Title: Aftermath

Author: ZombieJazz

Fandom: Chicago PD

Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.

Summary: Voight and what's left with his family deal with the aftermath of Justin's death while continuing to try to cope with their own struggles, dynamics and work demands.

This is a collection of one-shots/scenes using the characters as represented in the AU established in Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes. The chapters currently represent scenes happening immediately after Justin's death in S3 finale. It will then span into S4.

However, as I continue to update, they'll just provide one-shot snap shots into the characters' lives and likely some recasts of scenes from the show. This story is inspired by and influenced by canon in the series but it does not follow exactly and focuses more on personal lives than cases and will often deal with story arcs and plot arcs of the characters previously established in other stories in this AU.

This series focuses on Voight and his remaining family, as well as Erin Lindsay's growing relationship with Jay Halstead.

This is not a linear narrative with a beginning-middle-end. It's just scenes.

A notification is provided at the beginning of each chapter about where it happens in relation to the other chapters.

SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers from the finale of S3. Early chapters will also contain spoilers from early episodes of S4. And, the story as a whole will contain spoilers from the rest of the stories in this AU, which are Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes.

Erin sat wringing her hands together and staring at that divider in front of the secretary's desk. Just staring. Not even thinking. She couldn't think. She didn't want to think. So she stared at that divider – that ledge, blocking that woman from the student body – that had likely been there for decades. It'd certainly been there since Erin had been at St. Ignatius. She'd stared at the think in that office before.

She started slightly as Father Caruso's door opened back up. Pulled out of her thoughts. Pulled into the now that she wasn't sure she could cope with. A now that she didn't want to cope with. Her eyes slowly drifted up to his.

He'd aged well. Even having spent all these years dealing with bratty teenagers and mean girls and over-protective, self-entitled, helicopter parents – he'd aged well. He still looked almost the same as she remembered him. Maybe that Jesuit outfit distracted you from any grayness that had set into him over the years. That outfit was always the same. That black rob.

She'd looked up at him from that same chair a lot of times in the past too. More times than she could remember. But somehow thinking about that right now – reflecting back on it and trying to pin a number to it – seemed easier than anything else she could or should or needed to think about in that moment.

Besides the look on his face, as he looked down at her, was different than the one she got in high school. It wasn't anger or that 'not again' or 'you don't learn' or 'you never listen' look. This one was riddled with sympathy and somehow that just made her stomach churn, her throat tighten and her heart pound even more.

She looked away.

"He's on his way down," Father Caruso told her gentle.

Erin just nodded. She couldn't manage to speak. Not right now. Even though she knew she was going to have to speak soon. She just didn't know what to say. Not to Father Caruso. Not to Ethan.

She didn't want to be the one doing this to Ethan.

"He's just over in the Math Department," Caruso said. "This building. Close. He shouldn't be too long."

She allowed a little nod. "OK. Thanks," she managed at a near whisper.

Father Caruso let out a long sigh. "Erin, I just want to express again, that the hearts and prayers of the entire St. Igantius community are going out to your family right now. You have our deepest sympathies."

"Yea. Thanks," she managed again. Because she didn't know what more to say. That was such a Catholic thing for him to say. But she didn't know that they were a part of the St. Igantius community. Even though they'd all gone there. Even though it was what Camille wanted for the three ofthem. Even though Hank had wanted it to give his kids at least a solid foundation in their education. But that had never meant they belonged there. Not Erin. Not Justin. Not Ethan. And any apologies or sympathies now just seemed contrite.

Not that that was Father Caruso's fault. He'd always been nice to her. As nice as a principal can be when you're a problem child, she supposed. But she still wasn't that interested in hearing it from him. Not then. Not now. And she knew he could tell. His eyes just stuck on her. They felt heavy. Heavier than her whole being already felt.

"I could come with you to the hospital," he said. "If Hank or Justin's wife would like me to perform—"

"We aren't very religious," she blurted. Because she didn't want to hear the words 'last rites'. She didn't know how to wrap her head around it. She didn't know who she was going to be in that room – if Hank and Olive let her. And, even if they didn't, she didn't know how she could sit in the waiting room in the hospital or the car or back in the bullpen and wait for that call saying it was over. Done.

Everything was different. Changed. Again. And it was suffocating.

"OK," Father Caruso allowed evenly.

But she could tell there was mild disapproval to that statement. That she wasn't going to let him try to save Justin's soul one last time. The thing was right then – in the invetiable fall out that she knew was about to ravage both her families: the one she'd grown up with and the one on the job – it wasn't Justin who's soul needed saving. It'd be all of theirs. Like Hank the most. If prayer did any fucking good for anyone – right then – it was Hank who needed them. Not Justin. Maybe they should've been praying for him long ago.

"You can use my office if you like," he offered again, though. She glanced at him. "To talk to Ethan. I can stay with you, if you want."

