear echoes in my heart almost instantly.

Because I know those screams. I've known them since his first night terror as a kid when he thought the water heater deserved to die and the only way to kill it was to throw every piece of glassware we owned at it. He ended up in the hospital that night, getting stitches in his hands and arms while I cried because my brother was hurt and I couldn't help him.

My feet fly down the hall, hands skimming the wall as I make an effort to not kill myself getting to his room. Another sound floats through the air, this one more of a wail, sounding his pain. Pain he shouldn't be in.

I yell his name as I skid into room, crossing the threshold in a slip as my socked feet offer little traction on the wood floor. There is little reaction save for another cry. And I panic.

This has never happened before. I've never seen him like this.

Jay is twisted in the middle of the bed, pillows stren everywhere, sheets tangled and trapping him while he writhes on the mattress. Tears stream down his face, skin pale and silver in the light of the moon. His eyes are firmly closed and his head whips back and forth while he alters between arching his back and rounding, arms and legs jerking in what I can only describe as convulsions. Really though he's tangled the sheets into knots, so I have no doubt that if he was free, fists would be flying.

And he just- he looks so scared. It makes me blank out, all thoughts falling to a flat panic that steals my breath.

See I could always wake him up. Most of his nightmares, the ones I was around for anyway, would be quiet. He might toss a little bit, emit a cry or a whimper but he'd never be moving is much. He'd never be this violent.

I'm not stupid. I know you don't touch someone to wake them when they're like this, you're likely to get hit. Especially if that someone has, say, served in a war, or experienced something traumatic. Something that would make them potentially hostile and extremely dangerous when acting on instinct.

Another horrible noise rips it's way through the air, and oh my god it sounds like he's being torn apart from the inside.

I can't just do nothing and even though he might spring on me and snap my neck I find myself sprinting forward because God damn it this is Jay and he needs help.

I shouldn't touch him. I can't touch him. I'm a doctor, an ER doctor and someone who used to work in Syria at a clinic where the only thing that identified you as medical was the blue bandanna around your neck and the fact that people respected you because of your skill not the knife strapped to your thigh. I've been in an explosion, held hostage, thought I was going to die in multiple occasions while wishing I had in others.

And I've never felt more helpless or terrified than I do now.

My fingers hover over him, wanting so badly to do something and he really starts sobbing. It's a call for help, a plea, a begging desire. His body and consciousness screams for help, but his subconscious, his mind is ready to attack. It registers pain, insufferable amount of pain, so it will defend against anything and everything, labeling 'threat' out of sheer desperation. He'll snap the second he feels touch, the iron muscles moving beneath his skin tell me so. But it sounds like he's dying, like he's losing everything and he's actually breaking and I can't see him like this. Just like all those years ago, I can't do nothing, it makes me feel so worthless. So I ignore logic and I move.

The reaction is instantaneous.

I hadn't touched him- not yet -and his arm pulls free of a blanket and smacks me in the jaw. There isn't power behind it, he was just flailing around, but skin still hit skin, and he still registered the touch.

"Jay-" My voice is cut off as a foot slams into my stomach. I double over with a groan, the breath driven from my lungs. Before I can process more, a solid wall of anger slams me to the floor. My head hits with a smack and the two hands pressing to my throat definitely do not help my muffled thoughts become any clearer.

I manage a strangled (literally) grunt of protest before he cuts off my air completely. My hands smack uselessly at his arms, pushing rather weakly at the crook of his elbows. Something that can work when your attacker's arms are locked. However, even those Jay's are, I am not applying nearly enough force to make a dent on his adrenaline induced strength.

My lungs protest at the stale oxygen in them, forcing my diaphragm and throat to spasm. He's squeezing to tight though, and through the pain I vaguely register my impersonation of a fish out of water.

Bright spots flash across my vision, interrupting my view of my brother above me. A welcome distraction from his face, the one painted with fury. Yet it's his eyes that get to me, as he chokes the life from my body all I'm allowed to focus on is his eyes.

