Hi :)

I may have made a tiny little mistake yesterday and started watching Lone Star, and let's just say I spent the next 7 hours staring at the TV, binge watching all of the episodes and wondering what on Earth I'm going to do with my life while waiting for the next episode to come. I've seen the trailer for the series months ago, fell in love with it within the first ten seconds and specifically told myself not to start watching it in the middle of the semester, because I know I am the most impatient person ever and can't possibly wait an entire week to find out what happens next. Especially since series about firefighters are my weakest spot. So naturally, I watched it anyway and now, here we are.

All of the characters have already found a way to crawl deep into my heart, but I seem to an especially soft spot for TK, so I just can't get enough of his scenes. If any of you have read my Chicago PD story, you will know, writing about medical things is kind of a passion of mine. (I'm sorry in advance, TK.) There have already been a couple of scenes on the show, where TK was close to being seriously hurt, which immediately gave me an idea to expand the scenes and add a little bit more of whump to them.

So, this story will consist of different separate stories about TK. Some of them will be based on what happens on the show, but I would love to write entirely original stories. You are more than welcome to send me prompts, so I know what you'd like to read.

I think I've probably done enough rambling (I am a guilty master of looong author's notes), so let's move on to the first story.

The preview for episode 8 gave me a heart attack, so I desperately wanted to write my own version of what I want to see happen, but I thought it might make more sense to start at the beginning, so the first chapter will be about TK's overdose in episode 1. After that, I might continue with TK getting sucked into corn, tornados or the awaited episode 8. If I get any prompts or am struck with a better idea than that, then I'll probably write that instead, so we'll see where this takes me.

Thank you for reading the longest introduction ever and I hope you enjoy.

Warning: This chapter contains mentions of suicide. If you don't wish to read about such topics, I suggest you skip the first chapter. The next chapter will be about the time TK got sucked into the corn.

Bring The Battering Ram

TK's P.O.V.

What have I done?

I can feel my heart racing and my chest feels tighter than ever.

I shouldn't have done this. It just hurt so bad. Just this morning, I had everything I could ever want. Today was supposed to be one of the happiest days of my life. I had everything planned out. The ring, the dinner, the proposal. Everything.

And then everything crumbled.

The white pills in my hand are starting to get blurry as cold sweat rushes over me. This was a mistake. I was doing so well. I shouldn't have done this. I shouldn't have. It's just so easy to just…

Dad. I need to call dad.

I can feel my knees getting weaker. My phone's on the couch. I just need to get to my couch. A few more steps.

Black spots.

They're everywhere.

No, no, no. I need to get to my phone first. I'm so close.

Pins and needles shoot through my body the second my knees hit the floor. My head follows immediately after, dragging me into darkness.

I'm scared.

Dad, help me. I'm so sorry… Dad.

Owen's P.O.V.

"He hasn't come in yet."

The words keep ringing inside my head, making me feel sick to my stomach.

My fist feels numb from banging on the door so many times, but there's still no response.

Why didn't I check in yesterday? Why didn't I just pick up the phone and call?

"TK!" I scream once again, throwing myself against the door, hoping the hinges finally break.

Nothing.

I keep begging he's just happily asleep after a memorable night or blasting music while working out. Keep hoping his phone's on silent for no good reason. Keep begging it's not true, even though deep inside I know it is. I've known ever since that dreadful sentence. He hasn't come in yet.

I can hear the sirens getting closer.

I'm coming TK. Hold on, I'm coming.

"TK!" I scream the second the door comes down.

He's there.

So are the pills.

I was right.

He's motionless. TK's never motionless. Not even when he's sleeping.

It's too quiet.

I rush forward, dropping on the floor next to him, turning him on his back and praying to get any sort of response.

I don't.

His face is white, and his lips are blue.

No, no, no.

This can't be happening.

My finger's desperately reach for his neck, trying to find a pulse.

There isn't one.

"He's in cardiac arrest!" I yell, pressing my hand on his chest over and over again, praying that I'm not too late. One, two, three, four.

"Get the EMTs over here, now" the officer orders.

Five, six, seven, eight.

"Sir, you should let us take over" someone suggests, awaking the monster inside of me, who is more than willing to strangle anyone who tries to keep me from saving my son.

Nine, ten, eleven, twelve. "Give me the Narcan!" Come on, TK, breathe.

The requested object appears in my hand and I jam in into TK's thigh, willing it to do the trick. I allow myself to look at his dead looking face. An EMT is squeezing an ambu bag, pumping air into his oxygen deprived lungs.

Wake up, TK, wake up.

It seems to last an eternity, before his muscles spasm and I finally hear him gasp.

Thank god.

His scared eyes snap open and dart all over the place, searching for who knows what. I wanna cry and laugh at the same time, but I'm interrupted by a gurgling sound.