She shook her head. "I'm not telling him here."

Father Caruso stared at her again. "Erin, I don't know what your father said to you, but I've known Hank a long time and I know he can … judicious about how he gives information. But, I think … Ethan needs to understand what his happening before you take him over to that hospital."

"His dad. The doctors. They can explain it to him," she said and set her eyes back on that divider. She knew the secretary was sitting on the opposite side – outside of her view, blocked from it – but eavesdropping like the nosey busybody spy she'd always been.

"Ethan's bright, Erin," Father Caruso said gently again. "He's going to see you're very upset. He's going to know something is going on. And, he's going to have questions. I don't think you should be fielding those while driving in a car."

"I'm not driving," she muttered but shook again as the door to the administration office opened and Ethan stopped in his tracks when he saw her sitting there.

He'd had a small smile on his face when he'd opened that door. It was the last week of the summer catch-up program at St. Igantius. The one that he'd done so well at despite complaining about and fighting with his dad about having to go. The one that the only way they'd struck a deal to get him to stop his posturing about it was to sign him up for the week-long programming camp at Field that he'd get to go to next week before spending the rest of his summer break getting to try every activity under the sun with the Rehab Institutes' summer camp. The summer camp he'd been so animatedly telling his brother about the night before and that Justin had actually listened and asked some questions that time without giving off that crippled, retarded, disabled vibe that he'd set into for nearly a year while he held Ethan at arm's length and attempted to wrap his head around his brother's illness.

But he'd been doing better. He'd pulled himself up. He wasn't perfect but he was finding his way. Slowly. He was trying to improve. He was still Justin. He still could be brash and have that chip on his shoulder and that swagger in his step. But he was still the Justin – the insecure little boy who wasn't a tough guy and wasn't his dad and wasn't a player, even though he'd tried so hard to be. Instead he'd had to find his own way – and had been working on that the hard. But it was his way and he'd been working on it. And he had top marks in his army training to prove it. He had admission into the army college program to prove it – putting him on track for Signal Corps and an officer's position. A real career. A career he was making for his wife and son – despite all his imperfections, he was trying to be a decent family man and husband. Even though he was still learning. He was still young. He was supposed to still have time to grow and mature into all of that.

It was so unfair. Because they'd all really been trying. Really trying. Since Ethan's party. Since Justin got to see Ethan play ball. Since they'd all settled into the reality that Justin and his family would be home in a couple months and they would all be in each other's lives again more regularly. They'd be a family. A real fucking family again. They needed to help each other. Even the parts that made each other uncomfortable. The ugly bits that maybe they didn't like so much. Because they all had some good. Their family was about the good, the bad, and the ugly. As long as it all came back to the truth.

And the truth was that Ethan likely thought he was coming into that office to pick up a note for his dad that confirmed he'd done well enough during the catch-up sessions that he couldn't have to be held back at all, that he wasn't going to have some assessment and meetings to readjust his IEP. That they could keep moving forward within the boundaries they'd established for him. Either that, or he thought he was getting that signed form from the school that the Field needed when he checked in next week to program his dinosaur videogame. A notion that he'd also been blabbering about the other night – most intently to Henry who just kept looking at him with big eyes and chewing on the dinosaur toys that Ethan let him near. It was a special night. Henry hadn't even been snapped at about slobbering all over Indominus. That was likely his real birthday present from his uncle.

But that smile faded so quickly when he saw her there. When he saw her eyes, which she knew were watery. But she'd tried and tried to get them to stop. To ice them over and to turn to steel. She couldn't make them do it, though. The tears just kept stinging until they pushed the surface and she fought to wipe them away before they could leave streaks down her cheeks.

"What's wrong? Is Dad OK?" he asked in panicked staccato.

It made the tears there at the surface string more. One fell, trailing down her face and she reached up to wipe it away as she opened her mouth to try to find words for this talk that she hadn't been prepared for. So she nodded to give herself a moment. To try to compose herself. To try to hide the sadness that she knew he was going to hear even more in her voice.

"Hank's—"

"Dad," Ethan spat at her in correction. "You always call him that. He's not. He's dad! He's your dad too."

She gave him a thin, sad smile while her lip quivered. "Daddy's OK, Magoo," she managed but looked down to her wringing hands again as the tears pushed out even more.

She'd thought for a split second about saying that Hank was fine. But he wasn't fine. He wasn't going to be fine for a long time. If ever. She didn't know if he could come back from this. Could any of them come back from this? Even saying "Daddy's OK" seemed like a stretch. He wasn't OK either. But at least he wasn't physical maimed.

Ethan cautiously took a step toward her, seeing her tears. Because she wasn't hiding them now. It just wasn't working. She glanced at her brother with his movement. She was scaring him. She could tell.