They're hazy and cloudy, pupils dilated in a way that reassures me somewhat, even as he shakes me, slamming my head on the ground again. He most certainly doesn't see me, doesn't recognize me.

The pressure on my throat seems to escalate and spread, pushing into my head, settling agony in the back of my skull. My eyes want to roll back but I fight it, knowing if I go unconscious now Jay will wake up holding my dead body. Something I refuse to allow, even now as I see how much anger and pain are held up in his body.

They say the eyes are the window to the soul. Well in this case I certainly hope not, because no human being should ever have to feel that amount of anguish. That anger in his eyes is quelled only by the tears of heart shattering misery, the kind that comes when you have nothing left.

'I'm here! I'm right here Jay!' I want to scream it out, to let him know it wasn't real, and he still has everything. But I can't and my vision has completely blacked out, save for the sparking fireworks that are emitted with every pulse of my blood. Something in me roars, natural survival instinct maybe, or possible adrenaline.

I believe some would also add divine intervention to that list. I'm a doctor, so it never crosses my mind.

Something makes my hand reach out to find the lamp that must've fallen in our journey to the ground. My fingers wrap around the wooden post and my arm comes up. The circular base makes contact with some part of him, apparently hard enough too, because the pressure leaves my throat.

A sharp cough send needles down my throat. Up my spine comes flushing pain, snapping me back into awareness as I suck down more air. My brain screams at me to move unless I want to right back in the same predicament but my lungs demand oxygen.

I settle for a compromise. Swinging my legs around I roll onto my hands and knees, closing my eyes to steady my breathing and keep the room from spinning. A soft groan registers to my right and looking over I can see Jay sprawled on the ground, hands clutching his head in obvious discomfort. Great. Now we both have concussions.

I crawl over, still gasping but no longer coughing at the harsh intake of air.

"Jay…" I try again, touching his shoulder. However he isn't as out of it as I might've guessed, because he jerks, his opposite arm shooting out to deliver a beautiful right hook to my face. My lip splits, filling my mouth with blood but I pay little attention to it. Instead of recoiling I rush forward, squashing him underneath me as I scramble to get behind him. My left arm wraps around his neck, the other finding its way up to help complete the hold.

Jay's body bucks against mine, but I use my weight as an anchor, going limp except for the tense muscles in my arms. In order for him to move now, he'd have to drag me with him. Something that'd be very difficult despite his strength, especially without air. We have switched places, the choke hold I have making him claw at my arms for purchase as his oxygen wanes. The only difference is that I'm in my right mind (sort of) and there no danger of me unintentionally killing my only brother. Plus, despite my labored breathing, I'm talking to him.

It starts as his muscles slowly relax and no conscious decision is made, but my mouth starts moving nonetheless. Slow, quiet murmurs as close to his ear as I can get. Soft 'you're okay's and 'I'm here Jay, I'm not leaving' and 'you're safe, it's not real, you aren't there anymore's that do just as much to comfort him as they do to me. They help ease the fist squeezing my heart.

Eventually his body goes completely still and I relax my hold, tentatively at first. Only allowing him enough air to be just conscious. When he doesn't immediately start fighting again, I relax some more, keeping the arm around his neck but using the other to maneuver him into a more natural position. He stays still, one glance down seeing only half lidded empty eyes, and I know he's fighting to come back. Both arms move now, getting him positioned flat on his back, head in my lap.

I comb my fingers through his hair, force air through my swollen throat. My breathing sound reedy, a wheezing rattle in trachea that makes me see a trip to the hospital in the near future. The action of caring for him, of giving comfort, helps my panic abate to the point that coherent and rational thought is reinserted into my brain.

"You're okay." I tell him as he blinks, long and slow, eyes sluggishly contracting slightly to adjust to the light. My fingers shake as they flow through his long curls, the memory of my mom doing the same action to me as kid making it all the more harder. I stop for a moment, noticing the darker color of my finger tips. Dark and sticky and...bloody.

Forcing myself to swallow, (which feels like a ball of concrete moving down my throat) I ghost my fingers over his arms. My breath hitches as I notice the scratches, ones I gave him.