My instincts kick in and I immediately turn him on his side, just in time to see him puke his guts out. Thank god he didn't puke while he was unconscious.

"Watch his airway" somebody says, before TK rolls on his back again, the EMT keeping an eye on his breathing if the hand keeping his neck straight is anything to go by.

I am well aware of several gloved hands, resting on my son's arms and legs, keeping him from moving. To them, this is just another overdose patient. My hand's still resting on his chest, the way too fast rising and falling reassuring me that he is in fact breathing.

My eyes are locked on him, while simultaneously keeping an eye on the rest of the world, ready to protect him from anything harmful. His eyes, on the other hand, are panicked. They keep looking all over the place fanatically, not really focusing on anything.

Until they land on me.

That's when they finally stop, and I understand what they were searching for. They were looking for me.

"Dad" he whispers, somehow finding the strength to sit up and wrap his arms around me. I finally let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. He's okay.

"It's okay" I say, trying my best to reassure him, although I might be trying to reassure myself too.

"I'm so sorry."

He's shaking. I can tell he's crying, which breaks my heart.

I can't keep the horrifying thought out of my head. Was he trying to kill himself? Has he relapsed and I just didn't see it? Didn't notice until it was almost too late?

"It's okay, it's okay."

I don't know how long we stay like this.

The cops have let go of TK's legs at some point and taken a step back, while the EMTs are clearly waiting to be able to properly examine TK and take him to the ER.

But I know he and I both need a moment to ourselves, so I don't move.

"It's okay, kiddo, I'm here now. You're okay."

I keep holding him for a while longer, until the EMTs start shooting me extremely impatient looks.

"Come on, buddy, move over to the stretcher, so they can take a look at you and make sure you're okay" I whisper, trying not to freak him out again.

"No! Dad, please, don't make me go" TK gasps.

"I'm sorry, TK, but we need to get you checked out" I say, gently trying to peel him off of me.

"Dad, please" he sobs out, wrapping his shaky arms around me even tighter. "I promise, I'm fine."

"TK, you know fully well what could happen once the Narcan wears off" I state firmly. "If you stop breathing again, I won't be able to help you."

It breaks my heart seeing him like this.

"I'm here, TK. I'm not leaving you, buddy. I promise, I won't let anybody hurt you."

I finally feel him relax in my embrace, so I give the paramedics a little nod. We help TK on his wobbly feet and guide him towards the stretcher.

I can see he's fidgeting with the rim of his shirt, staring at something only he can see and taking shaky breaths.

I cover his hands with mine, watching as the paramedics cut off his shirt and stick on the heart monitor pads. The beeping makes him jump a little, so I decide to cross the line and take over the job of paramedics, hoping to take at least some of the stress away. I know I'm receiving death stares from them, but I could really care less. I put and oximeter on his fingers and cover him with a blanket, when I notice one of the EMTs preparing an IV.

As soon as TK sees the needle, he jerks away, the beeping sound getting faster and faster.

"Relax, TK" I say, putting a hand on his shoulder, before turning my attention to the paramedic. "Is that really necessary?"

He gives me a strange look, so I allow myself a quick explanation of TK's fear of needles. I know they're supposed to put an IV in no matter what, but somehow, I manage to persuade them into waiting a little longer. Small mercies and the perks of being a firefighter.

Seeing TK's posture relax again, lets me breath a little easier.

Owen's P.O.V.

He won't stop shaking.

We've been driving for at least ten minutes and TK's still shaking uncontrollably. But then again, so am I.

I've been talking ever since we left his apartment. I'm not sure exactly what I'm saying, but it seems to be reassuring TK, so I keep going.

At some point, I notice his pale face turn into a green shade and manage to shove one of those blue bags in front of his face just in time to see him vomit.

The paramedics exchange some stats, while I keep trying my best to soothe the sweaty, pale and shaky pile of misery in front of me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the paramedic preparing an oxygen mask, which my already agitated son won't appreciate very much, so I shoot him a questioning look, demanding an explanation.

"His respiratory rate is on the low side" he says, motioning towards the heart monitor.

I see TK tense up immediately, his even more shallow breathing clearly showing his distress.

"Hey, hey, relax" I say, rubbing his chest. "You're okay."

Once I determine that he really does need the extra oxygen, I stretch out my hand.

"Give it to me, I'll do it." He sighs, probably cursing me in his mind, but complies none the less. "TK, buddy, look at me. I'm gonna put the oxygen mask on you, okay? I know you hate it, but it's gonna help you breathe a little better, alright?"

He gives me a wary look, but after a few more seconds, I receive a small nod.

Thank god.

"I really need to get an IV going, so I can give him more Narcan to help maintain his breathing" the paramedic interrupts me once again. I'm really starting to get frustrated.

