A/N: I spent a few days binge watching Chicago Fire and Chicago PD and was somewhat disappointed in the quantity and quality of the Fanfiction. So I dusted off my writing hat and jumped on board.

Warnings:

Mention of violence and gore

Realistic depiction of gunshot wounds and the aftermath

Mention of substance abuse

Mention of PTSD and PTSD related problems

Allusions to domestic abuse and violence towards spouses and children

No slash

Foul language

Some Linstead mentioned but not overt, this is not a Erin taking care of a wounded Jay story

Is grounded in cannon now but as the show goes on may be rendered AU

Chapter 1: Wrong Place Wrong Time

Jay Halstead ambled down the steps of Chicago Med after sticking around longer than the rest of his squad in order to talk to their remaining live victim, which had ultimately been pointless because she ended up back in surgery before even making it out of recovery. It also gave him an excuse to bum around with his brother over breakfast, which was always fun. He would have thought that moving in together, after he had waffled over for weeks, would have meant that they were always together but in truth they rarely saw each other because they both worked shit hours. On the plus side was that Will could afford a much nicer place than Jay ever could and he was still basking in the glow of having a shower that didn't occasionally back sewage into it, windows that didn't leak, and insulation that actually kept the place warm at night. Plus he hadn't once had to break up a domestic violence incident for any of his neighbors. It was bliss.

He looked up into the mostly clear November morning, taking a deep breath and wishing he had remembered to drop his vest in the back of the car before Lindsey headed back to the district. He fully recognized that vests saved lives and they were more comfortable than the gear he had to wear in Afghanistan but they were still stiff, and rubbed and chafed after too long. He looked down the block and noticed that Ambulance 61 was there and he jogged over. They had been the first responder to arrive at the scene other than the uniforms and he wanted to ask them if they noticed anything or anyone. It was probably an exercise in futility. Most paramedics only noticed their patients but they were there and he was waiting for his ride.

He greeted them and things went downhill from there. He had just pulled out his pad to take down a note that the blonde that was not Shay had given him, when he saw a silver Lexis with tricked out rims slow down at the corner. He glanced up, mostly just noticing movement when he saw the muzzle pointing out of the window. He yelled at the dark haired girl, shoving her behind the ambulance door and blocked the blonde while drawing he own gun. He never got off a single shot that he knew of, because the next instant his chest, side and leg exploded in pain and he was falling backwards. He landed on something soft and turned his head to see the car driving away. 247G1 was all he could see of the plate.

He opened his mouth to radio it in but choked on something warm and salty. He coughed and saw blood spray across the concrete. He wanted to draw a breath to ask if the paramedics were ok but he couldn't. He felt like there was a 2 ton elephant sitting on his chest and the more he gasped the worse it got. He saw the paramedics above him, and realized, somewhat more slowly than he probably should have, that he had been shot, which would explain why his chest, side, and leg really hurt. He was cold, very cold, he didn't remember it being so cold but then again they had taken off his vest, which always trapped in heat. They needed to radio about the car, "247G1," he mumbled, trying to make himself understood through the mask and the dizzying sensation of being picked up. The world swam around him and someone slapped his face.

"Stay with me Detective," the Not Shay paramedic told him. He wanted to nod but he couldn't seem to move his head.

"247G1," he rasped and was rewarded by choking himself on blood. This whole thing seemed to really suck, maybe he should just take a nap. A nap sounded really nice, even if he knew it wasn't really a nap that he wanted right now. But dying wasn't so bad either, at least it didn't seem it at that moment. He remembered when his mom had died. He was the only one with her at the time and she had looked so peaceful afterwards. Like she finally wasn't in pain or scared anymore. That sounded kind of nice right about now and living seemed really hard and really tiring and he wasn't sure he had the energy for it. His heart was hammering like he had just sprinted a mile in 4 and a half minutes and he was dizzy, like had been holding his breath.

People above him were talking, trying to get his attention maybe. He thought he heard someone call 'Halstead," but he didn't catch who or why. He ignored them for the most part, assuming they weren't actually talking to him, or maybe just too tired to answer. Either way, he let it all just float around him, like laying in deep snow and letting it fill your ears and the cold numb your body, but something was nagging him. That was right, he had been shot, there was a shooter and he needed to tell Voight the plate numbers so Mouse could track them down. He opened his eyes and tried to focus to ask for phone, but they probably wouldn't give him one because he had been shot.

He was unceremoniously plopped onto a bed under very bright lights and heard a voice he recognized. Will, Will would tell Voight for him then he could relax. He tried to talk but found he couldn't get enough air to do so. It would have been terrifying if he had bothered to think about it. Will was yelling things, most of which he didn't understand. His brother liked it when Jay couldn't follow him, it made him feel special to be so smart. Will told him to hold still and he did, not even aware he had been moving, then it got easier to breath, at least a little bit. He tried again, "247G1, Voight, tell Voight."

"Ok, we'll tell him," the pretty nurse with the nice voice and gorgeous skin told him and he smiled at her, maybe, he meant to anyway. He closed his eyes and just wanted to sleep. Maybe he would dream about Christmas. He and Will used to have so much fun on Christmas mornings. Nobody was angry and sometimes they would go to Grampa's cabin so they could play in the woods. It was cold but quiet and you could just sit and listen without hearing anything. Will never liked it up there, not after they killed the deer. It never bothered Jay, hunting and dressing the game, but Will hated it, hating seeing the animal suffer, hated killing. He used to turn green and look away or sometimes cry. Jay would hold his hand and tell him not to be sad. He used to miss the shot on purpose to scare them away, his soft hearted brother.

"Jay, Jay look at me, right now. You need to stay with me, ok," he heard Will and he sounded upset, why did he think he would leave him? He wouldn't do that. He didn't need to be upset, Jay wouldn't make him shoot the deer, he would do it, he was a good shot. He wouldn't tell their Dad that Will couldn't do it. There was nothing wrong with not wanting to kill.

He peeled his eyes open but couldn't really see anything clearly. It was all white and bright, like the sun on snow. Were the deer close? Did he need to tell Will to hide his eyes? "S'ok, little brother, don't be sad," he slurred and closed his eyes again.

TBD