"You're okay." I whisper, letting the burning behind my eyes escalate a little too far. A few tears sneaking out of the corners of my eyes, falling to dribble down my skin and get caught in the scruffiness of my jaw line.

Snorking in a rather gross manner, my fingers move in an automatic move, dancing over his skin to find a point on his wrist. My other hand lays itself on his shoulder, where I can just feel the rise and fall of his chest.

A soft noise floats through the air and it takes me a second to realize it didn't come from me.

I head drops instantly, eyes snapping to his face, where a pair of crystal eyes are blinking up at me, filled to the brim with soul crushing pain. Pain and a plea to make it go away. And as the world slows to stop in that one second, where the noise and the rapid breathing cease to exist just so he can stare up at me in and say in a voice so quiet and sore and agonized-

"Will."

And my what was left of my heart shatters and slips gracefully to the floor.

…

The first sob falls not far after that, and it's like a lightning bolt across the room. He tries to sit up as the second one rocks his body, but I manage to catch him before he can get much further. Its an awkward hug that is ours, but he twists into me nevertheless. My hands are still trembling as I hold him close to my chest, but they seem made of stone compared to the way my brother shakes.

"You're alright Jay. Everybody's okay. It was just a dream. We're okay." I whisper. He tries to talk back a couple of times, and on the fourth or fifth try I catch a few words.

"...he killed them and-" a sharp intake of air penetrates the sentence. "...had to choose...I held her body Will…"

My only response, the only thing I can possibly do, is keep holding him. Keep talking to him, keep being there for him. I squeeze him tighter when the sobs get harder and loosen my grip only slightly when he starts to calm. Fierce protectiveness surges through me, as I think about our current predicament.

I wasn't there before, when this happened every night instead of every once in awhile. I wasn't there when this is what he knew he would face when he closed his eyes, when he tried to stop it with the assistance of alcohol.

I'm here now though. And if this is what I left him to, then I don't even have to right to talk to him, never mind walk back in here like nothing happened. But I did...and he let me.

It's a hard days night when it takes your brothers PTSD to rear its ugly head in order for you to see how much better he is than you.

'God what did I do…' I press my lips to the top of head, screwing my eyes shut as guilt and shame flood my senses. My hands hold him tighter, even though he's started to really calm down now.

"I'll never leave you again Jay. I promise you. I'm not going to leave you." I whisper the words, yet somehow he registers them, body relaxing more into mine. In return I loosen my grip more too, letting him breath. He doesn't respond more than a soft sigh, tucking his head into my chest, like when we were kids. I feel the need to shield him from himself, just like then too. To protect him from what the night brings.

Its peaceful, sitting there with the pale moonlight flooding through closed windows to dance on the floor. The moment helps ease my guilt, making me content to stay here for as long as it takes for him to heal.

Of course, the blood ruins.

The wet sticky substance drips onto my arm, having flowed down his neck from his hairline. The injury reminds me of my own, startling me into awareness, something I wasn't aware I was slipping out of.

"Jay."

Silence.

"Jay!" I jostle him slightly and his head snaps up suddenly. I release my embrace, allowing him to slowly shift out of my lap.

"Hey we need to get dressed. I know you're probably not feeling up to it, but we need to go to Med." I get a heavy blink in response, nothing more than a stare through bleary eyes.

"Come on." I murmur, tucking my arms underneath his and lifting. Jay stumbles, listing to the right which is luckily towards the footboard of his bed. Clumsily he grips it, mumbling something incoherent while blinking rapidly. I let go slowly, tentatively letting he support himself while I raid his closet.

"Sit." I order, taking him by an arm to plop him on the bed.

"Will?" I hum in half attention, to occupied with the action of getting a shirt on him to catch the tone of voice. His limbs are especially uncoordinated.

"Is this real?"

My hands freeze on the buttons of his flannel. I swallow hard, fingers fumbling to restart their ordered action.

"Yeah Jay." I choke. "This is real."