She should've worked out in her head how this conference would go. How she could manage to respond. She'd just wanted to get him in the car. To get him to Med. To Hank. Let Hank explain it. The doctors. People who knew how. Because she didn't know how to say this to her baby brother. She never thought she'd be the one to have to. Maybe about his dad. Not about his brother.

"We're going to go for a drive," she nodded at him.

His face fell again and his movement stilled. He was like a statue. "That's what you said when you took me to boarding school," he whispered.

A sob wracked her body at that. It choked her with the reality of that statement and she shook her head hard and held out her arm until she found his hand and gripped it tightly.

"We're just going to the hospital," she assured, though she knew it wasn't very reassuring. "Your Uncle Alvin is waiting for us outside."

The color in Ethan's face drained even more and she could see him trying fiercely to process. She could see his eyes darting to Father Caruso and the secretary's desk. Presences she could still feel too but had all but been ignoring because her body felt so heavy she wasn't sure she even knew how to get up out of the chair.

"But you said Dad's OK …" Ethan stated more than asked – and he seemed to direct it at Father Caruso more than her.

Her puffy, bloodshot, watering eyes shifted slightly to the priest. And he gave her that look – the one that said she had to do this now. That it was going to be her. It wasn't going to be Hank. That Hank couldn't be there right now. That Hank wasn't the one here little brother was going to hear this from first. And she needed to figure out how to do that. How to get Ethan through these next 40 minutes until she got him to the hospital. Really how to get him through more than that – weeks, months, years. Because this was going to be Camille all over again. Hank was going to disappear. He was going to check out. And this time he didn't have a little boy in a hospital bed to be some kind of anchor to keep him in reality. To keep him from self-destructing. And Erin wasn't sure that Ethan and her and Olive and Henry were going to be enough to do that for him. She wasn't sure he'd let. Because she'd seen what this had done to their family before. And it'd fractured them as badly as it fractured Ethan's head. The scars were all over them just as much as they were on Ethan's body. And it'd just been in the past few months – with Ethan finally home and Justin finally growing up and them finally finding a rhythm and pace to deal with health care and child care and the job – that things had finally started to feel like maybe they were normal again. That they'd found their new normal – and they'd rediscovered their family in it.

But now there was this. And it was different. And it was devastating. And it was catastrophic. And it definitely wasn't normal. It wasn't ever going to be normal again. Not even their new normal. Not now. Not ever.

Father Caruso gave her a little nod. She wasn't sure if it was supposed to be encouraging. But it at least encouraged her to look away from him and grab both hands of her brother, tugging on them until he stood in front of her and looked away from his principal and back to her.

"Dad's OK," she tried but her voice quivered.

Ethan gazed at her. She could feel his heart pounding even through his finger tips that were pressing so tightly into her hands they were creating white marks.

"Then why are you crying? You almost never cry."

Another sob caught in her throat and she tried to pull her one hand away from him to wipe at her tears but he wouldn't let her. They were both going to be each other's anchors in that moment.

She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself yet again. "Your Dad's at the hospital. With Olive. And we're going to meet them there."

Ethan squinted at her. "Did Henry hit his head on the coffee table like Dad kept saying he was going to?"

She gave him a sad smile. She'd gotten Henry a popper. He'd loved it. His parents not so much with all the noise the popping little plastic balls made as he zoomed around the main floor of the house with it. It'd already been threatened that it was a toy that would be staying at Auntie Erin's or Popa's house after they got back in little more than a month. Popa hadn't been in agreement on it ending up at his house because he'd been in a bit of a tizzy about Henry's still unsteady gait that managed to drive him about a hundred miles an hour. Hank was just waiting for him to end up with too much velocity that sent him tripping over his feet and flying right into something. He'd seemed pretty convinced it was going to end up being the coffee table in the front room – to the point he'd picked it up and moved it into his den – setting it on top of his wooden storage bin. Only then Henry thought it was a jungle gym and was still bound and determined to get at it. So it'd been moved back to its proper place while Hank restlessly watched him on his run in circles, standing and blocking his potential impact with the table every time he roared through the room. Henry just giggled and giggled. He likely thought Popa was playing with him – not that Popa was nearing an anxiety attack about something as simple as a potential bump to the head. But at least they were both getting their exercise.

She almost wished it was a nasty bump and maybe a couple stitches for her little nephew. She'd feel bad for him. But it wouldn't feel as bad as this. It wouldn't even compare.

So she shook her head again. "No, Ethan. Henry's fine. He's with your Dad and Olive."

"Where's Justin?" Ethan asked scrutinizing her.

She frowned at him and tugged at his hands again. "Sit down," she urged, trying to gesture with their joined hands to the empty seat next to her.

"No," Ethan protested firmly but in a way that sounded more like a painful yowl. "Where's J, Erin?"