"What's the ETA?" I ask, debating how much of a bad idea putting an IV in would be inside of a moving vehicle.

"Two minutes" the other paramedic yells from the driver's seat.

My eyes meet TK's and the decision is made.

"He can last two more minutes."

Owen's P.O.V.

"26-year-old male suffering from opiate overdose. He's bradycardic, BP is 90/70, respiratory rate 7 breaths per minute. He was found unresponsive at his apartment. We administered one dose of Narcan and got him breathing again" the paramedic states, pushing the stretcher further into the constantly busy emergency room.

"Do we know what he took?" the doctor asks as soon as she reaches the stretcher.

"Oxy" I state, before the paramedic can say anything. "He's a recovering opioid addict."

"Alright, get him into trauma 3" the doctor states, before turning to TK. "I'm doctor Carter. Can you tell me your name?"

"TK" he mumbles so quietly, I can barely recognize his nickname.

"Alright, TK, are you in any pain?" she asks, receiving a nonverbal response. I'm sure he's lying, but she seems to accept his answer. "I'm glad to hear that. Did you hit anything when you fell?"

He shrugs in response, making my heart clench at the thought of him having concussion or some other injury I managed to miss.

Several nurses start connecting TK to different monitors, as doctor Carter pulls out a penlight, shining it into both of his eyes. "Pupils are constricted. I'm going to order a head CT just in case. We need to get his respiratory rate up. Let's get an IV going and give him another dose of Narcan."

"Umm, can I have a quick word?" I ask, motioning for the doctor to follow me to the side. "He's had some bad experiences with needles in the past…" I whisper, constantly keeping an eye on TK, who seems to be very busy trying to follow everything the nurses are doing.

"Okay, what do you suggest?" she asks.

"Just… don't rush him, unless you absolutely need to. Please."

Fifteen minutes and a lot of commotion and reassuring words, the IV is finally in, providing a second dose of Narcan. TK is visibly exhausted, but I can still see relief all over his face as soon as I casually cover the IV port with a blanket.

One of the nurses brings TK a cup of disgusting-looking black liquid, which can only be charcoal. To my surprise, he drinks it, no questions asked. An ultrasound is brought in, before doctor Carter asks me to step aside for a moment.

"The ultrasound showed that your son still has some pills inside his stomach" she explains, letting the information sink in. "We need to perform gastric suction in order to remove them."

She explains the procedure to me and to my surprise doesn't object when I request to be present during the whole stomach pumping part.

"I think it might be easier for your son if you're there" she says, giving me a small smile.

"Thank you. Do you mind if I tell him?" I ask.

"Not at all. We'll get started right away."

TK's P.O.V.

"TK?" doctor Carter asks me again. "Do you understand?"

I try to take a deep breath, dreading what's about to come, before giving her a small nod. I'm laying on my left side, a doctor and two nurses in front of me and my dad right behind me, gently rubbing my back.

"Good, let's get started. This is a numbing spray. I'm going to spray it in your throat to help you tolerate the tube better, okay?"

I squeeze my dad's hand even harder, before opening my mouth.

The spray kicks in immediately, making me anxious.

"Relax, TK, you're doing great" my dad soothes me. "You can breathe just fine, I promise."

"Ready?" the doctor asks, but all I can see is the tube in her hands. A nurse puts a bite block into my mouth, before the doctor advances the long clear tube.

I instinctively reach my hand up to pull it out, before my dad successfully restraints me, making sure I don't move. "Don't touch it, kiddo. You're doing so great. It's almost done."

I can hear my heart racing way too fast and it feels like I'm suffocating. There is so much commotion around me and I can feel warm tears slipping down my cheeks. A buzzing sound blocks out everything except for the voice right next to my ear.

"It's okay, buddy. You're going to be okay."

Owen's P.O.V.

Once all of the saline is injected and pumped back out, the doctors administers another dose of charcoal through the tube, before pulling the uncomfortable thing out.

"We're all done, honey" she says, handing me the oxygen mask again. "Put this on him."

I switch the nasal cannula out for the oxygen mask again, before covering TK with a blanket.

"You did great, buddy. I'm proud of you." I rub his head, wondering how we got here. He opens his mouth to say something, but I interrupt him. "It's okay, we can talk later. I know you're sorry. Get some rest."

I look straight into his eyes, crumbling at the pain and sorrow staring back at me. And right there and then, the decision is simple.

We're going to Austin.

The end.

So, this is it for the first chapter. I hope you liked it. I would really appreciate it if you could leave me a review and let me know what you think, so I know whether or not I should continue with this story. As I said before, prompts are always welcome.

Thank you again for reading. I'll try to post again as soon as possible.

Love, N