…

"Look at me." I do not follow her order, eyes choosing instead to flick across the room, searching the curtain that hides my brother.

"Will. The sooner I do this, the sooner you can see him." Nodding carefully, I gaze at Dr. Manning. Now that the adrenalines worn off, my head and throat have made their grievances known, each pulsing with a different type of pain, although my throat feels tight and numb at the same time.

I'm tired. Exhausted really. All I want to do is make sure Jay is okay, and Natalie's here taking her time with the goddamn pen light.

"-ill, are you with me?!" There's a gloved hand on my cheek, startling me awake. Or...when did my eyes close?

"Knock it off Nat I'm fine." I knock her hand away. She frowns.

"You almost passed out."

"Well yeah!" I snap at her. "I came off a twenty hour shift and got absolutely zero sleep because I wanted to have drinks with my brother and when I finally went to go home, I got fucking mugged! So I am sorry if I'm a little tired right now!" She blinks in shock.

Oh yeah, new thing with me here. I have a very short fuse attached to my temper.

"Now can you please just sign my discharge papers so I can see if he's okay?!"

Manning very calmly puts her light into her pocket, glances at me once, then relieves herself of her gloves and steps out of the room. My lips part, ready to spit venom once more, when Rhodes walks in, that stupid look of seriousness that he always has when he's trying to think hard.

Or when he cares about something. That too.

I'm off the bed in an instant and I know the worry is plastered all over my face.

"Is he okay? Did you do a CT? Was there any-"

"Will." He interrupts. "Sit down."

"Was his skull fractured? Does he need surgery? Is he conscious?"

"Will!" There's two hands on my arms. "Sit down."

I suck in a breath- or try to anyway. It's now that I register my wheezing, something that hadn't really occurred to me as bad. Until now. Because I can't breath.

Maybe it's the guilt that chokes me. But I need to know, I need to know if I hurt him-

I'm laying (laying? When did that happen?) on my back, forcing my chest to heave up and down in an effort to give my lungs just a tad more oxygen. Connor is leaning over me and I think he's trying to tell me something because his lips are moving and the syllables coming out of them are urgent and...scared? He fixes an oxygen mask over my face, fingers probing my neck..

Oh. Oh.

He was worried about me not Jay.

My head feels funny, light and heavy at the same time. There's something being really loud in my ear and I think I ask for Jay a couple times.

It wasn't until I register the 'He's okay' that I finally allow myself sleep.

Jay's P.O.V

"I thought you said he was okay!" I don't mean to raise my voice, really, I don't, because they might suspicious as to why I'm so guilty if we were really just 'mugged'. Screw the cover story though I just saw my brother getting wheeled away unconscious because of, and I quote, 'breathing issues.'

A.k.a, his throat was swelling, and since he was freaking out about me, he aggravated said injury and passed out.

You know. From the near asphyxiation I gave him.

Everybody give props to Jay for almost killing his own brother.

I know what he'll say too. 'You were only reacting on instinct. You didn't know what you were doing. Not your fault."

Except, there's a small issue. I did know what I was doing. Oh yeah, as I choked him out I knew who was underneath my hands, who was clawing at my arms to try and save his life. I knew. I saw him but I couldn't stop, couldn't control myself…

"He is. He's going to be okay." I glare at Choi.

"You said five minutes ago. Right after you said I could see him. Seeing as neither sentence has yet to come true, I'm going to kindly ignore you on that one. Now either let me see him or-"

"Jay." Choi pressed his lips together then shakes his head, turning to pulled the door closed. When he turns to look at me again, it's with a look of trepidation, so intense my hands shake.

"Look...I get it. I do. I understand what's going on here. The same thing happened to me, except with my girlfriend at the time."

My chest feels tight at the thought of my hands putting bruises on Erins throat.

"Difference was, I put her in a chokehold until she passed out. Woke up thinking I killed her."

I slam my eyes shut, trying desperately to block out the image of Will underneath me, eyes screaming for me to stop, terror flashing through them as I tighten my grip.