The tears stung more and she fought with all her might to keep them from turning into all-out waterworks. "Ethan something happened this morning—"

"What happened?" he demanded.

"Your brother got hurt—"

"HOW?" Ethan barked at her, now dropping his hands away from hers but she scrambled to take them back and gripped at them just as tightly as he had been, even though he now fought against her. "He's not at work. He's not on base. He's here. We're going to the Cubs tonight. With Dad. It's Henry's first game!"

Erin gave her head a little shake as the tears trickled out of the corners of her eyes. "We aren't going to the Cubs tonight, Ethan," she said. "You're brother got really hurt. And he had to go to the hospital. He's been in surgery all morning."

"WHAT?!" Ethan demanded. "What happened? How'd he get hurt?"

Her heart was pounding and her chest was so tight she didn't know how she was even speaking, let alone breathing. It was all just echoing in her ears. Her hands felt clammy but her biceps and the top of her back – the skin just felt on fire. The rest of her just felt raw.

What happened? How'd he get hurt? Why did he get hurt? Why did this happen? She didn't know any of those answers. She didn't even want to attempt to explain the half-answers that she only felt like she a quarter-knew to her little brother. She couldn't.

"His head got really hurt," she managed.

Ethan stopped. He was that statue again. So much so that she thought she saw some of the light flick out of his eyes. The same little death that she'd watch set into Hank's eyes. The one she'd felt set into hers. And now they were staring at her through the sockets of his little boy, who wasn't so little anymore but was still the baby. The baby brother who was supposed to have a big brother and a big sister to protect him and look after him. And her and Justin both just kept on failing at that.

"Was he in a car crash?" Ethan asked quietly.

She shook her head and tugged at his hands again and this time managed to get him to sit in the seat next to her. "No, Ethan …"

"Then … what …?" he asked.

"He was shot," she said flatly. She almost felt some surprise at how flatly it came out. Because as real as it was, it didn't quite feel real. This couldn't quite be real. They'd been through too much. Hank had been through too much. They couldn't do this. They'd already done it. They weren't supposed to be doing it again.

"In the head?" Ethan asked with some confused dismay. He gaped at her.

"In the head," she allowed in quiet agreement. "And the doctors are saying the surgery didn't go very well and that Justin isn't doing very well."

She saw Ethan's eyes glass at that and his lip quivered as now it was him who was trying to find words as the reality set in.

"Well … I had to have lots of surgeries," he sputtered. "Fifteen. So they'll just have to try again."

She gave him a weak smile and reached to cup at his cheek, she could see he was struggling to control his tears too. "You were hurt all over, Ethan," she said gently. "Justin's just hurt in his head. His brain. It's different."

"No!" Ethan's voice cracked as he yelled it at her.

Her tears fell harder. "Yes, Ethan. And the doctors are saying that Justin's not coming back. He's not going to wake up."

"I WAS IN A COMA FOR THREE WEEKS!" Ethan screamed with such force that Erin sat back slightly before curling her fingers around his surviving ear and brushing at the hair on the back of his neck in an effort to calm him. "I WOKE UP! They thought I wasn't going to wake up. Dad says so. You too. They told you. They told you I might die. But I didn't. You say it's a miracle. IT'S A MIRACLE! IT'S HOW YOU TELL THE STORY! IT'S A MIRACLE!"

She nodded at him, though she could barely see him through the tears now. Her vision was blurred and stinging with the salt of the tears. "You are our family's miracle," she agreed quietly. "But Justin's head got hurt differently, Ethan. It's different. And he's not going to be a miracle."

"NO!" he jerked and stood and glared at her with eyes so glassy. His chin was quivering he was fighting so hard not to sob.

She shakily made herself stand and put her hands on his shoulders. "Eth, he's hurt so bad that even if there was a miracle and he did wake up, he's not going to recognize us. He's not going to be able to talk."

"SO?!" he spat. "I had to learn to talk again. I didn't recognize any of you. J was last. He was the LAST ONE I remembered," and the tears started. "He was the last and he's always …." Erin pulled him to her and held him tightly as he body rattled against hers with his sobs. "That's always bugged him."

She let out her out sob at that and rubbed her cheek against the top of his head. "He knows you remember him," she told him. "We're going to see him and you can tell him again. But he knows."

"He can learn, Erin," Ethan cried. "He'll remember."

She just held him tighter. "Olive and Daddy have already decided, Eth," she whispered. "He's not coming back. So we're going to go say goodbye."

"No," Ethan whimpered and buried his face in her chest.

"Yes," she said firmly – firmer than she thought she could manage. But she gripped at his shoulder and placed her mouth on his crown. "It's going to be OK," she whispered.

But she felt like she was lying to him. She didn't think it was going to be OK. Not now. Likely not ever again.