"I remember not being able to do anything but cry as I held her, because the dream had felt so real…"

Knowing it wasn't the man of my dreams, the one who killed Erin infront of me, the one who pulled a knife across Mouse's neck so I was covered in his blood.

"...I couldn't process that what had happened...wasn't real...all I knew was that she was dead in my dream just as she was in my arms…"

Feeling contact, and lashing out with everything I had, because they had held me down as they systematically eliminated the rest of my team.

"But the worst part was...as I insisted on taking her to a hospital…"

Slamming his head against the floor because I was just so angry and I lost everybody and someone had to pay…

"She insisted we keep it quiet. Make up something about a near mugging because after all it is Chicago…"

The sob rips through me, shaking my chest and rattling my shoulders as I try desperately to just relax and breath because it's over now, it happened, and there's nothing I can do to change that and-

"What happened tonight Jay?"

My eyes burn, even as I desperately gasp for air just to squeeze them shut just a little bit tighter.

"Stop." I choke, hands fisting the railing so tight I might break it. But then again I might as well, since I am close to breaking too. It's been too much. And a second sob follows the first and the tears escape nonetheless, trailing down my cheeks as my body shakes.

"I-...I didn't want…" I manage and then there's a hand on my shoulder and right when I ready to fall apart-

"How long?"

I inhale sharply, still shaking but no longer crying, the overwhelming amounts of emotion suddenly retreating to their box.

"How long since you last had this one Jay?"

"Thirteen months." I whisper because this is Choi and he know why I did what I did why I feel like I do. Because he knows what it feels like to count the days since you woke up feeling like your heart was pounding straight of your chest while adrenaline for an unseen threat pulses through your veins. Because he knows what it's like to want to lose yourself in a bottle, if only to stop remembering.

Because he knows.

"I'm not going to tell anyone." I nod again, sniffling rather pathetically while I pull at my face. God, I'm just so tired.

"And even if I did...we wouldn't judge you for it. We wouldn't look at you differently or tiptoe around you. Will, me, Connor- we would support you Jay, if you needed it."

I manage a nod.

"He doesn't blame you. You know that right? Will doesn't blame you." A bark of laughter escapes from my mouth.

"I almost strangled him to death. It doesn't matter if he 'doesn't blame me'...he'll still be afraid of me. It's natural. He'll leave and-"

"Jesus- do you even hear yourself right now?!" The words bite at me, taking bites of my already crumbling heart. "You really think Will would leave you because of one dream?!"

"YES!" I snap, much louder than intended. "Yes, because that's what he did last time, so why the hell would it be any different?!"

Ethan actually takes a step back.

"Jay…" He bites his lip. "I may not know Will like a brother yet, but I know he wouldn't do that. Not now." The doctor studies me. "And if you think you deserve that, you got another thing coming pal, because you're stuck with him- with all of us- for a long time."

"Why?" I whisper. "What's so special about a hypocritical coward?"

"Well." He starts, moving to adjust my I.V. "It may have something to do with the way your self degrading personality just gets under our skin, but personally I find that the way you needlessly care about everyone but yourself tends to draw us doctor folks in the closest. Now lay down."

I open my mouth to protest, but am cut off with a quick- "You even think about asking me for discharge papers when you have a grade two concussion and are living alone and I will put you in soft restraints, understand?"

I swallow, complying while nodding quickly and ow that hurts.

"What about-"

"For the ninth time, Will is fine, they're just moving him to a permanent room. Which is what i'm going to do with you in about thirty seconds."

"Why thirty...oh." I trail off dumbly, watching as he compresses a needle into my I.V., some clear liquid flowing cold into my veins. My muscles relax as one and I feel really floaty suddenly.

Something squeezes my hand and as the darkness pulls at my consciousness I hear a last few words.

"You're gonna be alright Jay."

I believe him.

"You shoulda been here."

"You left."

"I left to fight a war. I came home."

Yay! Another! Review me prompt people I shall eventually get to them...I promise! And tell me what you thought of said latest installment.

Pretty please.